Category Archives: crushes

Because you’re lonely. Because it’s New Year’s Eve. Because you’ve given up.

I saw a lovely movie this weekend. I don’t want to say what it was, because this is going to spoil it. Some of you that follow me on Twitter already know what I saw, though, so sorry for spoiling. Although, it’s not much of a spoiler. I think you knew, five minutes into it, what the final outcome was going to be.

Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself, here.

I saw a lovely movie this weekend. I laughed, and I cried, and I really enjoyed it. Here, I will link to its IMDb page. Only click if you want to be spoiled. That’s a happy medium, right? Right. Good. It was a really good movie, though, seriously. High recommendation. ALL THE HOT MEN HAPPENED.

It was a romantic comedy, more realistic than most, so I appreciated that. The people weren’t cookie-cutter. Good. Thanks. Appreciated. Some people were assholes. Some people fought. Some situations didn’t end up wrapped in a pretty little bow.

Then, of course, as most of these movies do, the inevitable happened.

The male and female best friends fell madly in love and rode off into the sunset. Well, the proverbial sunset. There was no sunset. But you know what I mean.

Now, I know. I KNOW. This does happen for some people. I don’t know if it was on here I mentioned this before, or on Twitter, or Facebook – somewhere? And I got a few responses from people saying “oh, no, it’ s not a Hollywood falsehood, it really happens, I personally married my best friend because one day I just looked at him and realized he was the one, all along.” I know I talked about this once, many moons ago, back when I was on buggy-as-hell-Blogger. (Speaking of which, last night when I wrote this I updated that post, because Blogger, as always, effed up the formatting. Well, WordPress, because it does that, sent out the link to everyone as if I’d just written it. So, sorry people, who thought I wrote a new post at 9pm last night. It was from July. And sorry if this looks like I’m going where I’ve gone before. It kind of is, and kind of isn’t. I guess it’s expanding upon that post, to some extent. Also, I’m all in a lather. AGAIN. Because of this movie I watched yesterday. And isn’t there a statute of limitations on topics? I blogged about that 8 months ago. I’m allowed to cannibalize it now, right?)

Well, that’s great. I’m glad that works out, sometimes. I really am. I’m just a little more skeptical than that.

I seem to have more male friends than female ones. This is not because I dislike women. The reason is two-fold: one, because I tend to get along with men better, because I’m kind of a tomboy and because I’m kind of totally geeky and because growing up I had very little in the way of strong female role models so I learned most of my social interaction skills from men so I’m more comfortable with them. And two, because I was cruelly bullied from a very young age by a large clique of mean girls at my school (think The Plastics from Mean Girls, only with very tall 80s hair and a lot, lot meaner) so I never quite got over my mistrust of women. I know it’s irrational and I know it’s stupid and I know it’s holding me back. I’m working on it. I really am. I currently have more female friends in my life than I think I’ve had in my entire lifespan combined, if that means anything. I think that indicates growth.

Anyway. More male friends than female ones. I promise I have a point here. The point is this: I don’t fall in love with them. I also don’t turn around one day and say, “ZOMG! There he IS! THE ONE! Whaaaaat? He’s been under my nose all along!” You know why I don’t do this? Because I have NO SQUISHY FEELINGS FOR MY FRIENDS. None. Zip. Zero. Nada.

I love my friends. To the point of distraction, actually. But it’s not romantic love. Is it throw-myself-in-front-of-a-train-for-them love? Yep. Absolutely it is. It takes you a while to get there (except randomly people that jump to the front of the queue, I can’t explain my weird heart or the way it works), but once you’re there, you’re there. And I would throw myself in front of a train for you. I would (ugh, and I hate this) HELP YOU MOVE TO A NEW APARTMENT. I would cat-sit for you. I would babysit for your emo pre-teen. I totally would do these things for you, if I loved you, and you were my friend.

I would NOT take off my clothes and have naked time with you. This is not a thing I would do. No no no. Because it would be, to quote Lorraine from Back to the Future, “Oh ….. I don’t know what it is, but when I’m kissing you, it’s like I’m kissing… my brother.” If I know someone well enough to help them move their porn collection across town or to have nursed them through a hangover or the flu or whatever, I am not immediately switching over to “hey, check out my titties” mode, you know?

Why is this the thing in movies? Is this what we all want? Or, at least, is it what Hollywood THINKS we all want?

Now, listen, I’m not saying people should fall in love with their enemies. Don’t be absurd! Of course you want to fall in love with someone you LIKE, someone you have an affinity toward, someone you have similarities to, etc. Of course you want that. But your best friend? Or at least a close friend? Like in so many movies? I can’t see that working. I just can’t. So why does Hollywood keep doing it? Why do we want to SEE it so badly? Because they wouldn’t keep making these movies if we didn’t want to see it happen.

There’s friend zone, and there’s romantic zone, and never the twain shall meet. No, that’s not true. The twain are meety. You can, and should, be friends with whoever you’re bedding down with. Of course you should! Both before and during the relationship. But best friends for years, then BAM THE SCALES FELL FROM MY EYES and NOW I LOVE HIM OR HER?

Come on, seriously?

Do you know what it seems like to me? Giving up.

Here’s the thing. You already know your best opposite sex friend very well. And he or she knows YOU very well. They know your quirks, the weird things about you that you worry about telling people, the things that you think might make a potential mate go run for the hills. And they still like you. So one day you think, hey, listen, Bob (I made up the name Bob, I don’t know a Bob. Well, no. That’s not true. I know a Bob. I don’t think he knows how to use the internet. That’s safe, then. I can use the name Bob. Sorry, Bob, if I underestimated you and you know how to use the internet. This isn’t about you) knows all my things, and Bob still likes me. And he’s not disgusting-looking. And we’re both single. Maybe Bob and I should give it a go!


Do you value your friendship with Bob? Do you really? Because if you do, DON’T SLEEP WITH BOB. Have you ever heard the saying “don’t shit where you eat?” It’s a SAYING for a REASON.

