The Joke's on Me

Even as the specter of the Botox needle hangs over the vertical canyon running between my eyebrows and legions of creams and potions appear to have met their Waterloo in the battle against crow's feet, I woke up yesterday with a pimple the size of a volcano on my forehead. I thought the one benefit of aging would be the end of acne, but no. Tell me the Universe doesn't have a sick sense of humor. I dare you.

Turn Left

Nobody said it was easy. I didn’t think it would be this hard. Some drivel from Coldplay which seems to be running through my head a lot recently. I’ve decided I don’t really like Coldplay anymore so I honestly can’t tell you the context for the line, but I’ve decided it resonates with me because it applies to my life. Seriously, is life such an epic struggle for everybody or is it just me? An informal survey of friends would suggest I’m not alone in feeling this way. It’s not that life is a struggle in the sense of something truly catastrophic happening *frantically knocking wood.* Sure, plenty of wicked crap has happened to me, like most people, over the years. People die. People dump you. People stalk you. People rob you. All traumatizing events, to be sure but when I look at my life overall I’ve been pretty lucky as far as big problems go *maniacally knocking wood.* Not to mention that you find ways of dealing the big things. For whatever reason, things we imagine will undo us usually don’t. It’s the small things that get you. Life will beat you down with a host of petty annoyances and minor disappointments. If those don’t get you, the tedious, day-after-day grind will. I feel like I struggle just to get through each day. Except Wednesdays, of course because Wednesdays have Glee and Glee makes me, well, gleeful!


The struggle goes something like this: Wake up. Curse the fact it isn’t Saturday (unless it is Saturday in which case do a mental happy dance and go back to sleep). Drag self out of bed. Get ready for work. Feed monsters. Go to Starbuck’s to spend 20-30 minutes writing because if I don’t schedule it, it doesn’t happen. Dreadful commute to dreadful job. Dreadful job happens from 9-5, but often keeps happening after 5. A day in the Pit of Despair generally consists of being disregarded for long periods of time interspersed with being treated with the type of disdain generally reserved for dog shit on someone’s shoe. Occasionally you will be on the receiving end of a tantrum thrown by one bitch or another. Last week’s bitch was named Jon. At some point I finish work and go to the gym (yea me!). If it’s Tuesday or Thursday, I shower and head over to the clinic where I see clients. My clients are infinitely more sane and pleasant than 99% of the people I work with at The Pit of Despair, btw. And yes, they are mental health clients. Drive home. Feed monsters. Eat dinner while watching something on TiVo. Attempt to sort mail and banish chaos. Wash dishes. Collapse into bed and brace myself for it to start all over again in a few hours. I often get Saturdays off which means I can clean, run errands, study, do laundry. Or sit in catatonic state. I seem to go with option two more often lately. Sundays I’m back at the clinic. There are also various meetings and trainings thrown in here and there for good measure (and to ensure I have no time for a life) and I’m working on a fundraising event right now. Fundraising, btw, is a living nightmare, but that’s another blog.

Like most of my friends, I look around and think Wow…This is not what I expected my life would look like. I realize I’ve made poor decisions in life to get to this place. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I was giving $20 blow jobs to fund my crack habit or anything. I tend to be motivated more by fear than anything else so I cling on to bad jobs, bad people, etc . for far too long. We often look at people who engage in a lot of high-risk behavior (the $20 crack whore, for instance) and think “well, things aren’t going to work out for her.” I think the same is true for the people on the other end of the spectrum who don’t engage in enough risk. If you play it too safe, you’re going to miss out on opportunities. Being too wedded to a sense of security can keep you stuck in a job that has long since stopped being a good fit for you. It can keep you in relationships that are no longer functional. Sure it can keep you from getting hurt, but it can also keep you from getting what you want. We settle for less than we deserve because we are afraid to do anything else. A friend and I have been desperately trying to figure out the exact moments in which we turned right instead of left in our lives (referencing the episode Turn Left from Doctor Who series four, of course). I think the answer is we didn’t turn right at all. We just kept going straight. The person motivated by fear doesn’t pick a new road. They stay with the road they know--straight ahead, no chancing turning down a side street. Something bad could happen on a side street. The only problem with just going in a straight line is, eventually, you run out of road. And whether you hit a wall , fall off a cliff or just get stuck in a big muddy field, it’s not pretty. Eleanor Roosevelt said "do one thing every day that scares you." I've been experimenting with this idea and you know what? I think I'm going to take that next left and see where it takes me. I'd say it couldn't be any worse, but I'm not stupid enough to tempt The Universe that way.

David Tennant Comes to NBC!

