Update

Andrew's current life goal:
Purchasing a $2,000 Japanese toilet that comes with a bidet and blow dryer.

My current life goal:
Growing a terrarium in a light bulb.

Also, I just realized that all of my favorite foods put me on the same culinary palate level as a 7 year-old:

Pizza
Macaroni and Cheese
Grilled Cheese sandwiches
Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches

Embarrassing confession of the week:

I've always wanted a mustache.

No, not the kind that I might be able grow from eating carrots and rubbing Vicks Vapor Rub on my chest. Assuming it is even possible for a female to grow a mustache without hormones/genetic predisposition.

I want to purchase a silky black handlebar mustache to wear at my will and leisure. Mainly just for photos, or even in public when I'm feeling daring enough.

A Tale of Two Incidents

After arriving home from the extremely overcrowded Bon Iver/Jenny Lewis concert for the Twilight Concert Series, Andrew said to me that the more he goes out in the public, the more he realizes he really dislikes most people. Although most concert goers (especially free concert goers) are hardly a sampling of upstanding humanity, I did, slightly, agree with him. “I’m glad you like me,” I said. “Who wouldn’t like you?” he asked.

As I contemplated my answer, I thought back to the girl whose nose I bit in nursery school in England. I also thought of the more recent incident of a lady giving me the evil eye during the Sundance screening of It Might Get Loud. Her evil eye was definitely the most dastardly I had ever witnessed, and I shrank back in my seat wondering what I could have possibly done to merit such a look. I was enlightened when she loudly confronted me afterward vehemently claiming I had talked during the whole movie. It absolutely wasn’t true (I hadn’t whispered more than two words), and Andrew defended me (I am non-confrontational to a fault) by telling the lady there was something wrong with her hearing and she was out of her mind. I eventually began to feel more sorry for her husband than for myself, who sunk as low as possible in his seat while his wife publicly denounced me. I only had to sit through a movie with her; he has to spend the rest of his life being humiliated by her.

Reflecting on both incidents, I decided that the former had probably forgotten about it (her mom and my mom still exchange Christmas cards every year), but I was sure the latter definitely remembered me with contempt, and Madame Defarge-style, went home and knit my name (and probably Andrew’s too) into a blanket hit-list of some sort.

With my lightning bolts of longing

Stalker
noun
1. someone who walks with long stiff strides
2. someone who stalks game
3. someone who prowls or sneaks about; usually with unlawful intentions



This is the back of MICHAEL CERA's head and a little bit of his face. It was captured on my phone because I was sitting a mere row behind him for the premiere of Paper Heart at Sundance. I have harboured a massive crush on him since his days of Arrested Development. I've stalked him through Juno and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist (both of which I hated, not because of him, but because of everything else) and now, I've stalked him at Sundance. However, when my moment of truth arrived, and I had the chance to have my picture taken with him, (which Andrew generously offered to take since I'd been hyperventilating during the whole film) I made a hideous decision. Instead of stepping up next to him and planting a big wet one on his precious face, I got really shy because I was worried he would think I was creepy. So I missed my big chance, and in retrospect, I realise I've made the biggest mistake of my life. A) I'll probably never see Michael Cera again, and B) since I'm never seeing him again, who cares if he thinks I'm creepy?

Today, this is me

The older I get

The more I enjoy good salad and classical music.

I've confessed.