When in Doubt, Book It

It's nice, every so often, to emerge from the depths of Grant Hell work and be able to say hello to you guys again! I wish I had a record of how many times I've said, "whoa... must remember to blog about that!" over the past two weeks or so, because I think whoever came up with the phrase, "out of sight, out of mind" is full of bs. I never forget about you guys!

However, as Melissa pointed out yesterday, there's something inherently more stressful about "I have to get this shit done so people can get their paychecks and feed their children/cats/selves!" than there is about "omg! guyz! My blogging schedule (or lack thereof?) is totes stressin' me out!". And so blogging has taken a backseat for the past few weeks, because I prefer another method of stress relief when I find time to come up for air.

Basically, all I've been doing lately is reading in my spare time. It's the single best escape from life's insanity that I've ever found; I got away from my crazy family by doing it at age 3 and I avoid the stress of work by doing it at 26. I'm actually convinced that part of the reason I managed NOT to lose my shit during my breakdown year and drop out of college is because I was forced to take a large chunk of my day and devote it specifically to the task of reading. Some of it was monotonous (Dracula), some was hilarious (Shamela), some game-changers (On the Road, Uncle Tom's Cabin) and some had the opposite effect than expected (loved Hope Leslie and finally, the third time, Wuthering Heights; hated Native Speaker and Dog Soldiers). All were pivotal in helping me keep my sanity during a time that otherwise would have crushed my soul.

My family has always joked that for someone with a degree in English Literature and a concentration in Victorian and Gothic canon, I read more trashy fluffy material than anyone they've ever met. I don't know about anyone else, but I seem to do my "pleasure reading" in spurts. In the past two months, I've read Catching Fire, Mockingjay, Something Borrowed, Something Blue, Baby Proof, Love the One You're With, Skylight Confessions, If You Were Here, My Fair Lazy, Bossypants, half of My Life in France (love it but misplaced it) and half of The Almost Moon (hate it and threw it across the room misplaced it).

Not exactly Bronte or Austin, but entertaining and it gets the job done.

Lest you worry that I only read chick lit and young adult fare, have no fear -- while rooting around everywhere to find my copy of Voyager, the third book in the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon, and loudly voicing my frustration that I "had nothing to read" (from the girl whose living room is beginning to look like an episode of Hoarders: Barnes and Noble Edition), Andrew piped up that I could borrow one of the books he had bought on our last fro yo Brooline Booksmith stop: Game of Thrones.

He hadn't even read it yet, but I had dibbsed it mere seconds after he bought it, so I was pumped. We haven't seen the show (holla to no cable/internet!), so it was all totally new to me, but I could. not. put. it. down. I finished it yesterday and am gleefully plotting my Targaryon-style takeover of my parents' tv and $200 cable package for 48 hours of GoT marathon viewing. Thankfully, I also found Voyager about two days after I embarked on the madness of GoT, and am now happily engrossed in Jamie that.

If you're keeping score, that means I've been hauling around a collective 2,000 pages of fantasy fiction in my purse.

I might be a nerd.



One day, in my own fantasy world where funding has been preserved for all (no progress reports required), I swear I am going to get around to posting those book reviews I promised awhile ago. In the meantime, here's a hint regarding what one of those reviews might be about:

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I seriously can't wait.

Read any good books lately? Do tell!
I'm always on the lookout for recommendations!

Friday Confessional: Sugar and Spice

I was originally planning to share the deets of why my blissful vacation on the Vineyard turned into a chaotic, mournful and ultimately bonding experience, but then I realized that it's not really my story to tell, and so I shan't. Suffice to say, I had three glorious days on Martha's Vineyard with my aunts and uncles, including two glorious beach days, and my boss promised that I can take a few extra vacation days this summer to make up for the part I missed. I might take a little venture to the Texas part of America in August to visit one of my bffs, CRo, and to attend a CERTAIN little princess' very first birthday party!

Anyway....


Ok, let's cut to the chase. It's Friday. On Fridays, we wear pink confess our deepest, darkest, most embarrassing thoughts, obsessions and musings. 

