Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 50

Maybe Not Monday: The Tom Cruise Lookalike In That They Are Both Delusional Edition

On today's Maybe Not Monday, we are going to talk about A WHOLE MESS of things.

I'm almost kind of scared that some of you aren't ready for this.

But you must be.

First, the things you should know about this profile that I cannot show you because I don't want to get sued:

1) He is a moderately handsome man from Manhattan. I say this to you because a couple things you will read below might make you automatically think he's a Jersey Shore boy. And honestly, if he were, some of these things could be overlooked or maybe even forgiven. But this guy obviously knows better, SO THEY'RE NOT. In fact, I am 99% sure that if you took a look at his profile with me, you would immediately say, "He kind of reminds me of Christian Bale's character from American Psycho ." And to that I would say, "Hey. Me, too."

2) His username is a variation of "WellEndowed635".
Later on in his profile he makes it sound like his username is alluding to his trust fund. But it's enough of a euphemism where anyone with 25% of proper brain function knows that he really wants you to think it refers to the size of his personal man muscle.

You know...down there.

His penis, I mean. He's talking about his penis, you guys! He's trying to tell us how big his penis is by using "well endowed" in his username.

Men, this is gross. To put it frankly, all you're going to attract with this are skanks. If you're looking to weed out all respectable and intelligent girls who possess an ounce of self-worth and a limited history of psychotic tendencies and venereal disease, then please, by all means, follow his lead. But for the rest of you, know that very few girls of quality are going to want to date someone they met online who had a username of "WellEndowed635".

2) His pics are mostly shots taken of himself in the mirror, and he uses the captions to list the items of designer clothes he's wearing.
MEN OF THE EARTH. If I have said it once, I have said it a million times, and I will now say it again: Under no uncertain terms are you EVER to use a profile picture that you have taken of yourself while standing in front of the mirror. It makes us wonder if you have no friends, and that's why you only have pictures you took of yourself to use in your profile. It makes us wonder if you're vain, and if standing in front of the mirror, smirking at yourself, is something you do a lot, whether or not we're around. We also wonder how, in this day and age, you have not figured out how to at least position the camera so it doesn't show in the mirror, like all the girls before you who figured that out three years ago to raging Facebook profile picture success.

Just stop doing it. Ask a friend to take a picture for you. If you're embarrassed to say it's for your online profile, tell him you're sending it to your mom. Better yet, get a gal pal to do it for you - girls LOVE doing that shit, and she'll make sure you come out of it with a really, really good picture of yourself. If you're embarrassed to get your friends to do it, go to a busy street and ask some friendly passer-by to do it for it. WHATEVER. Just stop doing it in the mirror with the camera phone flash and your stupid vacant mirror-face.

Back to this guy: The listing of designer clothes. I just can't...I don't even...like, why?! Why would you do this? It's so incredibly shallow. And girls, I've seen more of you do this than guys, and so all of you, listen up: Those who care about those things will most likely already be able to pick up on the fact that what you're wearing is designer. Trust me: I can spot a Michael Kors bag and a Zac Posen dress from a mile away, not to mention a men's tailored Ralph Lauren suit (I used to wake up at 5 in the morning on Saturdays all through middle school just to watch Style with Elsa Klensch . This girl came to play). And those who can't? DON'T CARE. You know who will get more attracted to you when you talk about money? People who are only attracted to people who have money. 

Anyway. You ready for the profile? Cause it's good. It's real, real good. So light that fire in your electric fireplace, sit on back in your easy chair with your cup of coffee, and prepare to be taken away to another world...

His profile is in bold, with my comments in regular type.


My self-summar y Rumor has it that my kiss gives a girl disney spells. No it doesn't. Absolutely no one in the universe is saying that about this guy. 
I'm part Jewish intellectual and part Scottish hooligan.
Ugh. People who even attempt to describe themselves as "hooligan" give me a headache. 
I'm a former English professor. I taught at Fordham and Yeshiva (and I taught mostly Shakespeare and Wordsworth). (Amber's note: Oh did you?) I turned to stock trading in 2011. I moved to TriBeCa in 2010, but, like Matt & Ben, I was born and raised in Cambridge. Also, like them, (Amber's Note: This guy did a lot of research on Matt and Ben. That should be a red flag.) I'm from an academic family (my dad worked at MIT and my older brother teaches at Harvard) and am a diehard fan of the Patriots and Celtics. I'm also a huge fan of professional tennis. I went to Sarah Lawrence undergrad and Brandeis for grad school.
How much fun was it to hear all about his schooling, huh, guys?! Whoa, what a BLAST that was! I can't get enough of where this guy got all of his education! Hopefully someday I can go on a date with him and hear him talk about this for the rest of both our lives! 
I trade for myself, which means I'm my own boss, but it also means I work a lot (I do all my own research). In my free time, I work out a lot and shop for clothing. On Sunday, I watch football and on Saturday I browse at Saks and Barneys. I have to say this: I live with probably one of the most straight metrosexual men you will ever meet in your life. And even HE doesn't list "browse at Saks and Barneys" as one of his weekly pursuits. I think all girls everywhere can agree that we like men who dress well. But much like how we don't mention that Sundays are "pedicure, manicure, and wax" days in our profiles (right, girls? We're not doing that, are we?), it's simply the end point that matters. We don't so much need to know how we all get there.