Finally some good news for a change. David Tennant is set to star in a comedy pilot for NBC titled Rex Is Not Your Lawyer. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/8339796.stm
Not only does this mean we have something to look forward to once his final Doctor Who episodes air early next year, it also means Mr. Tennant will be spending a substantial amount of time stateside if the show is picked up. I've been thinking pretty seriously about finishing with Los Angeles, but since this greatly increases the chances that David Tennant will show up at my local Starbucks soon, I guess I'm going to have to stay a while.

Money and Happiness Revisited

The idea that money can’t buy happiness has come up again recently. I’m not really sure how this idea ever got so much traction in our society. I personally think it's absolutely absurd. Now if someone said money doesn’t equal happiness, I could agree with that. I don’t believe that money is either necessary or sufficient for happiness.

I know that money isn’t necessary for happiness because I grew up watching Little House on the Prairie. They didn’t have much in the way of material things and certainly they were happy. Not to mention some of my happiest moments in life have cost little, if any, money. If you ever have the opportunity, try this: some summer day get an old inner tube and float around in a lake. If you do have money for a cold beer, take that with you (you may not want to drink too much, the whole drowning thing is not conducive to happiness generally). This ranks fairly high in my happy moment memory bank and was virtually free. You probably have similar memories: the perfect sunset at the beach, a rainy day curled up with a cup of tea and good book (which you presumably borrowed from the library) ---you get the picture. I think we can agree that money is not necessary for happiness. Next we must ask if money is sufficient for happiness. Well, we’ve all read the tabloids, right? Apparently the rich and fabulous are not always happy. Having yet to experience being rich and fabulous I’m tempted reserve judgment, but I think we can be safe saying money is probably not sufficient for happiness.

Now we turn to the real question though. Money may not equal happiness, but can money buy happiness? Of course it can! Money doesn’t just buy material things (though it does and they can be lovely and often make me quite happy. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God and Steve Jobs for my iPod). Money not only buys things, it also buys experiences. Experiences, the little moments in life, are where we find our joy. Yes, many of the best ones are free, but some of the best ones are most certainly not. Many of the most amazing moments of my life cost quite a bit actually. For instance, one year ago today I was in Stratford-upon-Avon where I saw Patrick Stewart and David Tennant perform Hamlet. Not only was the play, which I had the good fortune to see twice, brilliant beyond my expectations, but the entire trip was a little festival of happiness just for me. I happen to love England and Stratford is one of my favorite places on earth because of my long-time super geeky devotion to all things Shakespeare. This was my third trip to Stratford, but my first time going it alone. I did not miss having company. Being on my own felt like the ultimate indulgence. For me being in England is like wrapping myself up in a fuzzy blanket and sitting in front of a fire. On my very first trip I found myself overwhelmed with emotion because of the illogical, yet unmistakable feeling that I had somehow come home.

Last year’s trip was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken anywhere and I was happier those few days in Stratford and London than I’d been in a long time. Fast forward 365 days and I’m at work in the Pit of Despair, feeling oppressed and miserable. The difference? Money. Quite simply I don’t have the money to do many of the things that give me the most pleasure in life including travel. The more money a person has, the more choices they have for how to spend their time and how to get the most enjoyment out of life. I’m not saying one can’t be creative and find ways of enjoying things for less, but I believe the bottom line is that many of life’s greatest pleasures (for me the list includes travel, education, wine, fine dining and theatre) are not free. This does not even take into consideration the obvious fact that, if you have enough money, you can buy your very freedom--freedom from the job you need, but don't love. I've come to realize it is an absolute truth that money can buy happiness. And a Marc Jacobs handbag.

A Real Man

I’ve been watching Mad Men this season and loving it, of course. Loving Don Draper, of course. How could anyone not? He’s so handsome. I’ve actually wrestled a bit with my infatuation with Don because, objectively, he’s not a man I would want. He’s unfaithful. He keeps secrets. He’s dishonest. At the same time he exudes a quality that seems to have disappeared from men in the past 50 years. It’s hard to quantify, but the best I can say is that Don Draper is a real man. He is confident. He’s someone you would trust in a crisis. He’s strong. He doesn’t go whining on about his troubles. I realize it is somewhat ironic that I frown upon whining since that’s pretty much all I do on this blog. I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions about that. Upon closer examination, it seems I’m probably most drawn to Don Draper because all the men I’ve ever dated have been boys. Never mind they were in their 30s. They were boys. I'm not sure there are any real men anymore. Perhaps none were born after 1960 in America. I’m guessing this doesn’t apply to the UK because David Tennant seemed suspiciously like a real man when I met him in spite of his boyish good looks! I look around the Pit of Despair and I don’t see any men. I see boys who make a tremendous amount of money and pretend to be men--the Pete Campbell’s of the world.

