On finding a compatible superhero

via jooleeah_stahkey

A relationship is a strange thing.

How do they even happen? Two people, both attracted, both at places in their lives when they’re willing to commit, often living, you know, IN THE SAME CITY…it’s kind of a wonder people get in relationships at all.

Feelings can change so swiftly. An off-hand, not-thought-through remark leads to running out of the coffeeshop and sob-yelling along with angsty music in the car. Wishing for four months that someone would commit, then giving up and moving on makes it impossible to be excited when, out of the blue two months later, that someone desperately misses you and is ready to take the next step. All I could say was “I’m sorry.” I hadn’t done anything wrong. Healing and moving on is not a crime. There’s a window of time for these sort of things, and this one closed sometime in, oh, February?

And how much of that “relationship” took place in that person’s mind? We hadn’t communicated in months. We weren’t part of each other’s lives anymore. Are memories THAT powerful that you can subsist on them, replayed over and over in your head, and mistake them for possibility? Totally. I’ve done it.

But it’s hard not to interpret it as a stubborn/lazy refusal to move on. I guess there’s always that temptation, to fall back on your most recent partner when you’re feeling lonely/horny/whatever.

Good chemistry isn’t enough. I need someone to really want to get to know me. Not just be relieved to have a sidekick. I’m not the sidekick. I’m the superhero. It’s just a matter of finding another superhero who thinks my superpowers can complement theirs. And then saving the world. EASY PEASY!

Moms, Stepmoms, and Mother’s Day

Mom and I at the top of Multnomah Falls, July 2004. Victory!

I’ve been bummed this week and I like the idea of blaming it on Mother’s Day. I was in the post office today and, super-randomly, the postal worker brought up how hard Mother’s Day is. She lost her mom to cancer too. She said she bought flowers to remember her mom and her sister on Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, you name it. I felt horrible that I was holding up the line but we just kept chatting amiably about holidays and family, and when I left I felt bright and warm.

I spent forever looking at LITerally every Mother’s Day card in Rite Aid last weekend and finally picked out one for my stepmom that said “You’re like a mother to me.” Somehow between then and now I managed to lose it, which I’ve realized is a good thing. I really want my stepmom to be like a mother to me. She married my dad a year ago and was gracious enough to have me be a bridesmaid. She was really touched when I told her once that I wanted her to be a mother figure, that I needed that. I guess subconsciously I thought Here is the Mom substitute I’ve been looking for. I hoped we would go shopping and drink tea and she would Impart Wisdom and stuff. She’s finishing up grad school and busy creating a new home with my dad after selling both their houses and moving into a new one a few months ago. So I get that her plate is full. But there’s still a sense of loss from the disconnect between my expectations and reality. I guess what I’m trying to say is she isn’t like a mom to me (yet?). Giving her that card would’ve been another one for the pile of Things I’ve Done Out of a Desperate Bid for Her/Parental Approval, and it might’ve pleased her, but it wouldn’t have been accurate. As much as I wish she were like a mother to me, she isn’t. We just aren’t there yet. And my mom was a pretty kickass lady, so we might never get there.

As much as I dislike C.S. Lewis, I read a quote somewhere from him the other day about losing his mom and feeling adrift, like the ground was gone from under you and it had receded like Atlantis, and all you were left with was a few tiny islands and the choppy waves surrounding you (or something…I’m dramatizing). And although he felt moments of joy, he never felt safe or secure again. 

Oh here we go. It’s from Surprised By Joy:

With my mother’s death all settled happiness, all that was tranquil and reliable disappeared from my life. There was to be much fun, many pleasures, many stabs of joy; but no more of the old security. It was sea and islands now; the great continent had sunk like Atlantis.

I totally relate. There was immense comfort in knowing I could call my mom ANYTIME and she would answer if she could. That she could, with a few words, soothe my aching heart or insecurities or worries about the future. And make everything seem OK. I don’t have that anymore. I have scraps of friendships here and there — really valuable friendships that I’m so grateful for — that I’m piecing together to recreate a makeshift security blanket. College friends and new Portland friends alike have REALLY been there for me over the past few months when I completely fell apart. But it’s not the same as having that one person you know you can lean on and lean on and they’ll never give out or turn away. 

I guess someday I’ll have something like that with a significant other, I hope? But even then, the fear of being left or cheated on or something seems like it would still be there. That’s the thing: you can’t divorce your mom.

I’m working on a li’l crafty shrine for Mother’s Day, in purple and teal, two of my mom’s favorite colors. Pictures and glitter and votive candles. It’s been really good to work on so far. She loved lilacs too. I need to get brave and knock on a door or two and ask if I can cut some of their lilacs.

I know everybody’s relationship with her mom is different, and it’s probably easy for me to idealize my relationship with mine since she’s gone. But she really was wonderful. My heart goes out to you if you’ve lost your mom or your relationship with her isn’t great. I hope you have someone else in your life who is your rock.