I love the country and enjoy mountain biking and trail running. I haven't been skiing in years, but I want to get back into it. I suck at it now. Maybe you suck at it too. We can sip hot chocolate in the emergency room together and sign each other's cast.
This is actually cute. And creative. If he would have stuck to more of stuff like this...
Around town, I like to go to gallery openings, museum parties, and charity events at clubs. I know I'm supposed to say I don't like clubs, but I do (Amber's note: What?! Really? No idea that someone like YOU would like clubs, Mr. Designer-wearing-mirror-photo-shot-man). Until 2010, I lived in East Williamsburg on an adjunct professor's salary. I haven't been back since I left. I'd like to get back to London, Paris, Rome, and Barcelona. Love those places. Hawaii too. I'd like to see Brazil, Argentina, and Central America. My love of Russian literature has made me curious about St Petersburg and Moscow.
"My love of Russian literature..." This is the stuff my roommate used to say that would make me drop into eye-rolling/puking-sound-effect convulsions from pretentious overload. And now he knows that, and so now he has stopped doing it. This guy could maybe stop with it, too. Because you might really love Russian literature, and that's awesome. I like it, too! Maybe we should start a book club about it. But the only reason why you bring something like that up here is so you can impress someone. And that's when it gets to be pretentious, and that's when I write to you and ask you pointed questions to see if you really know what you're talking about. 
When I'm in the city, I prefer to be in upscale, very stylish, architecturally beautiful places. To me, the city means design, style, and cosmopolitanism. In the country, I'm different. I love ponds, dirt roads, fireflies, woodsmoke, snow angels, a sky full of stars, and thunderstorms.
First part, total pukebomb. Second part? Honestly, if the guy just stuck to the country and outdoor bit, he'd be golden. It's like he starts talking about stuff that is of not of the city and actually becomes a real person. Maybe it's a spell!Maybe he's under a spell like in Beauty & The Beast, and he can only be an asshole in the city and a real boy in the country! Or, maybe he's just a douche in both places, but has easier access to features in the country that don't make him sound like an insufferable buffoon. 
I work out six times a week. I lift. I try to run 35 miles a week. I spin.
Great. Tell me more.
My income in 2012 is only half what I listed. Next year, it should be what I listed. By 2016, I hope to be earning 4k a day. I'm very driven. My five to seven year plan is to work a lot, travel, get a loft in TriBeCa, have two amazing little kids, and get a weekend house on the water in Connecticut.
What I’m doing with my lif e trading pharmaceutical stocks. Mainly, I trade companies that make meds for weight-loss and type II diabetes. It's a big market. Like Tyler Durden, I profit from your lard.Charming. 

I’m really good a t lasting and going downtown.Yeah.Yeah, he really wrote that. Yes. Yes he did. 
The first things people usually notice about m e is that I smell like Green Irish Tweed.

When I wear aviators, people think I'm Tom Cruise. Really. Tourists snap photos and kids stare. Last month, some tourist on Wooster street put a Polaroid camera in my face. Cashiers always say I look like him. I'd get wayfarers, but I want the aliens to pick me up.Ugh. NO, THEY DON'T. NO ONE THINKS YOU ARE TOM CRUISE. I SAW YOUR PICTURES, AND NO ONE ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH WOULD MISTAKE YOU FOR TOM CRUISE. Except for maybe when he was back in his bowl-hair-cut, couch-jumping, Kate-is-great phase. But they only do so when you're wearing aviators, so it still doesn't count. 
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and foo d Food: The Odeon, Dylan Prime. Nobu, Wolfgang's, Bouley, Waverly Inn, Marble Lane (Dream Downtown), The Standard Grill (hit or miss), Abe & Arthurs, Collichio and Sons, The Lion, Raoul's, Blue Ribbon, Balthazar, Morini, TriBeCa Grill, Cafe Select (okay). These places are overrated: The Spotted Pig, The Harrison, Loconda Verde, Super Linda (really bad), The Dutch (great oysters, though).
Oh! THANK YOU for this sparkling and informative review of eateries! Except nobody asked for it, and you're only supposed to list your favorites, so now you come off as even more of a pretentious douche than before.
And yeah. Despite all odds, I guess it really was possible.

My drinks are Speyside single malt scotch and red wine (New World Pinot Noir, 2005 Bordeaux, Cotes du Rhone, Cab, Sangiovese, and Barbera D'Alba. I'm not big on Merlot, Malbec, or Shiraz). I drink cold beer when it's over 80 degrees out, but I'm more of a whiskey guy than a beer guy.

Drinks: Jimmy, TriBeCa Grand, Macao Trading, Smith & Mills, Ph-D, 1OAK, Brinkley's, Mister H. Mondrian Soho, Pravda (not anymore), Crosby bar (tame and quiet), 77 Warren (my local source for amazing hot wings), Weather Up (crappy scotch, but close by), Tiny is ok

Music: Paul van Dyk, Bowie, Led Zep, Leonard Cohen, Tiesto, Muse, Radiohead, The Stones, Coldplay, Roxy Music, Eno, Phoenix, Snow Patrol, New Order, Silversun Pickups, RHCP, Kings of Leon, Soundgarden, Cheap Trick, Green Day, Wilco, Deadmau5, Moby, NIN, The Killers, Jeff Buckley, The Cure, Pixies, The Cars, T Rex, Guns N Roses, VU, AC/DC, Arcade Fire, The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, Kanye West, Interpol, Eminem, Biggie Smalls, The Psychedelic Furs. Also, I'm a huge fan of Beethoven, esp. his cello sonatas and piano trios. Furthermore, I love symphonies 9, 7, and 3. I love Brahms, Chopin, and Bach too.
Okay. Let's talk about the thing that guys do when they simultaneously list "Biggie Smalls" and "Beethoven" in the same "music I like" paragraph. It's practically lifted from a "Things I Listen To That Make Me Sound Cool" Thought Catalog post...in fact, his entire list of musical preferences read like that, except for the part where he listed Soundgarden, because, I mean...c'mon. Nobody cool listens to Soundgarden. 

