My Life with Food: A Journey from Fear to Love

Terribly pretentious title, I know. And in my first (and probably last) post for sometime. I kind of figure that no one's really reading this any more and this is just an exercise in obnoxious public journaling, so really, why not be pretentious as hell? I'm sure it will fit in nicely when I one day find my angsty entries from my misspent youth.

I've recently taken a job in San Francisco. I was given three weeks between accepting the offer and my start date (which I'm sure I could have negotiated, but financially it would have been imprudent), which has left me packing up the apartment I've lived in for three years while serving out my notice. I've been less stressed before. Anyways, to help this little process along, my mother has kindly agreed to drive up to DC, lending her car, aggressive nature and monetary contributions to dinners out to this process. (By the way, if you're in DC and in the market for a couch, a bed, or glassware, do let me know.) Mommy dearest is bringing with her my niece and nephew because slave labor is what summer vacation should be all about, at least from this aunt's perspective.

So, a little bit about my background, which I think that actually very few are privy to: I grew up near Atlanta, Ga. and went from being an only child to the youngest of 8 step brothers and sisters when both of my parents remarried before I was six years-old. I started going to Christian school in the third grade because that's what you do in Georgia, where the public schools are failing, but no one much cares because only racial minorities and poor whites attend them. By the time I was in middle school, I'd come to realize that I was an atheist and a liberal, neither popular positions either at home or with my classmates, so I graduated as a junior and hightailed it as far away as I could get both ideologically and physically to university at Berkeley. When I reveal that I'm from Georgia, my accent long gone, most people find it shocking.

Not so with my siblings. Despite a couple's brief stints in such exotic locations as Manhattan and glamorous Columbus, OH, all of my brothers and sisters have wound up in the south. Most are still in Georgia, the oldest sisters live in North and South Carolina. No wonder my mother forcefully packed and sold the contents of my Berkeley apartment and practically forced me cross country to DC when I began to look for jobs--I was (and still am) the only one whose doorstep one can't show up on in an emergency. (To her credit, she's being very sweet about my moving back to SF.) My niece and nephew live in South Carolina with their parents.

Growing up in Georgia, well, not to traffic in stereotype, but your food options are pretty much fried and sides. When I got to Berkeley, a roommate was once ordering Chinese delivery for the dorm suite and asked me what I wanted. My reply of "chicken teriyaki" was met with peels of laughter. Georgia doesn't so much differentiate between Chinese and Japanese, and Thai, Indian, Vietnamese, Korean--these cuisines are almost unheard of. Point being, diversity: lacking.

To make matters of taste even worse, I have had, for most of my life, a fear of food. Not of becoming fat, not a body issue, a legitimate, visceral fear of foods that look or smell a certain way or appear to have a certain texture. This will surprise anyone who is aware of my longstanding love affair with restaurants, but it is absolutely true. When I was four, just as my parents were getting divorced, I went through a phase that many children experience--I refused to eat pretty much anything. Shrimp, pasta, cheese, peanut butter and bacon. That was all I wanted. Not together, of course. It's a wonder that I'm not 400 pounds. Few vegetables, a violent rejection of most meats, by all reasonable measures a prohibitively limited diet.

The pediatrician told my parents to let me be--that all kids go through this phase and that I would resume eating more food naturally. My mother took this advice to heart. My father had grown up in a "you'll eat whatever I put in front of you" household and would have none of it. Threats, spankings and lies were all tactics that he employed to get me to eat what he wanted me to, the last being the most damaging. After Scott's refusal to differentiate between meat sauce and marinara, I gave up tomato sauce all together. In fact, I became more and more suspicious to the point that, if I couldn't immediately identify what was in it, I wouldn't eat it. This precluded many of the best things in life--rich sauces and curries, anything baked inside a pastry shell...

Only through friends, loved ones and one particularly sympathetic sister's incredible ability to describe food and relate it to experiences that I could understand have I come, in the last 10 years, to be an adventurous eater (though to this day I have trouble with most meats and won't eat red meat or anything ground or sliced). Indian and Thai curries, sushi, all kinds of fish, asparagus, recently brussel sprouts, even pizza (which I had eschewed because of it's tomato sauce) are now all parts of my school girl crush (nay, obsession) with food. Where I once dreaded going to a friend's for dinner, I now choose restaurants for business lunches with gusto. Some friends have called me their own personal Yelp.

So when my niece and nephew arrive, aside from needing them to paint my bright blue apartment walls back to the institutional off-white that the building management prefers, I also have a desperate need to expose them to a world where "a nice dinner" doesn't mean Olive Garden. But in my desire to do so, I'm also tormented by my memories of "no thank you bites" and admonitions against leaving the table before my plate is clean. Clearly I can't throw them into the deep end right away. Sadly on this trip, there will be no Lebanese Taverna, no Indian food and probably no Vietnamese.

