Man I love skiing. It's expensive, it's exhuasting and it's freezing, but it's awesome. I made it through two days without falling (although there were some near misses), got a free hot cocoa on the mountain, and was pleasantly surprised to find I had cell service. I wore my new metallic silver ski parka and was told by one lift operator I looked "flashy" while another one pretended I was blinding him when the sun hit my jacket (highly possible).
And the lodge we were "upgraded" to? AMAZEBALLS. Most comfortable bed I have ever slept in. (But truth be told, at that point I was so tired, I would have been happy sleeping in the tub.)
Belated Blondie post - apologies. It's been quite a trip so far. My mom's car died en route to pick me up from the airport, so we had to wait and take the shuttle back. I had to go to Urgent Care this morning with a raging infection, so that's been fun as well.
But on the positive side, it snowed last night! Probably because the snow gods were tired of my bitching about the complete lack of snow on the ground for Christmas.
Here's hoping the drugs kick in soon and the snow doesn't melt too fast!
I'm over the Duck Dynasty phenomenon. Watched the first season, found it funny, but haven't watched it since. And now they have a Christmas CD? And Chia Pets? (Admittedly, those are a little funny) Not sure why people are shocked that they are homophobes, though - they're rednecks, people.
One thing I cannot understand, though, is how these bearded wonders landed such hot wives, but maybe it's the $80 million. One never knows in Louisiana.
Watched Barbara Walters' Most Fascinating People of the Year last night - and I have to say the most fascinating thing to me was the amount of work Babs has had done to her face. Particularly to her eyes. She certainly looked fascinated.
Weird getting mail on a Sunday yesterday (apparently to make up for missed ice days with the upcoming holidays). But a good weird. I know mail carriers need and deserve a day off, etc., but it reminded me of when you're on a plane that has been delayed, and the pilot comes on the loudspeaker to say that he is going faster to make up for lost time. And one wonders why they don't always fly as fast as they can...similarly, why can't they deliver packages on Sundays. #justsayin
I bought a "reversible" sweater - white with red polka dots on one side, red with white polka dots on the other. But it has tags and seams - so not really reversible. (Don't get me wrong - I still plan on wearing it on both sides, but still. I'm on to you, clothing makers.)
I'm skiing for a few days while in Colorado for Christmas, and booked the last room at a little bed and breakfast right in Winter Park. Then over the weekend got an email that the owners had abruptly sold the b&b and we were now staying 10 minutes away at some ranch. Huh? But I looked up the website and HOLY UPGRADE. First of all, the rates are like double what we're paying, they have an outdoor ice skating rink, spa, hot tub, snowshoeing, etc. Um, thank you, travel gods. And I don't say that very often.
Iced in, day four. I'm starting to feel sympathy for Jack Nicholson's character in The Shining. I could totally go axe murderer cray cray on someone right about now. Some things I've learned during Icepocalypse 2013:
Don't text and walk when the sidewalks are icy. You need both eyes on the pavement. Trust me.
Pete Delkus is the most excited weatherman in Dallas. Ice storms are his crack.
Cameron Matheson is in all holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel. Literally.
Tar emerges from ice storms and is incredibly hard to get out of a dog's fur. And also incredibly messy.
I'm super happy to have had electricity this entire time. I am bored and have TV and lights. Can't imagine how bored those who don't are. #amishisthenewblack
Noticed that the east coast is now getting this storm, although it's now called Dion? Cleon and Dion? Come on weatherpeople.
All in all, ready to get back to civilization tomorrow (god-willing). Word to your mother.
Getting the call that the office is closed due to snow/sleet/slush is still as exciting as an adult as it was as a kid learning school was closed. Very glad I have power, though - not sure it would be as fun in a cold dark apartment.
The day ahead looks to include baking Christmas cookies, catching up on DVR'd shows, having some wine, and "working from home."
A friend and I are hosting a holiday party next Saturday night at a bar, and we have to have at least 40 people show up in order to get the space for free. We invited like 150 people, but only 20 have said yes - which sounds a little pathetic, but it IS a Saturday night in December, so I'm not surprised. I was talking to a guy friend about it, and told him to feel free to invite more friends to up our chances of hitting 40. Five minutes later, he wrote back to say he did - and he invited 130 more people. Um, what?? I was thinking like 3-5 more. But on the positive side, we're BOUND to hit 40 now, right? RIGHT??
A girl at work yesterday, upon learning I went to UNC: "Did you go there when Michael Jordan played?" (NOTE: he played at UNC in 1982.)
Me: "How old do you think I am? No, seriously - HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM."
My friend's three-year-old is one of my favorite people on the planet. She insisted on joining us for manis/pedis yesterday (she initially picked out the green glitter polish, which I encouraged but her mother wisely found an alternate to), and also insisted on sitting next to me (tear). I asked her what she wants for Christmas, and her answer is one of the reasons I love her so much: "A telescope, a microscope and a stethoscope. And a guitar." Because she IS only three, after all. LOVE. THIS. KID.
Met a couple of guys out, and we started talking about colleges. One guy went to Duke (the horror!) and his buddy said he went to Yale. And the conversation just stopped. I don't know what to say to that - congratulations? On being rich and smart? So he picked up his cigar and walked away. Maybe I'm still bitter because I got rejected from Yale. Elitist bastards. (I kid, I kid.)
I love A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Especially the fact that they eat toast, popcorn, pretzels and jelly beans for Thanksgiving dinner - sounds like something you could find on my table. But I do have a slight issue with this:
Why is poor Franklin sitting all by himself? Is the Peanuts gang racist?? There are four people (well, three and a dog) across from him - Peppermint Patty couldn't have taken one for the team and moved? She could still sit by Marcy...
Happy Thanksgiving week! My beef - er, turkey - of the day: so many stores are opening on Thursday evening these days, it shouldn't even be called Black Friday anymore. Should we start going with Black Thursday? I used to love going to the mall on Black Friday, but now avoid it like the Black Plague. This Black Friday I'll be laying low, maybe see a movie, but refusing to buy anything. Until Cyber Monday, that is.
...All of a sudden, she refuses to wear sweaters. She literally bounces around the apartment, so excited to go out, and when I shove on her sweater, she does this:
Just stands perfectly still and stares at me. I had to pick her up and carry her onto the elevator this morning. So I'm thinking either she's a fashionista and knows how hideous these sweaters are (this particular one was a gift from the dog-walker), or else she prefers au naturel. But I'm sorry - it's 30-something degrees outside! Weirdo.
I'm a (not very) simple girl with (not very) simple pleasures. And if all my shirts and sweaters had this feature, I would be simply giddy:
I love a good thumb-hole. (That's what she said?) Keeps the sleeves down and looks damn good in my humble opinion. I would go around punching holes in all my shirts if I didn't think they would unravel and rip...
Lately when I turn to one certain radio station in my car, the screen says FUEL HEMMORHAGE. Now upon first seeing this, I thought my car was trying to tell me something - like I had a gas leak. But it turns out it's a song. By Fuel. Weirdly this was two days ago and it still says FUEL HEMMORHAGE, so fingers crossed I don't stall out on the highway this afternoon.
It's begun - all holidays, all the time. There are two Sirius stations that are playing all holiday music, and the Hallmark channel has gone 100% holiday movies. I've tried to watch a handful of them, and make it about 20 minutes in until I have to change the channel. Not sure if it's the sappiness or the B list (C list?) actors, but it's too much. And this coming from a person who may have already put up her Christmas tree.
Most kids learn songs like "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" or "Ring Around the Rosey" as toddlers. I did, too - but my dad's tennis buddies also taught me a little ditty that was very popular in the late 1970s: "Macho Man." By none other than The Village People. They would get me to sing it (at least the chorus), and still to this day ask my dad about it. Great. Although I guess it's better than YMCA?