But I digress. This is the part that makes me feel like I'm going come off as just wanting to hate all over this guy, but I'm actually trying to use the above as an example of something that I think a lot of us have observed, but few of us have talked about  - sometimes, white guys like to "admit" that they love thug rap and hip-hop because they think it makes them sound hard and cool and interesting, much like how a lot of girls will motor-mouth about how much they love metal, for the same exact reasons. And we all know those two or three people who do genuinely love it - love it - and the thing is? They don't have to talk about it all the time. Also, a love of rap and hip-hop is now universal. It no longer makes you sound underground or different to say, "And you know, I actually really like rap." Really? Like 85% of the human race who have a natural propensity to like great beats? And splicing Biggie Smalls and Beethoven...ugh. Whatever. I see what you're trying to do there, WellEndowed, but I'm just going to stop here and give you the benefit of the doubt.

Movies: Wedding Crashers, Before Sunset, Manhattan, Superbad, Die Hard (all), the Bourne series, The Departed, Casino Royale, Charade, The Shining, Solaris, North By Northwest, Blade Runner, Stripes, Strangers on a Train, Inception, The Dark Knight, Memento, Catch me if you Can, Oceans' Eleven (new), Fight Club, Michael Clayton, Duplicity, The American, Cool Hand Luke, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Good Will Hunting, American Beauty, Hanna, Une Femme est Une Femme, Notting Hill, Bridget Jones' Diary, The Silence of the Lambs, Never Let me Go, About a Boy, Persona Cries and Whispers, Exotica, The Sweet Hereafter, Sex Lies and Videotape, Tropic Thunder, Bad Teacher, Trainspotting, The Talented Mr Ripley, Hot Tub Time Machine, Up in the Air, Election, Terminator (1 and 2), Alien, Closer, Wings of Desire, Paris Texas, The Prestige, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Graduate, Snatch, Five Easy Pieces, Rosemary's Baby, Wanted, Shakespeare in Love, Pulp Fiction, L'Avventura, Kill Bill, Fargo, Raising Arizona, Face Off, Zombieland, House of Flying Daggers, Hero, Groundhog Day, The Rock, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Deer Hunter, Taxi Driver, Gladiator, Wanted, Taken, The Next Three Days, Return to Oz, 21 Jump Street, Knocked Up, Two for the Road, I Love You Man, Mr and Mrs Smith, X-Men (1 and 2), Badlands, Days of Heaven, The Hoax, Minority Report, Collateral, Ferris Bueller's...Fast Times..., Dazed and Confused, A Clockwork Orange, The Breakfast Club, Say Anything, Apocalypse Now, Gangs of New York, American Psycho, Away from Her, Juno, The Last Days of Disco. I don't like Herzog, PT Anderson, or Baumbach.
PEOPLE OF AMERICA: We do not need your entire catalog of every movie you've ever watched that you've halfway liked in the entire history of your life. Seriously, the music/movies/books section is the easiest section in which to draw someone's attention, and the easiest to lose it in. I have a Top 5 rule for my clients - for books, movies, and music, only list your Top 5. Any more than that and your reader's eyes are going to start glossing over. 

And just to completely go off on a tangent, no putting, "I have eclectic tastes in ___." SO DOES EVERYONE. I know of NO PEOPLE EVER who only listen to one type of music only or watch only one category of film and do not enjoy any classic genre of any kind and are not open to any cross-overs whatsoever. Wait, never mind, I do...and all those people have autism or Aspergers. Unless those people are you, there is no point in saying, "I have a very eclectic taste in music" because that's like saying that you like to laugh, or enjoy going out on the town but also don't mind staying in. It's so common that it's not worth saying.
(Also see: "I'm super into music/film/reading.")

Books: Shakespeare, Proust, Wilde, Fitzgerald, Delillo, Chabon, Palahniuk, James, Updike, Salinger, Barthelme, Shelley, Wordsworth, Poe, Joyce, Faulkner, Borges, Baudelaire, Nabokov, Dostoyevsky (but not Tolstoy), Cortazaar, Franzen, Pynchon, Dick, W. Gibson, Dickinson, Stevens, TS Eliot, Austen, George Eliot, Merrill, Ashbery. Also good: Wittgenstein, Nieztsche, Cavell, Searle, Benjamin, Adorno, Weber, Foucault. My favorite writer to quote is Oscar Wilde. My favorite writer to read is Fitzgerald. My favorite philosphical writer is Proust. My favorite book in high school was Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young man. The book that made me want to go to grad school was Mann's The Magic Mountain. The deepest book, imo, is The Brothers Karamazov or maybe George Eliot's Middlemarch. I think most French theory is useless but fun. My favorite plays by Shakespeare are Macbeth, King Lear, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Richard II, Twelfth Night, The Winter's Tale, Henry V, Antony and Cleopatra, and As You Like It.

