But Call Me Betsy

Well, if by almost, you count that we have been at a few of the same social gatherings, and if you count that he might have just been pretending to have zero interest in me, and if you count that if we were introduced again tomorrow, he would politely shake my hand and say, Hi, Annie. Be that as it may, I do sort of know this guy--Val/Matt of Val Emmich , the indie pop band with all attractive members. Val/Matt is the lead singer and also adorable and has an agent and so got this part on 30 Rock wherein he gets to kiss Tina Fey. Look, look at his dirty li'l hipster cute pensiveness! We first met at Julie and Danny's wedding, where my other friend, Jess and I were single gals living it up in our high heels. I danced a song (or two?) with Val and at the end of the song, put both hands on his face and said, I think you will go far. I think you are a very special person. Apparently, I had been watching way too many Dawson's Creek reruns. I think he said, Gee, thanks, ma'a...

Now that I have nearly 500 songs on my i-pod (had more but accidentally deleted them all and had to start over), I am starting to realize that my taste in music is pretty goofy. I almost always listen to the i-pod on "shuffle," and then fitfully hit "next song" if I don't like what comes on until I find something I do want to hear. More often than I'd like to admit, the song I settle on is by Greenday or BareNaked Ladies or Blind Melon or The Lemonheads. Tragic. Got to meet Padhraig's sister and her boyfriend on Sunday. Padhraig made brunch and we got to taste real, smuggled in Irish bacon. Then we walked downtown and the Suzanne and Carrie went to the spa and Padhraig and Richard and I went to Macy's. We walked down to Borders and Padhraig found my book. They had five in stock at the Philadelphia store and a few in other area stores. Very exciting. They also had them alphabetized in the wrong place, but I asked the guy and he moved them. Richard bou...

Felt like that old woman in the story by Flannery O'Connor today as I browsed Circle Thrift and found myself followed by two little African-American kids--one was about three (the boy) and the other was maybe 6 (the girl). They were with their grandma and something I said to them made them think they could talk to me and then the little girl came asked me if I could help her look at some baby clothes. She said she had two dolls and wanted to buy booties for one of them. I took the box off the shelf and we went through it and she said, But I can't buy this. I only have two dollars. I said, Well, go ask your grandma if it's okay if I give you a dollar. She went over and asked the silent older woman who was browsing through the kitchen stuff and seemed utterly unconnected to the children. I didn't want to be insulting, I didn't want to be like, Oh, you poor li'l Negro chillren, here you go, here's a penny! At the same time, what's a dollar to me? So, the li...

Have perhaps been reading too much Alice Munro as of late. This is due to the fact that instead of buying the book for this comedy of a grad class (an anthology), I checked out most of the novellas from the library (and borrowed others--thanks, Stephanie--and owned others already), but can't remember which one we're actually supposed to read for class. Consequently, I have overdosed on her stories; having read about six of them in this library book. I do like Alice Munro though her stories are somewhat dense with disgruntled Canadians. She always seems to have an interesting secret at the heart of each piece. A murder, a mistress, a cutting betrayal from a loved one. But the drama is muted, not sensational and is more interesting this way. Anyway, a lot of her characters are looking back on their lives or the narrator is a child trying to puzzle out the behavior of adults. This of course made me think of myself (what doesn't?) and about the kids who live in the house behind...

As it turns out, Lisa Marie's oven broke at the last second and she had to come over here to finish cooking the turkey, the stuffing, and some potatoes. We were not able to cook the frozen pumpkin pie because neither one of us could figure out how to remove the oven racks. You will likely not find two less qualified people to be attempting to put together a dinner for ten. I did nothing actually except at the end, I suggested we could baste the turkey in some of the juices. We both did this for awhile, wondering if it would do something toxic to the meat, unbeknownst to us. But we made it and turkey was served (though it wasn't cooked all the way through in every place, it was mostly done). Got to meet baby Ruby who is a dream child--didn't cry or fuss like the rest of us. I suspect she's not fully human; she must be part Sainted baby. I expected her to bless us at any second, holding up two fingers and waving them our way as most baby pope statues do. Didn't help ...

