Back to Square One...

I would write a glorious, witty post about the fact that Zach Braff and Mandy "Stupid Ho-Bag" Moore are NOT broken up, as was previously reported, but I can't seem to muster the energy or will to elaborate on this particular topic.

The Wisdom of Vince

I was just having a convo with a friend of mine about "Wedding Crashers" and it brought to mind a very poignant speech that Vince Vaughn gave to Owen Wilson regarding dating:

"I apologize to you if I don't seem eager to jump into a forced, awkward intimate situation that people like to call 'dating.' I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, wondering: Do I have food on my face? Am I eating, am I talking too much? Are they talking enough? Am I interested? I'm not really interested. Should I play like I'm interested? But I'm not that interested. But I think she might be interested. But do I want to be interested? Now she's not interested. So all of the sudden I'm starting to get interested. And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cuz' then it's akward. It's like 'Well, goodnight.' Do you do like the ass-out hug? Where you hug each other and the ass sticks out because you're trying not to get too close. Or do you just go right in and kiss em' on the lips? Or you don't kiss em' at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering , 'Are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions?' And perhaps play a little game called, 'Just the Tip In.' Just for a second. Just to see how it feels. Or 'Ouch, ouch. You're on my hair.' ... Great talk."

At the end of the speech, everyone in the theater erupted in applause and cheers. I want to find the person who wrote it and kiss them straight on the mouth. And Vince's delivery? Sweet christ. Love it. Love him. Let's say we both skip dating altogether and just get married real quick so I can laugh my face off till death do us part.

Currently devising a plan to get this entire speech on a t-shirt. It would save me from having to explain, at least 10 times a day, why I'm not "into" dating, why I don't care to date, why I pretty much loathe dating. Not only would this lower my overall annoyance load, it would also preserve my valuable oxygen supply.

Love it despite the need to hate it.

I've become someone that I never EVER thought I'd be.

I watched so much television growing up that for the past couple of years I was totally burnt out. Also, nothing really appealed to me. Except for a little Will & Grace, I basically gave up caring about anything on the tube. Slowly but surely, in direct correlation with moving in with Jen and having a new down-the-block-neighbor, I have become a complete reality television whore. If you told me 6 months ago that I would be regularly watching Laguna Beach and Real World as well as counting the days until the Sweet 16 premiere, I would have thrown up in your face. I hated all of those pointless, assinine reality show knock-offs that filled the 10 Spot. But now, the shows that I have hated with everything in me, have become the staples of my life. I watch them. I talk about them. I blog about them. I dream about them. I love them.

Laguna freakin' Beach. Where have you been all of my life? There's something comforting about watching the personification of what I consider to be the WORST qualities in a girl on screen, every Monday night. It's actually excellent therapy. No matter how horrible of a mood I am in, how bitchy I am being, how stressed I am about finances, how seemingly irresponsible I'm being for going out 5 nights a week, THE PEOPLE ON THESE SHOWS ARE SO MUCH WORSE. They are ridiculous and it makes me feel SO much better about myself. While laughing and yelling and WTF!?!?-ing at the television, I am thanking the sweet lord that I'm the way that I am. While that isn't always the greatest thing in the universe, it's a gabillion times better than Kristin's blatant bitchiness, or any of the other girls' mind-blowing shallowness. But, that's entertainment for ya, folks, and I'm eating it up then begging for more.

side note: I wouldn't mind having free reign of mommy and daddy's credit card to get, apparently, anything I want, including $700 sandals. As much as I wanted to gouge her spoiled little eyes out, I totally wanted to be her just for that moment. And maybe a for a few moments after that too, where in I spent another $5000 at Club Monaco.

paying homage to mcsweeneys

for your laughing pleasure, here are a few of my favorite McSweeneys entries (there are many many more, we'll just start here):

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/lists/18AllieOestreich.html
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/openletters/22pull.html
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2005/5/10molyneuxdrake.html

Behold, my absolute fav:

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2005/4/12wayne.html

I Think My iPod is Trying To Kill Me

3 songs that make me want to blow my brains out, but that my iPod consistently plays when shuffling through all of my songs:

- "Patience" GNR (I love writing "GNR" cause it makes me feel nice and trashy)
- "The Scientist" Coldplay
- "Say Hello Wave Goodbye" David Gray

I mean, could these songs be any more depressing? sheesh.