A meta-review of HBO’s “Girls”

Short version: Buzzfeed’s Katie Heaney has my favorite (so far) critique/review of “Girls.” Go read it. It is smarter than anything I can say here.

OKAY. Here’s what we know about “Girls” [which you can watch the pilot of here]. Lena Dunham wrote/edited/burped/starred in it and she is The Daughter of Someone Famous. Everyone in the cast is The Daughter of Someone Famous. Haha, nepotism! Making fun of nepotism (see photo) is funny. Reducing a talented writer/burper/director-person to her relation to someone else, particularly if it’s a famous dude [David Mamet] is sad. Yes, there are no white people on the show (except the homeless black guy who had one line at the end). And Dunham shouldn’t have said the dumbass non-defense that the characters’ racial homogeneity was a “complete accident.” That’s like saying the wage gap is an “accident” (as opposed to admitting that sexism and misogyny are deeply embedded in our culture).

Anyway, I digress! Let’s break down what is ACTUALLY good and bad about the first episode of “Girls”:

A female-written, -directed, -acted show in an industry dominated by men: GOOD

Portraying real, less-than-ideal sex: GOOD

Characters who act like shit and are treated like shit (i.e., have disturbingly degrading sex): BAD

Young female characters who aren’t over-idealized lovable caricatures: GOOD

Characters who are disgustingly entitled, unlikable, and think it’s funny to insult a guy by saying he has a vagina: BAD

I know it sounds like I’m saying “Yay, women behaving badly on TV! As long as they’re behaving badly in a way I approve of!” But I’m not, honest. I like flawed, complex, relatable female characters…but I reserve the right to think they’re obnoxious, annoying human beings and change the channel (er, close the YouTube tab in my browser).

Yes, it’s eye-roll-worthy that the cast is (judging from one episode) overly white, cisgendered, able-bodied, straight, young, relatively thin people (did I miss anything?). BUT crucifying “Girls” when the vast majority of other shows on TV also fall into this category is not a valid slam (plus, there’re enough other reasons to criticize it).

My main gripe with “Girls” isn’t its white, privileged, bratty characters. Like Buzzfeed, I’m pissed “Girls” is another entry in lady-humiliation porn. Haha, women are making awful decisions! Wait, why can’t we laugh at what they’re SAYING instead of their awful life choices? Doesn’t that amount to little more than “Women are too stupid to vote/drive! Look, they shower with cupcakes!”?

Baaasically…just read the Buzzfeed piece. It’s great: “The sex scene – uncomfortably degrading – might be ‘realer’ sex than what we saw on, say, ‘Sex and the City,’ but I resent the idea that I’m supposed to find it funny because someone’s being debased.” AGREED.

“Friends With Kids”? More like “Attack of the Pillows”

Kristin Wiig! Maya Rudolph! Chris O’Dowd! Jon Hamm! Did I totally psyche you out that I was talking about Bridesmaids when in fact I was talking about a far inferior film that stole its cast in an attempt to capitalize on its success? No, you know how to read and read the title of this post already? FOILED AGAIN!Friends with Kids is a movie about how kids suck and ruin your life, how Kristin Wiig knows how to fake-cry on command (but for some reason was not given ANY lines), and how Too Many Pillows ruin everything. Despite the awesome cast and the trailer (which TOTALLY suckered me, being Yet Another Trailer That Has All the Movie’s Best Moments), the movie’s main character is Jennifer Westfeldt’s hair. Now, I haven’t seen Kissing Jessica Stein, which is s’posed to be great and indie and great, so Jennifer Westfeldt seems to be Jennifer Aniston with thicker hair and more Botox. Also she cries a lot. If this movie were a recipe, I would add WAY more Kristin Wiig (with talking) and funny jokez and completely remove JWest and the implausible ending.

Plus, let’s get back to the pillows — EVERY BED looks like it’s in a catalog, with no fewer than 23 decorative pillows that MUST BE REMOVED before baby can go to sleep or before adults have sex. I’m serious. At least three beds had a shitton of pillows, and I’m pretty sure there was at least one “let me first remove these pillows” line. Apparently no one involved in the movie has ever tried the completely time-waste that is making your bed every day and artfully arranging a barfmunch of pillows on one’s bed, only to REMOVE THEM ALL 16 hours later.

Whatever you do, DON’T WATCH THIS MOVIE. Do like I did last night and pay a dollar at the nearest Movie Vending Machine for another “Friends With” movie, Friends with Benefits – which is actually funny and leagues more self-aware. Or better yet, just watch Bridesmaids.

