The "Dear John" Letter

Dear Blogger,

It has come the time to tell you that which it would be so painful for me to express. I pray that you will not find me too harsh, nor that you will think I am in any way un-grateful to you, but it has finally become necessary for me to leave you. Please believe me, it is nothing to do with you, or your actions towards me. You have always treated me with the greatest respect, and have yourself acted the perfect gentleman in every way. But you see, there is someone else. It pains me to tell you this, but it is true, I have found another. His name is WordPress, and I am in love with him. It's not that he's especially better than you, or even that he is so much more attractive a partner than you are. But, you see, he... does things for me. It shames me to admit it, but it's true, I have fallen victim to his voice, his fluid manner, the carress of his lips, the way he touches me when ------

Oh Christ, forget it! I'm moving to WordPress. Happy? You better be, because it took A LOT of work. (Considerably more work than it should have, since I'm so crap at computers, as I am being constantly reminded of these days.)

You can find me here.
Happy blogging bitches!

The Big Blog Crush*

(*Damnit, does this mean I have to start referring to him as the BBC?)

There has recently been a rather shocking development in the land of The Weirdo (i.e. me)... one with so much inexplicable importance that it simply MUST be documented. This phenomenon, as it is now like to be called, is nothing other than a very big BLOG-CRUSH. That's right, you heard it here first... blog-crush mania is sweeping the nation (as well as all the other nations, I assume) and I have been unable to escape its steely grasp! Finally succumbing to the inevitable lure of a love that dare not speak its name (no, not that love, the other one... no, not that one either... Ah, forget it!) I have found myself imprisoned in the chaotic mess of my own head.... again.

But wait a minute, didn't you just have a fake relationship?! Like a second ago? Didn't it end badly?! Yes, yes I did... and it did. Basically yes to all three. But wait! This is different! And here's why:

1. I do not know the BBC in real life (Ack, terrible! Sorry, British Broadcasting Corp!) This means that,

a) I cannot make a total fool of myself by making inappropriate advances in inappropriate places (not that I ever did that, I swear)... I can however make inappropriate advances on Twitter... which I do, like, all the time. (No valley-girl jokes, please!)

and

b) There was never any real need to decide whether or not I should tell him... So, I "told him" right away. I mean really, what's going to happen? Worst case scenario - he's totally creeped-out and I simply stop Twittering. (Did that make anyone else think of the word "twitterpated"? No? No one has seen "Bambi"? Okay...)

2. The fact that all the flirting will lead to nothing is already well-established, because... well... he lives really far away! Also, the flirting has been relatively tame. Which means that,

a) We don't have any fake children... yet. (Fake children are disastrous for many reasons... but mainly I'm just glad not to have to carry around that fake diaper-bag anymore. God, that thing was monstrous!)

and

b) I feel absolutely no need to decipher between flirtatious texts (i.e. "Does this mean the usual makeup sex?", etc.) and the probability that he actually wants to go in the back room and make out. Wonderful.

I know what you're thinking,

Right, having a blog-crush is fine. But you're clearly insane. Do you realize there are other live humans right outside who you could actually... I don't know... have a conversation with?!

And yes, I do realize that...
I realize that I am cultivating an attraction which can only go to waste;

I realize that if, in reality, we ever did meet, the chances of us both being attracted to eachother are very slim (because really, human chemistry is so un-predicatble);

And I realize that yes, I am incredibly lazy and should probably attempt to meet more people who are more easily accessible... ones that say, live within the same state, or hey, even the same city!

I realize all these things, and yet, I can't help but like someone I barely even know, someone I've never actually met.

So what is my problem? Am I just so fed up with being rejected that even thinking about getting to know someone else is exhausting? I don't really think so...

