Thursday, December 31, 2009

State of the Union.

A couple days ago, someone asked on Twitter whether or not we should be making new decade resolutions instead of new year resolutions. That struck a cord with me. I love big, wide, lofty thoughts and goals. I like the life lesson concept, the purpose of existence, the span of time when you can change who you might become into who you are.

Tomorrow it will be 2010. I can still remember exactly what it felt like when midnight struck on NYE 2000. I was 20 then, and I had absolutely no concept of what shape my life might take in the next ten years. It's been a ride, to say the least. There is a part of me that still mourns it, my twenties. Or, maybe more to the point, the unswerving belief that anything could happen (and you wanted all of it to happen). You could move to a beach in Thailand, you could fall in love and get married, you could be picked by the FBI to become a captain of didn't matter. The point was that you were young enough, you had enough time, and therefore there were endless possibilities.

I have to remind myself that I could still do all of those things (except maybe the espionage thing...I don't think the FBI would appreciate my cracker-jack penchant for being, shall we say, "outspoken"). I'm 30. I'm not dead. But there's a greater sense of urgency present, I think. I'm 30. This is the decade to make things happen, so that my 40's can be welcomed with relief instead of dread.

I'm at a pretty nice place in my life right now. I live in an incredible house in the Lake of the Isles area of Minneapolis. I live with three roommates, all of whom I get along with and like. I've just been promoted to Senior Therapist in October, a position I've been working towards since I started with the clinic three years ago. I now make enough money to have a comfortable lifestyle, the kind that affords me the opportunity to pay my bills and keep a social life and have room in the budget for some extras if I don't go crazy. This blog continues to gain traction, including a recent coup of which I will announce in a couple of days. I'm writing, really writing, and am more than halfway done to (fully, totally) completing Holiday Chick, while The Space You Take and Ice Skating to Air Supply hang in the balance. I'm dating. Most importantly, I have great friends. Katy, Autumn, Dave, Karah, Chels, Ang, and Erica are the ones I count the closest and most trustworthy. Meredith, Matt, Jeff, James, Eric, Megan, Keith, Paulson, and Pat are people I count myself as lucky to be friends with. I'm learning that the more people I meet, the more I'm happy to have the friends that I do. This can be a shit-talking place, Minneapolis, especially in the incestuous and loyalty-slim circles of blogging and music. What that realization got me was the initially-sickening-but-ultimately-gratifying confirmation of who my true friends are. The rest are just a loud crowd in the back of the room.

So while I'm comfortable and happy, there are still things to do. That picture of the girl at the helm of a boat, the one who stands under a gray sky and throws a cunning look back amid the white spray, still teases me nightly. The wanderlust. It's always there. There are things to do at home, but there are more things to do out there.

I'm great with lists. Not so much with follow-through. I love the idea of goals, but find the work to accomplish them tedious and limiting. Which should change. For someone who benefits so greatly from self-discipline and routine, I certainly do enough to sabotage it. At least, I did. I won't anymore.

So onwards with the decade resolutions. There's this very fuzzy line between being realistic and dreaming big when you're talking the span of ten years. The only rule I have is that I'm not going to put anything on the list that falls under the category of "I should do." Only wants. I should go to college and finish my degree, but I don't want to. Therefore, putting it on the list messes up the whole beauty of the thing. It shouldn't be obligation. It should be joy. Exhilarated by the examined life.

Hello, world!

I know you're going to have it all. What do you intend to do with it?

This was a GREAT question for the last day of the year. Total psych-worthy for the new year. Hmm...the first thing that comes to mind is to give it back. I want to affect others. That, at the bottom of everything, is the point of anything I want to do. Even with the writing...when Hansel died, there was nothing out there for me. There were no books or messages that I could relate to, that I could find to help me with the question of What To Do Now. I hope and intend that, when I do have it all, it's a berth of wealth - whether words, relationships, or otherwise - that can be shared with others who might need it.