I'm starting small. The first night I'm showing them what pizza should be--not Domino's, 2 Amy's. The second night I'll play by ear. After all, I'm taking them to trapeze, they don't need to be scared of their food, too. But the third night I'm taking them to Dino. Dino is my favorite neighborhood gem--almost too reasonably priced, local, sustainable, fresh real food. Nothing processed, nothing fake. Accessible for them with pastas and simple fish, chicken and meat dishes, but everything a step above and beyond (complimented by my dear friends on the staff, one of which has consented to pollute his carefully selected craft beer menu with a Coors Light for my dear mother). And when the prosciutto wrapped asparagus arrives at the table, there will be no "no thank you" bites if my niece and nephew are reluctant to try it--that just means more for me.

Overall, food is one of the most purely enjoyable parts of life. It can be decadent, refreshing, emotional, soothing and life changing. We're lucky to live in a place where eating is an experience, not just an often unmet necessity. And our body knows what good food is. When you spend enough time away from fried, processed crap, you lose a taste for it, and your body doesn't want it any more. I'm glad to have come to a point where I eat what's good for me without effort, based almost entirely on craving, and my emotional response to the prospect of eating is delight, not terror. I hope that I can give some of that to my niece and nephew...ya know, before I run away across the country again.

My Inner Teen Is Disgusted with Me

About a month ago, I did something that shocked my friends and family: I attended the NKOTBSB concert at the Verizon Center. My inner teenager has locked herself in her room and is refusing to come out lest she dies from embarrassment.

I sent an email to my wonderful friend AL (initials for anonymity – her name isn’t “Al”), because we hadn’t hung out in a while. She replied with an offer too good to resist: a totally free ticket to see NKOTBSB with her. It was an invitation to spend a Friday evening with one of my best friends people watching at a concert combining the goofiest boy band of the 80s with the goofiest boy band of the 90s.

How could I refuse?

I don’t exaggerate when I tell you it was one of the best experiences of my life. First of all, the Verizon Center clearly knew its audience that evening. It converted several men’s rooms into ladies’ rooms – with urinals.

After arriving (and lots of pre-gaming beers), I decided I needed a tee shirt with all the faces of the Backstreet Boys and the New Kids on it. I thought it would be hilarious. Well, $40 later, I think the joke was on me…

The show started the second we walked into the Verizon Center (and I am not talking about the concert). There were so many middle-aged women with homemade tee shirts professing love for one or another band member. Seriously, there was enough puffy paint to cover the floor of the Verizon Center!

I was really hoping to see a 40 year old with a bad perm cry as NKOTB or BSB sang some sappy song that repeated the word “girl” or “babe” so many times it lost all meaning. Much to my dismay, while there was a lot of screaming (especially during “Please Don’t Go, Girl”), there were no tears.

We finally left when NKOTB stopped singing to repeatedly reference how “hot” DC is. Of course the crowd ate it up… But before I end my post, a few observations from the concert.

1) Donnie Wahlberg looks like Mark Wahlberg plus 10 years of really, really hard living.

2) If one band member removes his jacket to give the ladies in the audience a (very) cheap thrill (Aaron Carter – and it was the jacket from a white suit), then the other band needs someone to remove his wife beater (Donnie Wahlberg – see previous observation for my opinion on that matter). Otherwise, all sense of order is lost in Boy Bandlandia.

3) The decade(ish) that separates the ages of the NKOTB and BSB really showed when it was time for a dance number (but NKOTB did do that pendulum leg thing during “The Right Stuff”).

4) At our core, us women are forever those teenage girls we used to be. Whether that means we are horribly insecure or that we have an incurable crush on some cute celebrity at 13, not much changes - even after 30. And that’s why my alternative-loving, moody teen self is still pouting and rolling her eyes over my decision to spend a Friday evening worshipping at the boy band alter.

The Search for Kimmy (Update)

I found her! I had the correct number for her mom, and it took a while to hear back, because she is spending the year in Japan. We've managed to reconnect, and it's pretty awesome. I hope when she gets back to the country that we will be able to see one another (for the first time in more than 15 years).

Thanks to all for the suggestions about how to find her!

The Search for Kimmy (a rare, non-bitchy post)

When I was in preschool, I made a little friend named Kimmy. She was my best friend in preschool, kindergarten and most of elementary school. But, as I got a little older (and when we stopped going to the same Jewish day camp), Kimmy and I grew apart.

We talked a few times in high school, but it became increasingly hard for us to relate to one another. Eventually, the friendship just died out completely.