TV: Breaking Bad, Lost, 24, Gilmore Girls, Veronica Mars, Mad Men (sort of), Game of Thrones, CSI-LV, The Office, Californication, Weeds, Seinfeld, Skins (UK), Friends, Twin Peaks, Dawson's Creek, Buffy, The OC, True Blood. I can't get into Homeland. I just started The Killing. It's really well made. I don't watch much comedy.

The six things I could never do withou t - single malt scotch
- espresso
- 70% dark chocolate
- steak
- French Bulldogs. I had two. I love them. I say stuff like "squeezy pig" and "squishy piggles". It's emasculating for both the dogs and me. Tape my mouth.
- my trust fund
See, sometimes, like with the Bulldog thing, he can actually be funny. And then he ruins all of it by ending it with stuff like "my trust fund." 

I spend a lot of time thinking abou t David Bowie.

I try to read the WSJ or NYT daily (at least the headlines).
See, this shit is interesting. I will give him props for this stuff. It's unique, creative, and gives some insight into what his brain is like. 

On a typical Friday night I a m dancing with myself.

If I made 5% over the week, I may hit the gym and then grab a late dinner at The Standard Grill or something. After that, have a drink somewhere with thin girls.

If I didn't make 5%, I hit the gym, come home and work, and then close the evening with some scotch and Showtime on demand.
And yet again, he mixes it up with something interesting and kind of clever and then ruins all the cred he just built up by saying stuff like "have a drink somewhere with thin girls." This is a Tucker Max thing. And you can bet your own trust fund that this guy has read all of his books. 

The most private thing I’m willing to admi t I suffer from a phobia of butterflies. It's ridiculous. I duck and run. But I'm not afraid of bats. They look like French Bulldogs.

I'll see anything with Hugh Grant.

Sometimes, I cry when I see Shakespeare. That's private, because it sounds so pretentious. When Macduff learns of his family's demise or when Viola rediscovers Sebastian, I tear up a little.
Again. More stuff like this is what could have saved his profile. And he admits that crying to Shakespeare is pretentious, but not any of the other billion pretentious things we've already read? Alright. 

You should message me i f you like to shop and you like my taste in dresses. Also maybe you like to hit a club on occasion, eat good food, go mountain biking and skiing, travel, and watch good cable TV. Maybe you want to see the entire Grand Slam in person someday and kick around Paris, London, and Melbourne. This idea is still in its infancy.

You love kids and dogs.

Beautiful, thin, super fit, sexy, passionate, sensual, seductive, smart, clever, winsome, giddy, playful, considerate, durable.

I'm always happy to meet people who love Shakespeare and Wilde.
Annnnd end scene!

We've learned a lot today, gentle readers. I don't think I can even summarize all that we've learned...all I know is that we have learned, and the bulk of what we have learned has been massive and large and sometimes hard.

You saw what I did there, right?

Okay, good.

It was about penis, you guys! Just in case, for those of you who didn't get it -  I was talking about penis, and being well endowed. Because his username was "WellEndowed"! Do you get it now? It was a reference to how big his penis is supposed to be!

Anyway. Go now...go and make your preparations for your own profile. Go and correct your mistakes, go and take down those pictures of your own mirror-self-portraits, go and erase every "I'm super into food"-esque statement you have made... Go now, and be better. Do better.

And if you need some help, I am always here for you.

Two Months Later (Part 3)

It was the last hard thing.

"How did I even do this last time, Mom? Like when Hansel died, how the fuck did I even survive that?Like this pain...” I splayed my hands out on my chest and tried to shake my head against the tears, even though I knew it was useless. “It's just...it's just so much, and I don't know what to do with all of it, and it just won't...it just doesn't stop, you know?”
“I know,” My mom said quietly, nodding her head. “You just took it day by day, Amber. One step at a time, remember?”“Yeah.” I turned and looked out the window. The green fields of Wisconsin, of Baldwin, spread out beyond the parking lot of The Orchard, both lush and bleak at the same time. “It just feels like my heart is going to explode. And I kind of remember have that feeling, before...like everything hurt, even just moving, breathing, sitting up in bed...but...” I slide my straw out of my glass of Diet Coke and then back into it again, watching the effervescent bubbles pop around the shiny white plastic tube. “I guess I just forgot exactly how much it hurt, and how it hurt allthe time.”“I know.”
It was the last hard thing. The last thing I wanted to do, when it came to that mental checklist...I didn't want to tell the rest of my friends, I didn't want to get the rest of my stuff, I didn't want to stay in Minneapolis, I didn't want to go back up north, I didn't want to have to figure out what to do with Pooks...and I didn't want to tell my mom. That was the final thing that turned me into a blubbering, sobbing mess, even if I had successfully made it through the rest of the day otherwise, had steeled myself through the thoughts or actions of the others. I just didn't want to tell my mom.
Because it was the thing again where I thought I was done. Where I had finally found it, this great person...and now I had to tell my mom, "Hey, just kidding, guess he wasn't who I thought he was. Sorry your daughter turned out to be such a crap judge of character, hahaha!" It felt embarrassing  And humiliating  And too sad for words.

