Category Archives: let’s just talk from our hearts

I Speak Simpsons

Oct

2013

The Simpsons just began its 25th season and I haven’t seen a new episode in about 10 years. But I still speak the language.

People have written hundreds of essays about Simpsons quotes and quoting The Simpsons in everyday life. Quotes beyond your typical “D’oh!” and “Exccccellent” and “Eat my shorts!” (Although I don’t know anyone who still says that last one.)

Then there are longer quotes that seem misplaced, but make sense in the right context. For example, if it’s a bad day outside or something isn’t going your way, you could say, “Lousy Smarch weather.” Or if it is a beautiful day and things are going your way, you could say, “Everything’s coming up Milhouse!”

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On Taylor Swift, love, marriage, and the great unknown.

Jul

2013

Taylor Swift. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor Swift. Swifty ole Tay-tay.

Dear, sweet Taylor Swift. You’ve taught us so much about men and break ups and bleachers. But you still have so much to learn — as do we. And we’ll all figure it out together. Don’t dismay, dear Taylor. We get you. Lots of us have been there.

We are never, ever getting back together.

In an interview with Wonderland magazine she said: “I have no idea if I’m going to get married or be single forever […] Relationships are like traffic lights. And I just have this theory that I can only exist in a relationship if it’s a green light.”

I had to double check every single episode of Sex and the City to make sure that Carrie hadn’t already used that simile. Aiden’s light was Kermit green. But Big’s light was yellow. And I didn’t know how long I could sit in traffic.

None of us know but most of us know that none of us know, you know? I went to a palm reader once and she told me a man was going to buy me an apartment and that I used to be Marilyn Monroe. She didn’t know. And I knew it.

My landlord told me I resemble Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe is of course known for her long brown hair, small boobs, and signature Phil Collins t-shirt.

There’s a certain excitement and wonder that comes with not knowing who we’ll meet or fall in love with or marry or when. And there’s also a certain dread and fear about it. And I think most of us fall somewhere in between — that is, those of us who want to find love andwant to get married, because not everybody does. Does it seem like society forgets this? Does it occur to anyone that maybe the reason Taylor Swift always seems to talk about her love life is because everyone always asks her?

“Just for once I wish you people would ask me about the national deficit.”

I think a lot of young women of our generation don’t feel pressured to get married just yet. I think the main pressure we feel is from our parents to move out of their houses and find “real jobs.” Whatever, dad, majoring in playwriting seemed like a great idea at the time. I was living in New York in the village; it would have been stupid not to. (While typing that sentence, it took me three tries to spell playwriting correctly, true story.)

So I don’t feel pressured to get married. But I do feel pressured to find love and claw my way out of singledom. And I feel that pressure is from one person only — me. And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I can’t be 100% happy with myself. When I have a job I love, I’m frustrated with my love life. When I’m single, I’m frustrated with my career. Why do I link the two? What the hell is wrong with me? My friends say I should act my age. What’s my age again? What’s my age again? (I think the problem is that I break out into Blink-182 lyrics, even in writing.)

Say it ain’t so.

Dear, sweet Taylor: who cares if you’re single forever? I mean that in an empowering way. Why do people care? Stop asking Taylor Swift about her relationships. SHE TELLS US HERSELF. She tells us in every song.

The goal shouldn’t be to get married or to avoid being single forever. And I think Taylor realizes that. I think we all realize that, but sometimes we forget. We forget to stop looking forward and take a look around us where we are, right now. We don’t know what will happen and we don’t have to know. Repeat after me: we don’t have to know. And just a reminder that as hackneyed as it is, single or married, we should love ourselves just the way we are.

No clever conversation though. No one wants to work that hard.

Photo credits:
Nina Leen, Bill Ray, J. R. Eyerman, for LIFE Magazine.
Photo of Taylor Swift from Splash via “I Mean What?”. Blink-182 by Featureflash. Billy Joel by Anthony Correia.
Originally posted at Hello Giggles.

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I don’t want kids and I have my reasons.

Jun

2013

I’m at that point in my 20’s where, even though I think it’s too soon to think about, I’m having to answer hypothetical questions like, “So, do you want to have kids?” or even worse, “When do you plan on having kids?”