I have thought about her a lot over the years. I have wondered what became of her. I have tried to find her on Facebook numerous times, but never to any avail. I was home recently - well, visiting my parents in the home I grew up in - and as I was cleaning out my childhood room, I ran across old cards, photos and other mementos of my friendship with Kimmy. And, trying to find her has been on my mind ever since.

I have tried Google, Spokeo, White Pages and any other free tool on the internet I can think of. I managed to find a listing for her parents with a number I remember dialing hundreds of times as a kid (back in the day where you dialed a number from a key pad on a phone that had a cord in it - now I can barely remember my own phone number). After two weeks, I got up the courage to dial it. Unfortunately, all I got was a generic recorded message saying "Sorry. We are not in right now. Please leave a message after the beep." So, I took a shot. I left a message. And now I wait.

If anyone has any other ideas about how to locate long lost childhood friends, I would really appreciate the help. If not, at least hope I had the right number and someone calls me back.

Sorry for the sentimental, schlocky post. I am feeling intensely nostalgic and pensive lately. What good is it to have a blog if you can't write about what's on your mind? That being said, I promise to bring the bitchy back with a frivolous, snarky post very soon!

I Used to Like People

I used to be so gregarious, so social, so interested in other people - so much like my mother. But, as I get older, I now find my self turning into a serious misanthrope - much more like my dad. Lately, I have started to really listen to myself as I go on and on about the stupidity of this person or the irritating qualities of that person and I wonder, "what the fuck is happening to me?!"

I mean, I have friends and a relatively active social life. But, I find that increasingly I just don't like people anymore. The more I think about the problem, the more I realize that it all started when I began taking mass transit/commuting to work.

When I was growing up in Phoenix (a city but not a real city), I didn't mind crowds. I loved chatting up strangers and being places where I could meet new, interesting people. Then, after college when I began working in San Francisco, my interest in these things waned. And then I moved to DC.

DC is a really cool city. It's very young - very alive. But, it's also very full of self-important, self-aggrandizing tools. You hear it all the time on the Metro. People (especially those just out of college and working on the Hill) love to name drop. They tend to think they are literally the most important, most irreplaceable person on the face of the planet. Dare I say, many of them feel they are as (if not more) important than the politician they work for.

And because DC is such a cool city, we are infested with tourists for 9 months of the year. When Winter ends, two plagues descend on the city: the bugs the size of small vermin and tourists who have never seen the following:

Escalators
Light rail or subway systems
Malls with more than four stores
Homeless people

How do I know they have never seen these things? Simple - they take photos of them. And they always seem to manage to be in the way while doing so.

So what's a girl to do? I can't move, and even if I did, I can't go back to suburban city living. I could drive to work (thus avoiding the throngs of humanity I must interact with on mass transit), but the car takes premium and gas is more than $4.00/gallon. I guess I have no choice. I just need to resign myself to the fact that I am turning into my father (but hopefully without the mustache).

9021-NO

As is well-documented, Elle and I love the CW schlock – especially the 9-0 reboot and the prematurely canceled Melrose revisited. But, perhaps sadly, it runs deeper for me. I almost have a maternal attachment to the show. I feel invested.

Let me explain. I had such high hopes before the show premiered. I was like a proud new mama that thought her baby could do anything! Be anyone! Go anywhere! And then the terrible twos set in. The show was horrid. Anna Lynn McCord was wooden, Shenae Grimes confused emoting with the look one gets on their face when constipated, and they revealed how poorly the beloved Brenda Walsh had aged. But then there was hope. The show grew into a precocious child, renewing the sense of promise it once had. The story lines were interesting. The acting was better. Sure, it was still a sudsy ridiculous soap, but it was fun!

And now, we appear to have hit the teen years. Those dreaded teen years. The once fanciful implausible plots have become dark, moody, and just plain stupid. For example, on a recent Spring Break trip to Mexico (on a private jet?!), Annie got bit by a monkey, Ivy realized she didn’t need pot to surf (seriously, WTF), and Adriana replaced Silver’s medicine for her bi-polar disorder with Tylenol.

I have watched a lot of soap opera villains do a lot of crazy shit, but I don’t even get to what end one would replace someone’s medication for being manic-depressive. Does she want her to commit suicide? No, that’s too dark. Does she want her to go manic so her boyfriend breaks up with her? Probably, but in what real world situation would someone break up with their bipolar girlfriend (when he knows she is bipolar) for having a manic or depressive episode? I mean, wouldn’t one of her dozens of friends and loved ones who all know about her condition just intervene and suggest she see her doctor to readjust her meds?

There is always hope that the post-teenage years will straighten out this wayward TV show. But, what I guess makes me the most nervous is that perhaps it isn’t the show. Perhaps it’s me. Maybe it is finally time to stop watching shows whose target audiences get the appeal of Justin Bieber. Could it be that it isn't the shows growing pains but my own that I am reacting to?