But in the end, the thing I have learned over and over in times like this proved true again: sometimes, the only person you really want to talk to is your mom. You just want her to let you cry while she tells you it's going to be okay, you did the right thing, and you can always come home if you want to. So the Friday of what I will now refer to as The Great Breakup Week of 2012, I agreed to meet her in Baldwin so she could take some of the big stuff I had moved out of Chris' place and put in our family's storage unit. And to talk about what I was going to do with Pooks. 
This was, oddly, one of the few other things that could make me break down just by thinking about it. Because I had no idea what I was going to do with Pooks, and it was one of those things that I kept thinking, in my darker moments, "If I hadn't broken up with Chris, I wouldn't even have to think about this right now." But I did, and so I did, and so it was constant back-and-forth between what options I didn't have. If I was going to move into the Penthouse with Adam, I couldn't take her with me. If I decided to just take off and go somewhere new, it would throw her stability and stress level to an even more chaotic place. She didn't even like me anymore, due to how many times I've moved her around to different places in the past few years (not to mention the fact that I made her live with an overly enthusiastic and affectionate giant dog -whom she hated - for most of the past year). So the only logical option was to try and find her a new home. 
Which soon became a nightmare. Because of her age, every shelter and foster network I called told me that she had almost no chance of being adopted or even fostered. A couple even told me - kindly but honestly - that if I brought her to a shelter, she would likely be put down in a couple weeks, since shelters having to put down at least a dozen cats each week, including kittens and expectant mothers, due to overcrowding. "Honestly, and I know you don't want to hear this, but...it might be the most humane thing for you to put her down herself," one of the shelter people told me on the phone one afternoon. "Then at least she'll have someone who loves her with her when it happens, instead of having to hang out in a cage for two weeks and then having it happen in a roomful of other cats." 
Which my mom agreed with. She spent most of that afternoon and the duration of a very teary phone from me a few days later giving me some tough truth about the reality of overcrowding at shelters, Pook's age, and my lifestyle. "Amber, everyone knows how much you love that cat and how hard you've worked to give her a good home. And I know you don't want to do it, but putting her down at this stage might be the most loving thing at all."
And while I knew that she might be right, I still just could not believe that my best option was to put down Pooks. So I put out calls to any and all friends I knew who might at all want to live with an old sassy black lady who couldn't keep her mouth shut and her paws to herself. I had a couple of really, really great friends do some networking for me, trying to find leads on any and all fosters or shelters that might take her, even under the cover of "Oh hey, I found this cat on the street and I can't keep her, so..." (because so many shelters and fosters have policies where they'll accept abandoned or found pets, but will great restrict surrenders from owners. Which I totally get. BUT.). But it was starting to look hopeless, which meant that I was bawling about it on a daily basis. I was even seriously considering just setting her free and letting her take her chances back out on the street (especially after one hilarious night at Katy's, when she sneaked out of Katy's sliding deck doors and didn't come back until the next night, and then she just laid on the floor for a couple of hours, like, "You guys would not BELIEVE the wild night of lovemaking I had last night!" Thank god that girl is fixed) because at least that would mean that maybe she would have a few more years of life left. 
Yeah. Obviously I wasn't thinking straight, but I was panic-stricken at this point. Because the bottom line was that it was either that or put down the very pet who had taught me how to love. 
Soon it was crunch time. I was leaving for Los Angeles in a handful of days, and I still had nowhere to take Pooks. I called my mom, bawled to her for a bit, screwed up my courage, and called the Humane Society to make an appointment to euthanize Pooks. After hanging up the phone, I did that thing where you scroll through Facebook while bawling your eyes out, and came across a post from a long-time friend and acquaintance of mine, Sandra. She had posted something about foster care for pets, so on a whim, I sent her a message, telling her about the situation with Pooks and asking if she knew of any alternative resources or ideas whatsoever. 
She wrote back that what I had encountered with shelters and fosters was much the picture everywhere, but she would try to network fast, and in the meantime, could I send a picture of Pooks and some basic info for her to use?
I did, and she wrote back, "Oh god it looks like Alie Schipper's dream cat. I wonder...."
And the rest of the story is seriously a miracle. Alie ended up adopting Pooks (whom she renamed "Cookie") and as you can see from the picture above, the old girl is doing pretty well in her new digs. It turned out beyond my hopes and prayers - Pooks not only has a great and loving home, but Alie is such a great Cat Mom, and she posts hilarious pictures and posts all the time about Pooks, which is just...I can't even tell you. The fact that Pooks didn't have to be put down AND is able to live with owners who are just as delighted with her sass mouth as I was...seriously, you guys. A miracle. Plain and fucking simple. 
A hugely gushing, sappy, teary thanks to Sandra and Alie for turning what could have been a hugely tragic thing into a radically happy ending. 
POOKS/DELORIS/COOKIE LIIIIIVESSSSS!

Two Months Later. (Part 2)

Brad - whom you might remember as the Handsome Rugged Outdoorsman - and I had talked back in August when Katy and I went to see a live music gig at the Boulder Lodge. Back when we had dated, I had mentioned to Brad that he and his crew should really be on a reality TV show. He's the Peter Pan to a crew of handsome, devilish, and daring Lost Boys (also known as The Musky Tribe). All of them are ridiculously good looking (seriously, Lucky Porter looks like Brad Pitt from Legends of the Fall. I mean, COME ON.), charming and charismatic, and they spend their days living the red-blooded male's equivalent of the American Dream - fishing for water monsters in the Northwoods and getting paid for it.

So when we ran into each other this past August, we talked a little more about some of my ideas for the Musky Tribe and Brad's career. It was one of those subjects where the mere thought of the possibilities got me ridiculously psyched up, even though it wasn't even my career. So when he emailed me about taking all of that over, I knew I couldn't turn it down. Even the things that were totally outside my realm of expertise didn't scare me, because I believed so much in the potential Brad and these guys had that I knew that enthusiasm would be enough to sail me smoothly through the uncharted waters.