Ask me anything

Which is worse: Camel Toe or VPL?

Visible Panty Lines don't really bother me. I hardly, if ever, notice them. Same goes for Camel Toe - I don't really make it a point to check that stuff out? - but that one has to be worse. When your uterus is eating your pants, there's some tough love that needs to happen soon.

Ask me anything

So 2009 good or bad year?

Great! Or I should say, normal - a couple things happened that were a drag (a messy break-up, an incredible social-circle drama), and a LOT of things happened that were fantastic (promotion, Girls Guide to Gaming, writing goals furthered, made some great new friends, Chels & Matt's baby, NaNoWriMo, blogging coup). It was exciting, to say the least.

Ask me anything

why are you fun to have around in an airport, exactly? -j

Mainly because *I* like to have fun in airports. I don't get stressed out by delays or long lines, and I always find myself really happy and upbeat when I'm in one. They're fascinating places to me. Also, I came up with a really great game called, "Mate, Eat, or Kill" that's similar to "Screw, Marry, or Push Off a Cliff", but with a survivor twist. It's really fun to sit on a plane and decide each and every person's fate if you get stranded on a desert island. You really start to become quite discerning on who might make a really good floation raft.

Ask me anything

How is the 2010 prospects of finding a manther look?

Good, so far. Hopeful. I'm keeping the dream ALIVE!

Ask me anything

Different person asking, but when can we slow dance to Air Supply or ELO?

Oh my god, that's probably one of the best questions I've been asked all year...I will be at Lee's Liquor Lounge tonight for the E.L.n.O. show! There will be slow songs played. Show up and you might get your chance. Also, you just might make my dreams come true if you show up during "Strange Magic" (it's been a lifelong dream of mine to slow dance to that song with someone. Sigh.)

Ask me anything

Ask me anything

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

SHOCKING NEWS! This post is about guys.

So, the reason why there haven't been dating posts for a while is that I'm kinda sorta dating a couple of people. Nothing exclusive or serious yet, but the snag in the line is that these people read the blog. As some of you know, one of the (very few) rules I have concerning An Amber-Colored Life is that I won't write about dates on here if the subject reads this space. It's just too weird. If I can't be blatantly honest, I just won't talk about it. Omissions and spin are just too exhausting.

Howevs, there are a couple of things I've learned about myself in this process that I will talk about:

1. My ovaries are taking over my life.
On principle, I really don't believe in the whole "biological clock" thing. I think it's a form of propaganda cooked up to further convince women that their undeniable and inevitable role in life is to be mothers and caretakers, thus persuading them to drop out of the workforce and therefore lose a large part of their political and social voice. So there's that.

However, I will say that, within the past two years, I've noticed a disquieting trend in what I'm attracted to. Manly men. The Brawn. The guys who could easily swing an axe and/or swing you over their shoulder and onto the bed. Don't get me wrong: I still like a little sensitivity...but there's a difference between being moved to tears during Shindler's List and being moved to tears - many times - during a They Might Be Giants concert (true story). The broad shoulders, the muscular build, the slight swagger after they just played a game of hockey...I never used to be really attracted to those types of things. I once dated a lumberjack, for god's sakes, and the whole time I found myself wishing he was more literary or poetic.

But something's happened. A switch has flipped, a lightbulb has popped on...and suddenly my biggest complaints about a guy is that his voice is too high-pitched or he crosses his legs all the time. Or if he uses the word "poopy" as an adjective (really? You couldn't just commit and take your big-boy pants all the way to "shit?"). Maybe there's something to the caveman theory, where, when women are getting ready to breed, they look for the mate who could protect them and their offspring from dinosaurs and shit. I am not getting ready to breed (gross) and I won't say that my biological clock is ticking, but when I think about the next ten years, I think about someone who'd make a great partner and father. Someone who will, quite literally, man up. And maybe it's not even really the broad chest or the big's mostly that quiet confidence, the strong sense of self that men - real men - wear. Hot damn to that.