Nah. It's the show.

Adventures in NOLA

This bitch recently spent a glorious long weekend in NOLA. I got some sun, gained what feels like 5 pounds, and experienced a few things worth blogging about!

Things I learned in New Orleans:

1) The Ritz Carlton Hotel has the song “Puttin’ on the Ritz” on a seemingly endless loop

2) Bourbon street smells exactly how you think it would – a combination of spilled drinks, urine, vomit and hot dog cart (and vomit that has an air of eau de hot dog cart and hurricane)

3) You do not want to work at Café Du Monde

4) Nicholas Cage doesn’t know his own address but apparently knows Dog the Bounty Hunter

5) Delta has the world’s rudest flight attendant in its employ. Her name is Ashleigh, and she literally berated my husband for requesting another soda (politely mind you). The exchange was as follows:

Mr. Bitch: Excuse me. May I have another Coke when you have a minute? (No, I am rewriting history to make him more polite).

Ashleigh (an actual bitch): I can’t just give everyone another soda. I already gave you the full can, which I am not supposed to do. We can’t just give everyone multiple cans of soda.

Mr. Bitch: Okay…

Ashleigh: Walks off to the back of the plane in a huff

As soon as we landed, I promptly tweeted about the incident: @Delta rudest flight attendant on #3410 MSY->DCA. "Ashleigh" berated my husband 4 requesting another coke. U condone rudeness 2 save soda?

To Delta’s credit, I did receive a prompt reply from @DeltaAssist. But, I am uncertain anything came of it. And, it isn’t enough.

First and foremost, when did it become obnoxious to ask for another soda (literally the only free thing on a flight anymore)? If it is a supply issue (which, this was a commuter flight so it might have been), then just say that. Don’t berate a paying customer for a simple request – one, I might mention, that is complied with on ANY OTHER major or budget carrier than flies the friendly skies.

Beyond that, when did it become acceptable for flight attendants – the customer service representative on the flight – to hate their customers so much? No, we weren’t in first class, but if you hate serving people, FIND ANOTHER LINE OF WORK.

And finally, why do we as paying consumers stand for asinine policies and rudeness? The airport is enough of a horror show without being treated like scum once on the plane.

So, readers, if there are any of you left due to the infrequency of recent posts, help me. I need to craft a complaint letter to Delta, and I am open to suggestions! Please submit your comments and help me take a stand for every mistreated coach passenger on any flight!

Overheard on Metro

I think it's time for a new segment on 2B1B: Overheard on Metro (or heretofore to be called OOM). This week I feel as though I heard an inordinate amount of inane chatter.

So, for as long as this amuses me, a new feature: OOM

In response to a story about a home burglary: "I leave my door unlocked at night just hoping someone will try to mess with me. It's like that time the guy with the gun tried to rob me, and I dared him to shoot me. I said, if you're gonna do it, do it!"

Please comment and share your overheard on metro moments!

Another Brilliant Tumblr

I was once a cat owner. I lost her in my "divorce." (And I gave her my super rad cat name that I'd been saving until I was an adult and had a pet and my mother couldn't be like "that's so mean, why don't you name her after a season or something." Actually, my mother did say that, but I named the cat Trouble anyway, because they're mischievous and there's nothing you can do about it. And now my ex-wife has my awesome pet name for all eternity and I write little plays in my diary about a weird cat custody scenario where I'm the total dad in the situation and I'm like "Look, it's not that I don't love you, it's that your mother's an unhinged bitch, and noooow she's asking me to pay child support, can you believe that? Oh, sport, you know I'd love to have you come stay with me, but I'm in the one bedroom now, ya know, and work's keeping me really late. As soon as I get a bigger place and another promotion, I promise." Ok, I don't have a diary, but I just made that up for you all right here and now.)

Tami continues to be a cat owner because her marriage is more stable than mine was (because no one in the scenario is batshit insane), so I am now a cat aunt. Anyways, anyone who has ever had a cat and a sexual relationship at the same time knows to shut the door or suffer the fate documented on Cats Watching You Have Sex, which I am honoring as the 2B1B Tumblr blog of the week (a semi-recurring award).

If You Aren't Watching Pretty Little Liars, It Is Time to Start

It’s no secret that I love me some stupid TV. I like to think of it as brain candy or the antidote to a stressful day. Thankfully, one of my (and Elle’s) favorite guilty pleasures is back: Pretty Little Liars.