And the funny thing is...it all fit in. I went back to the vision book I had created only a day before and flipped through it and  realized that almost everything I had put in there...it fit this.

"I really feel like the universe is watching out for you right now," Erica emailed. And I couldn't disagree. Nothing was locked in yet, but it just felt like...this time in my life when I just desperately needed some peace about where I was going to go and what I was going to do, it was as if plans were falling from the sky and landing in my inbox. And even more than that, they were the kind of plans that made me feel like I wasn't just going to be okay, but better. That there might be a reason to get excited about the future.

Rules of Association.

My new favorite on-repeat song, 'Hanging On' by Ellie Goulding, is in the new Victoria's Secret commercial.

I like this song because it sounds like it could be in a stealth-heist parallel-world type story. You know, like TRON.

For the record, I like everything that could be like TRON. Let's just get that out of the way now, and save ourselves a bunch of time in the future.

But now, when I hear that song, I have to gyrate around my apartment in my matching underwear set and toss my voluminousness yet perfectly styled hair around and throw seductive looks at an imaginary camera while I trace my finger down the strap of my lacy bra. Because that's the association that this song has now.

And that is not very TRON-like.

Except for maybe when Garrett Hedlund is hanging out at my place. Then maybe all that is suddenly okay.

Why I Choose Love.

Because of my new resident status (hellooooo Wisconsin!) I will personally be unable to cast my vote in my (other) beloved state. Be that as it may (and as many of you know by now), I still have some pretty strong emotions circling around Minnesota's election tomorrow, and if you'll indulge me, I'd like to give you a personal window into why.

When I was 18, I was a student at North Park University in Chicago, IL. I loved it there - it was (and is) an amazing community of progressive and faith-minded people. One of those people was Laura Laurelson (you might know her from a little song by Conor Oberst), an effortlessy cool chick who was so intimidating to me I could barely speak when I was in the same room with her.

One day, a group of my friends and I were walking into our door, laughing and yelling and being your basic obnoxious freshman girls. As we got on the elevator, I remember replying to a joke made by one of my friends with a loud, "That's so GAY." Right on cue, Laura Laurelson walked by the elevator and said, "And that would mean it's really bad, right?" The elevator doors closed. The rest of my friends and I rode up to our floor in stunned silence.

Because she was right. Laura had a best friend on campus who was, quite frankly, the only flamboyantly gay person I had ever had personal contact with. And he was awesome. And suddenly, I just got it. I didn't think past "gay" as a slang term until then, because I was young and naive and all sorts of stupid in the way you're only stupid when you're 18 and away from home for the first time. After that night, I personally apologized to Laura and thanked for opening both my eyes and my mind. And I never used "gay" as a slang term again.

Flash forward two years later, when I worked year-round at Lutheran Bible Camp. There are many, many things I can say about that time in my life, but what's important right now is this: That place was filled with so many good people who genuinely felt they were doing the right thing by Christ by closing their hearts and minds to those who were homosexual. The popular term was, "I love them as my brothers and sisters even if I don't accept what they do." What we missed was...we were condemning people based on the judgement in our own hearts and narrowness of our own minds. And that is definitely not what Christ's love is about. And that doesn't make people like the above bad people, just like it didn't make me a bad person to use "gay" as a slang term. It just meant that we had a little farther to go in learning what acceptance and love and forgiveness really means.

Flash forward another ten years later. I am older, more worldly, more experienced, and still as faulty and silly as I was when I was 18. It has been my great pleasure and blessing to have met, known, and befriended a wide range of women and men who have been gay and who have not. The difference now that I am 33 versus 18 is that they are all the same to me. I don't call them my "gay friends" much like I don't call other friends my "black" friends or my "rich" friends. I love and loathe and enjoy and get annoyed by all of them equally the same. And I simply cannot comprehend, in this day and age, why we would still consider an entire group of people inferior to us. Why, for as far as we've come in both the history of this nation and in humanity, we would still think it's okay for us to consider inequality a sound principle.

But here's where it gets really personal.

As most of you know by now, about ten years ago the lives of myself and so many of those around me were shattered by the sudden and tragic loss of our brightest light. His name was Hansel, and he was the love of my life. Losing him was the single most devastating experience of my life, and quite likely will remain so. And his family was and is amazing and so gracious and wonderful and generous, but because we were not married, I had little to no claim to the things that don't seem to mean anything until that moment comes...and then they mean everything. Being able to say goodbye. Being able to share in the memories of their life. Being able to speak up for and honor their last wishes.

If you've ever lost someone, or have at all come close to it, you know the power, the comfort, and the peace that it means to be there. To be able to sit or stand or kneel at their side. To hold vigil, to direct the best care you can get for them, and if it comes to it, to say goodbye and to hear them say goodbye. And so you can imagine the devastation that can come from not being able to do that. From being withheld from that. From being denied permission to be with the one you love, the one who loves you, when it matters most.

It was that experience that propelled me to become an advocate for marriage rights. I simply could not imagine what it would be like to have to go through losing a lover and a partner and have no legal rights or recognition of the relationship you shared with them. To be barred and withheld from sharing their last moments with them. To be forced into giving up their care and wishes to those who may not honor it and them.