2. Good manners trump all.
I had long ago promised myself that I wouldn't use the "I'm too old for..." phrase, but it can't be helped: I'm too old for some of this shit. I'm past the point where I'm okay teaching a guy that it's polite to walk me out of his apartment after a date (as opposed to standing up from the couch and saying, "I'll call you" as I walk out the door). I know that I probably talked about this earlier this fall, but the reason why I'm mentioning it again is that I cannot tell you what a relief and just plain delight it is to date someone who already knows those things (and actually does them). Those little courtesies really do go a long, long way. It's your insurance when I'm super annoyed with you. When you're driving me up the frick-frackin' wall, I will simply remind myself that you are the guy who always opens the car door and walks on the outside of the sidewalk. And then you won't die that night, and will have another day to live.

3. You don't need to be hilarious. I'm hilarious enough for the both of us.
In my twenties I learned that using the adjective "intelligent" when describing what I was looking for (usually on online profiles) drew in the pretentious and insufferably boring. I am also learning much the same lesson when it comes to sense of humor. You know the guys who like to describe themselves as someone who "loves to make other people laugh"? Yeah, those guys are annoying. Or the ones who try to say something funny, and even if it's not really that funny, they just keep going with it until you find yourself purposefully reacting with a blank stare so as to not reinforce their awful sense of humor?

Do I love it when someone has a great sense of humor? Absolutely. A great sense of humor can make Bilbo Baggins look like Beckham in most girls' eyes. There is a need to at least have a similar sense of humor, aka, find the same things funny. However, guys tend to take the term "sense of humor" to mean that they must serve as your personal comedians. I really don't want to date someone who counts on me to entertain them all the time (dated you, didn't like it). However, I also don't really want to date someone who feels like they have to try really hard to make me laugh. Just. Stop. I will take the strong, serious, business-like demeanor over the high-pitched, "I'm funny!" act any day. Wanna know why? Because that guy is being his most authentic, genuine, interesting self. Also, he is not the guy that I always feel the need to suggest going to the movies with so I don't have to hear him talk.

4. No one gets to meet my friends or family until we are super exclusive/super committed. Also, there must be a proclamation somewhere in there about love and stuff.
I'm totally serious about this. I have friends who really, really want to meet the guys I'm dating, even if we've only gone on a date, singular. And it's not going to happen. I'm still hearing about the time when a date showed up one evening at the Green Mill wearing sunglasses and a pair of stone-washed, relaxed-fit FUBU jeans (to his credit, he had recently lost a bunch of weight and these were really old jeans and he finally fit into them again, so he was excited. I have no idea what was going on with the sunglasses. He was a little, um..."off-center" anyway, so who knows. But incredibly brilliant and great in bed, so whatever...I see the inside of the person, okay?).

Plus, the reason why I put the big stopper on friends meeting dates until I'm sure about them is because they want to meet them for one big they can judge them. There's really no other reason. Until it's serious, "I want to meet him" equals "I want to size him up and measure the width of his hands and try to figure out what type of jeans he's wearing and analyze everything he says and then I'm going to tell you, "He's great" when what I really mean is, "What are you thinking, going out with this dink?" How do I know this? Because I do the very same thing to my friends, that's how. You're hoping to catch that one undefinable thing that your friend might have missed, that, if pointed out by you, might save her years of misery and heartbreak. Also, you're sussing out whether or not you're going to be able to stand to hearing about and hanging out with this kid for the next year or so. It's preemptive emotional investment insurance.

However, when things are serious and everyone knows this, it's like a switch is flipped and they only try to look for the good things, the traits that confirm that you should, in fact, be serious with him and that he must be the guy for you. So we're going to wait for that.

And not date any more guys who do or who have ever owned a pair of stonewashed, relaxed-fit FUBU jeans.

5. I've become one of those people who find it hard to build an emotional connection with someone until it starts getting physical.

Aka, I've officially turned into a man.