I plan on having kids right around the time I plan on having tea with Michael Caine in a gumdrop palace on the moon. So, never. Never is when all of these things are planned.

But “I’m not having kids” is not a good response. Because when I say that, people take it as a challenge. Like I personally offended them or am asking them to convince me. “You’ll change your mind” or “You will” or, my favorite, “That’s what you think now, but you’re still so young.” Then why did you even ask me?

I don’t want kids and I have my reasons. Here they are. Note: none of them are, “Because I’m too selfish” because that isn’t a reason; it is in no way selfish to not want children.

10. Because this is how I would deal when my children misbehaved.

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind gif

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I Hit It First: A Love Song.

May

2013

Ray J made a sex tape with Kim Kardashian and wrote a song about it, titled “I Hit It First.” I do not think Ray J knows that the word first is not the same as the word before. But, okay Ray J. You hit it first. Yeah. Sure. And Dick Sargent was the first Derrin.

Some lyrics from “I Hit It First”:

I hit it I hit it I hit it I hit it I hit it I hit it first
I hit it I hit it I hit it I hit it I hit it I hit it first

Really. No exaggeration. That is the chorus.

This song made me realize what love is.

Really. No exaggeration. Here’s why.

I would like to get married one day. I would like to marry someone I am in love with and actually really like as a person. And he feels the same way about me. And beyond loving each other, we’re friends. We have something. There’s a “we” and it’s not the eye rolling nauseating “we” that is the basis of so many godawful romantic comedies. It’s the “we” of David Bowie’s “Heroes”, the:

And you, you can be mean.
And I, I’ll drink all the time.
‘Cause we’re lovers. And that is a fact.
Yes we’re lovers. And that is that.

I want to marry someone (again, far into into the future) who actually likes who I am, all the weird bits and pieces that create this stubborn, bizarre, sensitive, silly personality of mine. I want them to be silly sort as well. And I want them to have their own weird bits and pieces. And we look at our pieces and we say, “You know, these don’t have to fit. We don’t have to complete each other. We just have to be with each other. Because if we don’t, our lives will be unhappy. And that is that.”

This person, this wonderful weird handsome man, will love me and understand me. He will want to make me happy. I will also love and understand him and want to make him happy. We’ll have this mutual appreciation between us of the others’ quirks and we’ll want to make each other better by the end of every day, and not worse. He will be the man who finds joy in stupid fun things.

And so when I tearfully accept (I know I’ll cry) his marriage proposal, and we plan our wedding, and I won’t insist on anything but ask if I can choose our wedding song, and he says yes, and I say I choose, “I Hit It First” he will laugh and say yes. He’ll expect me to back down. And I won’t back down because I don’t want him to know I’m mostly kidding. So neither of us backs down and it all culminates in that moment where we’re about to dance our first dance to a song the DJ (or iTunes Robot) has to introduce as, “Uh, a song that came out in…like…2013? About…some guy, who, ah, he…he slept with this…there was this…do you guys remember reality TV? And Kim Kardashian? Kanye West’s ex wife? Yeah, this song is about a guy who banged her. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. And Mrs. ______!” and we’ll dance and we’ll laugh and laugh.

And that’s love.

Photo of Jayne Mansfield by Ralph Crane, 1958.

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The battle cry of the female blogger.

Feb

2013

This is not directed at any one person. This is something I feel I have to say on behalf of myself and possibly many other female bloggers out there.

It makes my freaking day when people email me or comment or come up to me in public and tell me that they like my blog or my videos or my writing for Hello Giggles. To know that there is someone else out there, across the vast and uncertain hollow space of Internet, to know that someone is reading, someone is taking the time out of their day to process words that I wrote or watch a video I made, means a lot to me.

As women bloggers though, we’re faced with certain issues that men aren’t; of this I’m sure. We’re judged harder on our content. Our photos, even just our profile photos on Facebook, are viewed at in terms of how hot we are, or aren’t. Please understand that I realize that not all men are like this. Not all men see women online as an amusing novelty. But the men who do are some of our biggest obstacles we have to deal with.