I've been seeing adds for this Nomorerack deal on Facebook and on TV - and I gotta be honest, until Sunday I seriously thought it was "nomo rerack." Which clearly doesn't mean anything or make any sense, but that didn't seem to bother me. And then I actually looked at the logo and realized it's "No More Rack." Ohhhhhh. Personally I like "nomo" better.
Got "and guested" to a wedding in January. As a single person, it's an honor to get the plus one. And that honor is quickly replaced by stress when you realize you have no one to take as your guest. Damn you, RSVP.
My dad's email got hacked yesterday and everyone on his contact list got a "please help me, I'm stuck in a hotel in some country ending in -stan, send money!" message. I immediately knew it was a scam, obviously - but when I called him last night he said he had received numerous calls from people asking where exactly he was and how could they wire him the money. Good lord. I can't believe people still fall for this! Granted, my dad does travel a lot internationally, so it's not the craziest notion that he would be in some -stan country - but come on people. Although my dad did admit that he would be happy to accept people's money, should they feel so inclined. Ha.
Halloween being tomorrow, it got me thinking about one of the best costumes ever:
Yes, me, my mom and my brother went as the Scorpions, a biker gang. Complete with fake tats, greaser hair (look at little Cole!) and attitude. Plus, holy 80s hair on my mom and I. I really wish I still had that denim vest with SCORPIONS in glitter on the back - you can bet your a** I would still wear it today.
...or do videos on Instagram freak anyone else out? I never expect them, and all of a sudden sound comes on and I almost drop my phone. It's like an adult version of the Jack-in-the-box. Or something less scary.
So...Rocky Horror Picture Show. Not a fan, as it turns out. It's weird and awkward and weird again. But the experience was amusing - they give out props to use during the movie: melba toast to toss when they say "I'd like to make a toast," water guns to squirt during the rainstorm, noisemakers, bubbles, etc. Plus a very awkward game at the beginning for Rocky Horror "virgins" (thank god I didn't raise my hand) in which one person had a broomstick between their legs and the other had a roll of paper towels, and the goal was to get the stick in the hole. Again, thank god I didn't raise my hand.
I will say Tim Curry makes a fairly attractive woman.
Why are my favorite yogurt flavors the ones that could never be found in nature and certainly could never be considered "healthy?" Cinnamon Roll. Spice Cake. Red Velvet Cake. White Chocolate Raspberry. Boston Cream Pie. (Are we sensing a trend here?) And for some reason, I feel it's okay, because hey - the yogurt is fat free, while Boston Cream Pie certainly isn't. But at the same time, why can't I just pick something nice like cherry.
Got home yesterday to find NINE (count em, nine) wasps in my apartment. On nice fall days, I like to leave the balcony door open for the dog, so clearly that will no longer be happening. I have never been strung by a wasp or a bee (knock on wood), but am fairly terrified of the prospect. So I freaked out and did what any clueless girl would - grabbed a bottle of 409 and a broom and started spraying/swatting/screaming at them until they were all dead or traumatized enough to get them back outside before closing the door. Good lord - by the end I was panting, sweating and exhausted. There has GOT to be a better way. (Actually, there are probably 18 better ways.)
I'm going to an 80s prom on Saturday night. I envision myself like this:
But in truth I haven't had time to buy anything, so will just have to piece something tragic together from things I already have in my closet. And honestly, this should be fairly easy. There might be a gold lame top in there somewhere. #sadbuttrue
This weekend with my mom was VERY productive. Possibly the Most Productive Weekend Ever. (And yes, I am clearly ready for the Bachelor to be back on TV.)
A sampling of what all we did:
Rotated my mattress (clearly a two-person job, if not three-person)
Bought a rug
Bought a fire pit and made a fire
Got my entire face threaded
Tightened my headboard (which I initially "installed" myself - also clearly a two-person job)
Took the dog to get a bath
Took the dog to Mutts (should have been in reverse order, but whatever)
Saw Gravity in 3D (amaze.)
Hung out with my mom's high school boyfriend (also amaze)
Went to the Arboretum
Shopped at the consignment store
Drank the punch (Donkey punch, that is)
Made my mom watch Groundhog Day for the first time
I burned onions while she made potato soup
Showed my mom that she does in fact have Facebook on her phone; helped her upload a photo for the first time
My mom convinced me to get my face threaded over the weekend. I have heard of threading for eyebrows, but not the entire face. Plus, my hair is blonde, so who cares if I have some peach fuzz on my cheek? But I agreed to try it - my mom had done it before and said it really made a difference. Ummmm BAD IDEA JEANS. From the very first second, it felt like razors are being scraped down my face. Ad it went on for an interminable 15 minutes. At first I was laughing - how could it possibly be this painful? - but then I started crying. and then I was bawling. My knuckles were white as I gripped the chair as tightly as I could. I broke into a cold sweat. I'm sure the poor ladies who we're threading our faces had never seen such a reaction. And even though my face is now as bare and soft as a baby's butt, I am also sure I will never go back.
I mentioned trying out Tinder before. I have heard from multiple sources that's it's merely a "hook-up" site, which makes it even more depressing that I haven't gotten asked out ONCE. Not once. And then this morning, while scrolling through dudes, I came across one guy whose profile picture was his penis. (Well, hopefully his - not sure why it would be someone else's...) That was a fine how-do-you-do. I almost fell off the elliptical. Needless to say I don't think we're a match. And also needless to say no more Tinder for me.
I may have watched both Grease and Grease 2 this week. And may have found myself quoting both movies in their entirety. But one thing stood out - how freaking old is Sonny? (one of the T-Birds from the original Grease, for those not as well-versed as me) He seriously looks about 45. See for yourselves:
But who cares. It's still amaze after all these years.
So Bachelor Sean Lowe is back in the news because they have set a date for the wedding - January - and of course it will be televised. He says it's so the people that watched their love blossom on the Bachelor can see it through, but of course it's because he's getting paid and they are basically getting a million dollar wedding for free. I mean, can't say I blame him...
Also, they both live (separately) in Dallas. Why have I not seen them out and about. Clearly I'm not hanging out at the right places. Or maybe I am. Ha.
I enjoy watching Katie, the Katie Couric show - but she certainly has odd mash-ups. Yesterday, for example, the first half hour was devoted to brain trauma and internal decapitation (which made me keep rubbing my neck involuntarily, btw). The second half? Scott Baio! Cue mood change and screaming 40-year-old women. Very odd, Couric. Very odd indeed.
I finally have an iPhone, and it's pretty awesome. But the most stressful part is trying to pick a freaking phone case! I have always been jealous of iPhone owners because all the cute cases never fit on any other phones, but it's a bit overwhelming. I finally settled on this Lilly Pulitzer cutie:
It's technically for the iPhone 5 and I have the 5c, but I wedged it on there and made it fit. Which means it will probably never come off.
My dog's breath is bad. It's like...dog breath. So last night I decided to Martha Stewart it up and make doggie toothpaste. Somehow I had baking soda and bouillon cubes (?!), so managed to concoct something resembling toothpaste (with brown chicken-flavored bits). Of course, I didn't think about a toothbrush, so I just used my finger. She wasn't thrilled, but wasn't completely against the idea, either. And her breath even seemed to be a bit better. Until she puked everything up this morning on the couch. Oops.
There are little things as dangerous as driving with helium balloons in the car. They bounce around, going from front seat to back seat to driver's seat, they make it nearly impossible to change lanes since you can't see out the window...