I'm not necessarily talking sex - 'cause who wants to talk about it when you can do it, haaaaaay! - but just physicality in general. I've noticed lately that I don't find myself physically drawn to a man until I've at least kissed him. Even with my gorgeous long-lost ex-boyfriend (this kid is totally pretty) I still wasn't like, "Let's do this thing!" until after he'd kissed me. Is that weird? Maybe I'm like that princess, who has to kiss a lot of frogs to get to her prince, only I don't have to kiss a lot of frogs, I just have to kiss guys to know whether or not I like them?

That's awesome. I'm gonna kiss so many guys this year...

Oh my god.

Solace posted this for me to see.


Don't make me add the term "trendsetter" to my profiles, you. Nobody likes those people.


Sunday, December 27, 2009

I was a delightful child.

When I watched Uncle Buck for the first time, one of my all-time favorite scenes in the movie was when Tia was sitting by the window, waiting for Bug to pull up, and Miles and Maisy come into the room. "Waiting for your sex?" asks Miles. I thought that was hilarious. So, as young kids often do when they hear something funny, I repeated it every chance I got. "Waiting for your sex?" I hollered, bouncing into the kitchen as my mom waited for my dad to come into the house from the garage. "Waiting for your sex?" I sneered to my brother, Kris, as he sat by the phone, waiting for his friends to call him for yet another 2 hour conversation about nothing. "Waiting for your sex?" I faux-innocently asked CJ Gunderson, as he stood at our bus stop before school.

It was strange though, how no one ever thought it was as hilarious when I said it. It was kind of right up there with all the times when I would purposefully lose my mom in K-Mart and go up to the Customer Service desk and tell them I was lost just so I could hear them announce my name over the PA.

We're going to get married. Just as soon as he realizes that I exist...

So, thanks to Erica, I think I found the guy I want to marry.

Only bummer is that it appears that he lives in the UK. Which isn't a total bummer...I have plans to return someday, possibly to live there again.

Also, pretty sure he doesn't even know I exist yet, but all that could change. With a little stealth planning...maybe an earlier trip to England that originally planned...and some night-vision goggles...

I mean, seriously. Look at this. And this!

He's cute. And fun. And funny. And not afraid of a little confrontation on Facebook with an ex-girlfriend who broke up with him last Christmas which he's still not over. Which, whatever...we all have our things, right?

Friday, December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas!!!

I'm currently nestled into the living room recliner at my parents house, drinking a hot mug of coffee while simultaneously watching Jimmy Kimmel on the Today show and the raging snowstorm outside. Right now, this morning, the snow is beautiful and amazing, piling halfway up the deck door and frosting all the pine trees that ring around the lake. We opened gifts last night, so today I fully plan on watching Entourage season DVD's (Dan's gift) and The Office DVD's (my gift) all day with Dan. Lazy days with my family are the happiest days.

I hope you're all having a safe and merry Christmas!

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Weekend Video Treats - Remember THIS?!

In 5th grade, during "Arts Alive", my classmates Brittany Witzke and Tara Kettle did a lip-sync and dance to this song. I thought they were the coolest chicks after that, so impossibly hip and in-the-know. Even though MY dance to Paula Abdul's "Knocked Out" was pretty fly, too. I mean, Missy Hofacker and I had coordinating neon outfits (I'm talking neon biker shorts, socks, scrunchies, and puffy-painted t-shirts and KEDS). We was HOT!

But we still weren't nothin' like Tigra and Bunny.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

If I didn't tweet about it, it didn't happen.

A Twitter joke made by Stook today reminded me of what is fast becoming one of my Twitter pet peeves: The popular "Pic or stfu!" demand.

You know what? Maybe I don't want to show you a pic. Maybe I'm busy and don't have time to snap a photo and then upload it to Twitter just so you feel better. Maybe I'm in the moment. Maybe I want to memorize things with my mind, instead of trying to alter and pose them just so I can try to capture them on a freeze-frame. Also, maybe I don't have a fancy fucking phone where I could even do that.