It’s going to go one of two ways, most likely, except for the very few situations where people told me they did actually marry their pre-romance BFFs. And yay, you guys, I still think the whole thing’s hinky, though. Think about it, those people out there: were you really BFFs? For years? Or did you always have the sneaking suspicion in the back of your mind that you might have a thing for him or her? I’m guessing it’s the latter. I’m looking at the relationships that went from purely platonic to completely coupley right now.

(I know, I know. “AMY! I fell in LOVE with my BEST FRIEND!” Awesome. Actually, I would love to hear from people who DID fall in love with their best friends, because it would make me feel like Hollywood isn’t pulling these movies out of their asses. Also, I like true-life love stories. I like to cry over real things. TELL ME YOUR LOVE STORIES COMMENTERS.)

Here’s the two ways:

1. You sleep with Bob (or Roberta, whatever) and you start a relationship and think THIS IS AWESOME and then the real world crashes in and you realize you were just friends for a REASON. All this together time is INSANE. You don’t even find him or her that ATTRACTIVE. And you always hated the way he or she treated her significant others. And you feel smothered because you know each other so well. So you break up, and not only did you lose your relationship, you lost your BFF. Double suck.

2. You sleep with Bob or Roberta and it is HORRIBLE. You can’t look each other in the eye the next day. You wonder what the hell you were thinking. You’ve lost both your dignity AND your BFF. One and a half sucks.

And, if you think you can just spill your undying love for Bob (or Roberta):

You walk up to Bob or Roberta. You tell them you love them. You’ve always loved them. You will always love them. “Don’t You Forget About Me” plays in your head. Bob or Roberta leans close. This is it. This is your moment.

And Bob or Roberta tells you, nicely, they’ve never felt that way about you, but they treasure your friendship. (I TREASURE YOUR FRIENDSHIP, LISA! Sorry, watched Team America World Police this weekend. HOLY HELL PUPPET SEX SCENE. That is all.) You are embarrassed. You can’t look him or her in the eye ever again. Again, you’ve lost your dignity and your BFF. Also, you eat too much ice cream and emo all over your other friends. This is just totally embarrassing all around. Who looks good with cryface? No one, that’s who.

And, think about it. Are you sure you had romantic feelings for your BFF? Are you SURE? Or were you just tired of being alone, and didn’t want to have to get to know a new person all over again, and this seemed – well, easy? And he’s RIGHT THERE? And he’s cute enough, you know? And you KNOW him. It’s a TIME-SAVER.

We’ve all fallen prey to this, now and then. I know I have, when the Amy you see (fine, the Amy you READ, whatever) before you was a younger, less-wise, more idiotic and starry-eyed Amy. I still feel badly about the guys over the years I’ve decided were “the ones” and then come to find out it was just that I knew them, and it was comfortable, like an old shoe, more so than a romantic thing, and Hollywood duped me into thinking this was the way it was supposed to go and I was tired of being Forever Alone. I thought at the time they broke my heart. Come to find out they were being rational and I was being insane. (What? No, not ME.)

Listen, Hollywood. Enough with the When Harry Met Sally and The Switch and the Zack and Miri Make a Porno and the Some Kind of Wonderful and the Clueless (with the added layer of IT WAS HER BROTHER, EW) and Made of Honor and Reality Bites and movies of this ilk. I’ll give you 13 Going on 30, only because it seemed less forced, and she fell in love with him as an adult, and it was kind of a different situation. Also because Jennifer Garner was so damn cute and Mark Ruffalo was so Ruffalicious.

Do I like to watch them? Oh, shit, yeah, FINE, I’m a sap, I like anything sappy, I love a good cry in a dark movie theater. But I think we can do better. Let’s show it how it really is, once in a while. People falling in love with people who are NOT their best friends. People falling in love with people they meet, randomly, build a NEW friendship with, then a relationship. Can we have that, too? Because that actually would give me more hope than thinking one of my male friends was suddenly going to come up to me all, “Amy, listen, I woke up this morning and thought, I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU.” (Also, KISSING MY BROTHER. And I’d giggle like a crazy person, I wouldn’t be able to help it. Not at all.)

So, movie today? All the men of hotness. But also all the relationship of unrealistic expectations. And that kind of made me cranky. YES FINE it also made me cry. But so do effing M&Ms commercials lately. Me crying is not overly indicative of a hit, let me just tell you right now.

Let’s show things as they actually are? Friends being friends, lovers being lovers, people acting like people? I’d like that a lot. More so as I age. Because apparently the romantic dreamer in me is dwindling away as I get older.

Apparently Allison was right, and when you grow up, your heart dies. Well-played, John Hughes. WELL-PLAYED.

My place smells like ghost bananas. Related: I might be overtired.

I totally feel like ick. I can’t decide if this is because I’m exhausted from all the theater hullabaloo or if it’s the medical situation or possibly a government conspiracy like my dad’s always telling me about. Maybe ALL THREE.

But anyway, it’s Sunday, and it’s closing day of my show. Which is nice, because I can go back to my hermit existence in my hermitage and be hermity, but also a little sad because I really did enjoy working on this one, and the cast was lovely. That doesn’t always happen. Usually you have one or two people in the cast who are juuuust a bit of a handful, to be frank. And it’s fine, you can work around them, or avoid them by hiding in a closet (NOT THAT I EVER EVER HAVE DONE THAT HA HA HA) or something. But this cast is lovely. There’s not a bad banana in the bunch. Just a whole bunch of lovely bananas. (Also, here is a story about bananas.  The other morning, I started smelling bananas in my place. And I was all, “what the hell with the bananas” and then I thought that a., I was probably showing signs of a seizure disorder even though the LAST time I thought I was having a seizure because I smelled bread baking Twitter informed me that it’s only when you smell burning toast, not just bread, so probably also bananas weren’t a sign of epilepsy; and b., I was losing my mind and/or craving bananas. Or maybe GOING bananas and that’s why they called it that. And then I was in my kitchen that night and I was looking for a bag of cat treats because Dumbcat was out of them and I knew I’d stashed another bag of them on top of the fridge and he was all “MEEEOOOWWW” because it was CAT TREAT TIME and he WILL NOT BE DENIED when it is time for treats – also, he totally knows how to beg for them, no joke, my old roommate taught him, he’ll sit up and pat your hand for them with his paw, so we’re totally going to hit the circus circuit like, any day now, the only thing that’s been holding me back is the preponderance of clowns on said circuit – and I thought, what is this bag up here? And the answer was, bananas that I’d purchased JUST A FEW DAYS AGO. Yep. I bought two delicious bananas as a treat for myself because I never buy bananas but I caved and bought bananas and then FORGOT I BOUGHT THEM and they were sitting on top of the fridge getting brown for days smelling banana-y. I KNOW. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost it. Side note of my side note: I had one on my cereal and it was HEAVENLY.)

