I love Michelle Buteau. She was the host of season 2 of Barbecue Showdown and she has a hilarious new show on Netflix, Survival of the Thickest. Before this, I’d seen her in a number of romcoms where she played the sidekick or a minor B character. I’m so glad she’s finally starring in her own show!
When my speech therapist suggested I read a book out loud to help with my voice (pretty much the only thing still noticeably affected by the strokes), I amazon primed Michelle Buteau’s book so fast.
Kicking off spooky season with some light reading…
Unsolicited fact about me:Beetlejuice is one of my favorite movies. It was one of the only VHS tapes my grandma had when I was a kid, so I’d watch it over and over again. My boss calls me ‘Morbid Marion’ and I think Lydia Deetz would be proud 🖤
When I was reading The Diary of a Young Girl in high school, I mentioned to my grandma that I wanted to visit the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. Years later, she traveled to the Netherlands while visiting my aunt in Denmark and brought me back a souvenir from the museum. I couldn’t believe she remembered after all that time. My grandma was the most considerate and sentimental person I’ve ever known, and I’m grateful that she instilled her thoughtfulness in me.
She is the reason I have random notes in my phone that say, “christine garlic delight dip at del mar fair” or “anthony swagu stamp.” She taught me that even if people have everything, you don’t have to give them the world to let them know you appreciate them. You just have to remember the little things.
She is also part of the reason I have over 20k miles on my new car. I’d put a million more miles on there if I could drive down to San Diego and spend just one more day with her.
Rest in paradise, Grandma Julie. I love you more than my seemingly apathetic demeanor suggests. You know I don’t like to let them see me cry.
I suppose in the end it’s almost too easy to look back and say what you should have done, how you might have changed things. What’s harder—what’s much, much harder—is to accept what you actually did do.
She was the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it’s there, because it can’t hurt, and because what difference does it make?
If people want to let you go, just let them do it. They may not understand who you are. So don’t play around with fire; don’t give them their cake and let them eat it, too. Here is your rule of thumb: they either commit to you or get none of you.
You’ll be sick or feeling troubled or deeply in love or quietly uncertain or even content for the first time in your life. It won’t matter. Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace, you’ll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all. For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You’ll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you’ll realize it’s always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won’t understand why or how.
I love me some graphic novels! And I’m not talking about the kind with pictures 😉 Ha.
I read the entire Fifty Shades trilogy in three days, and I don’t know what to do with myself now. I have a weakness for the brooding, sadistic type (don’t judge me!), so if anyone has any book suggestions (or knows any actual brooding sadists haha), then send those bad boys my way!
I read Fifty Shades of Grey almost immediately after I heard that Ian Somerhalder—a permanent resident in my freebie five—might play the lead in the film adaptation. Also, the mention of a ‘sex chamber’ may or may not have swayed my decision.
I finished reading it in less than 24 hours. Never has a book left me so satiated… It’s so jaw-droppingly sexy that I’m not sure how they’re going to make it a movie without it being illegal in some small countries!
I wish my friends would read it already so I could have someone to discuss it with. This must be how those b’s felt about me and Breaking Dawn—I’ve been trying to finish the last book of the Twilight saga since 2008, but all my attempts to read it end with me throwing it across the room in hysterics.
Dude, check out what we’ve been working on all afternoon.
I’m supposed to be finishing the last book of a certain love saga that shall not be named so that I can watch the movie today with the girls (if you know what I’m talking about, I will judge you, but I’m already super busy judging myself, so don’t feel too bad about it).
Instead of reading, I’ve been staring at this animated gif from Happy Endings all morning. I laughed so hard during this scene that I scared my dog!
Why You Need A Man, Not A Boy | Mindy Kaling via Glamour
Until I was 30, I dated only boys. I’ll tell you why: Men scared the sh*t out of me. Men know what they want. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before.
OK, maybe men aren’t exactly like this. But this is what I’ve cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad. The point: Men know what they want, and that is scary.
What I was used to was boys.
Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who “totally knows how to cut hair.” Boys can pack up their whole life and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have “gigs.” Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival.
Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don’t have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn 30.
So I’m into men now, even though they can be frightening. I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying man. I don’t care if he takes prescription drugs for cholesterol or hair loss. (I don’t want that, but I can handle it. I’m a grown-up too.)
When I was 19, my co-worker Mike took one look at my 21-year-old boyfriend and told me that I needed to date a real man (Mike was 30 with tattoo sleeves on both arms—I’m pretty sure he was talking about himself). Fast forward 10 years, and I’m still not dating real men! Maybe I’ll consider upgrading when I turn 30… in 3 months. Yikes.
When it’s going well, the fact of it is everywhere. It’s there in the song that shuffles into your ears. It’s there in the book you’re reading. It’s there on the shelves of the store as you reach for a towel and forget about the towel. It’s there as you open the door. As you stare off into the subway, it’s what you’re looking at. You wear it on the inside of your hat. It lines your pockets. It’s the temperature.
The hitch, of course, is that when it’s going badly, it’s in all the same places.
I literally judge books by their cover, and Something Borrowed caught my eye five years ago. It was so good that I spread it like herpes and gave it to all my girlfriends. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who thought it was amazeballs, and it has been turned into a movie! It won’t be released till next year, but the girls and I attended a private screening of it last night. I expected to be disappointed, as I usually am with film adaptations of books I’ve read (The Da Vinci Code, Twilight), but the four of us who have read the book thought the movie did it justice, and my other two friends loved it without having read the book first. I think I’ve said all I’m legally allowed to say per the confidentiality agreement I had to sign, but I can’t wait for the movie to be released next year so I can watch it again (and see if my anonymous suggestion for more shots of Colin Egglesfield with his shirt off was taken into consideration).