And what is it with all of these picture demands? It's kind of gross, if you think about it...all of these people, sitting around, clambering and shouting for you to take pictures for them to look at. When did Twitter become a dirty video chat room? "Show me more pics," they breathe, heavily, as you're just trying to go about your business.

And the whole "Pic or it didn't happen" / "Pic or stfu" power-play... You know what? It did happen, and I don't have to "stfu." I'm not trying to impress you.

I CANNOT get this video out of my head.

Ever since Courtney posted the link to it on Twitter yesterday, I've had this song running through my head non-stop. Also, the dancing. Oh my god...the dancing.

Thursday, December 17, 2009


I've been struggling with a chapter all day today. It doesn't have the right tone, it's boring instead of the awkward tension I seek, and I'm getting increasingly more frustrated each time I look at it. Part of me keeps saying to just get it done, stop wasting time on it, freaking just write it already and move onto the next.

And then I read this post by Erica, and I think, "Oh yeah...this is what writing is supposed to be like." Beautiful. Words that make you want to sink in and paint pictures and hope for more. This thing that you do because you need to do it, because you love to do it. And when it's done and it's done well, it's like standing back and regarding this perfect dwelling you've just built. One totally and wholly yours, with no sand lying underneath.

So I think I'll wait until the weekend, when I can sit alone and think and wait for words that actually mean something.

Soooo gooooood.

I'm back in tea phase again (I know this is incredibly fascinating to you), so the other day I picked up a couple of boxes of Celestial Seasonings Sugar Cookie Sleighride, and I have to say it: IT IS AMAZING.

Sugar cookies aren't even my favorite (have you met me, yet? If a piece of candy or a cookie doesn't have chocolate on it, I don't eat it), but this is delish. It's like a Christmas celebration for your mouth.

That's what he said*.

*Get it? I said "that's what he said" when I was talking about a Christmas celebration for your mouth, because guys always try to think of ways to make oral seem fun, even though it's not really all that fun. GET IT?!

SO excited for this movie.

Monday, December 14, 2009

It's like the sphere of my influence is now immediate and infinite. Just as God had intended...

As many of you know, I suffered a terrible blow a couple of weeks ago when I saw this.

But then, my dear friend Kevin sent me this.

And although the mere mention of ironic wolf t-shirts on the 4th page just cements the idea that the purity that is the mystical wolf has been tainted, I do feel betta.

(I still love you, mystical wolves...but I still think we need to take a break. I wanna see where this thing with the dragons goes. You understand.)

Thursday, December 10, 2009


Upon which I defend Ang's honor and get into a sparring match with someone from

A couple weeks ago, Ang and I were out at the VFW (because we love freedom) and chatting about Ang told me about a message she had gotten from a guy who - and I quote - looked like "Dwight Shrute's less attractive cousin." He had sent her a message stating that the two of them seemed to have quite a bit in common, to which Ang did not agree. She didn't reply back at first, so then he wrote her again with a bit more forceful message about how she really does need to look at all the things they have in common, etc.

Ang: So should I just ignore him or should I write him back and tell him I'm not interested?
Me: Just tell him "Thanks for your message, but I don't think we're a match. Good luck on your search!" It's as effective as saying "I'm just not feeling the chemistry" to someone after a bad date. You can't argue with it.
Ang: Sweet. I'm gonna write him that.

The next day, Ang informed me that she had written that exact message to this gentleman, only to receive a reply that said, "You are an idiot." Nice, right? Super mature and classy reaction to someone politely telling you that they don't see the two of you making babies anytime soon. Who the fuck says that? And especially - and here's probably the main point - who the fuck says that to my friend?!

So, being all "Oh no you DID-DN'T!", I trot right over to to check this guy out.