So, without further ado, I do hereby solemnly confess:

I've got a case of the HGCs.

I remember one night during the second semester of my junior year of college (a feat in and of itself, actually), sitting on a fraternity futon with a bunch of my sorority sisters and pregaming for the evening's events (random factoid for you GDIs: you actually aren't allowed to drink in a sorority house. In some states, it's because a house with a certain amount of women living in it and with booze available is considered a brothel. But really, we just like to keep our floors from getting sticky. That's why God invented fraternities) . As we sat there, giggling about girl stuff and driving the boys men of PMD crazy, the tv was blaring in the background. When our generous host for the evening remarked on how hot the Pussycat Dolls were ("Dontcha" had just come out. I know, I know. I'm old.), one of my friends began to nod vigorously in agreement. "Totally," she squealed, "Nicole Scherzinger is totally my  heterosexual girl crush!" It was a term I'd never heard before.

And I loved it.

These days, it seems like there's girl-on-girl hatred everywhere. There are so many awe-inspiring women out there in the world, and instead of focusing on them and building ourselves up to be like them, we'd rather rip through US Weekly and cattily trash the latest Bachelorette or Britney's weave. Why is that?!? Especially since you know that we ALL have ladies that we admire, whether it be for their rad writing skillz, their ability to bounce back from criticism or their hair color.

And so, I now present to you the first installment of my very own, heterosexual girl crushes:


Katy Perry

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There are a lot of reasons why I love Katy Perry, but the most important one is that she is hilarious on Twitter. And I assume she swears like a sailor, so there's that, too. Oh, and she's gorgeous. It seems fitting that she kick off this list of HGCs, too, as we all know that one time, she kissed a girl (and she liked it!).

Jen Lancaster

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I can't even begin to describe the amount of laughter that JLan has brought me at inappropriate times, but suffice to say that no one else has ever made me almost pee my pants on a city bus. I kind of assume that if I were ever to run into her on the street, I would say something horribly awkward and stupid, which she would totally understand and laugh off, and then we would both blow off food shopping to go indulge in Scorpion Bowls and heckle innocent passersby and become BFF4Ls. Seriously, though, if you haven't read Bitter is the New Black or Such a Pretty Fat, haul your ass to the nearest Barnes and Noble... RUN, don't walk. Then you, too, can partake in mine and Katie's drunk-text-love-fest for this fantastic, hilarious writer.


Kate Middleton

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Two words: The. Hair.

Amy Adams

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My HGC on Amy began with Julie and Julia. Her portrayal of a frustrated administrative assistant-cum-blogger really drew me in and made me relate to the character of Julie in a way I wasn't expecting. I'd blogged back in the day (Come on; who DIDN'T have an LJ and or Xanga?), but J&J was a driving force behind the creation of this little experiment you're reading. Of course, I also loved her in Leap Year (So cute!) and if you try to say you didn't love her just a little bit more after the scene in The Fighter when she takes on all of the Ward sisters on the porch, you're a liar. Plus, Girlfran can SING, too!

Kirstie Alley

Given that it's still my second-most popular post to date, I think we all know this fact: Kirstie is mah' GIRL. She's got sass, style and spunk -- all traits that I greatly admire. Whenever I think of the phrase, "haters gon' hate," I think of all the nastiness she had to endure during her time on DWTS, how much that had to have hurt and, most importantly, how she said to hell with all of those critics and did her best to prove them wrong each and every week. Despite a few stumbles here or there in her life and career, she always manages to pull herself back up, dust herself off and throw herself 110% back into the game. I dig that.


Michelle Obama

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I purposely avoid politics on the blog, but for Michelle, I shall make an exception. First of all, she's Princeton (and Harvard, but who cares) educated. It's a little-known fact, but there was a time in my life when I was courted by Princeton and my ultimate academic goal was to get in there. Sure, it might have been in 8th grade, but the fact remains that they once wanted me, and I still look really good in orange. Her education aside, Michelle is SO DAMN STRONG -- and I'm not just referring to her killer pipes, either. I agree that childhood obesity is a major issue in this country, I love that she grew a garden at the White House, and regardless of your political beliefs, she's providing support to the leader of the free world. That's impressive.