2011 in review (PART ONE OMG)

Remember last year, when I wrote a nice tidy summary of the best books/movies/whathaveyous of 2010? Yeah, I figured you didn’t, which is why I LINKED TO IT. Anywho, for the past, oh, three months I’ve been meaning to do the same for 2011. HEAH WE GO, DEARIE!

2011 was a crazy shitty awesome year! I moved to Portland after five years in Seattle! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Chronological order, amirite?

January: According to my METICULOUS records, I saw a bunch of movies including The King’s Speech (good, obvs, but then Andy made me feel guilty for so thoroughly enjoying a movie about rich white people)(wait, aren’t they all about that?). I was writing for Grist at the time and interviewed with Microsoft about managing another blog for their small business group, this time about mobile marketing instead of home energy use. Rating: three gold dubloons

All you can eat specials in Intercourse, PA. You can't make this up.

In February, I went to Portland for the weekend and drank excessively, prompting resolve to a) throw out all my booze and b) move to Portland. Watched the Oscars and went to Amish country for Mennonite friend (and former housemate) Kristen’s wedding (with a few minutes of Intercourse, PA).

MARCH
What I did:  Left Grist to return to Microsoft (as a contractor)
Smart or dumb:  Smart, monee-wise; dumb in terms of number of people my age I could go out drinking with after work and the Cover Up My Large Chest Tattoo factor
Should you do it: Sure? I don’t know! Why’d I make up this category?! Yes. The health insurance and 401k were awesome. Yes. That is my final answer.

APRIL
Notable events: Hosted a green sex trivia night at Babeland and met someone in a giant vagina costume; watched Virgin Suicides for the first time; picked up the bridesmaids dress for my dad’s impending second wedding

Should you do these things?: Yes, maybe, no

MAY
Dad got remarried. SISTERS UNITE. Shan came back to the West Coast oh so briefly from upstate New York, and she kept me sane through the nuptials as we made leprechaun jokes about our green dresses and debated burning them or dousing them in mud afterwards.

Also I read A Visit from the Goon Squad (great), PopCo (also great), and Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea (WHYYYY)(just kidding it was 30% enjoyable). Oh yeah, and saw Bridesmaids twice in the theater. YES.

JUNE
June was insane. On the heels of applying for a job in PDX (thanks, Caitlin!), I went to visit my dear friend Trina in Washington, D.C. and had a blast. Then I got back to Seattle at 10pm, drove to Portland the next morning for a job interview at 10am, landed the job, and set in motion Ye Grande Portland Relocation Plan. The last week of June — the week before I moved — I checked out my first Pride, drove to Portland and back to see an apartment, and saw Britney with Mariellen at the Tacomadome. My last day at Microsoft was Thursday, 6/30, after which I drove to Portland and started my new job the next day, July 1. (At least it was a three-day weekend!)

To be continued…OMG this is so long…if you read this far I’ll buy you a ticket to Awesomeland…

My housemates are way cooler than me*

I’M BACK. I was “dating” for a “while” I “guess.” Back to writing, amirite?

In early January, I moved into a kewl house with three hot guys. (Hi guys!) But they’re not just hot. They’re painfully hip, smart, well-read, interesting, creative, and funny. You think I exaggerate? I’m serious! One is in a band that was planning to play at SXSW. He dates models and makes matcha cookies (verifying his hotness and hipness here, respectively). One is a photographer and an insanely good cook. One is massively knowledgeable about books and cinema and also, oh yeah, helped design some of the bars in a new resort casino in Vegas. I forget exactly what I was proving here but the point is they aren’t just cute vapid models or something, Zoolander freak gasoline fight accident-style. (Orange mocha frappacino!) It’s like they knew they were hot but weren’t content with that and instead had to compete, Olympics-style, for all of the other personality medals. (Bronze in lesser-known German filmmakers!)

It makes for…interesting times. Thanks to an apparent inability to progress past the acute status-consciousness of high school, I am constantly realizing (re-realizing?) how much hotter and cooler and book-reading-er and obscure-hipster-music-liking-er they are. “What’s this band?” I asked the photographer after he put on yet another sonic nugget from his extensive record collection. “Black Trash Bag,” he said. OK, not really, but it was something out there like Black Dog. Or Black Frog. Thankfully, they don’t rub it in. They’ve never made me feel like a freak loser from Planet Sweatshirt. I guess I’ve just always lived with people who were roughly the same hipness/attractiveness as I am. Is it gross that I’m even aware of and analyzing this, when my mental energy should be spent skewering Rick Santorum or crusading for better lunchmeat? (Or both?) Yeah, probably. Next post: Thinly sliced BBQ Santorum!