A taste of his profile:

My Self-Summary:
I'm an artist. Any form of art, I've done it...I'm interested in many things and have done many things and hope to do many more thing. Some things I like to do or want to try include taking dance lessons, going kayaking, visiting various museums, traveling, shooting pool, hiking, swimming, rock climbing, martial arts, various sports, fairs, and more. There's a lot in life to see and do and I couldn't be confined to sitting in a bar drinking my life away.

What I'm Good At:
Lot's [sic]. And I say that with humility.

Really? Do we know what the definition of humility is, OysterBoy? And I'm not one to get bent out of shape with other people's typos (mainly because I make a lot of them, too, and get annoyed when people deem them worth pointing out - aka, get a life), but I think it's hilarious that his statement of being good at "lots" of things includes a typo. Apparently punctuation is one of the very few things he's not good at.

My Favorite Books, Movies, Music, and Food:
I have many different interests and eclectic tastes. These aren't the extent of my tastes. Just some favorites.

When someone states that they have "many different interests and eclectic tastes", it's almost always done with the intention and hope that you'll be incredibly impressed with how cultured and sophisticated they are. It expresses a certain type of arrogance. Also, confusion - everyone has different interests and tastes. I know of some people who only like a couple of things and will not concede to liking anything else. Those people also tend to come with the diagnosis of autism.

This is what I wrote him:

"When you message a girl who doesn't care to reply, it's not good form to message her again to harass her about replying. It paints you as a buffoon who can't take a hint, and no girl wants to go out with a guy like that. Nobody HAS to reply back to you - they don't own you anything. You do, however, owe HER an apology for calling her an idiot when she DID send you a very polite response back.

And by apology, I mean that you need to message her again and tell her that you're sorry for being such an incredible jerk (just to spell it out for you - you might be good at "lot's", but apparently one thing you are not good at is courtesy and manners)."

His Reply:

"So, here's yet another mediocre fool looking for a typo in a vain attempt to "crush my ego"...As for my so called ego, there's nothing wrong with being proud of your accomplishments. If you weren't such a typical passive aggressive, insecure loser, you would understand that. Also ,you show your hypocrisy by condemning me for stating I'm good at something, all while saying you're good at something. Go get another drink, you alcoholic loser. Fix the mess that is you and life will be a lot better for everyone involved."

Real catch, right? Who wouldn't want to go out with this guy?!

My Reply:

"Why would I want to crush your ego? I don't even know you, and really don't care to. You assume too much about your value to me. You, however, seem to think that you know me quite well. Your assumptions are laughable. You still owe my friend an apology."

His Reply:

"I don't know who your friend is, but I'm sure that they, like you, owe me an apology for your assumptions. So really, save your stupidity for someone else. If you're a couple of rude bitches, don't call someone rude for not putting it up with it. Don't call me arrogant when you're an arrogant bitch."Italic

My Reply:

"So calling someone an idiot after they tell you that they don't think you're a good match is common for you? Do you do this so often that it's hard to remember who I might be speaking of? Unlike you, I didn't assume anything. Everything that I've said has been absolute fact, taken from your very words. Nice job resorting to "bitch." That's really original and creative. And you call yourself an artist..."

His Reply:

"You and your friend assume everything. Your friend assumed we weren't a good match, despite the fact that nearly everything she said in her profile matched up with what I said or what I think. So, that means she's either an idiot and can't see it, or she's an idiot because she thinks she's a super model and I'm up to her 'standards.' Plain and simple. She made a judgment about me and I did the same in return. I don't like when socially impaired losers want to call me arrogant or assume whatever they want to assume about me when all I was doing was being friendly and saying hi to someone who looked like she would be a good person to get to know. She proved me wrong with her response. She proved to me that she's just another typical online misfit who is waiting for something more than she offers, only to complain that she can't find someone who she has things in common with that would treat her well. So, my tolerance for that behavior is nil. You can keep on saying this is about me, but it's about you and people like you. You're a bunch of fucked up losers who judge nice guys as assholes and assholes as nice guys. And when you've treated another nice guy like dirt and he won't put up with it, then you say 'see, I told you he was a creep.' I'll give you one more chance to express your opinion, but if you cant' see how your behavior affects other people's behavior, you'll be blocked. I've got nice women to talk to who don't behave like you and I'd much rather use my energy on positive, friendly, happy people.