Yo, Pod, help a sista out and get obsessed with some kclarkson or something for god's sake.

Don't Know How to Classify This Post

I can't really tell if I'm bitching or overwhelmed or in awe or what.

I just did my periodic music artist tour check. Living in Chicago, one has quite the selection of live music in which to partake. Things such as this are what make me kiss the sidewalk outside of my apartment every morning, paying homage to the gods of chi town. And while I would never ever ever complain about the fact that pretty much anyone that I would ever want to see, and tons of people I could care less about, come through here, it does make it hard to keep track. I've accepted the fact that I would have to make time for a second full-time career just to keep up with concerts (and making sure I get tickets before they are sold out).

I'm completely blown away by the fact that David Gray is going to be here, at a small, gorgeous, venue in my hood, in 2 weeks, and somehow I haven't heard or seen one damn thing about it. How crazy is it that so many musical acts come through here every single day, that a well-known artist can stop in down the street and I never catch wind of it? Mind-boggling, really.

Of course, the David Gray show is sold out. What a kick in the bollocks! (a little Irish slang for ya) Now I'm going to have to stalk ticketmaster and check the David Gray message board everyday. Maybe even pay a homeless person to go to the venue early on the day of the show to check for last-minute-released-tickets.

When I get a raise (insert laughter here), I'm hiring my very own Personal Live Music Coordinator. Or pay someone via sexual favors because that's about all I'll be able to afford for the next 5 years.

current mantra

random thought.

Quite certain that the guy I end up with will pretty much have to have the song "Hard Headed Woman" by Cat Stevens as the theme song describing his dream chick.

Deep Thoughts...

The following is an excerpt from an email convo between M (name withheld to protect the previously blog-stalked) and I. Please keep in mind, prior to receiving the first email, we were in the middle of talking about airline tickets:

From: M
To: Me

How come the KFC coleslaw has so much more fat than the mashed potatoes and gravy? I don't think their nutrition facts can be right for pots and gravy, can you?? It seems low!

http://www.yum.com/nutrition/menu.asp?brandID_Abbr=2_KFC


From: Me
To: M

That KFC question could be the most random thing ever. Like, someone could have had a gun to my head and said, "pick something that 'M' would write about or you're dead," and I would totally be dead.


From: M
To: Me

Oh my god, I just laughed out loud in my cube for like 5 minutes, I think my neighbor thinks I'm on crack.

Seriously though, don't the potatoes seem unusually low in fat content? I mean, it's gravy for heaven's sake.

Gym Entertainment

Like every other day, yesterday I went to the gym. Wait. Who am I kidding? Let me rephrase. For the first time in like 2 fat-ass weeks, I hit the gym yesterday. I'm slaving away on the elliptical machine, sweating my balls off, jamming to Ms. Clarkson, when this girl walks in. First off, she's on her cell phone. No offense to anyone who brings their celly to the gym, but why in the hell would you do that?? I've heard stories from friends, who go to more trendy, meat-head gyms, about cell phone usage whilst on cardio equipment. I hardly believe it because who would be that stupid? But then I consider the large percentage of people that frequent those gyms--think Barbie yuppies who put on makeup and coordinating puma outfits to not break a sweat--in which case, it almost makes sense. If you can gossip on the phone, you are not working out hard enough. You are wasting your time, and everyone else's time who is waiting to use a treadmill. Leave the gym.

Anywho, that cell phone crap has never happened at my gym. Until yesterday. So, cell phone girl gets on the elliptical in front of me. Surely any second she'll end the convo with the practical, "well, I'm at the gym now, call you later." Nope. Stays on the phone. Barely moving on the machine. Over 5 minutes goes by. Still yapping. Still barely moving. She then gets off the machine to talk on the phone, obviously she was overexerting herself. Stands there and talks for another 10 minutes. Convo ends, real fun begins.