Anyway. So the play is done, and I’ve planned out my theater-going for the month (FOUR PLAYS! I know, I’m totally stoked. Three straight shows and a musical. It’s a banner month for awesomeness in Amy-land) and I’m totally going to (eep) clean my place after the show’s over, because it kind of looks like the “before” shot of a Hoarders episode at the moment. And return people’s email that I’ve been remiss about. And write for my other two blogs that I’ve been unable to find the time to write for. And catch up on my programs that I’m weeks behind in watching. I’m so behind it’s like I live in a time warp right now and the past-me is hanging around the current-me wearing slouch socks and jelly bracelets and complaining about not having a date for the prom.

OH! Also, I’m behind on giving you THE MOST EXCITING NEWS. Remember my secret boyfriend Dr. Ruffalo? Yep. That’s totally progressing in a stellar fashion. The latest report? HE HAS READ THE BLOG. And? WAS NOT SCARED AWAY. Even MORE exciting, his FAMILY loves me (well, via my blog, anyway), and apparently want to come and spirit me away to Dr. Ruffalo-land so we can, well, court, I guess, I don’t know, whatever, it’s very exciting.  Honestly, family has always been a stumbling block. I tend to scare families away. I say the MOST INAPPROPRIATE THINGS. Like, ever. One time I made a joke about suicide in front of someone whose son had committed suicide. (That sounds awful. It wasn’t a JOKE. It was a flip remark, more than a joke. Even I don’t go around making “putting-your-head-in-the-oven” quips, come on.) It’s been two years and I have not yet finished beating myself up over this. Thing is, I KNEW HE HAD KILLED HIMSELF. I totally had forgotten, but it was in my memory bank somewhere. Probably wherever I keep my “I bought bananas” knowledge. My mouth was just being my mouth and not THINKING before it was TALKING. I am death to families, seriously. I can only imagine the conversations that are had once I leave my “meeting the family for the first time” dinners. “Um, beloved son, she’s NICE, and all, but…maybe…play the field a little more! Here. Here’s $100! Go find a nice prostitute! Daddy and I will pay for STD testing when you’re done. Shoo! Shoo!” “WHEW Myrtle that was a CLOSE ONE can you imagine having THAT WOMAN as a daughter-in-law? YIKESAROONIE.”

So, anyway. DR. RUFFALO! Are you STILL reading? Because that would be the true test of our complete and total undying love, right? I feel like I should say something scintillating and flirty but listen, you will learn this about me once we’re totally and completely in love, Dr. Ruffalo, I mean, assuming we aren’t already, I am just the crappiest at flirting. Like, you know how there are movies about people who are horrible at flirting and they try to wink at someone and the person they’re trying to wink at says, “Do you have something in your eye?” I wouldn’t even WINK, I’m so bad at flirting. I would quietly continue to read my book in the corner, and if you approached me, I would most likely say something blunt and insulting, like, “Did you really think it was a good idea to wear that shirt out of the house today? Did your mom advise you so? Because she was wrong.” Then I would be befuddled why you didn’t ask me out. I’m like an Amish person, or maybe an alien, when it comes to interpersonal relations. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR WAYS AND MEANS. I’ve tried. If it’s not be insulting you or ignoring you, it’s me crazy-eyeing you. Sorry. I get really excited and then it’s just scary for everyone.

(Here is an “Amy tried to flirt one time” story. I had a crush on a guy. Who I KNEW was bad news. I COULD NOT HELP IT. He was TALL and FUNNY and SMELLED GOOD. So I was all, “I will MAKE him MINE.” So I proceeded to crazy-eyes him to DEATH. Well, that wasn’t my intention. That’s just how my flirting came across. And I’m completely serious. We’re not even friends anymore. He sees me and he totally books it the other direction. I scared him. I think when he has fever dreams they’re me coming after him with knives and EYES EYES CRAZY EYES WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME CRAZY EYES. And then this other guy I had a crush on got married, I think to escape me. I mean, I have no proof that’s WHY he got married, I SUPPOSE it might have been because he fell in LOVE with the other woman, but that’s my take on the situation. Don’t tell his wife that. It might hurt her feelings. I CAN NOT HELP HOW CRAZY MY EYES ARE I WAS BORN THAT WAY.)

So, Dr. Ruffalo, if you are still reading, probably you will have to handle the courting portion of our courting. Sorry to put that burden on you. If it helps, I’m ridiculously easy to please as long as you use good grammar and punctuation and aren’t like a crazy racist hillbilly. I also have a love of your home country, so we’ve got that going for us. And today I totally stuck up for you on Twitter when you were VICIOUSLY ATTACKED by a HATER who I will NOT NAME who IMPLIED that you were NOT a REAL DOCTOR. I know, right? So there was a complete warning that I would bust out the fisticuffs and then he dropped the subject. Or maybe he just had something else to do and wandered off. Twitter can be kind of transitory like that. See, Dr. Ruffalo? I am really an excellent choice, because I will BUST OUT FISTICUFFS. Well, virtual fisticuffs, let’s not get crazy, here.  I don’t want to end up in the police blotter for fighting. How embarrassing would that be? Wait, does one end up “in” the police blotter or “on” the police blotter? They both sound equally likely, don’t they? I don’t want to find out. Hence the VIRTUAL fisticuffs.