Anne of Green Gables

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Ok, so she's fictional. Big deal. I've already professed my love for a bunch of literary hunks, so I see no problem in the fact that I have a bit of tiny massive HGC on Ms. Anne-with-an-E Shirley of Green Gables, Avonlea, both the literary and cinematic versions. If you couldn't tell from the quotation at the top of the page, I have a lot in common with Anne. We're both gingers. We both possess a limited verbal filter. We both enjoy dramatic interpretations of Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott". And we both really, really enjoy getting our friends accidentally drunk on raspberry cordial. We're truly kindred spirits and, were she real, I imagine we would be bosom friends.

So, there you have it. Of course, I have many more HGCs -- at LEAST enough famous ones to fill up another post. Plus, there are my HGC bloggers, and my IRL HGC friends and acquaintances. So now I urge you, readers, to contemplate your own Girl Crushes (the H is optional; I happen to like dudes but whatever floats your boat!). Let the Lady Love flow!


So, tell me: Who are YOUR girl crushes?? Why??

Friday Confessional: Kissed By the Pride of an Outlander

Since I totally blew it on Friday and did not, in fact, get up my latest Confession, I decided to give you all a treat and make a slight adjustment to this week's posting schedule. 

So, without further ado, I do hereby confess:

I routinely fall in love with men who do not exist. 

I'm not talking about the usual, "I'm dating this guy but he's kind of a skeezball but I know that deep down he's really great and if I could just make him see that it's OK that he still thinks it's funny to pants random strangers and that I don't really mind that he'd rather play Call of Duty than spend some time doing the horizontal mambo, and no I'm NOT trying to change him because I know deep down in there somewhere is the man of my dreams!" -type schtick. 

No, I mean men who really don't exist, outside of some paper, ink and the images of them I've created in my mind (or, in #2's case, that the BBC has created in my mind for me). I love books of all genres, ranging from romance to mystery, and everything in-between. As almost any girl who has lusted over the badassness of Dean Moriarty or marveled at the romance of Romeo can tell you, it's not particularly hard to fall for characters who, if you had to deal with them in real life, would most likely make you want to claw your eyes out. 

 

The following three men, though -- they're time-tested, and are the ones I'd like to hang out with in REAL life, ifyouknowwhatimean. ::wink, wink::

# 3: Tristan Carruthers 
Kissed By an Angel by Elizabeth Chandler

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As an 11-year old, I was loathe to accept my mom's opinion on anything (my, my, how some things never change). Which is why, when she approached me at Barnes and Noble with a thin little tome from the Young Adult section, I barely glanced at the cover before making a face and going back to my perusal of The Babysitter's Club shelf.

Thankfully, my mom bought it anyway, and the guy pictured on the cover was cute, so I read it. I wish there had been a less-cheesy tagline and that the writing was a little bit better ("After he's gone, will the spirit of his love protect her?" That's the best Simon and Schuster could do?!). Then again, it's a book for pre-teens and young adults, and it's not like it's of Stephanie Meyer proportions of badness. Ivy is a bit flighty and whiny, Eric makes my skin crawl to this very day and Suzanne is a self-absorbed brat. Despite her moments, though, I came to love Ivy, because she was just a regular girl. Don't even get me started on the emotional angst I felt right along with Lacy.

And then there's Tristan.

To my pre-teen mind, Tristan Carruthers was the literary embodiment of all that a girl could ask for. The dude was a hot commodity student-athlete, did whatever he had to as a way of finally getting Ivy to go out with him, waited around the limbo of the after-life just to make sure that she didn't go getting herself KILLED and was blissfully ignorant to everything that didn't have to do with his beloved. Plus, I mean, come on; he put shrimp tails up his nose to get a laugh out of an 8-year old.

