I Am, Indeed, Workin' My Merkin

Someone bought a Merkin Mug! Who was it?? Because I love you the most now... and if you aren't in some way related to me, you may be getting a little tongue action- a whole $1.20 worth, because that's how much I earned. Whee!

Visit my store here.

I have lots to post, but shockingly, I've been busy! When did I become so popular? I wonder if I could turn my apartment into a hermitage. I'd have to get my internet to work there first, though.

On the Road Again...

I will be leaving for Cincinnati for Singlefest with the BFF tomorrow, so I'll be blogless for a while. Rest assured I'll have updates when I get back on Wednesday!

Until then, remember that Cupid rhymes with stupid.

Kisses, Birv

Playdates For the Socially Awkward

Perhaps it's my crippling social anxiety disorder, but it's becoming clear to me that making new friends after college is surprisingly difficult. It's like asking someone out, but with the added pressure of ensuring that these people don't think that you're in any way trying to actually ask them out. (Don't even get me started on the nebulous world of dating and intimacy. It should be clear to every single one of you that Birv has "special needs" in this area.)

I've recently met two women who I think are boss (yes, I'm totally bringing that word back), and yet I am finding it hard to naturally spark a friendship with either of them that goes beyond a work acquaintance, or being a "friend of a friend". The best way I have come up with to ask if they want to do something sometime is this:

"Do you like to do... stuff? Want to do stuff... with me?"

What's the deal? Why is that difficult? Jesus, all I want to do is go shopping or something, and yet I feel flustered and nervous at their potential response, the same way I felt when KT and I called up THE BOY in 8th grade and played Stairway to Heaven to him over the phone. (Thank god we did not grow up in the era of caller ID and cell phones.) Even to me, my apprehension and giddiness on trying to make a new friend is totally and completely lame. But there it is.

Does a friendship happen naturally? Think of your most recently formed friendship. Who asked who "out"? I know I can't remember... it's as if those friendships just always were there, just waiting to be plucked from the ether.

Perhaps as we get older, our lives become set. It can be trying, to say the least, to add something new into your routine, and adding another person into your social schedule just seems like a hassle. I know I feel like I can't be bothered most of the time. And yet... here I am, hoping that these ladies will find me cool enough to hang with. It's like being 13 all over again. JOY.

F#*K My Life.

A Saturday evening blog post from Birv? Crazy... especially considering how busy I thought my weekend was going to be. However, the reason behind being home this Saturday night is too embarrassing NOT to share.

I've spoken about Pseudograndma standing me up before, now she's really punching me in the gooch. As I call this afternoon to confirm our plans to see an Ibsen play at the Museum of Contemporary Art tonight, Pseudograndma exclaims, "Oh jeez. Is that tonight? What do you think, should we give it up? It's awfully cold."

She's right, it's cold, and getting to the MCA from where I live is no easy feat- you either have to scrabble for one of the few parking spots not covered in the 12 inches of snow on the ground, or you have to take the Blue line south, and then either wait forEVER for the Chicago Ave bus, or alternatively go 3 stops farther into the loop, switch to the red line, go BACK up to the Gold Coast and then walk from whatever stop gets you closest. Whoopee. Certainly not worth it for Pseudograndma to attempt, when she's just going to nap in the theater anyway.

We agree to call our plans off, and have a bit of small talk- it's been a few months since I've last seen her. My biggest news is that my dog has eaten yet another set of my bed pillows. She has news, she tells me. Oh yes, she has news. However, she can't tell me, she whispers, "until the news leaves". Then she giggles.

Sweet Ecclesiastes, Pseudograndma has a man. Frantically trying to sweeping away visions of old person sex, I get off the phone as quick as humanly possible. Then I realize that I've been blown off by an 83 year old woman SO THAT SHE CAN HANG OUT WITH A GUY.

I, on the other hand, will play some Freecell and watch videos of Mystery Science Theater 3000 on Youtube. Maybe I'll take a bath and try to keep from drowning myself in it.

I ADORE Saying "I Told You So"

So as I prepare to escort another fine lady to the movie tomorrow, I'll say it now... after discussing Twilight's sweet, delicious brain candy for a few months now- certain members of my loyal reading public are coming to Birv to revel in the glory of suppressed Mormon housewifey wet-dream sexuality (and damned if movie Edward isn't fine... for all his Dr. Pepper Lipsmackers smile... phwoar).

Since I'm a classy broad, I will NEVER out you, as I said before. But I totally told you so. I'll even make you you're very own shirt.

You don't have to thank me- bask in the Twilighty goodness. If this is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Happy New Year!!

Frightening Thai Mascot says think before you drink and drive! I hope you all have a safe, mascot-free New Years Eve, and I'll be thinking joyous thoughts for all of you, as I imbibe a bottle of wine and some fried chicken.

Netflix, here I come!!!

My November to Remember

phew!! I am exhausted. This November has been the social season I never thought I'd have in my life. Two weddings, three plays and operas, getting stood up by Pseudograndma, Twilight/BFF extravaganza, Thanksgiving and two birthdays, all crammed into four little weeks. To top it all off, I am, yet again, sick as a dog and can't hear a bloody thing... stupid head cold. My neighbors probably hate me, because I am listening to my TV at top volume.

SPEAKING of which, yes, I did get cable this weekend. Is it hypocritical of me, after railing against it for so long, to be mildly disappointed that I didn't really get more channels? I was starting to become excited by the idea that I would have BBC America and Cartoon Network. However the only channels I seemed to have picked up with my new "cheap as it can get" cable package are MSNBC and TBS. I was more than a little disappointed to realize that I have a TV lineup that now includes cyclical showings of Tim Allen in The Santa Clause and Jungle 2 Jungle.