For the uninitiated, PLL is the story of five best friends, one of whom disappears and is found dead a year later. The actors playing the title little liars are largely nobodies (with the sort of exception of Lucy Kate Hale, who has had a failed show every televisions season up until now. I was starting to think she was cursed considering both Privileged and the Bionic Woman reboot failed with her in a starring role), but two of the moms are played by Laura “Sydney Andrews Mancini” Leighton and Holly Marie Combs of Charmed fame. Anyway, the liars are tormented by a mysterious person named “A” who knows all their secrets – and tells them. “A” also seems to know who killed the 5^th friend, and the other four can’t resist trying to find out who both “A” and the killer are. But doing so puts them in a compromising situation – especially considering they all seem to make pretty horrific personal choices.

Now that you have a brief background, allow me to give you a list of reasons to watch:

• The title doesn’t lie – the show is full of pretty people
• If you miss Melrose as much as Elle and I do, this is your replacement for campy, totally off-the-wall story lines (e.g. Laura Leighton’s character actually sleeps with a police officer to keep her daughter out of trouble and steals from the bank where she works to keep her and her daughter in designer goods)
• It’s on ABC Family, so it repeats like 1000 times per week, making it easy to stay up-to-date without DVR conflicts
• It’s way less infuriating than Gossip Girl
• Because Elle and I say so!

In Defense of Angelina

So how many years (and how many children) later are we still hearing about Jennifer Aniston vs. Angelina Jolie?! Enough already!

I am going to say that I think Brad Pitt is a better fit with Angelina Jolie – and I am also going to assert that I don’t think Jennifer Aniston is the super cool, amazingly chill chick everyone makes her out to be. I bet (and have heard) that she is a HUGE bitch.

Quite honestly, I don’t get what the whole love affair with Jen is about. She always plays that same girl next door with an edge (and yes, I saw the Good Girl and Friends with Money – I wasn’t impressed). I think women like her because her beauty is more or less average – and very approachable. I am not saying she is ugly, but I mean, think about it. If you are Courtney Cox, how hot do you feel next to Jennifer Aniston?

I sort of think it’s easy to hop on the “let’s hate Angelina” bandwagon. The woman is beautiful – very striking – and her figure is (well, was – now she is a bit too thin) out of control amazing. I know she doesn’t appeal to everyone, but there is no denying that the woman oozes sexuality. Plus, she is incredibly talented. Love her or hate her, I really feel like she transforms on screen and inhabits a character in a way very few actors can – especially actors who are so infamous for their personal lives. I am sure she’s cold and bitchy – one of those people who only warms up after you get to know her, but she doesn’t profess to be approachable and super cool (unlike her nemesis).

She’s also incredibly generous with her money, her time, and her fame. She draws attention to the issues of poverty, starvation and genocide in the third world – and even picks up a kid or two while she is there.

I am not saying you should join “Team Angelina” but at the very least can we all stop caring that she may or may not be the reason Jennifer Aniston’s marriage to Brad Pitt ended? And it certainly isn’t Angelina’s fault that Jen hasn’t been able to maintain a relationship since.

Seriously, think about it – maybe the problem isn’t and wasn’t Angelina. Maybe the problem has been Jen all along – she’s just more likeable so no one wants to believe it.

Dear Miley Cyrus…

It’s true that in the porn industry, XXX stands for adult. But, in the real world, they are not synonymous.

I really don’t understand all these former Disney princesses who seem to think that the only way they can demonstrate they’ve matured is to whore it up big time. Look at Miley’s predecessors:

Britney Spears – former Mouseketeer, huge recording artist basically before she could drive, and then massive train wreck by the time she could legally drink. She kept giving interviews where she expressed that she wanted people to stop seeing her as a little girl and take her seriously as a mature artist. So what did she do? She dressed more and more provocatively. Her lyrics became even more sexual, and she got married on a bender in Vegas. Next thing you know, she’s shaving her head and having control of her finances taken away.

And then there’s Lindsay Lohan. Remember how cute she was in the Parent Trap? Or how innocent she seemed in Mean Girls? But she wanted to be taken seriously as an actress, so she stopped wearing panties and made that horrible movie where she plays twins separated at birth and one is a stripper or something. Now she’s been to rehab more times than Danny Bonaduce, and has been replaced by Malin Ackerman in that movie about the porn star in the 70s.

If you want to be taken seriously as an adult, make adult choices. Look at Taylor Swift! She’s quietly turned 21, without showing the world her lady parts or having the paparazzi photograph her stumbling out of some night club.

Perhaps the problem is just a lack of talent. I cannot imagine that it is that hard to play Hannah Montana – despite the fact it’s technically two characters. You just need to be able to deliver a pun and a pratfall, right? I would think the hardest part would be interacting with Billy Ray Cyrus as your dad – but wait, Billy Ray is her dad! I guess that’s what you do in Hollywood to make up for a lack of talent – you act scandalously and dress scantily. I mean, it’s working for Megan Fox.