But maybe, just like so many other girls with their romance-novels, or sappy movies, or... umm, Twilight anything... I simply wanted to experience something fictional for a while. To believe I was falling for someone who could be (nearly) perfect, if only for the reason that he did not exist in my real life. Maybe it is easier to fall in love with someone when you don't have all the facts... when you don't have to deal with/adore all their little idiosyncricies... when you don't have to learn to communicate with them in a way you can both understand... when they can't see you, and all your finer flaws. Maybe, just maybe, fake love is a viable way to exercise real passion... a passion that I quite honestly have no other outlet for.

But then, wouldn't it be nice to be able to kiss someone I could actually feel?

Kiss Me, I'm (Kind Of) Irish!

St. Patrick's day is a wonderful day, if only for the reason that it is one of those many holidays in which hoards of people get together to celebrate something with a meaning they don't quite understand. Even in this sleepy little town (read: small city in Northern CA), people will be seen wearing head-to-toe green and ungodly amounts of garish $3 beads, will drink unheard of amounts of green beer, and be altogether loud and obnoxious. Why? Because this is a holy day, and one must behave accordingly!

I can still remember the relative madness inspired by St. Patrick's day whilst in middle school (7th and 8th grades), even though (hopefully) the excitement really had nothing to do with drinking until near-death. In this case, it was just nice to have ANYTHING to celebrate... and of course, there were plenty of middle-schoolers who thrilled at the idea of making everything green... including their hair (looking back, the green-madness might've actually been kind of fun!) But the one thing that really bugged me about this particular holiday wasn't the obsessive re-wardrobing or the frenzy it inspired in my fellow class-mates (can I say fellow classmates if I'm not a fellow? Or if all my classmates weren't fellows?)... it was the fact that on this particular day it was suddenly "cool" to be Irish.

Now before I come off sounding like a hate all Irish people, you should know that this is very much not the case, my only real problem with the sudden fascination was that people who weren't Irish the day before suddenly became Irish on this one day. My most vivid memory of this insanity was when my then-best friend, being inspired by a sudden flurry of enthusiasm, proudly declared to all our friends (and, I'm assuming, anyone else who would listen) that she was "1% Irish." I mean really, 1%? That would be like if you went into a job interview and told the hiring manager you were 1% qualified for the job... it's just not going to happen! I feel bad though, because clearly, she just wanted to be kissed...

I Heart Sundays

Sitting here with my cup of coffee (in a mug with a picture of mounties on it, how cool is that?), I am filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards my manager, who did not schedule me for work today!

For those of you "in the know", I did have work with The Coworker yesterday... and thankfully, I did not make a complete and utter fool of myself. (I'd already taken care of that little feat last Saturday!)

Everything was, in fact, pretty normal. He was charming, and smiling, and slightly antagonistic, as always. I was smart, and laughing (not constantly, obviously, as that would've been cause for concern... and immediate psychiatric attention), and as friendly as I reasonably could be without reminding either of us of the events which caused the other events (i.e. my un-requited confession, caused by excessive text-message flirting.) Things got a little awkward once or twice, when I mistakenly let things go quiet, and was sure we were both remembering that which we would've been ever-so-fortunate to forget.

Oh, and I was dying. I'd literally (not figuratively) had zero hours of sleep that night, and at one point I felt I was in serious danger of falling down and smashing my head against the hard-wood floor. Luckily I did not fall, and in fact was allowed to leave EARLY since there were an unnecessary number of employees in the store.

In the morning, the zero hours sleep had translated into giddy hyper-hysterics enhanced to the enth degree by Stevie Wonder and LOTS of coffee. In the afternoon, however, my giddiness disintegrated and was replaced by a sleepy, grey colored mood... which in turn inspired this poem which I wrote on the bus. And then I got REALLY serious, thought about my life in terms of what was missing (which I absolutely do not recommend, by the way,) and after getting home from listening to some very good/very sad music, wrote this "song" (is it a song if there's no music?)

And so today, a day in which I am responsible for nothing, I am doing nothing. Yay, nothing! Yay, laziness! Yay, life!

In other news, SNL is officially good again! So say I, so says everyone (I don't know.)

