Chick Flicks: A Guide to Growing a Vajayjay

This past week weatherchannel.com teased us in the 10-day forecast by saying that we would be stuck inside due to severe thunderstorms, although none of which turned out to be true, Julie and I have been preparing like it's a hurricane. What better way to spend a rainy day inside than watching something with the word "diaries" in the title? Now, I don't particularly hate girlie movies with all that much fiery passion, but given the choice between watching a 20 something go soul searching in Western Europe, swearing off men though secretly being open to accepting any native she meets as her soul mate, and explosions with a chance of nudity, I would much rather choose the latter.

The latest batch of estrogen that has been emanating from our TV set has been in the form of Grey's Anatomy. We all know the story: Girl tries to make it in the same career field as her famous mother, only to get swept up in inter-office romance with her yet-to-be divorced boss. Joining the ranks of dozens of other bubbly bright eyed nymphomaniac interns. Egos are tested as she and her friends denote nicknames to their bosses in the form of Mc(adjective). This not-so-secret slight against Irish-Americans doesn't slow the doctors down as they fall in and out of love with patients, complete their six degrees of separation of sexual partners involving their colleagues, spreading kitschy catch phrases that only get proliferated by the likes of Oprah and the ladies of The View. All while chomping at the bit to satiate their unending lust for blood and gore.

Ok maybe I give the show a little more credit than it's due. After watching four seasons of this medical melodrama I must view it on my terms. Thankfully with the recent acquisition of a Netflix account (not saying whose exactly)*1 we have many more choices of things to watch. Our current favorite being Law & Order: Special Victims Unit*2. This show is much more up my alley.

What separates SVU from the other twelve or so Law & Orders out there is that this one focuses on the particularly heinous crimes of Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (otherwise known as FU.... hey wait a minute). We enjoy the drama and the mystery of finding the perp who left a middle-aged man dead and strung up in S&M gear for his wife and daughter to find. Between this, Sex and the City, and watching Titanic for a 3rd time, it's really no contest. When watching shows about such a gritty and disturbing subject matter it's reassuring knowing that we will be leaving the city soon.

Oh wait a minute! Julie just showed me a news article about three men being found dead in a lake in Northampton. Well I guess you can't win them all. I'm just glad I won't have to hang up my tiger-print spandex super hero outfit just yet!

*1 Holla atchya S-Dub!

*2 Look to my previous post "Thanks Man: A Retrospective" and you'll know why -- smug stan

Thanks Man: A Retrospective

A few Mondays ago I aided Julie with her company's annual fundraiser. I was propositioned with the promise of free drinks and the possibility of seeing some celebrities. You think I would pass up the opportunity to rub elbows with the likes of Nicolas Cage, Christopher Meloni, and Marc Linn-Baker?! Don't be ridiculous! Ever since I saw Chris Meloni in Wet Hot American Summer I felt that he would really understand me, I mean he practically played me in the movie! I knew that if I were to meet him though I could not act like some star-struck floozy hanging all over him, I had to be presentable and stately. I would have to present myself as though I were one of the big wigs there, sure he's been nominated for an Emmy but I'm a co-author of a blog enjoyed by numerous members of my family. Whatever I said, it had to be good!

I spent hours in front of the mirror practicing ice breakers: "Hey, sup?", "Do you enjoy raising funds?", and my personal favorite "What crazy weather we're having? Yes or No?". With those winners I knew that he and I would be buying round trip tickets to Vegas before the night was out, if you catch my drift. Before heading to the venue I made sure I was carrying the biggest marker I had so that when I finally popped the question and asked him to sign my chest it would be visible no matter how small and embarrassed he wrote it.

My work started off with a twang. As I brought supplies down from the offices I haphazardly lifted a box and felt something pull in my back. I had aggravated a strain that I believed to have developed from a racing tournament I competed in on Xbox the previous week, as the pull was in my upper right ass. While at the time the injury didn't slow me down much, the following day I woke up to a demolished back and had to lay on the floor for two days.

The setting up of the event went about as well as could be coming from geriatric theater people. The conflicting personalities led to a wide array of perfect ideas for how the event should be set up. After a few hours of lifting, laughing, crying, and complaining the event was ready. I thought to myself "Bring on Detective Stabler!"