Survived a death-defying drive while just trying to bring a happy birthday balloon to a co-worker.
So I've watched a few of the new fall shows, and I have three front-runners. Which probably means they will be cancelled by November.
1. The Goldbergs. Mostly because it's set in the 80s, but it's also fairly amusing.
2. Trophy Wife. Awesome cast.
3. Super Fun Night. I didn't want to like this one, and it has the worst title ever, but it was actually pretty funny. Dangit Rebel Wilson.
A few I do NOT like:
1. Back in the Game. Why, James Caan. Why.
2. We Are Men. Why, Kal Penn. Why.
I'm sure you are waiting for a blog about my "intruder," but there's not much more to say. I have been robbed before in a previous apartment, so definitely felt safe in my new place. Until this week. It really freaked me out to find someone in my bed. (Insert single girl joke here) I knew the building was secure from outsiders getting in, but didn't think about the people on my own floor, so yes, I now lock the door every time I leave. I'm also going to buy my poor dog a life-size bone for being such a good watchdog (even though I completely disregarded her barking). As for the neighbor, he came over with his wife yesterday afternoon to apologize - I didn't want to answer the door because it was just all so mortifying, but it was very mature of him to do so. Moral of the story: Ambien and alcohol don't mix, kids!
It may be because it's October that my mind is going to scary and illogical places, but I am convinced that my dog-walker is trying to lure my dog away from me. It started innocently enough, with little gifts here and there - a sweater, some new dog treats. And last week, a mat for her food dishes that says something stupid like "Puppy Princess" or something. But yesterday, we ran into her on our walk after work, and she said "I would take her home with me right now if I could!"
And clearly it's working - Charlie totally prefers her to me, jumping into her arms and licking her face while I stand there holding her leash like a jackass. She even cried and cried when the dog-walker left yesterday, again leaving me standing there like, well, you know. Maybe I should just let them be together like they clearly desire. Or maybe I'll find a new dog-walker. One who is NOT Rebecca DeMornay.
Dear guy in the elevator who complimented me on my purple dress and then proceeded to explain how purple means a lot because you went to TCU...that's all well and good, but as I was too nice to tell you, my dress is navy.
On Saturday, I had a blind date. He suggested we go to lunch, he suggested the time, he suggested the place. Perfect. I arrived early (shocking), and after 15 minutes he called, saying something about needing to pick up his dry cleaning but would "stop by." Mmmm-kay...he finally showed up all frazzled (and not cute) saying he was going out of town the next day so had to pick up his dry cleaning and could I hang out at the restaurant for another 15-20 minutes. I said no. I mean what the hell, dude - YOU picked the time. Go get your laundry later.
My complete lack of sympathy or flexibility is why I'm single, I'm sure - but sometimes I think it's better that way!
It's not normal to have 42 pairs of jeans, right? I decided to go through my jeans yesterday and toss ones that I don't wear anymore. (Okay, I only wear like three pair, but some of them I MIGHT wear...someday...) I did manage to pitch 7 pairs, but that still leaves over 30. Which can't be good.
But maybe the first step is admitting the problem? Anyone need to borrow some jeans?
As if I wasn't already needing a fast-track wedding due to the old biological clock - now I really, legitimately need to get married in the next two years. Because that's how long Britney Spears is in residency in Vegas. And I can think of no better Bachelorette party than that. #nopressure
They had like 10 little lead toppers inside, so you would just put the old one in at the bottom and a new one would pop out? Man I was OBSESSED with these circa 1986. I don't know if the old-school ones had erasers, though. Probably because we were so much smarter then, we didn't need erasers. Ha.
It's great working for a global company - except for the emails you get before you even arrive at the office. Both from late last night (Asia-Pacific) and early this morning (Europe). Upon opening my email this morning, I had 35 emails waiting for me. How do you say "oy vey" in Britain?
A familiar face popped up while scrolling through Tinder this weekend - my cousin, George Eads. (Best known for his role as Nick Stokes on CSI.)
However, George is married, does not live within 3 miles of me, and would not be on Tinder in the first place. So I felt obligated to message "Harold" and give him the bad news - his gig was up; I know this guy. Harold responded that George was his celebrity doppelganger. Sure. Always a good way to start a relationship.
Waking my dog up in the morning is a fairly lengthy process. I let her lounge in bed while I get my workout gear on, brush my teeth, put in my contacts, etc. - and then try to rouse her to go out and pee. But it takes a good 10-15 more minutes of coaxing, belly rubbing, face-licking (mine, not hers), etc. to finally get her on her feet so I can pick her up and get her on the floor (the bed is too high for her to just jump down). It's like waking up a damn teenager. But then again, she just turned two, which is 14 in people years, right? Sounds fairly accurate then.
Flipping the channels last night, I caught Annie Get Your Gun. Which was our 8th grade musical. I have to admit, I watched for a while, and remembered a bunch of the songs. Was a little sad that my one line as Boy #7 didn't make it in ("The weather, oh the weather - you wouldn't BELIEVE the weather!"), but what can you do. The best part? The song "You Can't Get a Man With a Gun," in which Annie sings, "A man may be hot, but he's not when he's shot!" A valid point there, ladies.
(that's my best used car sales pitch.) And it basically happened on Saturday when I went to the car dealership. They called me while I was in Europe, asking if they could buy my car from me. (Random.) I loved my Jeep - even though it was 7 years old, I wasn't thinking about getting a new car - but I looked at their preowned stock and said I would come in just for the hell of it. (NOTE: Never go to a car dealership "just for the hell of it." It IS hell.)
I found a 2012 red Mustang that was super cute, but told them up front I wasn't paying a dime more than I pay now. They took my Jeep to get appraised (and kept the key - a classic dealer ploy. YOU CAN'T LEAVE!), and came back with a number that was $150 higher than what I said I wanted to pay, and didn't even include a warranty. I said no, they said they would bring me my keys. Then a bigger man came out with a new number on the piece of paper. Still $100 more. No dice. "We'll bring you your keys." Nope - an even bigger man came out. (Thank goodness this scary giant tactic didn't phase me.) Now they were $7 over my number, but I started to panic and said I needed to go home and think about it. This is the first time I have bought a car by myself, and felt like I needed to talk to parents and friends to see if I was looney for wanting to do this. "We'll bring you your keys." Andre the Giant appeared (okay, not really - but this guy was at least 7' tall), with the exact number I asked for. Exhausted, I signed on the dotted line and agreed to buy the car. Dear lord.
The sad part? I felt so proud of myself, like I accomplished something and beat the system. But in reality, they just ended up giving me the number I asked for. No amazing deal, no bells and whistles - a 4-hour nightmarish system that in the end beat me. Whatevs - the car is super cute.
I'm back on eHarmony (go ahead - someone slap me in the face. I am begging you.), and it's fairly tragic (per usual). Every "match" comes with a disclaimer - "This person is a great match who just happens to be slightly outside of your settings." Which means NOT what I'm looking for. Which means shorter than me. Or older than 47. Or living more than 30 miles away (which is honestly even too far - I prefer a 10-mile radius, but they won't let you go that low, dangit.). Awesome. Trying to be open-minded here, but I'm not holding my breath for a love connection. But so help me - if I fall for a 5'6" 50-year-old who lives in Memphis, SLAP ME ACROSS THE FACE. For reals this time.
It was surprising how little English was actually spoken in Switzerland. And also how little this fact made me panic. However, I did get a little lost wandering around Zurich, so found a newsstand and asked the couple working there if they could point me in the right direction -even used a map to demonstrate. And the lady said in halted English, "speak Italian?" Ummm no. So now not only are people not speaking English, they're not even speaking German. Bueno.