Stay tuned for my future (read: better) blog post, in which I blog about: my blog crush (!), Mr. Tilney (Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen), and the similarities between the two. (Preview: "they're both charming and
they're both fictional!")

That's right, you are now fictitious, consider it a compliment.

Because

Wretched and sleepless
Alone in illusions
Of every dream I've ever crafted
In my tiny little bed

Wondering if I do these things on purpose
So I can stay alone
Romance is best in fiction
So I'm told

So I will fictionalize everyone
And live in lands which swallow me
And leave me in illusions
Warm in my own dreams

Because no one wants to be loved anymore
Just worshipped and adored
Because love requires a kind of suicide
A self-sacrifice of sorts
Because I'm better off just on my own, on my own
Or so I'm told

Give me your hand,
I want to hold on
To someone who says they're real
To someone with a heart
That still beats
Still beats
And wishes for better things

And we could be happy
Pretending, forever, never-ending
Just pretending

Because no one wants to be loved anymore
Just worshipped and adored
Because love requires a kind of suicide
A self-sacrifice of sorts
Because I am better on my own, on my own
Or so I'm told

My Sunglasses Make the World Seem Grey

There is a sign in my town that's been there for a while; it reads, "Now Open: Lunch Buffet." It's blowing in the wind and a corner has fallen down.

There are two men walking side-by-side, dressed almost the same. The colors they wear are different, but the articles are twins.

He looked at me today, his eyes were wandering down. I didn't mind the compliment, but I resented it just the same.

The bus driver's talking politics. I wish that he would stop. he's pretending to understand socialism, I want to pop him one.

I've had many erotic fantasies whilst riding on the bus. Is it a metaphor for my life, or just an effect of the vibrations I felt?

I liked someone at a gaming store, I thought he liked me back. He said he wanted to "get in my panties" (gross), I messaged him something angry back.

I don't need someone who fulfills a list, just someone I like a lot. Maybe when I find this person, they will really want me back.

Or maybe I will just be riding this bus, forever moving between two points, losing sleep over someone I've never even met.

The Un-Awkward Silence

I know a few people who feel the need to keep conversation flowing at all times, and for whom silence is significantly unbearable.

I am not one of those people.

For me, being silent around someone only means that the need for speech has ceased. And that's a good thing, because (a lot of times) that means that you are comfortable enough around that person to let things go quiet.

However, sometimes silence can be unnerving... even for me. One of those times might very well be coming to me with undeniable force this weekend... or rather, tomorrow... which is really today. (Crap, 1:44am and my brain is still fully awake!)

Tomorrow I get to work with The Coworker for the first time since last weekend. Which is when I told him that I liked him. Bad idea. Now I am going to have to find some way to dance around the subject for three strait hours whilst feeling horribly awkward and more than a little embarrassed. That's a lot of dancing.

In reality, I'm really not as nervous about it as I was a few days ago. (Something about using an online flirtation to work through rejection issues.) But I am still a little worried.

For one thing, how much do I hate giant pink elephants that you're not allowed to talk about even though they are every second threatening to sit on your head? A lot. When an elephant is in the room, I like to be able to point it out, give it a name, and discuss the likelihood of it's making a stinking mess in the course of an hour. I do not like pretending it isn't there when we both know it is. However, as bringing it up might just make things even more awkward for the both of us, silence might be the only reasonable alternative.

And this kind of silence does not imply comfort.

Why We Suck... And Are Hilarious

Luis C.K. on Conan

In Which I Contemplate Becoming a Lonely Wanderer

I spent the better part of this morning scouring Expedia for affordable plane tickets. To anywhere.

And when I say "morning", I mean afternoon.
(The morning and I were not thrilled with each other today. We got up, looked at each other, and sighed apathetically. I went back to sleep and it didn't complain.)

I have always been fairly certain that the place where I live now is not the place where I should live forever, and rather enjoy the idea of living in several different places throughout the course of my life. That being said, I have cultivated many unattractive habits which keep me from living this dream, and trap me in a place of "learning to love what you have." (A worthwhile skill, yes, but in the end a bit of a cop-out.)