As the evening went on crowds cycled through perusing the items that were up for auction. Personally I wanted to put a bid on backstage passes to One Life to Live but Julie reminded me that $600 could be spent much more responsibly and efficiently on her. It wasn't until the later part of the evening did Meloni grace the venue with his presence. I tried to make my move when he was eyeing some Hirschfeld prints, but before I could get close enough to stroke his hair his wife pulled him away. Defeated I drowned my sorrows in Gin and Tonic.

At the end of the event I stood by the gift reception desk trying to make myself most available to work that needed to be done, when lo and behold over walks Chris Meloni to purchase the lovely quilt he had won. It was then that I had my chance! The moment I had been waiting for all week. He picked up the form he had to fill out then paused and looked around hurriedly. I knew what was up. I leaned over to the table and picked up one of the pens lying about, spun around and handed it to him. "Thanks man" he replied, taking the pen. It was pretty awesome, I'm never washing that pen again.

A.... or B?

We are amidst the personal hell that is packing and are T-minus one week until we are no longer New Yorkers but oddly fashionable backwoods Massachusetters. Lots has happened since my last blog. I am no longer employed (by choice) and am confused by unemployment. Am I supposed to wake up as if I am going somewhere? I can't seem to pull off tricking myself into waking up any earlier than 11. Beep-Beep-Beep- Oh no I'm gonna be la-- waaaait a minute! Ahhhh you almost got me, alarm clock!

Now my daily routine has gone from coffee and a bagel with endless hours of staring at a computer screen workin for the man to canned food and dry cereal staring at the new mess that is our apartment. Boxes left and right, empty, packed, nothing seems to be done but everything seems in the midst of some incomplete state. From my very organized desk at the theater to just a constant sense of chaos. Some order needed instating.

Zane and I have devised a plan that at first seemed logical, even helpful, but has become a question of social standing and guesstimating. We are only temporarily moving to the lakehouse and then off to Northampton/Amherst after a few months so we know this isn't a permanent situation. No use in packing, unpacking, then packing all over again. So we are labeling boxes according to use. A is immediate use. B for not going to need all summer.

My life is now the equivalent of an unsexy Cosmo quiz. I am answering more B's while Zane is leaning toward A's. When we arrive to MA we will have enough electronics and games to entertain all the armed forces. Mind you, most everything here is mine from the last 2 years being at this apartment. But I found it comical that on Day 1 we packed up the entertainment bookcase and all our DVDs. I packed mine into a box and he into his own (I don't want mine to get boy movie cooties). When we both finished we proudly looked at our first 4 packed boxes and smiled. Then I saw his were labeled A while I, the martyr I am, thought it was more of a B thing. Looks like it'll be a summer of Fight Club, Rock N Rolla, and When Harry Met Sally. What? It's Zane... come on.

We have plenty more to do over the next week and will be joined Monday night by my mom to help gather the last of it. Our sendoff party was a week ago at the Beer Garden and it was a blast. We're hoping to organize a cookout the weekend after we move in for all the friends and family up in the MA area. Stay tuned!

Gray Hair Watch: 38

A recent hair count conducted by Julie has revealed that I now have 38 gray hairs. This is far more than the 2 or 3 I counted not a year ago. These findings lead me to believe that living with Julie is aging me at an alarming rate! This may sound crazy but I secretly believe that she is keeping me around to steal my youth, much like in "The Picture of Dorian Grey". By the time my annual "Photo Shoot by the Sea" comes next month I'm bound to look like some withered old geezer.

I suppose all I can do now its hope. Hope that I will grow a full head of salt & pepper locks and become the middle aged sex symbol I looked up to as a child. Freshmen year of high school I tried to dye my hair gray. It was my Richard Gere-esk form of teenage rebellion. I thought that perhaps it would make me look distinguished. At least it would make me look gentlemanly enough so they would stop pestering me about an ID whenever I tried to go to my old hangout Gossip.

Unfortunately the woman I turned to to help me in my transformation told me that they didn't make any such hair coloring. Her attempt to grant my wish consisted of bleaching my hair to baby chick yellow, and after I saw myself as the cartoon version of James Van Der Beek, I knew that this was not going to end well. She then turned my hair into a sort of metallic black, which ultimately took on an unexpected purple tint. Fortunately at that moment in my social life I was seen somewhat of a hip trendsetter.... *coughs* no one really seemed to take notice.

As I draw nearer to my lifelong goal I find myself at a pass, do I shun Julie for performing such superficial witchcraft on me, or thank her for giving me that which I have pined for my whole life. On second thought, I'll just let her go along for it. The reaction I get from all the neighborhood cougars should be punishment enough.