So what exactly are the qualities of a man? As I mentioned, I think a real man is confident (without being egotistical), good in a crisis and strong (I’m talking more about emotional strength here, but a certain amount of physical strength is nice too--there is the occasional jar that needs opening after all). They also need to be able to dress themselves and have appropriate clothes for all social situations. The man who doesn’t own a suit (a suit purchased in the past few years—not some ill-fitting thing his mom bought him ten years ago for his cousin’s wedding!) and can’t tie a tie, is not a man. A real man will be at ease in a variety of social situations. A real man can fly solo--guys who cling to their pack of buddies are boys. If he drinks, he drinks something serious. Real men do not drink fruity, girly drinks. BTW, bonus points for the man who can mix a real cocktail—Jack and Coke doesn’t count--I'm talking martini, gimlet, etc. Still, while these all seem to be qualities of a real man, I think there’s also an indefinable quality, a certain je ne sais quoi, which makes a man a man. Whatever it is, Don Draper has it in spades. And I love him for it.

I'll Never Be 24

Twenty-four year old blonde girls have become the bane of my existence. I'm guessing I'm not the only one who feels this way. After all, seem to be everywhere. Usually chatting up some guy you're interested in. It's not so much that they're blonde, I've been blonde and easily could be again. It's not so much that they're hot. I can always work out harder and, thanks to the miracle of plastic surgery, I can have giant-sized breasts that defy all laws of physics if I choose. I can have them lipo out all the undesirable padding then add a bit to the backside so I can be entirely bootylicious. Heck, if I can just find that Russian doctor from I Want to Believe, I think I can get an entire body transplant. Despite all of these technological advancements, however, they still haven't invented a pill or surgical procedure that will make me 24 again. And that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Healing Trauma Through Giving

You may recall my post a few months back about the hideous bag someone gifted me (http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/2009/02/life-as-stereotype.html) and how highly traumatized I was to think this is the way people see me. I decided it was time to put the pain behind me so I turned it into something positive by donating the infamous bag to a charity yard sale over the weekend. Had someone take this picture to memorialize the moment (and so you could see for yourself how truly awful this thing was *shudders*). Surely this is the first step toward healing.

10 Signs Your Life is Seriously Fucked Up

1) You've given serious consideration to setting yourself on fire in front of your mechanic's shop as a form of protest over taking your car in four times in five weeks. Okay, maybe you weren't that serious, but if this thought even occurs to you, I'm guessing it's a bad sign.

2) One of your closest friends says that meeting David Tennant was probably the best thing that's ever gong to happen to you. Oh sure, she tried to backpedal and denied that she meant that you had no hope for future happiness, but that's what she said.

3) There is mold growing underneath the linoleum in your bathroom.

4) You've decided to tell people you're divorced because it is so much less stigmatizing than saying you've never been married at your age. Never mind that your longest relationships (9 yrs., 6 yrs.) were actually longer than most marriages. People look at you sideways if you reach a certain age without ever having had the opportunity to blow thousands of dollars on a party celebrating your undying love for someone you eventually can't stand the sight of and engage in a nasty divorce battle (not that you're bitter or anything). Seriously, being divorced once meant you were damaged goods. Now it means you're normal while still single means there must be something really wrong with you.

5) You tried going to therapy, but your therapist yawned throughout the sessions. Apparently, even someone you were paying to listen to you found you boring.

6) Someone gives you a cats & books tote bag as a gift. (see old post: http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/2009/02/life-as-stereotype.html)

7) Only six people read your blog.

8) Your way of "getting over" on the powers that be at work involves you working late and on the weekends so that you can keep billable hours for yourself now that the head office has been hording them.

9) Your reclusive friend who hates flying is actually game for attending the Toronto International Film Festival. You have mandatory meetings and training sessions you can't get out of.

10) You've come to the point where your only requirement for a potential partner is that he will drag the bins to the curb on trash day. Still no takers.

Are You Kidding Me?

So a few weeks ago I took my car to the mechanic because it was making a funny noise. Needed a new water pump. Sure. No problem. Fixed. Done. A few days after I got it back, my low coolant light came on. It comes on maybe once a year so I happen to have a gallon of coolant. I thought it was odd it came on so soon after the car was in the shop, but I added some and figured that would be the end of it. Only it came on again a few days later. I took it back to the mechanic and told them the car was leaking coolant. I figured there was a problem with the new water pump. They replaced my radiator. Okay. Fixed. Done. A few days after I got my car back, the low coolant light came on. I added some. It came on again a few days later. I took it back to the mechanic. The overflow reservoir is leaking, he told me. Despite the fact that I was forced to rent a car at my own cost, and despite the fact that it seemed to me like maybe I hadn’t needed a new radiator after all, and despite the fact that the frustration triggered a ten-hour crying jag and destroyed my weekend, I had them replace the overflow reservoir. Fixed. Done. Yesterday my low coolant light came on again. Are you kidding me? This is absurd. Part of me would like to cut myself. Part of me would like to cut my mechanic. This is just so beyond ridiculous I actually started laughing when the light came on. So today I’m going to call my mechanic and see what other part of my car he can replace without actually fixing whatever seems to be wrong. FML.