To my adult mind, Tristan is a good kid who caught a raw deal when he accidentally got murdered. Having re-read the entire KBAA trilogy a thousand times (and owning not one, not two, but three separate releases of it, including two of the first, broken-up edition, because I kept losing Soulmates), Tristan HAS lost a bit of his appeal, mostly because I get so annoyed at his single-minded quest to save Ivy. I'm not going to give away plot points (even now, I'm not ashamed to tell people that KBAA is my favorite book and that Tristan was my first great love, so I encourage everyone to go buy it and read it, despite the horrible, rip-off packaging of the newest addition, which my loving boyfriend bought me at Target), but eventually, the passiveness grates on the nerves.

I don't care, though -- Tristan will forever hold a place in my heart as the first literary man I ever fell in love with.

Moving on....

#2: Fitzwilliam Darcy 

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

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Does this one even need an explanation?! The man has an entire mini-genre of books devoted to him. He's dark. He's broody. He wears a cravat. What is there not to love?

Also, I first saw the BBC Film when I was a 17-year old Junior in high school, and even then, I recognized that Colin Firth is possibly the most accurately cast human being on the planet in this role, and anyone who thinks otherwise is nuts -- that's all I have to say on this subject.

Which leads me to my current literary obsession...

# 1: Jamie Fraser 

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

One of my best friends, Batman (to my Robin), started disappearing on me for weeks on end -- despite living 2 hours away, we are usually pretty good about texting every so often just to say hi. When I saw her for my birthday and asked where the hell she had got off to, she confessed that she was having an affair with the Outlander series. Fast-forward a few months to me in an airport sans book, and soon I, too, was disappearing from my regular life because I was so caught-up in Pre-Jacobite-Rising Scotland. Claire is a fantastic protagonist with a lot of spunk (and yes, I have found myself yelling, "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!", although if my Nana ever heard me I'm sure I'd be dead by now), but my ever-growing obsession with manly, kilt-wearing Jamie Fraser is the real reason I sped through the first book.

Like Mr. Darcy, Jamie is broody and has an accent -- or rather, a hot Scottish brogue. Like Tristan, he's a total studmuffin and has a weird, paranormal contact with the female protagonist, after she  falls 200 years into the past after touching a bunch of rocks in the Scottish Highlands. What makes Jamie unique, though, and thus the current front-runner in my list of Top 3 Fictional Men I Would Want A Free Pass For, is that he is so passionate.

And he's a ginger, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't always secretly expect myself to end up with some hot-tempered dude who looks good in a kilt. I'll have to settle for the red that appears in A's beard during the summer months. But I digress.

Jamie isn't perfect -- he's somewhat arrogant, proud to a fault and stubborn as a mule. He's also unbelievably loyal, to his country, to his clan and to Claire. Of course, there are points where I just want to slap him (and then I remember he's not real). But there are more times when I just want to shag him. He's smart, he's cheeky and he's willing to do anything, including DIE, to protect those he holds most dear.

Not surprisingly, most of those attributes fit A, too. I think that might be part of the reason I've decided to keep him around so long.

Well, and the fact that he's an actual person, who happens to let me convince him to dress up as a saloon owner for Halloween. But whatever. ;)


So,  which literary characters have you found yourself swooning over? Heathcliff? Lancelot? Mitch Albom? Team Edward or Team Jacob? (I promise I'll get around to that Twilight-post... I have very complex opinions on the subject). I've spent hours of my life casting both Tristan and Jamie in the movie-in-my-head; who would you want to cast as your favorite leading literary men?

TV TIMEOUT --- I was just googling for pics of the original, 3-book edition of KBAA and stumbled upon the fact that a 4th book was released YESTERDAY, after, well.. at least 15 years because that's when I first read the originals. I don't even know what to do with myself and am trying to figure out if I can make it to a Barnes and Noble on my lunchbreak and then spend an entire night finding out wtf happens. I love it and hate it all at the same time. If I disappear, please tell the cops not to worry and I'm just trapped in a glass cage of emotion.