The second near-tragedy happened also in Zurich at the train station. I was looking for the train back to the airport, but saw nothing helpful. It was not written in English anywhere, and there were not even any pictures of a nice airplane as guidance. Come on people. Give the tourists a fighting chance. Thank god I listened to those Learn German in Your Car CDs - I remembered that "flughafen" was the word for airport, so I said a quick prayer and got on the train. And sure enough - airport. Dear lord. It's all fun and games until I accidentally end up in Poland.
Apparently fans of "Fifty Shades of Grey" are so upset by the movie casting that 7,000 people have signed an online petition to re-cast with Matt Bomer and Alexis Bledel. (Not bad suggestions, but whatever.) Is there no petition to re-cast Ben Affleck as Batman??
Flying internationally is so different - they don't charge you for your checked bags, and you don't have to take your shoes off to go through security. The flight from London to Dallas yesterday was redonk - everyone has their own TV with remote and like 85 movies to choose from. I may have watched 5. (Certainly makes a 10-hour flight go by faster!). Plus each seat had a charger (albeit for a European plug), and they provided meals/snacks/drinks like every hour. On the flight from Zurich to London, I finally had some English tea and a piece of Swiss chocolate. Never did get a scone, though - maybe next time.
Sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Zurich, and the list of upcoming flights is like a who's who of places on my list of dream locations: Vienna. Geneva. Marseille. Luxembourg. Lyon. Chicago. (Gotcha. But seriously - it's on the board. One of these kids is doing their own thing...)
One final London tale - the other night I got back to my hotel to find Footloose on TV. Scooooooore. And up next? Bridget Jones. I stayed up to watch both, because I felt it was one point for the USA, one point for Britain.
Happy Labor Day weekend - hope to have fun Swiss Miss blogs next week!
Even though they speak English in England, I'm having a very difficult time understanding what people are saying. Particularly at coffee shops/restaurants, when they ask me if I'd like to "stay in or take away." What now? I typically smile and nod yes, just to be polite and not be super obvious that I no comprendo, and then they of course have to ask me again, because what they're asking is if I plan on eating there or taking my order to go. And "yes" doesn't really answer that question.
I have also apparently been jogging on the wrong side of the sidewalk - similar to driving on the wrong (read: other) side of the road, they run/bike the same way over here. Sorry peeps. I'm not from around these parts. (As if my bright neon orange tennis shoes weren't a huge USA giveaway.)
Last night, my Spanish co-worker Marta was talking about America, and I told her how cool everyone in the US would think she was because of her accent, plus the fact that she lived in London. I asked if people in Europe thought American accents were cool, and she said no. (Aw) I then asked her to give me her best American accent, and she could say one sentence: "Let's go to the mall." I died laughing - it's both hilarious and super sad. This is what foreigners think of Americans, that all we do is go to the mall? (What is this - 1986?) Still - fairly accurate. And funny. Come to think of it, where is the mall.
Went to Abbey Road yesterday to take the iconic (and possibly cheesy) photo walking across the crosswalk. What they don't tell you: traffic is heavy on Abbey Road, and the cars don't typically stop for tourists. And there are tons of tourists, doing the same thing you are. So you basically have to risk your life trying to get a picture taken. Totally worth it, in my opinion.
In preparation for my trip, I've been trying to learn a few words in German. Both from my Learn German in Your Car CDs and via this cool website, Livemocha (which I bought a Groupon for). Here, a summary of what I can say in Deutsch:
A few colors
Train, train station
And a few key phrases:
I don't understand
Where is the bathroom?
How much does it cost?
We shall see how far this gets me. I'm guessing I throw out one "Danke" and speak English the rest of the time.
Sadly, I am something of an online dating connoisseur. I have pretty much tried them all, to no avail. A co-worker told me I should get on Tinder, so I downloaded the (free!) app this week. Aside from the fact that the majority of dudes are like 18-22, it's semi-addictive. And did I mention FREE. I'm sure nothing will come of it, but I'm at least glad it's not spelled "Tender," which is what I Googled at first.
I was watching Something Borrowed the other night, which isn't that good - but at one point they went to watch a 90s cover band play at a club. And the songs were fairly awesome (“How’s It Going To Be” by Third Eye Blind, "Round Here" by the Counting Crows). You don't get a lot of 90s cover bands these days, but I predict it becomes a thing. Hell - there could technically be an 00's cover band. Terrifying but true.
Did you know the bank will MAIL you money? Like literally cash money, in a FedEx envelope? (Well, at least they will mail you foreign money - I exchanged currency before going to Europe, and it arrived in a next-day air package.) I will sign for that kind of thing anytime.
And might I add - I think the US needs to amp up our currency. It's so boring compared to other countries. See for yourselves:
On Sunday, I'm going to London for work and then spending a weekend in Switzerland. I am so excited - the thought of traveling alone in a country where I've never been and don't speak the language (German; although assuming/hoping most speak English) doesn't worry me at all. In fact, the only thing I'm worried about at the moment is how I'm going to squeeze 9 days of clothes into my suitcase.
And it was almost even worse - the CEO wanted some awards to arrive in London for a meeting, so I offered to ship them. He had the nerve to suggest I just pack them in my suitcase. To which I had to tell him, "do you want me to leave my shoes at home? Because it's awards or shoes." He decided shipping them was the best option. Exactly my point.
In about a month, I will have been a dog owner for a year.
Amazingly, we are both still alive (and one of us has almost doubled in size). During this time, Charlie has developed some amusing (and
some not so amusing) traits:
·She likes to sleep under the sheets with her
head on my stomach. At first I was afraid she would suffocate, but whatevs.
·When I brush my teeth, she thinks it’s time to
go somewhere. (I guess that’s good? That I brush my teeth before going out?)
·When I put on eye makeup at night, she starts to
whine because she knows I’m about to leave. (My normal night routine is putting
on my pajamas immediately, so anything other than that throws her off.)
·She loooooves coming with me to take the trash bag to the trash
chute.Seriously loves it. I guess
because she gets to sprint down the hallway and then back again. Weirdo.
·She enjoys a good game of tug-of-war, and when I
let her win, she drops the item back into my hand so we can go again. And
again. And again…
·And finally, I pick out her eye boogers on a
daily basis. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
This guy at work told me he auditioned to be a member of the Dallas Cowboys flag team last weekend - you know, the guys who wear jeans, boots and cowboy hats and run around the field carrying a giant flag? Well, he made the squad (squad?) and was super excited. I asked how many people made it, and he said 33. I asked how many people tried out, thinking like hundreds, and he said 33. Aw.
I read yesterday that Jimmy Fallon and his wife named their adorable baby girl Winnie after Lake Winnipesaukee (thank you for sticking with "Winnie"). Every time I hear the name of that lake, I think of this:
It's a good thing I don't watch the Teen Choice Awards anymore. Looking through these red carpet photos, I only know who about a third of these people are. Seriously.
(Sidebar: I would really like to win one of those surfboards, though.)
Two of the five (!) books I've read during the Summer of the Broken Elliptical have been about the start of MTV. Not sure why I'm so obsessed, but I am. My favorite factoid: remember the "I want my MTV!" ads starring rock stars? Mick Jagger was the very first one to record the spot, and was paid a dollar. One dollar. I love it.
He'd probably record an "MTV sucks - you can have it back!" commercial now for about the same cost.
I've been hearing commercials on TV and the radio about how CBS is at war with Time Warner Cable, and how you won't be able to watch CBS anymore. Didn't really pay it much attention - I've heard these kinds of things before and nothing noticeable ever happened. And then I tried to watch CBS. Which is now Starz Kids. I mean, kinda cool since I don't get any premium cable channels - fun movies like Annie and Driving Miss Daisy and Stepmom, plus tragedies like Care Bears specials. But if I don't get CBS back by the next NCAA tournament, I might have to write a strongly-worded letter. Because that should resolve things.