How I Met David Tennant, pt 2: Get in Touch with Your Inner Sydney Bristow

Now, where was I? Oh right, I'd just found out Kate had embraced her inner ninja and was actually inside the ballroom. Well, faster than I've ever moved before I was around to the other side of the room and easing myself inside. A couple of dozen people were milling around, but most had already gone into the party. I scanned the room. There was David Tennant about 20 feet away near the podium. Yellow shirt, red tie. Lovely. Kate was seated looking through one of the press packets that had been left behind. My first reaction was "I want that" because it had Dr. Who pictures. As I was grabbing one from the table behind me, it dawned on me that having these packets made it appear as though we'd been at the panel all along. Kate, already in full Sydney Bristow mode, had already figured that out. We picked up our press packets and made a bee line for David. A few feet away from the goal, Russell T. Davies spoke. Apparently, to us! He said "no. we're all going to meet outside for drinks." Apparently this was his way of saying "back off bitches." The British are so much more civilized. I didn't realize the comment was directed to us & was utterly confused when Kate said "oh sorry. thanks," stopped abruptly, turned around and walked back to the tables. She sat down saying "hold on I just need to take a note." I played along. "No problem. I'll wait with you," I said as casually as possible while trying to look bored and aloof (a move I learned from watching Burn Notice).

In a whisper I asked Kate if she thought we could get into the party. She thought we could as long as we didn't go through the doors near where we'd been loitering the past hour. That meant going through a doorway in which a BBC rep was standing, which seemed even worse. We would be coming out of the ball room and carrying press packets though, so we had a shot. At the moment I was just happy to be in the same room with David. The idea of actually crashing the BBC party made me entirely giddy! Kate suggested I talk about Doctor Who as we walked (having never watched the show she was ill-prepared for pretending to have just attended a panel discussion). I decided acting confident and walking quickly would be easier so, clutching our press packets to our chests to obscure the fact that we had no credentials, we strode out of the ballroom and across to the terrace. No one stopped us! We were officially in the party!

Kate suggested we grab a drink . I'd already spotted the wine guy--not only because, well, he was the wine guy, but also because he was very near the spot where David was standing. We each grabbed a glass of wine, then found a quiet corner so we could strategize. We agreed we needed to make our move and get out before someone realized we didn't have badges. As we made our way toward David, I felt more terrified than I ever had before. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding. I could actually hear blood rushing in my ears--who knew this actually happened? Halfway there I stopped. I was about to chicken out. Fortunately I had specifically told Kate she could not to let me chicken out no matter what so when I said "I guess I don't really need to talk to him" she said, "well, I'm going to" and continued in his direction. I followed close behind pretty sure I might black out at any moment. We walked straight up to him and Kate said "sorry to interrupt, but we need to take off..." And that's how we met David Tennant.



What's that? You want to know what we said to him? What he said to us? Ahhh, well, I had originally planned to give a detailed account of the conversation, but having had a while think about it I've decided to keep that for myself. You have been extremely patient though so here are some of the highlights. When Kate started talking to him, David leaned over (he's very tall--Kate not so much) and listened intently. She began with "this is going to sound strange given the circumstances..." A quizzical look--or was that panic?--flickered across David's face. In that moment I'm guessing he was thinking something along the lines of "oh no, she's going to ask to see my sonic screw driver" or "oh no, she's going to tell me she's named her cat David" or "oh no, she's going to tell me she's named her son David." Instead she finished with "but I really enjoyed Blackpool." This elicited a patented "well..." He later pointed out the Blackpool writer who was actually there--something we probably should have known since he was there for one of the other shows on the panel! Oops. Eventually, David turned to me and said hello as only he can. I introduced myself and told him how thoroughly I enjoyed his performance in Hamlet. Both Kate and I were impressed by how gracious and charming he was. He was also quite attentive and I will say that gazing into those amazing brown eyes was pretty spectacular.

Our mission having been accomplished, we got the hell out of there. I had a charity meeting to get to and, honestly, there was no reason to risk getting thrown out by security.