So far, I have been to a few places (Toronto, Switzerland, Amsterdam and Cairo.) However, I have always travelled with a group, never alone. And in reality, I don't want to travel alone. Although I am fairly awesome at being alone (if only because I find myself fascinating, and know what songs to play on my iPod in order to become instantly happy.) But for some reason, company (for me) is a must when exploring new lands.

Or so it seems.

Sure, having a travel-mate would be awesome... but certainly not necessary.
In fact, in the modern world, the benefits of a travel-mate can be acquired by other means. Non-human ones.

For example, if I need to:

1) Find my way (I'm horrible at directions) I could either
a) Ask a directionally-superior companion, or
b) Get a GPS

2) Comment on what I'm seeing?
a) Talk to said companion
b) Write in a journal (the old-school blog)

3) Defend myself from mythical creatures (or you know, predators)...
a) Hide behind companion, or
b) Pull out the mace

Yes, having someone to share the experience with would be fantastic, preferable even. But traveling alone? Still better than not travelling at all.

Now, if only I could kick that ugly shopping addiction...

Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah

Every Tuesday and Thursday, I attend a very important class at the local community college. This class, although severely underrated, never fails to benefit me in some way. Whether it be in improving my knowledge of myself, other people, or the world in general, I always come away from it knowing something I didn't know before.

This class.... is Aqua Aerobics. Seriously.

In fact, I learn so much through this class that it could be broken down into several subjects... such as:

Psychology 412: The Psychology of Mood-Lifting
A course exploring methods with which to instantly improve your mood without the aid of legal/illegal stimulants; How to feel like the hottest thing on the block in under 60 seconds.

Sociology 610: Age/Gender Co-mingling
A course study in the advantages of social interaction between those of differing ages and genders; Why older women and younger women should form bonds; Why men should be encouraged to become involved in activities which are traditionally "feminine."

Music Appreciation 250: Introduction to Music: The 80's
A course examination of popular music in the late 1970's through 1980's and its relevance to today. Dancing around like a fool is encouraged, as is genuine and apparent enthusiasm. Previous knowledge of music in general is not required.

Dance 301: Introduction to Movement
This course covers select dance moves from various different eras and styles of dance. Includes "how to make jumping up and down for a minute strait look sexy."

Fashion 121: Swimwear
An in-depth study of current trends in swimwear. Includes such topics as: The differences between "athletic" swimwear and "beach" swimwear; Why Victoria's Secret bathing suits are ALWAYS hotter; The inevitability of swimwear malfunctions; and "Why Ambles always looks so much happier in her bathing suit than she does in regular clothes."

What can I say? I love this class! And if you were there with me? You'd love it too.
Because happiness is infectious. And because, well, who doesn't love dancing to "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summers?

A Letter To My Lovers

Dear $200 pair of pumps,

I want you. The way I feel when I look at you can only be described as pure, unadulterated lust. (You know you see me staring!) It's embarrassing, but I can't help it. I think of you and imagine how perfect we could be together, what I wouldn't do to have you! And yet I know, deep down, in my heart-of-hearts, that I must pass you by. In the end you would only hurt me, and what was once a joyous and wonderful relationship would turn into a black hole of resentment and despair.

Regretfully,

Your not-so-secret admirer


Dear Starbucks' Grande Cappuccino,

How lovely you are to me! So exactly the opposite of everything I seem to stand for, you invite me in to a place of warm acceptance, and spoil me with affection. A little conservative, to be sure... and true, your corporate lifestyle is not to my taste. But the way you give me exactly what I want, when (and where) I want it, is enough to make me want to see you time and time again! Never too little, never too much, you are there when I need you, and gone when I don't. And did i mention how good you taste?

Affectionately,

Your mid-morning come-and-go


Dear Blogger,

I simply cannot get enough of you. An endless source of wit and wisdom, you are all I need to make the day seem worthwhile. You are always introducing me to new ideas, people, and ways of looking at the world. What can I say? I'm obsessed. Does it hurt to admit it?