Anyway. Enough Dr. Ruffalo. FOR NOW. You just wait, though, when we’re living happily in our home with pets and a million books and laughing about grammatical mistakes in literary journals and making meals together that include ALL THE FOOD GROUPS and not just me eating leftover pork chops while watching Desperate Housewives THEN you’ll all be sorry you were scoffy.

Oh, AND, it’s Oscar day, right? I haven’t seen a single movie that’s nominated, I’m useless. I don’t know if I’ll even watch. I know. It’s like the world’s coming to an END, here. DOGS AND CATS LIVING TOGETHER.

Happy Sunday, everyone! Enjoy the day!

We gotta be careful so that no one will know – secret lovers, yeah, that’s what we are. Oh, oh no. Wait. I TOLD PEOPLE.

OK, so honestly, I had this whole Random Crap Tuesday post all cooked up like a fancy souffle and then someone was all “what are your PLANS for VALENTINE’S DAY” all screechy and shit and I realized motherEFF I kind of have to address this frigging holiday, don’t I. So I took some of the stuff OUT of the Random Crap Tuesday post and left in some of the stuff that was TOTALLY ROMANTIC and there. I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY SCREECH.

What am I doing for Valentine’s Day? Punching you in the face for asking? How about that? No, honestly, I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day once in my entire life, why the hell would I start now. Valentine’s Day is a holiday designed to make people without a relationship feel like shit. We WOULDN’T feel like shit if the coupley people weren’t all “oh, you must HATE Valentine’s Day” all the time, in that voice you use to gentle horses or maybe to talk to suicide bombers. Let me tell you where you can cram that voice, Myrtle.

Valentine’s Day means nothing but cheap chocolate day tomorrow, and that’s it. I don’t care about it otherwise. The closest I came to celebrating Valentine’s Day was one year in high school I was SO EXCITED because I totally had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day, like for the first time EVER, and this was AWESOME, I was totally going to get PRESENTS, and then he broke up with me two days before the big day because he thought one of my friends was flirting with him so he had a better chance of getting laid if he went after her. When he actually DID go after her, she laughed in his face, which I guess was a nice bit of revenge. And also a couple months later he shaved off the three hairs he’d been cultivating for months that was his version of a moustache and they never grew back. Like, ever. I saw a photo of him on Facebook recently and he’s still bald as an egg. SO SCREW YOU DICK MCGEE.

But! I can’t let you all down. You totally want something romantic. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. SO! I totally have the cure for what ails you. NO NOT LIQUOR. But that might work, too, don’t rule that out.


(That’s a funny header because once I talk about it, it’s not really a secret anymore, NOW IS IT.)

I totally have a SECRET BOYFRIENDDDDDD! Who might be reading this RIGHT NOWWWWWWW!

So one of my readers, B. (I should probably keep her secret, right? This is probably all supposed to be on the DOWNLOW like a PRISON BREAK) and also one of my friends from the Geek Girls Book Club AND one of my Twitter friends AND one of my Facebook friends AND one of my Saturday night drinking buddies (she’s really a quintuple threat, then) said that one of HER friends decided that I would be a PERFECT match for her (the friend’s) brother-in-law. After telling B. that might get awkward if this guy was married to her friend’s sister (he is NOT, whew) she totally DOWNLOW LIKE A PRISON BREAK sent me his name so I could internet stalk him. Um. I mean, gently research him. In a most gentle way. Like a kitten! Like a little baby kitten, so gentle was my researching. Like the baby fur on a baby kitten. (ZOMG. When I worked at the Humane Society? People would come in looking for “baby kittens” all the time. I didn’t point out the redundancy of their phraseology, but would direct them to our cat room. They’d come out with lemon face, all, “NO BABY KITTENS I SAID” and I’d say, “Um, those are babies, they’re like 8 weeks old” and they’d say, “I SAID BABIES. BABIES! Like a WEEK old!” You can’t even legally adopt OUT a week-old kitten. A week old kitten needs to be with its MOM. You jackass baby-kitten ageist.)

ANYWAY. Because I totally rock Google, I found Secret Boyfriend like, almost immediately (except I was thrown off because the first thing that popped up was like a million references to a mixed martial artist with the same name, and that was off-putting, because the mixed martial artist – BEE TEE DUBS autocorrect keeps trying to change that to “marital” artist, what? Mixed marital artist? That is…not right. But kind of funny – had one of those Channing Tatum “my neck and my head are the same circumference” things going on, and well, that’s so nice, B., but I’d be a very bad dater of someone with a humungous neck, I’d always be all “that’s just a huge neck you have, babe, seriously, I can’t even take you seriously right now or even look you in the eye with that huge honking neck of neckiness going on.”) But NO! I totally broke through the fourth wall of Google and FOUND MY PREY. I mean. Um. Gentle like a kitten. A BABY KITTEN.

So secret boyfriend is adorable and also A DOCTOR. OK, not a blood-and-guts doctor with the cutting and the rude arrogance. OF PHILOSOPHY. The SEXY kind of doctor. I think the odds that secret boyfriend knows how to use a semicolon correctly are very high, like in the 90th percentile at least. ALSO he kind of looks like a more intelligent and less crazy-haired Mark Ruffalo. So henceforth he will be known as Dr. Ruffalo. And he is a PROFESSOR.  At a COLLEGE. Who has PUBLISHED ARTICLES THAT HAVE REAL TITLES ATTACHED TO THEM. I mean, look up at my title up there? The titles of his articles are nothing like that. They use real words in them. And they don’t even use song titles. I KNOW.

Um. So after I picked myself up off the floor and asked the janitor to borrow his mop to clean up the drool-puddle, it was totally decided that OPERATION DR. RUFFALO would be in full effect. Oh, by the way, Dr. Ruffalo lives approximately 2,200 miles away from me, not that I Mapquested that or anything so I could put in the mileage here for you guys because it wasn’t as funny to make up a number and also because I’m like the best stalker ever. Also? In another country. One that is NOT AMERICA. Oh, sorry. Sorry. MERKA. NOT MERKA. And doesn’t know I exist. And I’m preeeeetty sure would read ONE PAGE of this blog and he’d die dead of death because if you’re a big fancy fancy person you probably only have so much tolerance for “douchecanoe” and “asshat,” you know? Also? ALSO? HE IS NOT ON TWITTER. I know. This, in itself? TOTAL RED FLAG YO. OH! Also he has the same last name as a BADGUY. The badguy used to date one of my close friends and we found out way too late he was a lying liar who lied. B. assures me that the people in Canada probably aren’t related to the lying liars who lie here.