Lady Chatterly remounts. Puts the incline all the way up to max, and goes at it. She looks absolutely ridiculous. No one puts it up to the max. Ever. And especially not for the whole course. She's rotating her hips and sticking her ass out in a grossly overdramatic fashion. Then she starts picking her underwear out of her butt crack. Not a little, inconspicuous shift, but a full hand grab of underwear and shorts. 2-3 times per minute. I had to crane my neck awkwardly to look in another direction because it was so distracting. The girl next to me caught my eyes during one of the crack molestations and we both started DYING laughing. I mean tears, having to stop elliptical-ing. We both tried to resume our workouts, but butt-picker kept at it. I had to stop 10 minutes early and run on the track downstairs just to get away.

Who does that? I'm always pretty conscious of not doing anything to attract attention while at the gym. The size of my ass gets enough attention on it's own without me acting like a complete idiot. I hope she's there again today. Not that I'd be there to see her or anything, just for everyone else's enjoyment.

Does Anyone Else Realize How HUGE This Is?!?!?!

"July 15, 2005 -- IT looks like Zach Braff (above) and Mandy Moore are kaput. Braff, celebrating his freedom, tomcatted his way around New York last weekend. Starting on Thursday, Braff arrived at Level V with "a harem of young women." He at first tried to set up his pal Gavin DeGraw with one of them, but "it seemed that he was the one trying to personally 'match' himself to any woman who looked his way," our spy said. Over the weekend, Braff continued to flirt and hook up with women at Marquee and Cain. Reps for Braff and Moore didn't return calls." (From Page Six)

Since hearing the news I have been jumping around and screaming in my little cubby/hallway/crap area where my desk is. It's no secret that I think Zach Braff is great. Really swell. No, I'm not one of those girls that comment on his blog (http://www2.foxsearchlight.com/gardenstate/blog/) with things like, "I love you Zach!" or "hugs and kisses" or "47 days until your birthday!" or "I heard you like cake. Me too!" or detailed accounts of their ENTIRE day. Ew. I just think that he is hilarious, witty, brilliant and talented. Oh, and cute to boot. Basically everything I look for in a man.

For the very few who don't know, Zach and I shared a moment back in April. I love telling this story because it involves me basically getting proposed to by a celebrity that I totally dig.

Apparently Zach went to Northwestern's Film school so he came here to Chicago to speak to the film students. I caught wind of it so Melissa and I were in attendance. 3rd row. He was about 15 feet away. Of course he dazzled with his humor, wit and intelligence. He then began a question and answer session. It was all very "Inside the Actor's Studio"-ish, but without the creepy host (just thought of Will Ferrell playing James Lipton and laughed out loud).

So for a couple of hours he fields questions regarding acting/directing/Scrubs/Garden State, etc. Eventually, it nears the end. He announces that he can only take one more question. He calls on this girl that asks about his choice of shots in Jersey while filming Garden State, blah blah blah. He answers, but then says that he doesn't want to end the night talking about Jersey. He's going to take one more. And he wants it to be smart and witty and brilliant. (the next part seems almost like an out of body experience). I raise my hand, along with 50 others. He looks at me and says, "I'm gonna have to call on you because you are just so damn cute." That's what he said. I swear. Ask Melissa. How I didn't die right then and there, I don't know. Calm, cool and collected I say, "So what are you doing tonight after the show?" You know, cause I'm a total badass. He starts cracking up, the audience erupts in laughter. It brings a tear, it really does. Braff calms down and says, "now THAT'S how I wanted to end this."

God I love that story.

So, now that whiney, stupid Mandy is out of the picture, I'm so in. I'm gonna have my people call his people.

BECKHAM-MANIA!!!

Ok, in the past 30 minutes I have received two frantic phone calls. The first, from my roomie, Jen, who was dining around the corner from our place of business, and who walks by, but David Beckham himself. She was freaking out. Like, not able to breathe or form a coherent sentence. I hung up the phone and kinda chuckled cause she sounded exactly like one of those girls that you see in the old footage of the Beatles coming to the States.