Not matter what your beliefs or political views or moral standpoints are, please, for a moment, consider softening your heart to this. Please imagine what it would feel like for your wife, your husband, or your child to be dying and for you to be barred from being with them in their last moments. From speaking up for the things they want or need. This is the reality for millions of men and women who love each other, who care for each other, who support and comfort and give to each other in the same way that you and I love, care, support, comfort, and give to those we love. The fact that they merely do so with a person of the same sex does not make it any less real, or any less valuable, or any less devastating when it is not allowed to be.

This isn't about religion, or politics, or culture. This is about humanity. This is about seeing beyond our own prejudices and notions and opinions and simply choosing love. Just that. Simply that. We are here to give love to one another. We are here to honor the love that others give. I can yell at you about being on the right side of history and plead with you to be more open-minded and argue with you about genetics, but the bottom line is that these are people's lives. We are attempting to pass judgement on whole entire lives. And I am simply not comfortable with that. I do not believe I have the right to say, "I deserve fundamental freedoms and rights because I was born this way, and you don't because you were born that way." If you are a believer, then we know and are taught that God does not give more love to some and less to others. He loves us all equally. And if we are truly striving to live by His example, then that is the example we should live by.

Tomorrow, please choose love.

Maybe Not Monday: The "I Invite You To Try Out This Cool New Thing Called Google" Edition

Men of the online dating persuasion:

If a girl has something in her online profile that you aren't familiar with...like, say, her location, or maybe a favorite movie...then I invite you to try this new thing called "Google Search" before you email her specifically to ask "What's ____?"

And before we go further with this, let me just clarify: I am not bitching about this only because of the above email. 90% of this particular email is great. But the remaining 10% just happens to be a specific habit that I see men engage a lot in during their online dating practices. And so we're talking about it.

Because you know what? That stuff makes you sound stupid. Back when I lived in Spooner, I couldn't even tell you how many guys from Minneapolis would message me just to ask, "Where's Spooner?" Why do I have to map out my location for you? You're the one who checked me out. It's the old-fashioned rule applied to the modern situation - if you're attempting to win a girl's attention, then it's up to you to put in the work. It's like asking a girl out on a date and then expecting her to map out your route to the restaurant you asked her to make reservations at. It's lazy. It makes you look like you need to have your hand held. It immediately conjures up images in her head of her having to do everything in your possible-future relationship, from making the travel plans to initiating sex. THAT IS NOT SEXY.

At least attempt to negotiate your own answers to the questions first. I mean, we have the internet now. It is literally a veritable source of information. I bet if you typed in "Tall Hunter Wellingtons" into the Google Search bar, you'd probably come up with some information. Maybe even a picture!

And if you're thinking, "Yeah, but it gives me something to talk to her about!", then ask yourself this question: How many conversations have you enjoyed that merely consisted of you answering dumb questions?

Exactly.

Do the work, find out the answers, and then impress her with some fact of knowledge that you picked up. Like, "I read that Moonrise Kingdom was going to get a lot of Academy Award attention...what do you think?" See?! That leaves the door wide open for not only lots of illuminating, interesting conversation, but you also impress her with the fact that you know about something that she likes. Even if you didn't only five seconds before.

And you want to impress her, right? I mean, that's kind of the point, is it not?

(if it isn't, then stop emailing her)

So get out there! Use the internet to your advantage! Find out some stuff! It's not just for porn anymore, guys. This internet thing...I mean, I've heard it's going to be huge. Get in on it.


(want more help with your online dating adventures? I'm reformulating my packages and services as we speak, so hit me up freestyle and I'll set you up with some special rates that are only available while the new biz is still in the lab. You get what you want, I get what I want...it's like a KY commercial up in here!)

It's Friday, Friday, Gotta Get Down On Friday.

Sometimes the perfect Friday night involves leisurely scrolling through Pinterest while sitting in front of a roaring fire, waiting patiently for your roommate to come back after braving the cold brisk Wisconsin air to collect a bag of fun-sized Snickers bars for you.

Because you need them for, you know, writing.

And also for when you force him to watch "New Moon" with you later.

Two Months Later. (Part 1)

"Will you help me get my bed set up?" I asked, as I hopped down from the raised platform of what was to be my new bedroom.
"Yes," Adam smirked. "I will help you get everything set up."
"Hey thanks, roommate."

It had all come together in a matter of days. Two months before, on the night of the final break-up conversation with Chris, I sat on Katy's back porch and sobbed that I had no idea what I was going to do. I didn't want to go back up north, and I didn't want to stay in Minneapolis. Going north felt like going backward, I told her, and every single street, building, and patch of sky in the goddamn Minnesota city that I used to love so much now only reminded me of him. I just wanted something entirely new. Something that didn't exhaust me so much, to think of it. And the weirdest and most complicated thing was that even though I was now essentially and effectively homeless, I knew that I had choices.

I just didn't want to have to make any of them.

Here's the thing that was both the best and the worst: My life was in total upheaval. Because I had moved out of Chris' place, I didn't have a place to live. I had a side job that brought in some steady income, but I hated it and had only taken the damn job in the first place because I was hoping that it would somehow relieve some of the stress between Chris and I (it didn't, which made me hate it even more). I had a cat that I loved but might not be able to keep. All of these things put together would create a chaotic stressbomb on its own, but add in a smashed-in heart and it was like...shit, right? All I wanted to do was collapse into a heap and cry for the rest of the year...but instead, I told myself, I needed to find a way to suck it up and get through it in a way that would allow me to come out winning. And the only way to do that was to figure out, as soon as possible, how I was going to get my life back together.