Did Romeo and Juliet give up when their families tried to keep them apart? NO. They COMMITTED SUICIDE BY ACCIDENT. Um. That is a bad metaphor. Here, this one’s better. Did Cher and her stepbrother from Clueless give up when…no, listen, I’m not even going to go there, I know Paul Rudd played him in the movie and I’d totally lick Paul Rudd like a lollipop, given the opportunity, but it always skeeved me right the hell out that she was dating her stepbrother even though they weren’t TECHNICALLY related. That one’s out, too. Oh, wait, I know. Did George and Lenny give up when Lenny murdered someone by petting her hair too hard and the itinerant workers were all “lynch mob!” Oh. Yeah. Yeah, they kind of did, George shot him in the head. And they weren’t even romantically linked except if you’re writing creepy sexually-inappropriate shipper fan fiction. DAMMIT I SUCK AT THIS.

SO! In honor of it being A DAY OF LOVE (please excuse me while I gag), I am going to have a conversation with my total new boyfriend Dr. Ruffalo. You can all listen in. I’ll let you.

Dearest Dr. Ruffalo! B. has assured me that we are totally going to fall in love and that you have been directed to read my blog. Isn’t that nice? Aren’t you so excited that your future is planned out for you? I know I am. I mean, I’ve been worried where I’m going, what I’m doing with my life and such, and here you are! I promise I am not crazy. Oh, wait. No, I totally am, that’s a lie. And what kind of foundation can we build our love on if it’s built on a foundation of lies, Dr. Ruffalo? A shaky one that’s prone to mudslides, is what. No one would like that.

Listen, I’m pretty sure you would like a laundry list of what I would bring to a relationship. I can provide that. I’m not shy. I totally talk about my gynecologist right on my blog to STRANGERS, I mean, I’m pretty sure propriety was thrown out the window like, months ago. Ahem: I bring to the table a marked dislike of most foods, a cat who may or may not be mentally ill, a legion of Twitter and blog minions, and a laugh that is loud enough to frighten small children into dropping their ice cream cones onto hot sidewalks. These are a lot of things to bring to the table! That table might totally break under the strain of all that awesome. I worry about that table, I’m telling you right now. We should shore it up with two-by-fours or something. OH! I also bring to the table the inability to shore up tables without hitting myself with a hammer and making myself bleed. I hope you are good with hammers, Dr. Ruffalo.

So! Dr. Ruffalo. I have no doubt you are halfway to in love with me right now; the ball is in your court. That is not a euphemism. Or – wait, did you want it to be a euphemism? Now that we’re in this secret romance, probably I have to start thinking of your wants and needs, too. If you want that to be a euphemism, Dr. Ruffalo, it is TOTALLY a euphemism, and aren’t you so impressed with my euphemism skills? I should add that to the list of things to put on that table up there. Except now that table’s sure to collapse, damn, and I don’t even know if you’re good with hammers yet.

I have attempted to Missed Connection people on here before, Dr. Ruffalo, most notably the guy who looked like Al from Tool Time but wasn’t that I saw at a play once, and Randy who hated me but also I’m pretty sure that meant he loved me. THESE THINGS WERE NOT SUCCESSES. I have higher hopes for you and our secret romance.

Oh! I am also totally good at sciency things, because I have a sciency friend. And I’m willing to try tea but it might make me gag, just a heads-up. And I’m totally learning German and a little Norwegian – like today? I learned that “rumpetroll” means tadpole in Norwegian. Taken literally? BUTT-TROLL. I know, right? Think of the pillow talk we could have, Dr. Ruffalo! I mean, I’m thinking it would be hard for ANYONE to resist me, right? Right.

Dr. Ruffalo, if you could like to contact me, please feel free. I give extra points for grammatically-correct comments, tweets, and emails, and will totally go to second base over a pleasingly and correctly-placed semicolon. Just a tip.


Oh. Also I like caps-lock. Like, a lot, a lot. So don’t try to come between me and my caps-lock? You won’t win. Just looking out for you, sunshine.


Oh, here’s a picture of the real Mark Ruffalo wearing glasses so he kind of looks scholarly so you can all imagine my new secret boyfriend in your head. We’re going to make a lovely couple.

Oh, man, he's reading AND wearing glasses. This is one steamy photo right here.

(Imagine him with no facial hair and normal head-hair and not Hollywood actor head-hair and they are the same. Except kind of not the same, same. But sort of. Kind of. DR. RUFFALO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.)

So! Happy Valentine’s Day, all you coupley-couples. Happy Tuesday, all you other people. Happy Day-Before-Half-Priced-Chocolate-Day, people who are deal-savvy and chocolate-obsessed like me.

And happy day to YOU, Dr. Ruffalo. HAPPY DAY TO YOU SIR.

Upside: less likely to break your heart. Downside: so many papercuts, damn.

It’s come up a lot over the past few days who your top literary boyfriends are. First, Mandy blogged about it, and she and I have some similarities, because we are both awesome, of course. Then @nikkisticks and @thebooksluts both mentioned it on Twitter, and I’d link you to their tweets about it, but I STILL don’t have new Twitter (seriously, Twitter, I’m starting to feel like the last wallflower at the dance, here, what the hell? PICK ME DAMMIT I WORE MY PRETTIEST DRESS AND I’M TOTALLY SLUTTY) so they wouldn’t look right copy/pasted in. So I thought, you know what everyone loves? Literary boyfriends. They are HOT right now. They are the HOT THING.