Twelve Tips for D.C. Neophytes

1. Get a Smartrip card. Spare yourself and everyone behind you in line the frustration.
2. Unless the difference in cost is $100 or more, just fly out of DCA.
3. Save yourself the frustration: don't fly to New York. Don't take the bus to Boston. Busjunction.com is your best friend.
4. Hipster or Preppy? Pick a side and party appropriately.
5. If you're from California, your first winter here is always the coldest, no matter what the temperature says.
6. Don't try to wear foundation in the summer. Do moisturize in the winter.
7. You'll need a doctor, gynecologist, dentist and psychiatrist (trust me). Find the doctors closest to your office and then cross reference them with Yelp reviews. Call until you find someone accepting new patients.
8. Learn the bus routes; it will expand your reasonably priced apartment and dive bar options by a power of 10.
9. Ice skating at the National Gallery sculpture garden, screen on the green, E Street Cinema, Shakespeare Theater's young professional tickets and the botanical gardens--the best free to reasonably priced entertainment in the city.
   
10. Don't put off buying wellies. Sure, you can't wear them everyday, or even once a week, but when you need them, they're more frustrating to be without than a great pair of jeans or a little black dress.
    
11. PL Nails in Adams Morgan is the only place to bother getting your nails done. Clean, luxurious and $35 for a mani-pedi.
    
12. Eat at Komi at least once before you leave.

Bonus: Plan to leave. No one stays.

Versace! Cavalli! Vogue! Cover Girl?!

This season of America's Next Top Model takes the ridiculous cake. Now, Elle's and my love-hate relationship with Tyrant Banks is well-documented insofar as we love to hate her and have blogged about it frequently. Season after season we've called her narcissistic, fake, crazy, and clueless. But, she's a pretty savvy businesswoman - she's built an empire for herself. And yet, this season just tells me she is dumb.

As anyone who has watched cycle 15 can attest, they have attempted to elevate the competition. They are looking for a girl who is more high fashion. And they have had some pretty incredible guest judges like DVF, Pat Fields, Zac Posen, Margherita Missoni, and more (definitely no low-rent Kim Kardashians or Lauren Conrads for this bunch). And while some of the photo shoots/challenges have been absurd (H2T Water - is that really a thing?! And if so, does Tyra own it? And what about Tyra's directorial debut. WTF was that?! Like, is a video editorial a real thing - or is this Tyra trying to start another trend like the overuse of "fierce" or "smizing"? Or will this just be another failed attempt at a career change - like her music video. Sorry, I am getting off topic here), this season has definitely felt less commercial - save for one thing: the Cover Girl contract.

If they are truly looking for a high fashion model, then they are not looking for someone who can do Cover Girl. You know who are the biggest CG spokespeople currently? Drew Barrymore and Queen Latifah. Nothing about either of those women screams high fashion to me. CG's whole schtick is about approachable beauty. High fashion is in diametric opposition to approachable. And do not even get me started on the Walmart challenge from early in the season...

Furthermore, they keep harping on personality. I get that models need to book jobs, but high fashion or couture runway girls are glorified hangers. I bet most of the really successful fashion models working today have the personality of a wet rag - you cannot have a personality and be that thin. You're just too hungry and hunger makes people lethargic and/or bitchy. Maybe those aren't the models who we know by name, but none of these girls on ANTM are going to be as successful as Gisele or even Tyra (who, incidentally, are both famous for their commercial work). If we see them after the show, we only know their names because of the show. The goal should be to work - and make money, not to be a top model - and I don't care what the show is called. I don't "idolize" Kelly Clarkson. Richard Hatch is a douchebag and a criminal - not a "survivor." There is nothing remotely real about "The Real World." The only truthful reality show name is "I Love Money." But "America's Next Working Model Who Can Support Herself as a Model" isn't as catchy a title.

I support the search for an actual editorial model. I think it is an interesting twist (certainly more interesting than the midget season), but if you're going to do it, really commit. Ditch the Cover Girl cash cow, don't let the girls within 1000 yards of a Walmart, and stop trying to force girls who lack personality to prove they have one - they don't. And guess what, if the clothes look good, they photos are hot, and they can walk a runway, they will work - and probably be more successful than the winner.

The more things change...

I recently went to my 10-year high school reunion. And I was nervous about it - really nervous. I wasn't sure how I would feel or how I would be perceived by others. Would they think I was aging badly? Would they be impressed by my life? Would they think I was one of the ones who "got fat" (oh, I didn't - but I definitely was worried)? When I got there though, I realized that all my nerves were for nothing.