If I need cheering up, I just ask Kate to tell me about the time we met David Tennant. The adrenaline high was fantastic and lasted at least a week. Kate thinks I may take up bungee jumping now, but I have other ideas. Kate is now officially known as The Facilitator and crashing parties is a lot easier than I thought. I see tremendous potential and absolutely no need for bungees.

How I Met David Tennant, pt. 1: Pick the Proper Location

A few weeks ago I read a press release stating that David Tennant would be at Comic-Con, along with Russell T. Davies, to promote Dr. Who. My initial excitement quickly faded when I found out the passes were already sold out. After a few failed attempts at getting passes on eBay, I gave up. At my age I'd rather pay more and have a reserved seat than stand in line with 5000 crazed fans anyway. Besides, I knew David and RTD would also be doing a panel at the TCA Summer Press tour at a hotel in Pasadena. This was definitely more my style! Loitering around around a hotel lounge is an excellent way to spend an afternoon if you ask me. Even if I didn't catch a glimpse of David, I'd be having cocktails in a swell location--no downside there! I was able to find out the date and time of the BBC panel because, frankly, I know people who know people. (Thank you, Ms. X!) The next step was getting out of my job at the Pit of Despair the day of the panel, so I promptly came down with a virus of the 24 hour variety.

I felt alternately excited and, well, nauseous at the prospect of actually seeing David Tennant so I told myself it was probably a long shot as I headed to Pasadena Wednesday afternoon. When I entered the lobby bar I noticed a press conference was taking place on the veranda, but I was trying to act casual so I didn't look too closely. Instead, I found a comfy bar stool and ordered a mojito. I was just a sip or two into my drink when I heard the doors from the veranda opening and people leaving. I looked up just in time to recognize the bony backside of the man in the yellow shirt leaving the lounge, a glance up to confirm...yep, that's his hair. At that moment he turned slightly in conversation and I got a full profile view of David Tennant! Since I hadn't paid for my drink yet, I didn't run after him--having security called on me for dodging out on the tab seemed like it would make a bad (though memorable, I'm sure) first impression. Besides, I hadn't had enough liquid encouragement yet to actually speak to him. So I texted Kate, who was on her way to join me: "OMG. he just walked by me." The afternoon was off to a promising start!

I finished my drink and conducted some recon around the hotel without another sighting. When Kate arrived we decided our best shot was to wait around outside the ballroom before his panel started. After another mojito for courage, we took up our posts outside the ballroom, being sure to cover both entrances of course...and somehow managed to miss him going in! Perhaps we were distracted by the likes of Matt Damon and Paul Walker, both of whom happened to stroll by. Having recently watched four seasons of Alias, I was convinced we could probably get into the panel, but Kate felt it was too risky--and we all know Kate is not one to take risks. Or is she? Once the panel was in full swing and we'd decided against attempting to enter, we knew we'd need to wait until it ended for our chance. This is where our story takes a turn.

BBC America was hosting a cocktail reception immediately following the panel on a terrace adjacent to the ballroom. Guests would basically exit the ballroom directly into the reception. We thought we would catch a glimpse as he entered the party. When the panel ended I became worried he might actually exit from the opposite side and not go into the party so I sent Kate to stake out the other doors. A few minutes later I received the following text: "get over here now. i'm in the room."

TO BE CONTINUED...

You Can Get It If You Really Want

So you may recall a little trip I took to England last year to see a play and how blown away I was by one David Tennant in the role of Hamlet. If you need a refresher, you can read all about it here: http://becauselifeisshort.blogspot.com/2008/10/full-english-breakfast.html.

Suffice it to say, I've been smitten with this lovely man ever since and, with apologies to Tom Baker, he's even become my doctor. Imagine how excited I was to find out he was going to be in Southern California this week. Now imagine how excited I was to meet him last night in Pasadena! Actually, I don't think you can imagine so I'm going to tell you all about the meeting (as well as all the ninja moves my friend, Kate, and I made to make it happen) in glorious detail here. I'm editing the post even now. Meanwhile, remember that you can get it if you really want!

Prison Break Redux

Well, I guess I know why Michael Scofield had to die at the end of Prison Break. Clearly, it was all an evil ploy on the part of Fox to get me to purchase their DVDs. So far I've only succumbed to downloading some episodes for my iPod, but I have to admit being tempted. Oh, and what did I find while browsing the DVDs online? I found there is something called Prison Break: The Final Break coming out on DVD next month which will fill in the four years missing from the end of the finale. Apparently it actually aired in other countries, but because Fox canceled the show we get only a DVD release here in the U.S. On the one hand, there are a number of shows I wish would have done a DVD release to tie up loose ends. On the other hand, I'm still bitter about them killing off Scofield, which was cheap at best. Now I feel entirely manipulated into purchasing this DVD. I wish I could say that I won't buy it, but what can I say? I'm weak. I have to see what happened. F-ing Fox.