Just because we are women with a voice and an internet presence doesn’t mean that we are there for you to objectify, flirt with, or sexually harass. We’re writers. We’re creators. We’re reporters. We’re just trying to say something. We’re not posting something so that you can then comment with a suggestive remark. Our posts on dating, sex, relationhsips, or anything related, are not an invitation for you to hit on us or objectify us.

What is sexual harrassment online? I’m sure the definition is as broad and wide as can be. Perhaps my definition is stricter than most. To me, sexual harrassment is unwarrented comments that hint (or are outright blatant) about my appearance or sex life when they have nothing to do with the subject at hand. If I write, “Please judge this photo of me; tell me what you think of my face and my tits” then it would be silly of me to then turn around and say, “Why the hell did you just make a comment about my tits?” If I’m blogging about dating in LA and you comment, “Perhaps you haven’t found the right guy yet, hint hint winky face” that makes me uncomfortable. (And that was just an example I made up out of thin air.)

I respect my readers, which is why I’m posting this and not talking down to you. I welcome internet friends. I welcome people I can chat with and discuss events with. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have Twitter or Facebook. But I think that because my online presence is somewhat big and because I welcome interaction, this is misconstrued as an open invitation to flirt with me. It isn’t. So please treat me with respect. Don’t be rude. Don’t be condescending. It’s embarrassing for both of us. If you can’t do those things then go ahead and do them off of this blog, off of my Facebook page, and off of my Twitter feed.

Thanks for reading.

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You.

Jan

2013

You. No, not you. The other you. Maybe.

I would now like to address all of the different Yous. As in, more than one person. As in, this is not all about one person.

You need to stop. This is my fault, I should have been more direct. It’s not going to happen.

You are working on being a better friend, and I really appreciate that. You’re probably the only true guy friend I have left. Even though you did that thing that I will never understand, I can’t use it against you for the rest of our lives. Also, you owe me a drink.

You were my friend and you disappeared and it’s probably because of that thing that happened. Even though we were apparently both fine with it. You’re right in what you said; what I suggested, I didn’t really want. But I do want you to be my friend again.

You seem like you want to become my friend, a real friend. I really liked that conversation we had on my couch. I was touched. But I can’t rely on you to follow up and follow through. I wish you would. But you disappear and you don’t even try.

You probably don’t even read this blog anymore. You meant a lot to me. Still do.

You are actually a wonderful guy friend. I’m so glad that happened. I wish you lived here. If things stay as they are, I accept your invitation for that thing in the spring.

You, I am so angry with you.

You and I talk about having sex, hypothetically, but I don’t know if that’s the best idea. I think you’re just lonely.

You disappeared, but it’s okay. I wasn’t feeling it anymore either. The sex was fantastic. Hope you felt that way too. Sorry your roommate thought I was being murdered. Really glad she didn’t call the police.

You wondered what happened. You pulled a classic Schmosby and honestly, that changed a lot in our dynamic. I still think you’re great though.

You are just confusing as hell, but at least you know it. I hope you know that I do want you in my life. I don’t know how. Glad it isn’t my fault. I’m not going to campaign for myself. You’ve already told me how awesome I am. If you ever figure this out, let me know. There’s no deadline. Just see what happens. There’s something there. Let’s put a pin in it.

You, I forgot to respond to your email. Sorry.

Address all of your Yous in the comment section. Very freeing.

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Fat.

Jan

2013

This was taken around ’07 or ’08 before I dyed my hair dark. I remember when this was taken. I hated my body and thought I was fat, so instead of wearing a bikini and getting in the pool, I’m wearing track pants and posing goofily with a pool net. Being silly was my default. If I looked purposefully goofy then I couldn’t be scrutinized for my appearance. That was a very sad, very sick girl. I am now 10 – 12 pounds heavier than I was in this photo and I wish I looked as “fat” now as I did then. I’m learning every day and trying to be healthy and accept myself. If you have similar issues, please don’t listen to the voice in your head that tells you you’re not good enough. I wasted and missed out on fun because God forbid anyone see me in a bathing suit. NOT WORTH IT. I’m too fabulous. You are too!

(I originally posted this on Instagram and on my Facebook page and it seemed to get a big response, so I thought I would share it here too.)

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