Oh, but then I get the call from Ann Marie. I'm glad she's leaving for Dublin today and won't be able to read this for a week. Here's how the conversation proceeded:

Me: "This is Amanda."
Ann: silence
Me: "Hello?"
Ann: breaths, short and quick. a couple grunts. small screech.
Me: "um, hello?"
Ann: "Amanda. Ann."
Me: "Ann? You ok?"
Ann: breaths, short and quick. "Um...yes. Saw...."
Me: "Saw...?"
Ann: "At bus stop. David. Beckham. me. Just walked past. me. Beckham. oh my god."
Me: "You saw Beckham too?? Jen just saw him."
Ann: "um...David. Beckham. less than 5 feet away. oh my god."
Me: "Ann, get yourself together, you are out in public."
Ann: grunt. screech. incoherent babble. "gotta go. chase him. down street. picture. camera phone."
Me: "Please don't touch him. Please don't get arrested."

D.J. Tanner, Thou Hast Forsaken Me

I have been having crazy dreams and nightmares for the past 2 weeks straight. Every night. And I'm talking really scary, really realistic, 15 hour long, wake-up-sweating-on-the-verge-of-tears nightmares, one including me being hunted down by the BTK serial killer as his next victim. I wake up, bolt straight up, panting and looking around with eyes as big as saucers. Even though I eventually realize it's just a dream, I can't go back to sleep, I'm scared to death. Of these recurring, disturbing events, not one of them has come close to instilling the fear that is coursing through my veins after experiencing the following...

http://www.candacecameronbure.net/ (focus on the Good Person Test)

All I can picture now is the present-day D.J. Tanner with her head spinning around at mach 10 with vomit flying everywhere. great.

Can't. Wait.

30 hours and counting...

Another One Bites the Dust

This past weekend I witnessed the marriage of these 2 lovely people:

That's Teresa (Ter) and Grant. God, they're classy. This picture was taken a few years back. Can't you tell how much they love each other??

Here's one that Ter will be much happier to see:

Despite the first image, everything about this wedding defined class, down to us bridesmaids' double-stranded pearl necklaces. Even though my dress and accessories were not necessarily my taste, I was impressed by how beautiful everyone looked (and my dress that I had made b/c the original was stolen turned out perfect). We all rocked the casbah.

Um, and check out the flower girl and ring bearer. Their parents had to hide them from me because I kept chasing them around trying to eat them with a spoon.

Please note that the ring bearer walked down the aisle carrying a sign that read, "Here Comes The Bride." That Ter sure is crafty. It was a real crowd pleaser.

The wedding was fantastic, everything to the nines. I cried my eyes out multiple times. I love these two. I've known them both for about 6 years. In watching their relationship change and mature, I have developed the utmost respect for the love that they share. It's seriously inspiring. The best part is, they can be wacky, crazy and turbo-fun all the while having the most healthy, mature relationship based on their strong faith in God. Now, I'm not a very religious person when it comes to my catholic-upbringing, but I love that they incorporate faith and religion into their relationship in a very subtle yet powerfully moving way. Just being around them gives me hope for and faith in my future relationships. They make me want to be a better person. I get teary just thinking about it.

The reception was insanity. Ter comes from a fam of crazy fun Italians. Highlights include: Ter's sister, Gina, mother of quintuplets, singing "The Gambler" with the band. I about peed. Ter and Grant about died. Gina's husband, Mike, father of quintuplets, broke out the worm. And not just some crappy, writhing, half-assed thing. The man went across the dance floor, frontwards and backwards, getting himself a good 2 feet off the ground everytime. We were all awestruck. I couldn't scream loud enough in support. They are another amazing couple that make me warm and fuzzy inside. They are party animals and are still CRAZY about each other after 10 years of marriage and raising quintuplets. I affectionately refer to them as MILF and DILF. I love them. Here they are:

Also, Grant surprised us all by taking over the drums and rocking out "Mustang Sally" with the band. He'd never played that song before. G-Bow just picked it up AND pulled a bad ass solo right out of no where. He was pretty much a pro. None of us even knew he played. You think you know people...