RIP

I'm angry. And a little depressed. What's news about that, you say? While it's true that I'm not exactly a stranger to these emotions, I resent the fact that I'm experiencing them as a result of a television show. TV is supposed to be my salvation, my escape from the monotony and drudgery that is my real life. I watch to be entertained. I watch to be swept up by the excitement and adventure (all from the safety of my couch, mind you) which my real life is lacking. I don't watch to have my heart ripped out, which is exactly what Fox has done. I've been pretty busy lately and am just now getting around to watching all the shows stored up on my Tivo which is why this post is coming so long after the fact.

A few days ago I sat down for a Prison Break marathon with the anticipation that my guys would finally win...they'd bring down The Company, clear their names and all live happily ever after. That's what I've been hoping for these past few years, after all. Knowing this was the series finale, that's what I expected. I was partly right. They did bring down The Company and they were all exonerated. Yea! Happy ending, right? Wrong. Apparently the writers decided that a happy ending just wouldn't do so instead they killed Michael Scofield. The star of the show. The guy viewers like me have been heavily invested in and rooting for throughout the series. They killed him. And I'm really angry. I'm angry because I bawled like a baby. I'm angry because, three days later, I'm still a little bit down about this. It feels a lot like someone I knew died.

I know what you're thinking. Yes, I realize I have unhealthy "relationships" with certain TV characters who happen to be Time Lords, but I assure you this was not the case here. Sure, Wentworth Miller is extremely easy on the eyes and Michael Scofield was a very appealing character, but I was in no way fixated. Until they killed him. I now find myself googling Wentworth Miller to see what he'll be doing next, to check out hot photos of him, mostly--I think-- to confirm that, in spite of Michael Scofield's fate, Mr. Miller is still alive and well and (I hope) living happily ever after.

Either the writing and acting on the show were so well done that I completely bought in or this is just another sign that the line between reality and fiction are becoming increasingly blurred for me. Since the latter undoubtedly points to an impending breakdown, I like to think it's the former. And yet, I feel vaguely used and manipulated. Maybe happy endings are trite, but given the state of the world in which we live, I'll take trite. Plus, considering the preposterous premise of Prison Break, the finale was really not the place for the writers to do anything other than tie things up in a neat little package and let Michael, Link, Sara, et al. ride off into the sunset. Sure it's cliche, but that's all I ever wanted or needed from Fox. Just because you can make your viewers sob is no sign you should.

Wasting Time at Work

In the past week I've been introduced to a couple of great time wasters and I wanted to share.

I admit there is a certain amount of schadenfreude here, but hey, it's nice knowing other people have it worse than you right? Anyway, check it out and I'm sure you'll be addicted like me. www.fmylife.com

I've also been wildly entertained by this site: http://www.stardoll.com/en/dolls/465/David_Tennant.html
What's not to love about a David Tennant doll you can dress up? Of course it really would be better if he came with more outfits. Still, it's a great way to pass the time when your job is boring you to tears.

Mom Really Did Know Best

Ladies, remember when your mom used to tell you it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it was a poor man? Or perhaps it was a great aunt Sally or a good friend who encouraged you to marry "well." If you're anything like me, of course you scoffed at the strong whiff of "gold digger" this advice gave off. You weren't in it for money or security (how old fashioned!). You were in it for love. Besides, you're a modern woman and can take care of yourself just fine, thank you very much. So, like me, you too have probably spent too many years with a guy who it turned out was never going to marry you (of course he ended up marrying the very next girl he dated after only six months), dated "the love of your life" artist/musician/writer who was chronically underemployed (which was so cool and anti-establishment when you were 20, but smacked of irresponsible loser when you were 30), or really thought you'd found "The One" only to find out he was cheating on you. All of which leads to people buying you spinster cat lady tote bags and drinking alone on Friday nights. So what's the point of this little waltz down memory lane? Aside from the obvious fun of picking at old scabs, I mean? Well, I'm older now and, every once in a while, wiser. Today I had a moment of wisdom. It came to me, as most of my best thoughts do, while having cocktails with a friend. Here it is: If I had taken that advice I'd be divorced by now. Yes, that's right. And cashing my alimony checks. Oh sure, I'd still be drinking alone on Friday nights, but the wine would be so much more expensive.