Crisis is a ridiculously effective motivator.

Two days later, Adam - my friend and former Hayward roommate - called to discuss developing plans for the co-working/collaborative space we are planning to open in the spring. The planned location for the biz is the Penthouse of The Pavilion. In the meantime, Adam shared, he would be renting it as a living space. "If you do decide to come back up here again," Adam added, "You know you're totally welcome to live here, too."

As I wrote here last year, the very first time I lived in Hayward (when I was twenty-one) I promised myself after leaving that the only way I would ever move back was if I got to live in one of the two dream living spaces it had to offer. Adam and I lived in the #2 space last year, The Adventure Loft. The Penthouse is #1, but wishing to live there was like saying, "Hey, next year, why don't I just buy a house in the Hollywood Hills?" A.k.a., it's not impossible, but the stars definitely needed to align in order to make it a reality. The Penthouse is an ultra-unique and unbelievable space - high ceilings, great light, and packed with ridiculous features like hardwood floors, skylights, two working fireplaces (one in the living room, one in the kitchen), a Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom, a greenroom, a walk-in closet, and a two-level deck. It's also fantastically furnished and decorated, and in a historic building on Main Street, which gives a front-row seat to all the really great world-class races (Fat Tire, Birkie) and seasonal events (Musky Fest) in Hayward.

So Adam's offer felt, oddly, like getting a big gift that you're not sure you're ready to keep yet. If I had to be in Hayward, that would be the dream place to live...but I didn't know if I wanted to go back up to Hayward. My family's there, and there are things that I love about the place, but I couldn't help thinking about when I had left in February...how I flew out of town, my car all packed up and my eyes bright with this buoyant elation, knowing that my time in Hayward the past summer and fall had brought me Chris, but feeling grateful that now that I was leaving to be with him, I would never have to come back to stay again.

It just all felt...so sad, you know? To think about going back. Like I had failed somehow. Like I couldn't make it, and so here I was, returning once again, tired and defeated, to lick my wounds in a town that I both loved and resented for its familiarity.

So I told Adam that I didn't really know what I was doing yet, but I would see if maybe I could make it work. "I know for sure that I'll come up there when we start getting ready to open the space, but if I come up there now, I have to be able to make a living there until we open," I told him. "So let me see what I can figure out and I'll let you know."

"I think you should just throw all your stuff into the back of your car and take off," Katy said, when I told her about it later. "The one really good thing right now - even though I know it doesn't really feel like it's a good thing - is that you have the freedom to go somewhere you've always wanted to go. And you're smart enough that you can figure it out when you get there, you know?"

"I know," I nodded. "And I think I'm going to do that no matter what - whether it's for a couple of weeks or for long-term. I just want to try and figure out what my end game will be so I'm not stressed about that, too."

So I slept on it. I gave thanks that I had at least a viable option, promised myself that I would leave myself open to any and all plans that came my way, and slept on it.

The next morning I woke to an email from Brad Bohen:

"Ok...I keep thinking I need an agent and you are the person who keeps coming to mind.

Sorry to be direct.

What does this mean?"

It meant that I was probably moving back up to Hayward.

And, also, because it makes your Flash Dance outfit that much more complete.

There's a particular joy in buying leg warmers for yourself just because you've always wanted them. Even if all they're for is to make your legs look cute while you hang out in your pajamas.

Halloween costume and post round-up, because I haven't gotten married or died yet and thus haven't gotten to have an amazing slideshow of my most adorable baby and childhood moments, so I get to make up for it by doing stuff like this.

If you know me at all or have ever read this blog, then you know that I love Halloween. And I especially love Halloween costumes. My favorites are always the play-on-words, mainly because they're clever, cheap, and easy.

Like me.

But first, let's take it back to a time when I was super adorable.





And then there was the best childhood costume of all, when I dressed up a "Glacier Monster".

Just kidding. I was just really, really ugly that entire year.

Hike school! This is the only Halloween picture I have of HS.

You can almost see the corruption starting here, as I dressed up as a mentally-unstable cheerleader, mainly just so I could look super ugly for my game that night and piss off my cheerleading coach who she hated me for having - get this! - "a negative attitude."

And then I became an adult.
Hispanic Girl Gangsta 2 Girls 1 Cup
Betty White's BoxAnd, of course, this year's costume -
50 Shades of Gray
Missing, of course, is a picture of my Douchebag (a black garbage bag with douche products taped all over it) costume. I think Karah is the only one who has pictures of that costume, and she's not givin' 'em up.

Oh, and last year's Pin-Up Girl costume. Which was really just code for, "I'm depressed and I have to wear a dress tonight, anyway, so..."

For blog-related greatest Halloween hits, check these out -

Corn Night

Halloween Weekend...Continued For Your Reading Pleasure, Because I'm Always About Other People's Pleasure.

The Haunting of Betty White's Box

Or pick and choose here.

Well, I have to go now! I have to go to this women's Halloween happy hour thing in Cable with my mom at the Natural History Museum where every woman has to bring a bottle of wine and appetizers so that there's plenty to choose from when, say, you're trying to awkwardly escape the dozen or so "Soooo...you're back in town, huh?" a.k.a. I-know-you-broke-up-with-that-guy-you-moved-back-down-to-the-cities-for-and-I-wanna-hear-all-about-it-but-maybe-I'll-just-ask-your-mom-about-it-later themed conversations.

Super excited!