So, wedding #3 down. 2 to go. In the home stretch. I should be able to write my own version of "The Wedding Crashers" by October.

Seacrest, out.

Depression Is...

getting a call from my roommate who is sitting 2 tables away from vince vaughn/my future husband at a bar less than a half mile from my apartment while I am conveniently in an entirely different state.

The Great Unwed

Don’t you love it when you come across the perfect thing at the perfect time? A good friend of mine recently sent me this article published over the weekend in the Chicago Tribune:

http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/magazine/chi-0507030421jul03,1,7218108.story?ctrack=1&cset=true

Since I read it, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It has moved me, inspired me, and most importantly, forced me to step back and realize that here I am, single, on my own, and for the first time in my life, I’m perfectly ok with that.

“There's some irony for you: the romance of being alone…”

Ironically, the day before reading this article, I found myself telling my roommate how happy and full my life is right now. With things to do, places to go, and more amazing friends than I could have ever wished for. When the words came out, I was so surprised. Surprised that that is exactly how I feel. I’ve spent the past however many years with this idea that finding my soul mate, the “perfect” man for me, would complete me. No matter how content I’ve been with my life in the past, even up until about a month ago, I still felt that the “right” guy could make my life so much better, that I was missing something by being single. And now, I see so clearly that I’m wonderful alone. I’m amazing alone. It feels so awesome to have so much to do, whenever I want to do it, and be surrounded by people that make me laugh and love and appreciate every single day. I found myself getting teary the other day, and for the first time in months, not because of anything sad, but because it hit me that I am so so so very lucky.

“Twenty eight was the height of adulthood to me then. Now that my golden birthday is 10 years gone, I can't help but think what a punk I was at 28 and how little I knew about living. When I was a kid, all I could imagine was being married as an adult, a way of life I learned at home watching my parents… Am I being irresponsible with my life, coming and going with the wind? Maybe. But no more irresponsible than the people who marry too young or simply because getting married feels like the next logical step in their lives.”

For as long as I can remember, and especially since graduating college 2 years ago, I have been obsessed with getting married. Not because I was dying to be a wife and do another person’s laundry, but because it was the next thing that I was supposed to do with my life. I’ve awkwardly stumbled through the past couple of years, fighting between the deeply rooted, but misplaced, desire for marriage, and this voice inside me screaming that there was something else out there for me to discover first. That “something else,” I’ve learned, is the real me.

The me that is sarcastic and dry, maybe even witty at times. The me that loves to make people laugh and is perpetually late. The me that isn’t good at dating around and is still a hopeless romantic. The me that says, “what the hell,” way more often than she should. The me that wouldn't trade picking up and moving to Chicago with no job, no money and only knowing one person. The me that wouldn't take back one difficult thing that has happened in the past 2 years (well, except for maybe the stolen bridesmaid's dress, what a pain in my ass).

“When you have no one to talk to, you observe and you learn and you start to hear the voice inside of you.”

I have spent so much of my life inside my head. Thinking, analyzing, over-analyzing, then over-analyzing the previous over-analyzation, ad nauseum. Lately I have been making a conscious effort to get out of me and try to see everything around me. It’s amazing how much of the world you miss while mulling over the mundane intricacies and negatives of your life. It’s disturbing really. I’ve started to just watch, look, and listen to everyone and everything. I think I’ve really “seen” more in the past 2 months than I ever have before. There are so many things out there that show me how trivial 95% of my concerns really are. I feel like a 10,000 pound weight has been lifted (and if you've seen the size of my butt, you know that I could use a lift of another 10,000 or so pounds).

“When I am on an adventure and lost in my thoughts-in an exotic foreign land or in a River North coffee shop-I am convinced that anything is possible. That is a powerful conviction. I am open to the possibility that in an afternoon I could meet my dream girl [guy] and court her [him] with every ounce of poetry in my being, or I could rush home, pack a bag and move to a monastery for a life of silent contemplation.”