Then Susie and I were talking about how we feel bad having literary crushes on characters who are in happy relationships. I’m in agreement with this. This is why when I go into a happy reverie about my literary boyfriends, I kill off their significant others. NICELY. I mean, I don’t have them PSYCHOKILLED or anything. Sheesh. Something nice. Like a nice cancer! Or whatever. Then they are free to be MY literary boyfriend, and we’re all happy. Well, probably the dead wife or girlfriend isn’t happy, but they’re dead, so their happiness is really inconsequential, now, isn’t it?

So, without further ado: my list of literary boyfriends. I looked online and a couple of these are, like, NO ONE’S literary boyfriends. So that means I get them all to myself, right? Right. Or it might mean I’m broken. Hard to say.

This is in reverse order. I’m saving the best for last. As you do.

Heathcliff – Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

I know he's bad for me. But look at him. How can you resist that?

I’m allowed one abusive, emo boyfriend, right? Right.

Listen, I’ve had a crush on psychopath Heathcliff since I was 13. I can’t leave him off. Even though I KNOW he’s bad news. So dark! So broody! So single-minded in his love for Catherine! So proud! So…um, yeah, kind of an abusive ass. I get that. I do. BUT HE LOVED HER SO MUCH YOU GUYS.

I know. I’m not overly proud of this one. All I can say is, I met Heathcliff at a very impressionable age when I thought “dark and twisty” equaled “good boyfriend material” and it’s warped me forevermore. Let’s just move on, shall we?

Steve Finn – Lost Souls by Poppy Z. Brite

They never made a movie. I know. It's one of my great regrets of the '90s. Here's the book cover.

Steve Finn is real in a book full of unreality. He’s messed up and he’s a little broken and he tries really, really hard to do the right thing, and he fails, sometimes, but he’s honest, and he’s proud, and he’s loyal to a fault. I’ve read this book more than a dozen times since I bought it before a long bus trip, spur of the moment, and every time, it’s like coming home to Steve. I want things to go well for him, just once. I want him to get the girl, to live a nice, if somewhat unremarkable life in the South, singing in bars, coming home to Ann. If he can’t have that, well, I’ll take him in. Hell, I like musicians.

Inigo Montoya – The Princess Bride by William Golding

I do like a saucy Spaniard who's good with his...sword. WHAT. What did you think I was going to say? You have a dirty mind.

I like how single-minded in his revenge plot Inigo is. I like how driven and loyal he is. I like how scrappy and serious he is. I like how courtly and regal he is. And, YES, it doesn’t hurt at ALL that he’s played by Mandy Patinkin in the movie. But he’s my BOOK boyfriend. And if you haven’t read the book, do yourself a favor and pick it up? You’ll be surprised, but it’s EVEN BETTER THAN THE MOVIE. And the movie’s fantastic. Go, go. But hands off Inigo. He’s mine.

Richie Tozier – It by Stephen King

Best TV movie casting ever. Total crush on both of these guys.

This isn’t creepy because I read this book for the first time when I was thirteen. So it’s totally not creepy pedophile time at all.

Listen, I have always been in love with the class clown. There is nothing, nothing, NOTHING sexier than the smart guy who can make me laugh. NOTHING. Seriously. First guy I ever had a crush on in the history of me? Class clown. Most disastrous relationships I’ve been in? The guy wasn’t funny, but I thought, “eh, maybe it’s not as important as I thought it was.” NO. It is TOTALLY important.

It also doesn’t hurt that Richie’s a ginger. Add ginger into class clown and intelligent? Total swoon-fest, sincerely.

SIDE NOTE: Mandy picked Bill from the same book, so we’ve decided we’re going to go on book double dates to the soda fountain. Awesome!

Gilbert Blythe – Anne of Green Gables series by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Remember when he called Anne "carrots?" Aw.

This is one of the book-boyfriends I feel badly about stealing from his lady. Because Anne and Gilbert were so damn perfect together! But Gilbert Blythe! One of my first book boyfriends! He was so in love with Anne! And he respected her BRAIN, you guys! He never wanted her to be a stupid, simpering idiot! He LIKED that she was intelligent, even back in the day when women weren’t encouraged to be intelligent!

A couple of years ago, I got to see Jonathan Crombie in a musical? And seriously, I almost DIED. I was in the same ROOM. As the guy who played GILBERT BLYTHE. I mean, I was pretty far away, so I could barely see him, but he totally sounded like Gilbert. Little pre-teen crushing Amy would have been SO PROUD of her adult-self!

Jaime Lannister – A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin


Very few people had Jaime Lannister on their lists when I was scouring lists online. I assume this is because (spoiler alert, kind of, but if you haven’t read the first book or seen the miniseries yet, you probably should get on that, April first is coming quickly) he slept with his sister? Listen, I’m going to give you ANOTHER spoiler alert, but it’s sort of minor. You will, I guarantee you, see Jaime in a different light by the third book. Now, with the way Martin treats his characters, I can’t guarantee you that by the fourth book Jaime’s not eating puppy brains, or something, but I don’t know if it’ll matter. I am HEAD OVER HEELS for Jaime right now, damn. Also, the casting in the miniseries did not hurt one teeny tiny bit. Gulp.

Nick Andros – The Stand by Stephen King

I am...not in love with this casting choice. You take what you can get, I guess.

Nick, and his tortuously lonely backstory and his pride and his intelligence and his bravery and his delight at finally being accepted into a group and then his inevitable sacrifice – ugh. KILLED ME. Mostly because he was totally my book boyfriend pretty much from the get-go. Sure, there are some excellent characters in the book, don’t get me wrong. But it’s all about Nick and his black curls and his laughing eyes and his quick hands. None of which the miniseries got right, dammit.

Tyrion Lannister – A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin

I like this one because he looks HAPPY. I could make Tyrion happy.

You know he won me over when he said “I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things,” right? Because I love all of those things? And then he sealed it with his “A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.”

I love that Tyrion keeps his head about him, even though everyone has counted him out and are, for the most part, laughing at him. I love his intelligence and his humor and his curiosity and the fact that he’s usually one step ahead of everyone else in the room and no one even has a guess. I love how bawdy and ribald he is. I love how deeply emotional he is. Also, it doesn’t hurt that he’s played by Peter Dinklage, who is just a handsome, handsome man. I can’t wait to see what he does with Season Two.