Okay, I'm Putting It Out There

A friend of mine, I'll call her Perky Patti, recently told me that I should not discount the possibility of hooking up with David Tennant because, in her words "stranger things have happened." Somehow I doubt it since David is known to date hot, young blonde girls and I'm well, not hot, not young, not blonde (spinster cat lady, remember?) Anyway, Perky Patti said I should just "put it out there." So, here I am putting it out there. Since I want to give the Universe a little wiggle room, I offer a description of the basic qualities I would want in a man generally--just in case Mr. Tennant is busy (with a blonde, I'm sure). You will note there are a number of caveats. At first glance this may seem like overkill, but I happen to know the Universe has a really wicked sense of humor. If you aren't really specific, the Universe will use it against you. Although I'm skeptical, here goes.

Dear Universe:

Please send me one British man. Must be gainfully employed, single, straight, free of STDs, well-educated, non-violent, of solid moral character, non-addicted, non-misogynist, non-ego maniac, non-nazi, non criminal, non-lunatic with common sense and a good sense of humor. Must enjoy travel, wine and/or beer and/or cocktails. Interest in history/literature/politics/art/fine dining a plus. Must be willing to learn to love NFL football. Must be hopelessly in love with me, forsaking all others, as long as he lives. Strong resemblance to David Tennant a plus. Actually being David Tennant preferred (unless of course David Tennant is actually a misogynistic, ego-maniacal, crack-addicted, lunatic queen with the clap).


Thank you for your time.


xoxo


Helen

Hum4God

As you know I hate people. And here's just one more reason why. So, I'm driving along and I see a Hummer H2 with the license plate Hum4God. Really? Really? Look arrogant, religious vanity plates annoy me anyway, but you are driving a Hummer, mother f-er. A HUMMER. I'm pretty sure God is going to smite you for fucking up his planet.

In the Pink

You may recall that I work for a branch office of a large international law firm, aka the Festering Pit of Despair. Well, it looks like layoffs have officially started in my branch of said Pit. I am so NOT prepared to face a pink slip right now. I realize nobody ever is, but I literally have let my finances skid out of control in the past 10 months...not the best timing. Do I want out of the FPoD? Yes? Do I want out like this? HELL NO! I've already cut my spending way back in preparation for the worst, but I need a several months to get things at least minimally under control. Not sure if I have it. The anxiety around the office has been growing over the past few weeks as every day brings news of another firm doing layoffs. Everyone I know, no matter what their industry, is going through the same. My department has already had some cuts in the hq office so I've been on pins and needles for a while...not much any of us can do about it though. Time to employ whatever coping mechanisms you've got. To that end, I just opened one of my new value wines. (quite tasty, btw)....here's to all those who've already been handed pink slips. I wish you all the best in getting through this mess. And to the rest of us still waiting...bottoms up, baby.

Recession Busters

You may not have realized, but I'm a fan of wine. A big fan. I love reading about wine, buying wine and drinking wine. It is part hobby, part obsession, part coping strategy--a luxury (make that necessity) I refuse to give up even in this economy. I've been finding some great bargains recently from Spain (Garnacha) and Argentina (Malbec). What I'd like to know is does anyone have any recommendations for great Pinot Noirs under $20? Under $10? I tried the Poppy Pinot Noir recently and while it was easy drinking, I found myself wishing it were more delicious. I'm trying a Mark West Pinot right now and it's not bad for $8.99 a bottle. I realize Pinot is heartbreaking and difficult to grow and that's one of the reasons the prices are generally so high. I'm used to paying upwards of $3o, which just isn't practical right now. Just wondering if anyone out there has any good suggestions for recession busting Pinot Noir.

What About Helen?

So, it looks like the government is trying to bail out some of the people who are facing foreclosure. All I have to say to that is what about me? When do I get mine, Jack? It is absolutely absurd that I, like most of my friends, have been priced out of the housing market in Southern California because of the real estate bubble. Now my tax dollars are going to go toward helping people who created the bubble and artificially propping up over-inflated housing prices so that I will never be able to buy? How is that fair? Look, I don't want to see anyone lose their home, but why should I be punished for not acting foolishly? If I'd taken out a bad loan on a house I couldn't afford, would someone really bail me out? I seriously doubt it. WTF???

Life As a Stereotype

Ever wonder how other people see you? You know, not your close friends and family, but other people. People who maybe know a little bit about you, casual acquaintances, coworkers, etc. What do they see when they see you? Well recently I had the *good* fortune to find out exactly what people see. Apparently they see a book-loving spinster cat lady. Fuck me. Okay, technically I am a book-loving spinster cat lady, but only in the most literal sense. Sure I like books, have two cats and am a bit past my sell-by date. This does NOT mean I have a house filled with cat figurines and needle point throw pillows of tabbies. Apparently, people assume I do. How did I find this out? Like many of life's little bitch slaps, it came in the form of a Christmas present. I was given a tote bag featuring a cartoon of a cat lounging on a stack of books with a caption that reads: Books. Cats. Life is Good! Oh HELL no! This is one of those times when "it's the thought that counts" only makes it worse since clearly the gift-giver was thinking "what do you get for the tragic spinster?" I take umbrage at this blatant stereotyping. It does not follow that just because you happen to be a spinster librarian with cats you would automatically have/want/like kitschy cat/book themed merchandise of any kind. Still not sure if I should be laughing or crying.