I realized yesterday that the skirt I was wearing was purchased back in 1999. Does that make it "vintage," or simply "something that should have been thrown away years ago?" The fact that it's a robin's egg blue lace skirt makes me think it might fall into a third category: "potential Halloween costume."
Okay, I think someone needs to have an intervention. And I'm not talking about Amanda Bynes (but of course, she does). I'm talking about Mariah Carey and these ridiculous slings she has been wearing while she recovers from a shoulder injury:
I mean, seriously? Fur? Feathers? Studded leather? I have so many questions. WHY, first of all. And also, WHERE. Where does a person even go to find custom-made slings. And finally, HOW FREAKING MUCH DID THESE COST.
Okay, thanks for letting me vent. I feel better. (At least until I see the next photo of her out and about.)
Wow - although I'm happy with the ending, I was very surprised. I admit I read the spoilers long ago, so kept expecting Brooks to pop out of a limo, a helicopter, a bush - but as the minutes ticked by, I realized it wasn't going to happen (yay). To recap the three hours I won't get back:
After Brooks leaves, Des is distraught, wants to go home. But she decides to pull herself together, pull on another tummy-bearing top, disregard her sunburn and suck it up to try to form some sort of last-minute relationship with one of two guys who both plan on proposing in the next 48 hours. (Sounds plausible, I know.)
But seeing her face drop when Drew shows up for his horseback riding date, you knew the end was near. And it was - she told him it was time to go. Poor sweet (gay) Drew was blindsided and heartbroken, and rode off into the sunset (alone).
I'm expecting her to do the same thing with Chris, who awkwardly says "Welcome!" when they meet up (oof), but Des gives it the ol' college try, and while drinking what appears to be fruit punch on a catamaran, she decides Chris isn't so bad after all. She tells him he's the best man she's ever met and it's time to meet the parents! And her freakishly sunburned brother! (Could an intern get these kids some sunscreen?!)
Thank goodness her brother is semi-normal this time (although he DOES ask a ton of probing questions), and Chris asks Des's father for her hand. Aw. He meets Neil Lane, picks out a ring, and I'm still expecting the worst. It doesn't help that we keep cutting back to a live audience and/or seeing the entire fall lineup for ABC programming. (How bad does that show with Rebel Wilson look?)
But it's finally proposal time, and poor Chris starts to get down on one knee but Des stops him. Oh no oh no oh no. She tells him she was in love with Brooks (awesome timing, lady), and she was blindsided by her feelings. Chris sees where this is going. But wait! She was blindsided...and didn't realize what was right in front of her! She loves Chris too! See how quickly women can change their minds? Jesus. If I were Chris, I would have been like "um, yeah right, see ya" but clearly the ring is burning a hole in his pocket because he kneels down, proposes and she says yes. Sure. And only two days ago, she was in love with someone else. I give this relationship two weeks.
Time for the After the Rose special - and after awkward encounters with Brooks and Drew, Des and Chris announce that somehow they are still engaged, and moving in together this weekend! Oh lord. And Chris, being Chris, gives her a giant framed poem. It's almost too much to take. Thank god they announce the next bachelor....JUAN FREAKING PABLO. Seriously folks - who will volunteer to film my audition tape. I'm not even joking. Sign me the hell up.
On a whim, I decided to buy and apply fake French manicure nails on Saturday. I haven't worn fake nails in YEARS, and I'm starting to remember why:
*Can't use the remote
*Difficult to use the phone and iPad
*Tough opening a Diet DP
But on the positive side, Charlie likes me to scratch behind her ears with these things. Plus, and this probably goes back to the days of Lee Press-on Nails, I sound like a super cool secretary when I type on the keyboard. (Even though the amount of typos I'm typing with them is ludicrous.)
We had an office spelling bee yesterday, and I won. Everyone thought I rigged it since I organized the event, but come on - I didn't go home and study 5000 words. I probably shouldn't have participated, since I'm in Communications and it's kind of my job to spell correctly, but sometimes a girl just needs a little ego boost. Sad that I get my jollies from spelling (and that I enjoy using the phrase "get my jollies," but there it is.) I was the spelling bee champ two years in a row a few jobs ago, as well - maybe I could look into spelling for a living. Or basically be Vanna White.
Wore a bright pink dress to work yesterday. Lots of girls told me how much they liked it, nice color, etc. And then a guy came up and said "your dress is very...vibrant!" I laughed, thinking how a man trying to compliment a woman's clothes is so sad because they typically know so little about what we wear. And then I stopped laughing, wondering if perhaps it wasn't a compliment after all and he was trying to tell me to tone it down. Guess we'll never know. (Until I wear the dress again!)
Good lord, this episode was dramatic - finally living up to its oft-used, rarely justified "Most Dramatic Episode" moniker! Somehow I think it's all hooey, but we'll get to that.
Antigua. Ah, Antigua. I grew up going there, and could really use another trip - looks like paradise. But perhaps it's not paradise for Des...(dun dun DUUUUN) Who, might I add, wears the WEIRDEST outfits on this island. Maybe she's drunk on rum punch or something, but oof.
First up, a date with our gay buddy, Drew. They cruise around, stopping for smooches and selfies, and end up at a bazaar where they buy crappy trinkets that Drew says he will keep forever and dance to steel drum music. Yeah mon. Dinner on the beach is rained out, but they manage okay, and Drew tells Des he would get down on one knee right now. Cue the fantasy suite. Although I just don't see it with these two. (Probably because he is gay.)
Brooks is up next, but instead of beachy Antigua, he's visiting his mom and sister in Boise. Alllllright. He's questioning why he isn't ready to propose, doesn't think he's in love, doubts his feelings....making me have feelings. Icky feelings. Mom and sis say Des is too cute, but they support him in whatever he decides, so it's off to Antigua.
But first, a date with Chris. And finally, the Bachelor signature - a helicopter ride to Barbuda! A picnic with seemingly awkward conversation and full-on making out in the surf follows, and then dinner where Chris asks her if she would move to Seattle. Clearly not thrilled, Des says relationships are about sacrifice, so okay, I guess. Fantasy Suite bound! (and yet another effing poem)
Des has had fun with the other two guys, but she loves Brooks. She wants to be with Brooks. She sees a future with Brooks. Oh lord. Brooks looks like he just crawled out of a manhole, and answers the knock on his door - but it's not Des, it's Chris Harrison! A mini-therapy session follows, with Brooks crying and Chris sitting silently judging, until finally Chris asks if Brooks just needs more time to be ready to propose, or if he really doesn't love her. In the longest speech ever, I guess we establish it's a no-go. And now he gets to break the news to Des.
Des is so excited to see him, and once again Brooks looks like someone ran over his cat. Or ran over him. He immediately starts crying, so she knows something is up and "guess we're not going to Bird Island after all. Glad I wore my mint bikini for this." The second he starts talking, she knows where this is going (because we've all had similar conversations, haven't we, girls?), and she starts crying too. What a mess. Brooks is NOT a good breaker-upper, either - goes from "you're a better person than me" to "I really don't think about you when we're apart" to "I should be feeling more for you" to a whole lot of "Sorry." To her credit, Des doesn't want to look at him, doesn't want him to be "sorry," doesn't even really want him to touch her. Not to her credit, she stayed around a whole helluva lot longer than I would. I would have been like, "peace out A**hole" and run and jumped in the ocean. She then breaks the cardinal rule of Bachelordom and tells him she loves him. STILL loves him. Wanted (wants?) to give him her heart. And he says "sorry" and finally leaves her to cry it out on a pier, while he stays and cries in the woods. What is happening here.