So, like, at what point is okay to start hearing Christmas carols? Because in flipping through the TV channels, I have heard no fewer than 5 Christmas songs, most featuring animated snowmen (note: why are snow people always men? Or am I just assuming that they're men? Maybe they are actually snow women. I mean, what does the carrot symbolize, anyway? Obviously, I should stop drinking wine and just go to bed). Maybe I'm being over sensitive, but there seems to be something desperate about all of this sudden holiday cheer, something Wizard of Oz about it, like, don't look behind this curtain, don't fret about this "war" in Iraq, stop thinking about how we might possibly be spinning into a recession and/or depression--instead, go to Old Navy or Macy's or Home Depot and buy, buy, buy in the name of Jesus' birthday. Or possibly I am all out of sorts because it's 60 degrees in November. Is this winter? Does this unseasonable weather have anything to do...

My contribution to the Thanksgiving dinner will be brie, crackers, celery and carrots with dip, and wine. None of which required any sweat or tears on my part. Lisa Marie is making a turkey and everything else. Here are some great Thanksgiving crafts you can do to make this joyous holiday even more fabulous (as taken from Martha Stewart's Living magazine): 1. Catch a few squirrels and dress them up in traditional pilgrim/Native American wear (probably just hats) and put on a play re-enacting the first Thanksgiving. 2. After eating the turkey, separate all of the bones and glue them to a large piece of paper and label each bone with its proper anatomical name (tibia, fibia, ulna, radius, etc.). 3. Fill the bathtub with hot cider (requires approximately twenty gallons of juice) and bob for cranberries. 4. Get a copy of Pilgrim's Progress , cut out relevant passages and replace and fill in the blanks with random verbs and nouns to rewrite the book ala a Mad Lib. 5. Gather 500 pin...

Had a fairly innocuous Tuesday...Nothing crazy happened at work, I was in a pretty happy mood, good music on my ipod and then, very close to my house, I crossed the street after one car had gone past the stop sign, but apparently, the SUV behind that car didn't want to wait his turn and barreled forward without stopping. I probably would have been hit, except for this little hipster couple waiting to cross next to me who said, "Watch out!" I stopped and was not hit, but this upset the driver, who pulled forward and then stopped his tank. In the SUV was a fat man, his wife, and this twenty year old guy. The driver said, "Watch it, you jerk-off! What the hell are you doing?" I yelled back, "It's called a stop sign! Learn to read." He said, "Hey, jerk-off, take off your fucking ipod !" I said, "Ever take driver's ed?" The twenty year old jumped out of the back seat, to do what? Beat the crap out of me? I don't know. At the...

Went with Celia this weekend as a passenger in her Philly car share extravaganza. We stopped at IKEA where I had just enough time to eat lunch (meatballs and soggy garlic bread) before racing to Home Depot where I had again just enough time to find a shopping cart before she had finished up. On the way, she put in a CD of The Postal Service , and I said that they sounded familiar and she said that they had one of their songs in UPS commercial, but I am fairly certain that I've heard them before outside of advertising. So I downloaded a few of their songs and can't stop listening to "Such Great Heights" (from the UPS ad) and am wondering if it's something they stole from Iron & Wine or am I confused? The writing is great, great, great and listening to it while walking to the subway or while riding on the subway or wherever I am always makes me feel like I'm in an indie movie and perhaps the next thing you know, some scruffy hipster dude while accidentally...

I am not that popular of a girl. So sometimes, on Saturday nights, I find myself at home with the 1,000 cats, watching free Comcast movies. Tonight, it's Philadelphia , a Tom Hanks movie about a lawyer fired b/c he has AIDS. Normally, I hate Tom Hanks b/c of Castaway and Sleepless in Seattle , two movies that I think are highly over-rated. But he is pretty fucking good in this movie and his eyes are really blue. It reminds me of the only personal encounter I've ever had with AIDs . This guy I went to undergrad with, Chaz . I can't remember his last name. While we were in school, I was intimidated by him. He was this very vocal black kid who had a caustic sense of humor. I think that maybe he slept with this other guy I had a huge crush on in school, Michael Chick. And then, in my last year of college, my roommate Michelle and I went to visit Chaz in the hospital. Because he was dying. I recall going into his hospital room and feeling apologetic, not knowing what to say;...

I have been listening to NPR nonstop; shows including Car Talk (the one with the two brothers who laugh manically the whole time but know what to do if your car is making a funny ticking noise) and whatever that show is after it...Garden Talk? And "This American Life." And "A Prairie Home Companion." Does Garrison Keillor narrate that show? I suppose he probably does and I have a love/hate relationship with his voice. Often, it seems as though he is talking while resting his nostrils on the microphone. It creates this muffled, intimate effect that causes me squirm. And who is the woman who does all of the female roles? Some of the shows are slightly entertaining and others sort of suck or aren't as clever as one would hope. Interspersed, they present folk singers who I imagine are on-stage wearing square dancing skirts ala the Lawrence Welk show. Perhaps I should try to write for NPR? But, like, what? Also, does GK sing on these shows? I think he does. I hate L...