I’m obsessed with the fact that everyday, anything can happen. And I have the freedom to go along with whatever I choose (except for the monastery and silent thing. Let’s get real, I like talking and non-celibate stuff WAY too much). Even the simplest thing, like not making plans and just seeing where the day/night leads you, usually ends up with the best stories to tell.

Rest assured that all of this “Yay For Independence!” talk does not mean that I don’t want to find a great person to share my life with. Or that I won’t still bitch to my friends about frustrations with the opposite sex. I’m just so giddy I could pee my pants at the fact that I’m finally happy with me and my life and where I am and the people I am sharing it with. It really feels good.

Because I'll Explode If I Don't Write About This

Unfortunately, I did not heed the multiple warnings against attending the Taste of Chicago on Saturday afternoon. When I went to the Taste a couple of summers ago, I had a great time so I figured it couldn't be that bad.

OH. MY. GOD.

I really don't think that I can adequately put into words the frustration and just pure disgust that I have for the Taste after my most recent visit. I don't think I'll be able to go again for at least 10 years, if ever.

First of all, I HATE large groups of people. Especially large groups of people apparently lacking any brain power or general social skills. Like knowing how to repeatedly place one foot in front of the other to continue moving in one direction from one location to another. I have never been so jam-packed and slammed into so many sweaty, nasty, non-moving people in all my life. I knew it was going to be crowded, but jesus christ almighty, it made me want to cry/scream/kill people.

It all started with the food ticket lines. Oh my christ. Who was the genius who designed that shit show?? The basic set up of the Taste is 3 parallel rows of booths. One along the left side of the street, one along the right and one down the middle. Thus, the masses of people traverse up and down one of two areas: 1) between the left row of booths and the center row and 2) between the right row of booths and the center row. Pretty straightforward. So why in god's name would you set up the ticket booths in such a way that the windows face the walkway area, resulting in the ridiculously long lines of people completely blocking the only path that the other non-ticket-buying people have to walk?? To the Taste Booth Set-Up Engineers: PUT THE TICKET WINDOWS ON THE SIDES OF THE BOOTHS THAT ALLOW THE LINES TO RUN PARALLEL WITH THE ROWS OF BOOTHS. I don't know a damn thing about event coordination and set-up of these things, but I'm quite certain that even a monkey could have figured that one out.

In theory, besides the areas that are blocked by ticket lines, there seems to be enough room for people to move around sufficiently. At least there would be if there weren't 7000 people with double-wide strollers, kids in wagons, and people in motorized scooters and wheelchairs. I'm not saying that people with children in strollers/wagons and people in scooters and wheelchairs shouldn't be at the Taste. I do not discriminate against the bearers of offspring and the handicapped so don't even start bitching about everyone having a right to go wherever, whenever, blah blah blah. I'm just saying that if you have children in strollers/wagons or you are in a scooter/wheelchair, at what point do you decide that bringing yourself and your vehicles to something like the Taste, with a million people mashed together, would be an even half-way enjoyable experience?? All I had was myself and a small purse and I could barely maneuver around anyone. Save yourself and others the misery and attend on less crowded days or just skip the Taste and go to the actual restaurants in Chicago. They're here all year round. Most even deliver.

Speaking of kids, I CANNOT believe the number of people who had newborn babies with them. As if it wasn't bad enough that they were getting in my way with the strollers, these idiots allow their babies to roast in the sun and 85 degree heat. And bust their eardrums with the deafening noise. Who are these people!??!!? I'm starting a campaign to stop newborn abuse at the Taste.

And what's up with always ending up with 1 or 2 left over food tickets that you can't use because nothing is 1 or 2 tickets?? Your only choices are to go buy a whole new pack of 11 tickets that you only need 2 tickets of (because of course they don't sell anything under 11 tickets), or just take it in the rear and toss the leftover tickets. Awesome. I love wasting money.

Besides the choice people-watching that I enjoyed at the Taste, it was a horrid experience. I wanted to love it, I really did, but nothing could have saved the day, not even my chocolate-covered frozen banana.