Des tells the camera that she has two guys left who love her, but she loved Brooks, so it's over for her. And yet, there's another entire two-hour episode (PLUS an After the Rose special), so clearly it's not over. I predict Brooks has second thoughts and comes back and she takes him back (embarrassing for women everywhere) and they're together. Which saddens me - she should just choose no one. Stupid Brooks and his stupid hair.
Back in the day, when a friend wanted to set you up with someone, it was an honor - "thank you for thinking of ME, that I out of everyone you know would be a good match with this guy!" And now that I'm basically the last single girl left of my friends, it's not that much of an honor anymore - more like "you're the only one I could think of. Literally." But hey - I'll take what I can get.
Last night while waiting on a blind date (which was terrible and went on forever because the guy took an hour to drink a drink), this elderly gentleman (which sounds so much better than "old guy," doesn't it?) complimented me on my dress and gave me his card, "should I ever need it." I looked at the card, and the guy is a private investigator. Why he thinks I would need to use a private investigator is beyond me, but I did have to ask if he actually followed people and he said "yes, it's more common than you would think." Alllllright. And now I can't stop singing Hall & Oates "Private Eyes" in my head. Sigh.
I am a Johnny come-lately to the world of Twitter and Instagram, but I'm a fan (obvious by my overuse of the hashtag). Still, there's lots to learn - for example, I've been seeing "#latergram" or just "#lategram" on Instagram posts and had no idea what it meant. "Later," like "peace out?" Apparently it's much more clear-cut: it means you are posting a picture at a later time. (And yes, I had to Google this.)
Sad that my recent blog posts are all showing my old age.
I guess I'm old, but I find it a little weird that the Target "back to school shopping" commercial has Salt N Pepa's "Push it" as the background music. Now, I get that the shopping cart is literally being pushed, but this is a kiddie-targeted commercial! With a rather adult-targeted song!
Rant over, I'm off to eat my early bird special and shake my fist at young people.
It's Men Tell All time! For some reason I prefer the Men Tell All to the Women Tell All, but that's just me. We begin with Chris Harrison, Des and other Bachelor alums crashing watching parties. I'm sorry - who watches this show with 50 of their closest friends?? Well, starting next season, I do - in the hopes of getting on TV.
Des debriefs former Bachelorettes about the "bad boys" of her season (seriously - do these former contestants have nothing better to do?!), and then it's finally time for the men.
We really don't learn all that much, except that I like hashtagging:
#Kasey makes some valid points about thick-neck James and Mikey. #hashtag
Jonathan (who tried to lure Des into the fantasy suite and got the boot night one) is sincerely sorry and kind of precious. #hickoryncinthehouse!
Ben has a rough time - who the hell is Dan and why is he in the mix all of a sudden with Ben's baby mama?? I still think this guy is douchey, but I do feel a little bad for him. #stillnotgoingtothetrophyroom
I do NOT feel bad for James, who even when confronted by Des fails to see what was wrong with having a "plan B." If he and Mikey are the typical Chicago dudes, I think I'll pass on moving there anytime soon. #dialbackthesteroids
Juan Pablo for the next Bachelor. Hell - Juan Pablo for Presidente. Team Juan Pablo. #diosmio
Zak W - back to a delicious shade of orange, and clearly still heartbroken. I had to fast-forward through most of his country song - although his voice ain't bad. #texastwang
The bloopers are rolled, Des bids the boys adieu, and now we wait for her final answer. Anyone else hoping it's no one??
Oxygen is now playing Party of Five reruns. Thankyoujesus. If only they would bring back My So-Called Life and Felicity, I would be a happy girl. Maybe I should start my own network and only air 80s and 90s movies and TV shows. And 80s music videos. Or maybe I just need a time machine, preferably constructed from a Delorean.
My elliptical is still broken (!), so it's come down to daily workouts in my apartment gym. And since there's nothing on at 4am worth watching, I've had to (gasp!) start reading books. Actual, paper-filled books. I've read three so far, am almost done with a fourth, and ordered three more on Amazon yesterday. Sad that it takes a near natural disaster (poor little elliptical) to get me to read a book. But there it is.
There isn't much better to put you in a good mood than the flight to Mexico. Everyone is on vacation (aside from those smuggling drugs across the border), and the mood is light and fun. Our flight had an abundance of bachelor and bachelorette parties, and I believe there was a fedora in every row (except ours). Drinks are flowing, people clapped when we touched down - basically a party in the air.
On the flip side, the flight home is pretty depressing. Everyone is hungover and reeking of alcohol, sunburned and dreading going back to reality on Monday. Hence the drinks are still flowing.
My mom and I both lost 6 pounds on our Mexican vacation. Now, part of that is probably due to the fact that we both had Montezuma's revenge and couldn't keep anything down for 24 hours after we got back. But maybe I could market myself as some sort of vacation guide/diet guru. I can see it now: "Go on vacation and come back thinner, tanner and poorer than when you left!" Look for me coming soon on QVC.
Ah, hometown dates. The time we get to see where these guys came from and meet their families before one is cruelly dumped. Yay!
We begin in Dallas with Zak. He tells Des about some wack-a-doodle dream he had and they pass out sno-cones to kids, along with a giant stuffed penguin (anyone else flash back to Billy Madison?). She then meets Zak's family, and they are as exuberant as he is (but not nearly as tan). The sister confesses she is afraid Zak will get hurt, and I confess I sense some foreshadowing. And then I confess I hit the fast-forward button when Zak's brother and sister sing to Des while Zak strums the guitar. Oh the humanity. Zak saves the day by giving Des a ring he bought in Atlantic City and telling her he loves her - kind of adorbs.
But no time to moon over him - now it's off to Scottsdale with Drew. Who is gay. But has a very sweet family, including his mentally disabled sister who clearly adores her brother and is, according to their father Malachi (sweet name!), an "angel." The family falls in love with Des, and Drew tells her about four times that he too is love with her. It's a bit much - I think she heard you the first time, bub - but still sweet.
Next up: baseball with Chris in Oregon. Des and Chris write cute notes in their eye black, and Des proves to be pretty good at the national pasttime. And not so much at drawing crayon drawings of their time together. Then it was time to meet the fam, who apparently hated Chris's last girlfriend (no pressure). But maybe it was the other way around - these peeps are odd. The chiropractor dad hears that Des hurt her back and springs to action, asking if he can adjust her. (Hey-oh) She warily agrees, and finds herself face-down on a table with a strange man rubbing her back. He then adjusts Chris's nose (didn't even know this was a thing), and some very awkward camera work ensued. Now that everyone is adjusted, the weirdness continues with Des having a one-on-one with Chris's mom, who is not amused. But she does end up giving them her blessing and crying, so I guess we're good.
Finally, Salt Lake City to meet Brooks and his ginormous Mormon family. Des admits again (to the camera) that she loves Brooks, who admits to the camera that he's not sure. Awesome. So Des brings a paper rose that, when unfolded, lists out all their special times together. Aw. After almost capsizing in the lake (which would have been awesome), she meets the family, who are all wearing "Hello my name is" nametags - genius. Brooks' brothers pepper him with questions, and Des does the same to his mom, who decides they have a look of love and tells Brooks he's her favorite. Ha.
Before the rose ceremony, the producers want to up the ante by bringing back Des's brother Nathan. Which is fairly pointless - he hasn't changed much from his Sean Lowe days, and doesn't really care about her new flock of dudes except he doesn't want her to get hurt. Useless waste of 5 minutes.