My Reply:

"You actually don't have anything in common with her, other than one artist that you amy both enjoy. You disagree on a number of very fundamental issues, such as children, drinking, smoking, and other varied tastes and preferences. You cannot force people to like you, no matter how much you may perceive to have in common with them. Just because someone doesn't like you, it does not mean they're an idiot. That is a grave error in logic, as well as completely immature. And it sounds like you are extremely bitter towards women. That is unfortunate. However, you will only continue to get bitterness back if you continue to behave in that manner. It's how the universe works. I also have to disagree with your defense that you're a "nice guy." Nice guys don't call people idiots when they politely refuse your company. They also don't call people bitches, or "fucked-up losers" or any of the other number of names that you have delightfully matched me and my friend with. Please block me. I beg of you."

His Reply:

"How the hell does she know anything about how I feel about kids? Just because people don't have everything in common doesn't mean they're a bad match. That's a sign of immaturity. Do you think people have to match up in every way? Are you in complete agreement with everyone you know? We share the same interest in music, art, nature, animals, architecture, movies, politics, and much more. Now, you're telling me that there's nothing in common? give me a break. If someone think that having only 98 out of 100 things in common doesn't make for a good match, they are either lying about what they believe, especially when claiming to be open minded, or they aren't anywhere near being open and are nit picking things. So, what do you think, that nice guys are supposed to be push overs? That they're supposed to blindly accept lies, accusations and judgments and then be told they can't make their judgments of that? If you're so concerned about maturity, do the mature thing and stop basing your arguments on bias towards your friend rather than what's right."

My Reply:

"Look at your basic details in comparison to hers. She did. The bottom line? SHE WASN'T INTERESTED. AND SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO BE. You cannot bulldoze someone into liking you, just as it's bad form to try to guilt or harass someone into replying to your message, and then call them names when they finally do so. Also -

"Just because people don't have everything in common doesn't mean they're a bad match. That's a sign of immaturity. Do you think people have to match up in every way? Are you in complete agreement with everyone you know?"


"Your friend assumed we weren't a good match, despite the fact that nearly everything she said in her profile matched up wit hwhat I said or what I think. So, that means she's either an idiot and can't see it, or she's an idiot because she thinks she's a super model and I'm up to 'her standards'."

Your words speak for themselves."

In other news, at least Ang and I now know what a nice guy looks like.

Update: Oh SHIT! Apparently Ang and I are not the only ones who've been privy to his charms.

Thursday, December 03, 2009


A Twitter friend, @tookaleft, sent me this link. Normally I would think it was hilarious, since it's so spot on regarding all the other type of hipsters.


I don't like wolf t-shirts because they're hip. I love them because they're NOT SUPPOSED to be hip. I love them because they're weird and dorky and yet so super awesome at the same time. Why has this trend caught on?! The only reason I started liking mystical wolves in the first place was because my friend Matt pulled up a bunch of Google Images of mystical wolves on his iPhone for our entertainment one happy hour. And so in love with them I fell, my affection for them almost surpassing my love of unicorns (but not of Air Supply).

But I don't know if I can do it anymore. I hate you, hipsters. I hate it when you ruin every goddamn thing that I might love. You take it, twist it, brag about it, get all pretentious-dick about it with your smug ironic smiles and incredibly annoying sense of humor, and then I can't love it anymore.

Goodbye, mystical wolves. Goodbye. I will always love you! I will! But we just have to keep it quiet for a little while. Just for a little while, I promise. Just until things settle down...and then, finally, we'll be together again, free to dance under a moon while the midst hangs in the balance and Air Supply plays, softly, just in the background somewhere...


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