Forever yours,

The Weirdo

P.S. I may someday leave you for Wordpress. Don't hate me!

One of "those" Girls

It is now Tuesday, and yet, for some reason I am STILL blogging about the weekend! Why? Because I can. Just go with it.

On Saturday, right after I was hopelessly rejected by The Coworker (don't worry, it's all good... no, really), I went with friend Suzy-Q to one of the more prominent gay clubs in town. Why a gay club, you may ask? I really don't know. (For what it's worth, they do have a room for the straight people... but it's kind of gross.)

Anyway, we finally got to the club with about an hour to spare (we like to come in late and make a scene... or we were just very late in leaving the house, as we were attempting to cut SQ's bangs in the bathroom before we left!) About two minutes in it became very clear that at least one of us was going to have to get a little drunk before any of this became fun. So off to the bar we went, ordering two of the girliest drinks known to man. Which, coincidentally, it turns out, contain very little alcohol. Go figure. (Luckily SQ is a light-weight in the purest sense, so she still had a bit of a buzz... although personally I think it was just a sugar rush.)

Heading to the straight room (which was crowded, smelly, and moderately violent) we finally heard a song we recognized and could dance to! It was all going pretty smoothly until a feral-haired girl with about five too many accidentally scratched me in the face and spilled her drink on both me and a friend of SQ's! Then a small fight broke out in the middle of the dance floor, which was a bit of a disaster zone to begin with. In the end though, everything got smoothed out and we ended the night by dancing to something pop-y and 80's-inspired in the main (read: gay) room.

After the club we promptly tripped outside and right into the path of two very talkative 40-year-olds. Normally I would have been thoroughly annoyed at being accosted by two men so obviously our senior, but these two were... different somehow. Talking to them was almost easier than talking to guys our own age, and even better was that there was a very decided lack of "smoothness" about them. (In fact one of them was like a cross between Greg Kinnear and Duckie from "Pretty in Pink," if you can imagine that!) Also, talking to the guy I was talking to was much more like talking than being hit on outside of a club. Even when we hugged goodbye, after being told to "move along" by security, there was no real grabbiness... just a nice firm hug (which I honestly needed after my night of crushed hopes.)

Okay, okay... I know what you're thinking, "They were gay! You half-wit!" But no, they were not. I may go months on end thinking that a guy I like might potentially like me back... but when it comes to gay or straight, I'm not that dense!

Losing it

I am at work. There is nothing to do. Someone please please tell me you can hear me screaming! And also tell me absolutely anything funny/interesting/in English to keep me from going completely insane!

The past few days have seen my return to the blogging world. It has also allowed me to realize that, when you leave said world and then suddenly reappear, some people may not still be there to greet you! So to all the people I have mercilessly abandoned in my time of non-blogging despair - I am sorry, and will do my best to comment on all your blogs as soon as I can!

In other news, Gossip Girl is FINALLY new tonight! (Isn't it?) And although I realize that to some of you this is hardly important (nay, that it will in fact cause you to roll your eyes and mutter something bordering on profane), to others, like me, it has been a long time coming. In the last days of our little GG drought, I have been known to wake up in the middle of the night, unknowingly muttering the names of Chuck and Blair over and over again like lost lovers. Where have they been? And who exactly was I meant to turn to in this time of need? Surely not to real people! In the end though, I must admit that the whole Chuck and Blair, will-they (have sex again, say "I love you", etc.) or-won't-they plot-line was getting a little tired. I sincerely hope they have had time enough to work out that little kink.

And then there is my life, which I have posted about to some extent over the course of the weekend. The weekend, however, has yet to be fully covered... so I might be getting to that over the next couple of days... or tonight, if I'm bored, which is likely.

For now though, I will have to attempt to find some form of work to do at work. Monday is such a bitch. (Just kidding, Monday. Please don't hurt me!)

P.S. I realize I have been using a great deal of italics lately. To the point of excess. And beyond. Is it getting to be a little much? Because even I'm starting to get annoyed.