At the ceremony, poor Zak has to go home. I would have loved it if he would have ripped off his shirt getting into the limo - leaving as he arrived - but he's too in shock to think of that. Des gives him the ring back, and it's all very sad. But good news: next week is the Men Tell All! Yesssssss.
You know the last scene in Argo, where you think the hostages aren't going to make it out of Iran? We had a similar experience yesterday trying to get out of Mexico. For a number of reasons.
The night before we left, we tried to go to a fancy resort for drinks, but it was closed for a private event (I'm going with Aniston's wedding), so the cab took us back to our hotel. For a total of 3 minutes, it cost $12. Which my mom refused to pay. Loudly. In front of a crowd of onlookers (including kids). She offered the guy $6, but he wouldn't take it. And they knew our room number, because we had to give it to them before even getting into a cab. So the next day, we assumed it would be interesting getting a cab to the airport (to say the least).
But first, another hiccup: we received a bill for 59.00 for "stained towels" (nothing gross - my makeup bottle broke). Praying it was listed in pesos, we approached the check-out with hearts beating fast. (Or at least mine was.) And sure enough, it was dollars. $60 for a hand towel? My authority-challenging mom asked to SEE said towel, and the concierge got on the phone and into a heated conversation in Spanish. She returned a few minutes later with a new receipt, this time for $11. Sweet. (PAID.)
The cab to the airport was also a no-brainer, and checking our bags we thought we were good to go. But wait - apparently you're supposed to KEEP the immigration form indicating that you arrived in the country? (Sidebar: what is the point of the date stamp in your passport then?) I figured it was just paperwork, so I tossed it. Bad idea jeans. Had to go into the tiny, scary immigration office and pay for another round of stamps. Seriously had a vision of being locked up in a Mexican prison. (Perhaps one too many episodes of "Locked Up Abroad.")
But we did indeed make it out. Let it never be said that we don't have adventurous vacations.
I've been noticing a trend on Facebook that I find slightly disturbing (and no, I'm not talking about "poking") - people are posting pictures of their kids at birthday parties where they actually paint horses.
Not that this is particularly harmful to the horse, but it seems a little cruel. And odd. Neigh, I say. Neigh.
...this show is grating on my last nerve. How about you?
First of all, it's possible I had to look up where Madeira was.
Second of all, I honestly found myself slapping my forehead with my palm repeatedly during this episode. And of course fast-forwarding. So very painful.
So we're in Madeira. First one-on-one date goes to Brooks. And it involves a drive up a mountain overlooking clouds. Which was very cool, but ruined by all the cheesy metaphors: "I'm on the road to love with Brooks." (cue car on the road) "We not only broke through the clouds, but we had a breakthrough in our relationship." (cue Sarah vomiting in her mouth) She's running toward the finish line with him, but he's only in the jogging phase. Ruh roh? The night ends with fireworks (literally and figuratively) - as well as impressive firework impersonations by Des.
Next one-on-one date goes to Chris. Who is so adorbs, but could stand to lay off the poetry. They take a yacht to a private island (I would be so seasick - how romantic!), where he has them write a poem together and stick it in a bottle and toss it into the ocean. I pity the poor shipwreck survivor who finds that bad boy. Then more poetry over dinner, and Chris professes his love in rhyme. (cue Sarah slapping herself in the face)
The final one-on-one date goes to Michael - who also is in love with Des, even though this is the first time he's been alone with her. Alllllright. He keeps going in for the kiss, which is awkward, and more cheesy metaphors follow as they careen down a street in some sort of pedicab-toboggan nightmare: "love is an adrenaline rush." (cue Sarah vomiting again)
And last, we have the two-on-one date with Drew and Zack. More cheesy metaphors during the go-kart racing: "love is like a race to the finish." I know the producers are feeding them these lines, but still. Who TALKS like that. No one. Zack emerges triumphant from the race, and gets some extra time with Des. He whips out some drawings, illustrating (literally) their time together. Aw. Zack and Drew are also in love with Des (atta girl!), and Drew gets the rose.
Michael gets the boot, so Des will be heading to the hometowns of Brooks, Drew, Chris and Zack. Shoot me now.
My beloved elliptical has been broken for about two weeks, so I have to work out in the little gym in my apartment building. Every morning, this guy comes in, and doesn't work out - all he does is drag the big doctor's office-style scale into the bathroom, stays in there for about 15 minutes, and drags the scale back out and leaves. Ummmm. Obviously he is weighing himself naked in there (and lord knows what ELSE he's doing), but come ON, man. It's a co-ed bathroom. Get your own damn scale. Ew.
Yes, it was #Kasey who blessed us with the word "counter-accusate" last night. Hell - if he hashtags it, maybe it will start trending. But I'm getting ahead of myself...
Hola, Barcelona! Seeing them all in Spain made me want to go back. Probably not with any of THESE idiots, but still. The first one-on-one date goes to Drew, who is clearly gay. And proves this by going in for no less than seven kisses on their date. Oh, Drew. So sweet, but so gay. He of course divulges his sob story (what IS it with these guys?!): his dad was an alcoholic, but got sober and then got cancer. (NOTE: this IS a sad story; I'm just kind of over it.) Over dinner (and after another smooch in a dark alley), Drew tells Des that he overheard thick-neck James say he just wanted to make the top 4 so he could be the next Bachelor. In what may be the worst bleep-out of all time, Des calls him a "f@&%ing a**hole."
And gives Drew the rose.
The soccer-themed group date is next, and it's all Juan Pablo, all the time.
The guys face off against the Spanish women's team, who proceed to kick their
butts 10-2 (James=horrible guy and horrible goalie, apparently.). Afterwards,
#Kasey reiterates the James conversation to Des, and then confronts James about
it. The thick-neck seems to expand as James tries to come up with a logical
explanation. And can't. He doesn't see anything wrong with thinking about being
the Bachelor, while all the guys try to explain that if he wants to be with
Des, he shouldn't be thinking about other scenarios. Sheesh. Meanwhile,
upstairs, Des gives Chris a bunch of compliments ("you're soooo
athletic!") and proceeds to read him a poem she wrote about him. Cringing.
Cue the makeout sesh. Another one follows with Brooks. She finally tears her
lips away long enough to send all the guys (except for James) home without a
rose, and confronts James about "the convo on the bus." So much
dramatic music! He starts to cry, saying she's a "beautiful person"
(ew) and that his comments were basically taken out of context and most of them
came from Mikey (conveniently not there to defend himself) anyway. Des also
starts to cry, and I realize she's going to keep him around. Pathetic.
Finally, naked Zak gets the last one-on-one date. And it's...an art class!
After unsuccessfully trying to sketch each other (what WAS that he drew?!),
they of course have to sketch a nude (male) model. I knew this was coming, but
Zak's expression when the dude dropped his robe was so priceless, I laughed out
loud. He brushed off the awkward and proceeded to re-emerge in a robe of his
own and started modeling for her (in tighty whities, thank god). Kind of
hilarious. Over dinner, they finally kissed, he professed his love for her (on
camera, not to her - also thank god), and got the rose.
Before the rose ceremony, there's yet another confrontation of dudes versus
James. Who once again stands behind what he said. Oh, thick-neck. As predicted,
he does NOT get a rose. Also going home? #Kasey and, bestill my heart, Juan
Pablo. When JP talked to the camera and said, "I just want to get married.
I just want to have children. I just want a mother for my daughter." it's
possible I yelled out "me! me! me!" each time. Just saying.