*I know this should be “than I am.” But “than me” sounds better. Also, THIS SONG.

pretty things: kimbra

I know, I know. Kimbra’s not a THING. People (espesh ladeez) aren’t things. Derogatory, etc. etc. But Kimbra’s VIDeo for “I Look To You” (technically Miami Horror’s) is lush. Even though 80% of it looks like an Urban Outfitters catalog (and, HEY-O, kaleidoscopic vag at 2:20!).  Check it (and then listen to addictive jangly jewel “Cameo Lover,” which itSELF looks like a T-Mobile ad):

 

 

 

Skinny tie + iPod = Footloose

1. Dennis Quaid’s character had as much depth as a very shallow pan of brownies, although his nostrils gave a stunning performance as concerned, overprotective face-fins.

2. How to Make a Rebellious Country Girl(TM): Give tawny, distractingly blue-eyed Jennifer Aniston an affected drawl. Place on set of a Miley Cyrus video. Add obnoxious factor of Alexis Dziena (villanness of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist), and voila! An overwhelmingly generic character whose main duties were to shun seatbelts, rules, and clothing, waving fabric while perched precariously out of vehicles.

3. More dancing, less…inexplicable schoolbus-racing scenes. Have you ever seen an interesting scene involving a schoolbus? But what about when a bunch of schoolbuses race? Doesn’t that sound interesting? No? What about when two of them CATCH ON FIRE? Field trip! To Snoresville!

4. So since this is the remake, this REN character gets an iPod…but his “shitty” job is at the cotton gin or whatever? RU4 real, movie? Why doesn’t he work at Wal-Mart (or J. Crew, amirite)?

5. Hot Rod is a prerequisite. It makes the punch-dancing scene much more bearable.

The problem with dating

I know what you’re thinking. “Prob-LUM with dating?! There’re so MANY problemz with dating amirite?!”

Yes. You are right.

So hypoTHETically speaking, if you LIKE someone and maybe, say, go on a few DATEZ with them (let’s call this person Wiggers), the PROBlem here is that maybe you might start to get attached to ole Wiggers. Ya LIKE him (or her). He opens DOORZ for you and gave you that CD you were both listening to in his car on the first (!))) date which NO one does because on the first date you don’t even know each other and could be serial killers, trying to out-wait the other one so you’re still alive. I think I got lost somewhere back there but the point is, Wiggers got to you, damn him.

I used to be really good at dating. I had a First Date Outfit (teal v-neck, skinny jeans, red cowboy boots) and Arbitrary Rejection Criteria (“did he ask me more than one question about my life?”) and I made a spreadsheet. A spreadsheet! That is how good I was at keeping these people straight. My amusing anecdotes were down pat. I was so good at dating that I could date someone I didn’t like for three months. And someone I did like for…not very long.

That, you see, is the problem. I have no poker face. I cannot lie. If I like you, glittery rays of love-ketchup will shoot out of my eyes when I look at you. A nervous smile will squersh up into my cheeks as if they’re being hugged by invisible teacups. In short, I will not ignore you.

Ignoring, apparently, is and is not the key. The slew of self-help books I swallowed recently had conflicting things to say about this. (Yes, I read self-help books. Judge and move on.) One says “Men respond MOST to being ignored! So ignore them as fast as you can!” But…I LIKE Wiggles Wiggers. Why would I ignore him?! I’m ignoring those other people, the ones I didn’t want to go on a second date with. Who. Keep. Texting. Me. Oh INNNteresting, eh?

Then you have the self-help books that say “Don’t play games; gamez R dumb!” And I’m all PUR-REACH so I text Wiggers because maybe he didn’t get that text a few days ago, right? But then he STILL doesn’t text and it is no longer comforting to think maybe he just fell asleep and I move right into the Great, he is the second person I’ve met from OkCupid whom I really liked and then suddenly died, except that one girl wasn’t actually dead because then she messaged me again after four months to say she’d gotten back with her ex, right about the time I was about ready to call the bike shop where she worked and be all “Is Mindy there or did she GET HIT BY A CAR AND DIE? because why else would she say she wanted to jam and then NEVER MESSAGE ME AGAIN?”

So there you have it. The problem with dating. I don’t really remember what it is at this point, but I’m pretty sure it’s buried somewhere in the paragraphs above. If you find it, let me know.

RIP, Frankie

Sometimes, when you live with dogs, things happen.

Sometimes A DOG KILLS FRANKIE.

Frankie and I first met my sophomore year of college. My sister introduced us. Here he is at Christmas 2004, enjoying some tea and sugar cookies.

As you can see, he’s grown quite a bit in the past seven years.

Frankie’s always been an avid reader, as long as I’ve known him.

But Frankie is no longer with us. Or maybe he’s an amputee. I’m not really sure. But he was a good bamboo plant. My first real plant. You could say he was my guinea pig, the one that convinced me I MIGHT NOT kill ALL plants. He drove across the country with me when I came back from college (excellent driver), and he’s survived five moves since. Frankster, thanks for the good times. And sorry I left you on the floor when there was a puppy around.

Your delinquent former owner,
Holly