Speaking of The Bachelor

On tonight's episode, after this 25-year-old fruitcake named Lisa (you know, the one with the marriage and babies timeline) appeared in front of her beau wearing a wedding dress, a tiara, with a stack of wedding magazines on her coffee table, she said:

Lorenzo, seeing me in the wedding dress was like, Oh my
god. I could marry this girl.

So what'd that crazy romantic Bachelor do? Run away? (Like any sane man would do.) Nope, he promptly gave her the next rose.

Guess I should re-think my dating strategy; desperation in mighty doses is apparently so-very 2006.

Oh no!

Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe have split. Maybe I'm a bit naive and romantic, but I really thought they would make it!

Drum roll, please

For your entertainment pleasure, my new blog, A Dater's Life, commences!

Birthday (er, wedding) pictures

It's a little tough, going to a wedding on your 35th birthday. But it's survivable with the help of your friends!
Me and D, at the reception.

The Happy Couple gets ready to cut the cake!

B and I at the reception (don't we look HOT?)

The four of us together again and having a marvelous time!

B and I before the wedding (looking sober and fresh) on the balcony of our hotel. (Look over our shoulders, and you might get a glimpse of the ocean!)

I Hate Mondays

Though I suppose that's stating the obvious, isn't it?

I'm finding the commute to and from work to be very stressful, exhausting, horrible, and I'm contemplating moving closer to my job. The problem? I live in one of the greatest cities in the world and work in the armpit of the universe. (How is it possible that such a dreadful city can be so close to San Francisco?) There's a condo for sale (yes, you read that right: FOR SALE) in D's building that is within walking (again, you read that right) distance of my job, but even so....do I want to live there?

I'm back and forth with it, but then today, I had car trouble and it took me over two hours to get home. Uggh. And my car is still stuck over by my workplace which means tomorrow it will take over two hours to get to work. (If I'm lucky, my car will be ready then, otherwise I won't get home until midnight.)

So I've spent the evening searching for condo listings in hip parts of Oakland. Watch this space.

34 years, 363 days, and counting

As I'll be going to a wedding on my 35th birthday (grumble, grumble, when did my life turn into a lost episode of Sex and the City? grumble, grumble) I decided to take the day off to treat myself right. First it was off to buy an ugly pair of boots (again, sorry Julia). Then to shop for the wedding. I've had a dreadful time finding the right dress to wear to the damn wedding (actually that's not entirely true: I've had a depressing time thinking of buying yet-another dress to wear to yet-another wedding). So I decided to treat myself to classic Tiffany's.

Okay, it's not exactly diamonds, but I can't really afford diamonds. (Or as Holly Golightly once said about diamonds, "I think they're divine on older women, but I don't think they'd be right for me. You do understand.") Then it was time for lunch at a rooftop cafe: New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc; Rare, seared tuna on a bed of fresh greens with pickled ginger and gorgeous tomatoes, avocodo, and the tastiest wasabi vinagrette; then for desert (what gal can't have desert on her almost-birthday?) chocolate fudge truffle layer cake. With a candle, of course. And singing.

I think Holly Golightly would approve!

I'm sorry, Julia

But I bought these boots today. I know they're ugly. In fact, I know that ugly doesn't begin to describe them. But they're very comfortable, and I have a birthday looming; I'm craving comfort today.

Plus, they'll be perfect for late-night, chilly doggie walking, right? Right?

(Pathetic attempt to justify ugly purchase. Again, I'm sorry.)

Random Celebrity Observation

So this Nick Lachey character is on The View this morning, babbling about his relationship and blah, blah, blah.

You know what? The man absolutely cannot sing. Cats fighting have better pitch than he does.

He does have nice dimples. And he was married to that blonde bimbo (you know which one). Is that all it takes these days to be a celebrity?

Loco Confession

Okay, so in my desperate attempt to avoid grading "Fuck Poetry" (another post entirely) I'm watching The Bachelor.

It is such a bad show, as it's always been a bad show. But this year it's gone from bad to stunningly worse. ABC has gone and found a real-life prince for 25 desperate women to fight over. Apparently, all women (or at least all women under the age of 25 as the vast majority of the women are in their early 20s, all just ticking away to get married) are all waiting for Prince Charming to give them their fairy tale romance.

Haven't they gotten the memo yet? It's 2006, girls.

Am I the only one who sees the irony in this show?

Why can't they have just one cynical woman there to talk about how she's seeking her Anti-Prince Equal? Even better, why can't one just look at him and say, "Ewwwww....."?

In Memory

It's hard to believe that it's been two years (and three hours and thirty minutes) since I received the phone call that my father had died. It's easy to say that it feels like it happened yesterday, but it does. Odd, but I still sometimes forget that he's gone. The other night, I happened to stumble upon a memory of a friend of mine from grade school, and I realized I had forgotten her last name. The first thought, the first thought that entered my head was: I'll just call Dad. He'll remember.

He always knew everything, always remembered everything. And even though he didn't seem to have much to say, his wisdom was apparent to everyone who met him. There is so much I never learned from him, so much I'll never know. I have no regrets over this, as I know we never can know someone completely; I cherish the 33 years we had together, but the thought that I can't just pick up the phone to ask him XYZ fills me with sorrow. The thought that I'll never have the chance to say goodbye leaves me feeling hollow.

Last night, D asked me if I think October 3rd will ever not carry this weight for me. I said, No, the date is permanently etched in my brain as the day my father left this world.

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes -- Gloria Naylor

Poll Time

Do you like this blouse? It looks pretty darn good for $79, and I have a gift card that's about to expire with about that exact amount left on it. But I'm feeling too sick to think about going to the shops to try it on.

Sick. Sick. Sick.

Answer this: Why do I always get sick when I'm invited to a hip party thrown by a hip French woman and attended by hip, sexy, straight French men?

Instead of sneezing all over everyone and everything French, I've holed myself up in my apartment, drunk tea, eaten carry-in Chinese, graded horrible essays, and watched most of Season One of House.

For enlightenment, check out what makes people sneeze!