So all the evil guys (Ben, James) are gone. Finally. Now if we can just do
something about the seemingly gay ones. (Not that there's anything wrong with
You may remember the elderly gentleman who lives in my building and invited me to have wine in his apartment one night? Well, I ran into him again on Sunday morning and he was headed to play golf. He asked if I knew how to play, I said no (doubt TopGolf counts), and he said he would teach me. Semi-tempting, but seriously. The man is pushing 70. Even I'm not quite that desperate (yet).
After yesterday's landmark decision in the Supreme Court (!), I saw a lot of "SCOTUS" mentions on Facebook. Already knew about POTUS and FLOTUS (my personal favorite), but SCOTUS brings things to a whole new level. And I kind of love it.
The Bachelorette world tour has begun! First stop: Munich. Des has never been to Europe, so she's pretty stoked to use one of the only German words she knows: Prost (cheers)! (I may have also heard her say Danke at the very beginning.)
Also busting out the German is Chris Harrison, who greets the remaining dudes with a Guten Morgen (and yes, my "Learn German in Your Car" CDs are finally coming in handy). I find myself wildly distracted by the fact that the guys are all wearing the same hoodie (albeit in different colors). We will soon learn that underneath those hoodies, they're all wearing different shades of v-neck tees, and over those hoodies, matching furry hooded parkas. So bizarro.
The first one-on-one date goes to Chris, who agrees to look moronic by trying to speak and understand German, dressing up in lederhosen (had to look up the spelling on that bad boy) and dancing around the square while a crowd gathered. Morons are even morons in Germany, apparently. The date gets interrupted by Bryden, who scours the town to find Des in order to tell her he's leaving. She seems more upset that he got a free flight to Munich than the fact that he's ditched her, but he doesn't really seem to care. She returns to Chris, saying she doesn't want to talk about it, then proceeds to talk about it for the next 10 minutes. Chris changes the subject by reading her another poem (and I fast-forwarded here to avoid the awkward), they kiss and dance and he snags the rose. Danke.
The group date showcases the above-mentioned parkas: they head up to the top of the highest peak, with breathtaking views of the Alps. And yes, there was a yodeler. Thankyoujesus. Loved that Juan Pablo didn't know how to pronounce it and needed the producers to help a brother out. Who else was hoping for a yodelling competition between the guys? But no - instead they catapulted themselves DOWN the highest peak in little plastic sleds. And all proceeded to wipe out. One poor soul even crashed into Des. She brushed it off (as well as the snow in her face) and they headed inside to get warm. Or not, since they chose to hang out in an ice bar. I have been to an ice bar before (of course, it was in Vegas, not Germany), and that shiz is freezing. No one was wiping their runny noses or rubbing their hands together for warmth, so methinks it was not as cold as it could have been. Brooks gets some alone time with Des, and they seem to really have chemistry. And like to make out. He's mad about the one-on-one time James (big-neck) gets, but I personally enjoyed Nick. He interrupted Mikey's date by yodelling to Des, and then told her how 10 years ago in that very spot, he decided not to be a priest. But they still haven't kissed, so I don't think Des is feeling Mr Abs. The rose goes to Brooks, but James doesn't mind - the only person he has to fear is himself. Ominous.
Speaking of ominous, the dreaded two-on-one date is next, pitting rivals Ben and Michael against each other. (Nice work, producers!) Michael compares it to a gladiator setting, saying he's going to kill Ben. Or at least use his awesome federal prosecutor skills on him. Ooooooh.We proceed to the Most Awkward Date in the History of Time.
Des tells the boys they have to polar bear plunge-it into the lake, but JUST KIDDING! Instead, they all sit and stare at each other in a floating hot tub (awesome, btw). Michael immediately goes for the jugular, telling Des that Ben doesn't get along with anyone in the house, and asks him point-blank how often he has called his son since he's been on the show. Basically calls him a dead-beat dad. And there's nowhere for Ben to go! (One problem with the floating hot tub - it's not a floating hot tub time machine. Hey-oh.)
There's no relief back on dry land at dinner, as Michael next decides to call Ben out on his faith, wondering why he didn't go to church with everyone else on Easter. (Um, why wasn't this filmed? Amazing.) Ben finally has to take a moment to collect himself, and Des tells Michael he's waaaaay out of line (Amen. No pun intended.). Michael rebounds, knowing he's about to screw himself out of the rose, and expresses his concerns for her and Ben. I was really hoping she would send both of these idiots packing, but Michael somehow manages to get the rose. Ben shows his true d-bag colors in the exit limo. Bye, Ben. Maybe I'll come visit you at your bar. But probably not.
During this debacle, we pan back to the fellas in the hotel, and learn that James is happy to replace Ben as the villain - he just wants to be the next Bachelor. Since he already "owns" Chicago. Really? Does Oprah know about this? But that will have to be continued, because the only guy going home after the rose ceremony is Mikey. Excellent choice. Eliminating, one meathead at a time.
I may print up some Team Juan Pablo shirts. Just sayin'.
Went to see Ke$ha and Pitbull last night. Was initially afraid for my life, imagining what the crowd would be like. But instead just felt overdressed. This was how 90% of the audience was dressed:
I clearly did not get the daisy dukes memo. There was also lots of body glitter - thanks, Ke$ha. Her stage included blow-up legs, a big inflatable pig and lots of people dressed in animal costumes. Either she's on acid or she's into beastiality. (Legs and pig seen below)
The craziest part was the location. It was called Starplex growing up (and has gone through unfortunate name-changes over the years: Smirnoff, Superpages.com and now Gexa Energy Pavilion), and it will always be Starplex to me. We saw lots of shows there in high school: Duran Duran, Brooks & Dunn, Spin Doctors, Jimmy Buffet...and I honestly can't believe our parents let us go. Looking around at all the high school kids last night who were drinking, smoking pot, wearing bras as tops and tiny underwear-revealing shorts and, if they obeyed Ke$ha's final words, "getting laid!", I just wanted to ask them "do your parents KNOW where you are/what you're wearing?!" Good lord I'm old.
It's possible I picked up a tin of Altoids that fell onto the floor of the car and somehow turned on an indicator light. It's also possible that I busted out the manual (!) to find out what the light meant (at that point didn't know I had turned it on and thought something was horribly wrong with my car). Learned that I had turned off the Overdrive (?), and to turn it back on simply needed to press the button on the gear shift (??). Flipping around, I didn't see a page for that in the manual, so sadly I had to call my dad to find out what the gear shift was. When he told me (through muffled giggles), I felt fairly dumb. Of COURSE that's what the gear shift is. And there's the Overdrive button. Good lord. Might be time to invest in an auto mechanics class.
For some reason, I follow Cornwell Casting on Facebook, and good lord they are casting for some hilarious shows.
Do you have a secret office romance going on? Cornwell Casting is looking for men and women, 20-35, in the Los Angeles and surrounding area who are involved in an office romance for a major network show! Whether it be strictly a friends with benefits situation, or if you are secretly dating, we want to speak to YOU! This is for a new docu-series will follow multiple pairs as they navigate the line between dating and just being co-workers. To participate, both people must be willing to participate and be open and honest about the relationship.
Are you in a friends with benefits situation? Do you live in Los Angeles?
Anyone know any ghost hunters? Storm chasers?
URGENT: KNOW SOMEONE THAT IS GETTING SEPARATED/DIVORCED?
Still looking for divorcing or separating couples with assets for Vikki Ziegler to split for a new BRAVO show! Email us at Info@CornwellCasting.com for more details.If you refer a couple that makes it onto the show, you'll get $500! If you refer two, you get $1500. This show is meant to be portrayed in a lighthearted, positive manner as we know this can be a difficult time for couples! Casting ends soon.
Too bad I don't live in California anymore. Not that any of these shows apply to me...ahem...