Aloysius Pendergast – The Pendergast novels by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

You have to use your IMAGINATION, yahoos.

OK, so after all my blathering and blah-blah-blah on and on and ON about it, you’ve all watched the BBC’s Sherlock and you’re in love, right?

Pendergast is the American BBC Sherlock.

He’s quiet and he’s brilliant and he’s kind of a recluse and no one really knows him and he solves these crimes no 0ne else can solve and he has this one great love, and one best friend, and oh, also, he’s SOUTHERN. And TALL. And BLONDE. And well-read, and intelligent, and…oh, sorry, think I might have been drooling a little. Sorry about that.

One of these books was made into a movie. THEY CUT HIS CHARACTER OUT. Yeah, I don’t know, either. Tom Sizemore was in the movie. I think it was pre-Celebrity Rehab. Probably best they left my man out.

Jamie Fraser – The Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon

Sorry. I want a movie, too. SO BADLY. You have NO IDEA.

So I hate romances? Like, with a fiery passion? I mean, I don’t mind some romance in a book I’m reading. But I won’t read a straight romance novel, because they make me itchy and bitter and are usually written so badly it makes me want to scream.

Nope. Read this series, please. Because, Jamie Fraser. Who is my #1 of all time book boyfriend. Scottish. Tall. Ginger. Gentlemanly. Multi-lingual. Intelligent. Protective. Funny. Loving. Hard-working. Proud. TOTALLY THE SEXIEST YO.

Also, the sex scenes are so steamy and well-written you will totally blush WHILE YOU ARE IN YOUR LUNCHROOM, WITH OTHERS and that’s not at all awkward and weird AT ALL NOPE. Seriously. SO GOOD.

And yeah, I feel a little bad stealing Jamie from his wife, who he’s spent all this TIME and EFFORT getting back together with considering she’s from the future and all. But LISTEN. He is MY Scottish Highlander. I’ll totally fight Claire for him, no joke. WHEN AND WHERE, CLAIRE.

Happy Saturday! May your book-boyfriends (and/or girlfriends – I have three of these, too – Lyra Silvertongue from the His Dark Materials trilogy, Lisbeth Salander from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and the sequels, and Hermione Granger from Harry Potter, only I don’t so much want to make out with them but be their BFF and kick all the ass with them) treat you well!

“On this show, they solve murders real good.”

It’s Friday and I’m a frazzled human. Tax deadlines! Unruly hair times a million! All the filing! Listen, our office decided to go paperless a couple of years ago, which means I have to scan like every single piece of paper that comes into the office? And I’m sure Al Gore is all yay, Amy’s office? So you’d THINK that means there’d be less filing. NOSIREE BUB. There’s still hours of filing. And it isn’t ameliorated by the fact I put it off for days and days because I hate it like fire. LIKE FIRE. I always get some sort of super-spurty papercut when I file, it’s like a proven fact. Then I’m all “who has a Bandaid” and no one ever has a Bandaid and they’re all “boy you sure are bleeding” and I’m like “YES WOULDN’T BANDAIDS BE HANDY” and they just laugh. WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING I COULD BE DYING RIGHT NOW.

Also they’re painting our office right now. Which would be nice? Because the walls are currently a color that I’m sure someone sold them as “salmon” but really reads as “Pepto-Bismol”? But guess what color they chose. PUTTY. Could anything be more depressing than that? Only accountants would think that a better wall color choice than Pepto-Bismol pink is greige. They’ve actually had NUMEROUS meetings about this, and I heard one of them say, “I don’t know, that seems like a really bold color choice.” IT IS PUTTY COLORED. The only thing LESS daring would be to have the walls painted INVISIBLE colored.

So anyway, right now they seem to be in the “making a mess and prepping” stage where they putty all the holes we put in the walls (while tutting at us – no, seriously, the painters are going “tut!” while puttying over the holes, like we’ve personally offended them by putting up our calendars with tacks) and last night they pulled off all the baseboards for no apparent reason so the place is filled with what I’m sure is dangerous plaster dust and looks like rats were industrious while we were sleeping last night. Also, we’re all sneezing non-stop. So I’m pretty sure we’re all dying of black lung, right? Or maybe tuberculosis. Does that make me a lunger like Doc Holliday in Tombstone? Because if I could quip like him, that’d be alright. I embarrassingly love that movie more than almost anything. Like, it’s in my top ten. I KNOW SHUT UP. Also, in order to get in and out of my office today, I have no choice but to WALK UNDER A LADDER. I’m just waiting for them to tell me I also have to smash a mirror and for a black cat to come careening across my path to make this day totally break all the rules of luck.

ANYWAY! You totally get random crap Friday; I don’t have the brain power for anything else.

LeRoy hits the big time, baby! 

Remember I talked about the Crucible teens in the town where they claimed to have made Rough on Rats but probably that was a lie? WELL, my father informed me last night that Erin Brockovich is now launching an investigation into this, so apparently she doesn’t think it’s mass hysteria.

Now, my dad gets all his news from Fox News, so I always have to research things for myself to see if they’re actually true or not (I don’t even want to go into what happened the time Stephen King got into a fight with my dad’s hero Glenn Beck; let’s just leave it at there are certain things my father and I don’t discuss, because we love each other and they tend to get us very red-in-the-face and screamy, and most politics are on that list.) So I of course researched it and lo and behold! It is/TRUE!

Apparently there was a toxic chemical spill 40 years ago in LeRoy and this has Erin Brockovich all in Scooby-Doo mode. Guess what was spilled there? No, not arsenic. I know, I was so hoping there was a Rough on Rats correlation. Cyanide. What the hell’s going ON in LeRoy? Also, a BOY is now experiencing the mass hysteria symptoms. Aw, he didn’t want to be left out! Affirmative action mass hysteria, you guys!