Molly told me a story the other day about how she was riding the bus and this frazzled, homeless woman was asking passengers for change to help poor children in a Christmas choir. She appealed to Molly directly and explained how every donation would receive a small gift as a thank you. Molly said, I only have fifty cents. The woman said, Every little bit helps. So Molly handed her the quarters and the woman gave her a pen without a top, something she had obviously picked up off the street. Molly was like, Oh, thanks...Similarly, I watched a homeless guy reach into the trash last week and pull out a McDonald's drink cup, sip what was left in it, and then throw it back into the trash. I also saw two guys walking a chihuahua after dark. They were using a tiny little flashlight to find the dog's poop. In other news, there are too many cats in my life. I actually made Liz allergic to me last night simply by sitting next to her in clothes that didn't appear to be covered in a fin...

I am doing nothing exciting tonight, unless you consider dyeing my hair and painting my toenails to be a scintillating proposition. I did something I'm not particularly proud of today. I bought dollhouse furniture. A sofa and a chair and a baby in a pink crotcheted dress and a lion cub, to be exact. I went with Lisa Marie to A.C. Moore and they have an entire section devoted to dollhouse furniture. LM said that we should do a stop motion film for You Tube using the dolls. Brilliant. I already have a narrative for the dollhouse family in my head. The dad is a closeted gay man (come on, he wears a tight flowered shirt and tie and pants that appear painted on) and the Mom, consequently, is a drunk who often wakes up on the kitchen floor with her head resting on a pat of butter. The daughter tries to ignore it by playing piano all day and torturing the baby. I don't know how the baby will factor in, though I suggested to LM that the baby could be a hermaphrodite who the parents are...

How does one balance self-promotion and modesty? I don't know. So, like, I want to tell you good things that are happening to me, but at the same time, I feel like apologizing for being so self-centered. Pretend I'm writing about someone else. Not me. Not me got an e-mail the other day from a literary agent who read my story, "Wanted," in Cimmaron Review and said that he thinks that I could do well with a novel. He suggested that I send him 50 pages of a novel and he would read it and potentially shop it out to publishers. I wrote back to tell him that I do have a book of short stories coming out and that I had a couple of ideas for a novel. He responded with an anticlimactic e-mail that basically said, Well, when you have 50 pages, let me know. I think I could write an Evie book, but I don't know what it would be about. I am resistant to writing this Bridget Jones type book where everything works out in the end and the fat girl gets the hot guy. I'd rather...

I didn't sleep well last night even though the bed is really comfortable here (I'm dog-sitting for Stephanie in King of Prussia). My first mistake was to read a quarter of the way through In Cold Blood before turning off the light. Next, my brain decided it was a good time to remind me that the house is located across from a huge cemetery. So, I don't know if I was worried that real people or ghosts would break in. Anyway, it made for a fitful night of sleep filled with at least three of my more frequent bad dream patterns. 1. The Return of the Ex-Boyfriend. In this dream, I am either faced with an ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend and their exuberant happiness or, worse, I dream I am still dating the ex and haven't, in fact, freed myself of his body odor. 2. You're Late and You Forgot Something Very Important! This dream centers around school anxiety. In it, I suddenly realize I haven't been attending my M/W/F calculus course for weeks and am likely failin...

I am currently living in a two-story home in the suburbs of King of Prussia, watching a very intelligent and happy Eskipoo dog, T.J., named after a literary figure; I forget whom, maybe a character in To Kill a Mockingbird ? We have done mostly nothing today, aside from watching ten episodes of the first season of Project Runway, flipping through back issues of Domino and In Style , and folding laundry. I realize from being here that I am completely sick of my bathroom; more specifically, I hate the tiny, free-standing sink that seems more suited to a small boat than one in a home. Every time I attempt to wash my face, I end up standing in a puddle of water. What a luxury to be staying in a place where you can actually put things down on the bathroom counter. Is there anything I can do to make my bathroom more user-friendly? Aside from shrinking my body down to child-size, I don't think so. T.J. has been a dreamboat this whole time. All he wants me to do is to throw the ball in t...