Lonely

The truth will out.

Today I was very lazy. I had homework to do: Reading for history, sketching for art, etc. I had several un-finished books I could have read. I even had movie-rentals to watch, if I felt like doing something that didn't require too much mental exercise.

Instead, I spent all day... sleeping in, flirting with a fellow-blogger, and walking aimlessly around my neighborhood. And I blogged. But really, I did nothing. As a result, I felt nothing... well, almost nothing. And then something awful happened, I watched last Thursday's Ugly Betty. This show usually is not one to make me so depressed that I feel inclined to rip out my heart and throw it at the gates of hell (yes, hell is gated), but tonight it so was.

---Thursday's episode of Ugly Betty: in which, we the audience begin to discover what an amazing person this Matt character is, and witness the first kiss of Matt and Betty. It is a kiss in the Ugly Betty hand - innocent, sweet, free of sleezy pretense.---

If you're at all confused as to why this would bother me, please read my previous post. if you are too lazy/impatient to read said post, I can't/won't help you.

On the other hand, there is this explanation as well:

Not being one to settle for being in a relationship I don't really want, with someone I'm not really that into, I have led my entire life without the presence of a boyfriend. Booh-hoo, so sad, whatever. The point is that I'm lonely, and I'm not afraid to admit it, or at least I shouldn't be. I want to want someone. And I want that someone to want me back. When I get done doing whatever it is that I have to do in a day, I want to be able to joke around, talk to, and be with this person. I want to really know them, and I want them to really know me. And yes, I want to have amazing sex.

Lately I have been focused on the whole absence-of-sex thing as being my main problem. As in, perhaps if I was a little less frustrated I wouldn't have this nagging in my brain/heart/body. Being a non-slutty virgin who in all honesty will probably wait until marriage, though, has left me pretty powerless/unwilling to solve said frustration.

And then tonight I inevitably realized that the sex thing was very simply not it. Or, at least, not all of it.

But my God, the quick-fix just looks so damn appealing sometimes.

Woody Allen Changed My Life

A couple nights ago, I watched "Vicky Christina Barcelona" and, believe it or not, was inspired to make some much needed changes in my life. I don't know if it was the natural aesthetic of the movie, the freedom exercised by Christina (played by Scarlett Johansson) or the sheer, open insanity of Maria Elena (played by Penelope Cruz), but something just clicked. I knew I had to change my life, or risk never knowing what it could have been. I needed freedom. I needed freedom to live as I would, make mistakes, recover from them, be more and do more.

Freedom, as it happens, is a rather vague idea. Beautiful, but vague just the same. So rather than become a full time poet and attempt to explain said idea, I decided to break it down into three distinct "goals":

Goal #1: Spend less money.
Must realize value of "less is more," "quality over quantity," and "savings over monstrous credit card debt" (which, thank God, I have yet to really accumulate.)

Goal #2: Get a driver's license(!)
Yes, yes, I know - you don't have your driver's license yet?! No, I don't. Why not?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! I don't know, Good God, stop yelling!

Goal #3: Tell the TRUTH.
This one was definitely inspired by the Penelope Cruz insanity, and also by the lovely Scarlett mistake-making (if you can call it that.) I realized that I simply was not being 100% honest with anyone (probably including myself, occasionally.) I needed to be able to be whatever I was going through, at any given time; to stop hiding behind a smile, a peal of laughter; to stop hiding, period.

So, yesterday I made three small but decisive steps in achieving each of these goals.

#1: I unsubscibed to all of my "Sale-mail": e-mails from stores updating me on new merchandise, reduced prices, etc. Less online-shopping means less buying of things I don't really need in the first place.

Yes!

#2: I took not one, but two driving lessons from my Dad (who is, thankfully, a really good instructor.) I cut too many corners and almost hit a pedestrian (I kid) but the point is that I'm learning.

Success!