I guess this is a big deal? I don’t remember a lot about that movie. I find Julia Roberts distracting. Too many teeth. So much hair. And her boobs were all sticking out for the whole movie. Mostly I was just watching it for Aaron Eckhart. SIGH. I love him like a crazy person. LOOK HOW HOT.

I would climb him like a damn tree.

I love him so much that even when he was being an asshat in In the Company of Men I adored him. Even as TWO FACE I adored him. Love, love, love.

Yeah, so anyway, I suppose now that Erin Brockovich is involved this is going to be a big old deal. I don’t know. I still think it’s shady and probably false.

Why my father is the funniest person I know

So my dad’s back from Florida. His plane got in last night. Here are some things he told me on the phone last night.

“Your uncle made us watch NCIS every single night while we were in Florida. Do you know why? Because he said ‘On this show, they solve murders real good.’ I told him that it’s just a show and they aren’t real murders and he started talking about DNA but I ignored him. Also, one of the actresses slept in a coffin. That seems like it would be uncomfortable.”

“I tried to watch Fox News when I was in one of the hotels but the channel it was supposed to be on was ESPN even though the channel guide CLEARLY STATED it was supposed to be Fox News. See? And you always say there isn’t a government conspiracy against Fox News.”

“We stayed in some hotels that I wouldn’t recommend you look in the corners of. Also, your uncle thinks there might have been bedbugs. I told him that we weren’t itching, so we’re probably ok, but he’s still planning on leaving his luggage outside in the snow overnight. I guess that kills bedbugs. He saw it on 20/20.”

“There was a good breakfast at the last hotel we stayed at but I didn’t eat anything in case I had to go to the bathroom on the plane. There were even sausages. But I didn’t eat any. Listen, you never want to go to the bathroom on a plane. Those bathrooms are really small and uncomfortable. You can barely turn around in there. I’m really dehydrated right now, though. I haven’t had anything to drink in like 24 hours.”

These things might not crack up anyone but me. Seriously, I was dying. It was like this one-man travelogue of awesome complaints of weirdness. I think he should write a book.

Could have DIED

So yesterday we had like a teeny, tiny bit of snow. Almost no snow. And so I drove home like a native New Yorker might – normally. Cautiously, but not, like, 12 miles per hour or anything. It wasn’t that bad out. There was about an inch of snow on the ground, and it was kind of slushy. That’s it.

BUT, since I had no food in the house but eggs and pasta and I was not HUNGRY for either of those things and I got paid yesterday (YES, some of us are SO POOR we have to wait til PAYDAY to grocery shop, I know, isn’t the economy grand?) I had to go grocery shopping, even though it was ZOMG LOOK OUT snowing.

So I did, then I drove home in the slightly snowy slushy conditions that were making people drive like it was a blizzard and I will, if I heavens-forefend live to be 100, never understand that.

Then I had to get my mail. My mail doesn’t come to my home; I have to go to the mailroom to pick it up. Because I am FANCY. So I pulled into the office parking lot AND TOTALLY WENT OFF THE DRIVEWAY ONTO THE GRASS.

The car did not stop! I was going about 10 miles per hour at that point and it wasn’t even that slippery out, I don’t know how there was ONE slippery spot in the entire WORLD and I found it, but yeah, I turned left, the car went right. And there was totally a signpost right there that the car was about to smack into. So I was all “shit shit SHIT SHIT” and then the car just stopped about an inch from the sign.


OK, probably not at all died but I could have scratched the shit out of my car.

I seriously have the worst luck when there’s like no snow on the ground, I have no idea what’s up with that. The other time I went off the road and hit a sign was in similar conditions. And that time I was also going very slow because I was coming up to a stop sign. Which I hit. It was either hit that or the car in front of me, and I didn’t think the stop sign would have asked for my insurance card and made me wait in the weather for a cop. I CHOSE WELL GRASSHOPPER.

When I told my dad I could have died he said, “You know, I sometimes get the feeling you might exaggerate for effect.” WHAT? NO NOT ME. I AM APPALLED AT THAT ACCUSATION GOOD SIR.

Come see me! IN PERSON!

My show opens in two weeks!


February 10-26, Fridays and Saturdays at 8, Sundays at 3, pay-what-you-will preview February 9 at 8. Tickets are $15, but if you are a state or government employee, they’re buy one get one free, or if you’re a student, they’re $10, or if you have an Entertainment book, they’re buy one get one on Sundays. Best deal in town! Neil Simon! Lots of comedy! People acting like looneys in evening wear! Adult beverage consumption onstage! Many doors being opened and closed! My awesome friend directed it and I love her more than almost anyone! Oh, also this is the play where they say, “They’re YOUR friends, Jesus.” I mean, that’s worth your price of admission, right there, isn’t it?

So I’m stage managing (so you KNOW it’s going to be stellar, obviously) and also running the light and sound boards. Which means I’m running around like a crazy pre-show, up in the booth during Act I, running around like a crazy during intermission, up in the booth again during Act II, and then cleaning up post-show. I have been promised we have plenty of hospitality staff this time so I don’t have to serve coffee or sell raffle tickets. Which is good, because listen, I am very, very bad at those things, I’m not even kidding. Come and see me! I will give you at least one hug, possibly two. It’s a fun show, and the actors and crew have been working their tailfeathers off, and I love them all to bits.

Also, heads-up, starting February 5, I’m going to be even MORE insanely busy than normal, because it’s tech week. Also known, if you are a theater person, as Hell Week. For good reason. Because you have rehearsal every night until 11 or so and you work your butt off and then you go to work and work your butt off and then it’s back to rehearsal and then you have a SHOW, with PEOPLE LOOKING AT YOU, and you’re so tired you kind of sometimes weep in the bathroom and maybe also yell at people who don’t 100% deserve it. But it’s totally worth it. Expect stories of tech week shenanigans!

OK, back to the insanity. LISTEN, I was totally not kidding about the unruliness of my hair. IT IS OUT OF CONTROL TODAY. Like, there’s this one poky bit and I’m pretty sure I look deranged. Although it might be keeping people away from me? So maybe it’s a good thing.

Happy weekend, everyone!

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