I was struck by the fact that everyone seemed more or less exactly the same. What had changed (other than a few waistline measurements) was how everyone reacted to one another. There wasn't really any hierarchy anymore. The mean girls weren't mean. The dorky guys weren't (as) dorky. And the hot guys definitely weren't hot. But everyone got along and genuinely enjoyed catching up, regardless of where we each fell in terms of the pecking order 10 years ago. I had a really good time, and I felt as though I exercised the last few of those adolescent demons.

Well, today a girl I have known basically since birth posted a photograph of our preschool class on Facebook. I was somewhere between 2 or 3 years old at the time. It's admittedly not my most adorable moment, but it's still cute. Several people have commented, and since I am tagged, I get an email every time someone does. Well, one of the comments was from a guy I went to high school with. He wasn't at the reunion, because he was in the graduating class ahead of mine.

He wrote: "Wow. Check out that noggin on Tami."

This shouldn't bother me - but I know he intended this post to get under my skin. And frankly, he succeeded. It just seems so unnecessary. I don't want to respond on the thread, because he'll accuse me of being too sensitive or not having a sense of humor. But the fact of the matter is that he set out to be derisive. He wasn't trying to connect - I haven't seen him since my senior year of high school when he came to judge a speech and debate tournament for our team (a tournament he was asked to leave, because he had been drinking so much the night before that he still reeked of booze that day). We are Facebook friends - if he wanted to connect, it would have been easy enough to do over the years. And we aren't friends - so he wasn't teasing in a friendly way. No, he wanted to belittle me, much like he enjoyed doing in high school.

I know I have no reason to care. I have a good life. I have an interesting job I enjoy, a wonderful husband, amazing friends and an awesome shoe collection. I've gained some amazing life experiences, while he has gained weight - seriously, he has basically doubled in size since high school. He doesn't really appear to have done much with his life. And based on the reports I got at my reunion, he is a bit of a sad sack. He is stuck in his adolescence (a time where he was king - and relatively fit), which is totally obvious from his stupid little comment. And yet, I am bothered.

It's simple really - people don't change. And sometimes, neither do your reactions to them. At least being an adult shows me that while he still may be good at making me feel insecure, he's bad at life. So basically, I win. No, that is not the mature, adult response. It is the petty teenage one. But, unlike teenage me, adult me can celebrate this petty victory with a cocktail.

MTV Got Something Right

It's a shocker, I know. But one of the ridiculous reality programs on MTV actually accurately portrays the life of one group: the d-bags of the Jersey Shore.

I had my bachelorette party last weekend, and because Vegas is too expensive and far away, we went to Atlantic City. Wow. Let me just say wow. I have never seen so many tiny but muscle-y, orange men in my entire life. And they are super aggressive.

But, it isn't like they have any game - at least any game that I recognize. Granted, I have been in a relationship for a long time, but I think there are some things that are just universal.

For instance, it is not charming or cute to yell at a girl, "Hey, Bachelorette. It's my bachelor party, and we can have sex until tomorrow." In case you are wondering what I replied, I told him he didn't meet the height requirement.

Other things that are not cute:

1) Grabbing ass on the dance floor when the club turns the lights out (however, that did lead to one of the more quotable nicknames of the party. The "butt bongo pirate" was coined by MR. Well done!)

2) Coming up behind a girl and rubbing your crotch on her while grabbing her stomach. No one touches my stomach.

3) Unbuttoning your shirt down to your belly button.

4) Fist pumping

5) Excessive hair gel

6) Tanning until you turn orange. Seriously, orange.

In spite of - or perhaps because of - the men of the Jersey Shore, I had a wonderful weekend. Thanks to the ladies - including my fellow bitch Elle - for making it a great send off to my single lady status. But, I do still hate you all for the tiara and veil.

Please Do Not Disturb the Urbanite in Her Natural Environment

April is upon us, and for those of us in D.C., that means cherry blossoms, allergies and the official start of tourist season. I'm as happy for the warm weather sans impending humidity as the next gal, but I hate this time of year.

At some point when you were a youngster--for me it was like 7th grade--your school thought it was a good idea to take you to our nation's capital and brainwash you with a fine bouquet of patriotism with the faintest hint of xenophobia. You looked at monuments, visited museums, and more than anything enjoyed being away from your parents and sleeping in the same hotel where your crush was, even if there were like 30 chaperones between you and him, ready to pounce at the faintest scent of hormones.

Never did you consider the fact that that bicameral legislature that you're admiring has a whole staff of people who live and work in D.C. and keep that thing running. And that that legislature has a whole lot of corporate interests that wish to influence it and employ an army of people to do so. And that news organizations cover the relationship between the two, which they do by being chock full of staff. And that all of those staffers need to eat and shop and see movies somewhere and that there are a whole host of people who FRIGGIN' LIVE HERE AND THE CITY IS NOT A PLAYGROUND OF STATUES BUILT FOR YOUR TOURISTY AMUSEMENT! YOU DIDN'T CONSIDER IT, DID YOU!??!