#3. I told The Coworker how I really felt. He said exactly what I thought he would... He thinks I'm "hot" but he "can't commit." I was perfectly fine until something minorly frustrating happened later that night, prompting me to go into the back room and cry over the thing that was actually upsetting me.

Fail!

Or was it? I was getting so frustrated with him at the end, and something really did have to be done. It was as if I was bashing my head against a wall repeatedly and then getting mad at the wall for hurting my head. Then suddenly I realized that, "Hey, this wall is a person!" (Not un-similar to the reaction inspired by Snout, no doubt, as Helena and Demitri look on and scoff.) In the end I was simply getting nowhere by trying to "get over it" on my own. I needed the rejection. And honestly a few tears shed is but a small price to pay for my sanity.

So success all around!

And now I must bugger off (not really, though) and attempt to do some homework, damnit! Or maybe I will just stay here and catch up with my amazing bloggy friends.

P.S. Now I have successfully cut myself off from all the at-work flirting, you should be encouraged to hit on me as much as possible. I will return the favor, don't worry :)

Don't Be Fooled

He's Just Not That Into You, In a Nutshell

Act 1: The Scenario
Alex and Gigi meet at the bar where he (Alex) works and she (Gigi) hopes to run into a man who never called (even though he said he would.) Alex, sensing Gigi's desperation, tells her flat out that if the guy she's stalking wanted to call her, he would. Thus, "he's just not that into you" is uttered for the first time in a movie which bears it's name.

Act 2: The Plot Thickens
Gigi, surprisingly relieved by the brutal, unsympathetic truth, begins asking Alex for advice on a regular basis. This leads to the two spending quite a lot of time together, whether on the phone or in person. One night, as Gigi sits at home watching "Some Kind of Wonderful," she is struck by the sudden realization that Alex is in love with her(!) or must be."There are all these signs!" She trills, in a much too familiar voice (to me).

Act 3: The Climax (without a "climax")

(This is where those who fear spoilers should skip ahead)

Gigi, convinced of Alex's love for her, stays late at a party he is hosting and proceeds to "throw her body at him." Confused and alarmed, Alex scolds Gigi, saying, "You take every little detail and throw it out of proportion!" (Or something to that effect. Seriously, I can't be expected to remember the exact line!) Nearly defeated, for once, Gigi tells him that "She'd rather be like that than be like him." According to her, Alex is even further from finding love than she is, because, hello, he has a serious problem with cynicism! The truth of her words is evident in Alex's responding "Shit, she's right" expression.

Act 4: The Resolution

Alex, taking extremely well to being yelled at by his friend, realizes he has fallen for Gigi. So he shows up at her apartment one night, confesses his love, and (when she simply will not shut up or stop "rejecting" him) kisses her and says something so predictably sweet that it would be absolutely nauseating if it weren't for Justin Long.

My Problem:

This would NEVER happen in real life! Usually, when a girl yells at a guy for not being in love with her, he does not proceed to then actually fall in love with her. To guys, as far as I can tell, such a speech would communicate far too many needs and make said girl look "high maintenance." I love Ginnifer Goodwin and especially Justin Long, but I can't believe this ending. I really can't.


For those of you wondering why the hell I am re-capping a movie that came out decades ago (or, more precisely, a month), my answer is this:

I am moving on! The crush on The Coworker still lives (I cannot lie), but it is dying more and more each day (Yay death! said the hopelessly jaded blogger.)
He is not interested in a relationship, I am. He may very well be attracted to me (Come on, he so is), but one heated affair in the back room at work is not going to satisfy my every want and need, but instead create a whole other set of needs that I will in turn expect him to fulfill. And he can't. And honestly, I don't think I'd want him to, not if it meant tricking him into giving me something (a relationship) that he never really wanted to give in the first place.

So, as of now, we are moving on, we are obsessing about Twilight, we are brainstorming ideas for possible script-writing projects, we are re-embracing singledom (and by "we" I of course mean me!)

And you know what? It feels kind of good.


P.S. I'm upgrading to a Justin Long.