Better than The Secret!

So recently my friends and I have been trying to brain-storm ways of escaping from the Festering Pit of Despair (aka large international law firm where we all work) before our souls are completely devoured and our spirits crushed entirely. In other words--how can we get out before it's too late? All of us have outside interests and we are all quite clearly wasting our talents here...but of course there is the small matter of paychecks and the fact that we all like roofs over our heads, wine in the fridge, etc. So in the meantime we hopefully cross our fingers while picking lottery numbers and maintain well-developed fantasies about what our lives will be like when we succeed in getting out of this hell and on to bigger and better things. We were discussing our future lives yesterday--Dee was researching the best kind of dairy cows for making artisanal cheese on her farm, Trish was wondering if David Duchovny would write the screenplay for a book she's optioned, I was wondering whether I should source my Pinot Noir grapes from Santa Maria or the Santa Lucia Highlands--and that's when it hit me. What if the fantasy life is the real life and all this (sweeping arm gesture here) is just a very bad dream? What if, in my real life, I live in a beautiful house on the Palos Verdes Peninsula instead of my decrepit little apartment? What if, when that alarm goes off and I wake from this nightmare, I find I'm safe in my comfy bed inside that beautiful house with David Tennant drooling on the pillow next to mine? This got us thinking. What if we were to behave as if we were living the lives we want? It's like dressing for the job you want instead of the job you have right? It's better than The Secret because instead of just "putting it out there to the Universe" you actually start living and behaving the way you would if you were already living your dream life. And maybe, just maybe, you end up with the life you want, or at least a reasonable facsimile. Either that or I lose my rather tenuous grip on reality altogether and end up in a psych ward, heavily medicated. Technically, I will have escaped the Festering Pit of Despair though so I would consider this a win. Perhaps I really have gone round the bend here, but I think we're on to something. To test the theory, we've planned on heading out early for drinks at the Four Seasons (because that's the sort of thing we would do in our real lives). I'll let you know how it goes!

Happy New Year to All Plus a Rant

January 1, 2009. Holy hell! Seems like just yesterday everyone was freaking out about Y2K and the impending apocalypse and here we are nine years later already! Turns out the actual harbinger of the end of days may have been mortgage-backed securities. I have a feeling 2009 is going to be a wild one as far as the economy is concerned. My goal for the new year? Remain gainfully employed--the way things are going this will be no small feat. Other than that I plan to be more social (I went to a party last night and am going to another today. Okay, so maybe it isn't a party so much as it is two people watching a football game...but still social, no?), I'm going to entertain more at my home (which serves the dual purpose of being social and forcing me to clean!) and I'm going to attempt to get a grip on my finances which have been hemorrhaging quite badly the past few months. Most importantly, I will continue to do things for no other reason than they make me happy. We all have to do plenty of things every day out of necessity or obligation that we'd rather not be doing. It is important to take the time for a little bit of personal indulgence. Reading the latest chic lit, opening a good bottle of wine when it isn't a special occasion, watching Blackpool again, making carbonara, hanging out in a bookstore or wine shop, sneaking off for margaritas with your friends at lunch time...just a few of the things that serve no purpose other than to make me happy which I intend to do more of in the new year! If I weren't trying to hold down expenses I'd add shop for purses to the list, maybe if there's a sale! Happy 2009, everyone! I wish you all health, wealth and happiness in the new year!

And now a rant. What the fuck is wrong with people who write horrible, awful things in order to drive traffic to their illegal websites? As you know I fell head over heels for Mr. David Tennant after seeing him in Hamlet in October (I blogged about it in the post Full English Breakfast). Well, as a proper fan girl and true geek I set up a Google alert for DT so that I could keep up with news about him. The other day I got an alert with a headline saying that he had died. I could not verify the news as it seemed to be coming from only the one source, but I was still shaken. I realize I don't actually know the man, but first of all there are very few people in the world I would actually wish death upon whether I know them or not. Second, he's a brilliant actor and I hope to enjoy his work for years to come. Third, he's terribly cute. The idea that something had happened to him made me feel physically ill. Eventually, a friend was able to look at the site the story came from and told me it was something called a torrent and totally bogus. I know nothing about torrents, but I know I hate them. Who writes a bogus story about someone dying just to drive traffic to their site? If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...I hate people.