Sorry, I get a little worked up. And I'm still pissed that Granny O'Grimm didn't win the Oscar for Best Animated Short. Anyways, my point is, as a tourist and visitor to this place, you should respect the local customs and try not to annoy the city's natural population--the urbanite.

Those things aren't modern day black magic, they're called escalators. And while they are, in fact, very long, they are not a photo opportunity. Kindly stand on the right and walk on the left or suffer my wrath. Oh, oh, you think I won't curse at your five year old who is "adorably" trying to run up the down escalator during morning rush hour traffic when I am running 15 minutes late to work? You are so fucking wrong.

As with most wild animals, the best way to avoid a mauling, is to keep a respectful distance from the beast, and the best way to do that, is to recognize it. So, with the help of 2B1B's graphic designer in residence AO, I give you....


The urbanite may have any or all of the evolutionary advantages listed above. And in addition to the flip flops, she may also be carting high heels in a reusable grocery bag because the guy at CVS isn't asking you if you'd like paper or plastic, he's asking you if you'd like to pay $0.05 or just manage to carry your purchases on your own without murdering the planet.

The urbanite is well adapted to her environment. Sorry tourist, I'm not even looking at you. I can't tell that you're lost and need directions. I'm staring at something else disdainfully behind these sunglasses. Oh, that homeless dude was asking me for money? I thought he was waving and helpfully providing a back beat to my ipod with his coffee cup full of change. PETA chick, I would take your stupid little flyer filled with oddly racist arguments about why animal cruelty is bad if my hands weren't so damn full with this coffee and this Blackberry.

It's best to allow a perimeter around the urbanite and to stay out of her direct path--the urbanite doesn't waver and stupid little high school girls in their school shirt who failed to get out of my way while I was walking to work this morning may have gotten knocked on her ass in a crosswalk only to have her teacher cursed at about the proper time and place for tourists when she tried to scold me. Spill my coffee on me and pay the price--I have theater tickets for tonight. You're just going to the fucking Spy Museum.

Things I Do Not Understand

I consider myself a keen observer of the human condition. I think I read people well, and I love to play armchair psychiatrist. However, there are certain behaviors that mystify me. These are just a few of them.

1) People who invite all of their Facebook to events - even their friends who live nowhere in the area.

2) People who reply to all on office-wide emails to say something personal to the sender.

3) People who ask you where you are registered for your wedding, only to buy you random crap that you can't return because it comes from some artisan store in a city where you don't live.

4) People who friend people they've never met on Facebook (FB might be a bit of a recurring theme). Is Facebook looking to make the word "friend" lose all meaning - assuming it hasn't already?

5) Anything anyone does on Metro. Seriously, that could be its own post. But, just a couple:
A) People who sit in the outside seat at rush hour on a crowded train, leaving the seat next to them empty, and then shoot you a death stare when you ask to sit down in the last available seat.
B) People who will stand in the doorway of an EMPTY train! There are empty seats, lots of standing room and they stand right in the way of people trying to enter or exit the train.
C) Tourists who ride during commute hours.

It's as though some people lie awake at night trying to figure out how to annoy other people. If they were looking to annoy me, they succeeded.

X.O.X.Oh, I so don't care anymore.

This season on Gossip Girl, I was bored. It's a classic teen drama mistake - they took them out of high school and tried to put them in the adult world. Here's the thing - high school melodrama is more compelling and believable (even when it's totally unbelievable) than when the characters strike out into the real world only to face instant success and bizarre complications.

Case and point: Serena's affair with the newly elected Congressman Tripp VanDerBilt (who, incidentally, looks about 16). She doesn't suspect anything when she gets a job she is totally unqualified for - but I guess they never do in TV Land - and then she thinks she and her boss can remain professional?! Please. Life doesn't work that way, and I don't care how pretty you are.

Don't even get me started on the snooze-worthy relationship between Dan and Vanessa; the utter ridiculousness of a 19 year old running a multi-million/billion dollar company; or Jenny the drug dealer. It's all just lame and boring. CW, it's time to euthanize this drama before it goes the way of the original 9-0: from a youthful, fun romp to an old, incontinent curmudgeon of a program. It's telling you to get off its lawn. Listen!

Spring has Sprung!

No, I'm not just talking about the drastically improved weather. It's March Madness, which Cal is in for the first time in, like, forever. And yet, that's still not what's really important. What's really important is that Fug Madness is happening over at Go Fug Yourself. Vote early, vote often.