Oh well. I spent all of yesterday catching up on my Tivoed network shows from the last week, and it took most of the day, so I suppose that I have enough to go on. Plus, joy of joys... my new Tivo records two shows at the same time! Gossip Girl and Chuck, there is equality among you!

Only four more episodes of Pushing Daisies to be had, before I have a glaring hole in my heart where a Bryan Fuller show should be. After watching last week's episode, I've become really down-hearted and frustrated with ABC for pulling the show without giving it any promotional effort whatsoever. There hasn't been an ad for a Pushing Daisies show on ABC since the season premiered in October. I'm gobsmacked that ABC is so ready to give up on a show that garnered 12 Emmy nominations in it's abbreviated first season (especially to revive a dead, seven year old show from another network!), so forgive me while I jump on my soapbox.

It's a rare show that doesn't become formulaic and lazy, and Pushing Daisies continues to surprise me with each episode. While we usually know the "killah-killah" from the beginning of the episode, the writers of the show continue to delight me with how they manage to bump people off, and the slowly unfolding mystery of Ned and Chuck's fathers and their relationship with Dwight Dixon has me wondering. The show's simple, goofy, deliciously naughty moments delight me ("stakeouts are only fun if there are enough binoculars for everyone", the comment about Emerson Cod's tight balls... of yarn, Ned's complete oblivion to key parties), and the subtle jokes abound, and there are always a few that I find myself laughing about 10 minutes after they've aired-such as the brief(and entirely non-verbal) moment where the Pie Maker realizes just what the dead millionaire meant by "trophy room".

There's a part of me that doesn't want to finish watching the show, knowing that I will only be incredibly disappointed by an unsatisfactory ending to the several character arcs that have begun to bloom on the show. Naturally there's a much larger part of me that wants to smack that unloyal, nasty part of myself about the face, and I know that not only will I loyally finish out the season, I'll most likely be buying the DVD when it comes out.

Oh well. Screw originality on TV. When looking for something new to take Pushing Daisies place in my own personal TV lineup, I can only hope that we'll get a new procedural crime drama soon. I sure could use another one... I'm by no means satisfied with just CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: New York, Law and Order, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, Law and Order: Criminal Intent, Criminal Minds, NCIS, Without a Trace, Cold Case, The Mentalist, The Unit, Eleventh Hour, Life On Mars, Numbers, Bones, Fringe, My Own Worst Enemy.

Ice-a-bowl-a-nuptu-a-rama!

I find it an odd phenomenon that Americans like to spend our leisure time in rented shoes. This weekend was like the Fungal Marathon for me- both bowling AND ice skating, IN THE SAME DAY. If I don't contract Athlete's Foot after this weekend, it'll be a miracle. Maybe I should invest in a vat of Tough-Actin' Tinactin, just to be sure.

After returning to the sport after a twenty year absence, I am pretty damn impressed with my ice skating skills. Though Sis-in-law is savoring the chance to point out that my ice skating resembles a granny with a walker more than Michelle Kwan, I am proud of my accomplishments. I only fell once, and managed to stop holding onto the wall after 40 minutes. Of course, the one time I did fall I nearly killed my three year old niece... but she stopped crying after a while.

I also attended Adam's wedding, excited to finally see the inside of Michelle's Ballroom, which has captured my interest every time I pass by and see unhappy 15 year olds stuffed into taffeta sneaking a cigarette outside at the celebration of their little sister's first communion. It's actually a nice place, neo-classic columns and bas-reliefs (oh yeah, I used it), with the inexplicable addition of an Aztec sun on the main wall. Nothing says party like the Greco-Mayan style.

It was a beautiful reception- Adam and Joanna looked in love and happy and were great hosts. Everyone was so relaxed. The food was delicious...I am frankly amazed at how many ways a potato can be prepared- gnocchi, latkes, potato salad, pierogi, mashed. Ever the carb-whore, I ate it all with gusto. There were speeches...the theme of each seemingly "Birv, you will die alone". There's a slight possibility, however, that the vodka-cranberries I was mainlining have altered my memory of the night slightly. I can't comment on the accuracy of my later memories of the evening. I also have to figure out a way to get back to my car.

It's a beautiful thing to watch two people that genuinely love each other and have each other's best interests at heart get married. Adam, Joanna, I have nothing but love and happiness for both of you, and I was honored to be a part of your day. I hope you're having fun on your mini-moon!

It's a bitch convincing people to like you.

Sigh. It is a strange phenomenon that the less I want to be with people, the more invitiations I get! I had two birthday parties this weekend, and in the next month I have two weddings, three more birthday parties, a dinner, a Halloween party, a play and an opera with Pseudograndma, and the Twilight extravaganza. Oh, and Thanksgiving. That's like two events a weekend. How the hell am I this popular?

Invitations like this always seem to mount up when I am feeling the most like something that one finds when you flip over a stone- pale, ugly, shell-less and blind. Perhaps my gross insecurities and crankiness are innately attractive to people? By the way, I feel positively ENORMOUS today... Lithuanian food does not sit well. I don't trust the Kugeles (don't ask me what they are either... some sort of potato nightmare).

The plus side of the weekend was that I have yet to have the post-family party debriefing with any side of the family. I have a feeling my mother is stewing in her own meditative juices though... I probably should have talked to her last night and de-fused whatever it is she inevitably has brewing inside her mind.

Regardless of impending mom-phone-doom, I enjoyed my free time last night so much that I came up with a new segment to Fonzipan... the Winehouse Watch! I am fascinated by this poor girl's road to self-destruction.. embarrassed by it? Possibly... though I don't understand how those who care about her fail to do ANYTHING to help this young woman out of what is surely a swan dive to death. My only thought is that they are hoping her early "tragic" demise will seal her in the rock annals of history and her fame will live on. I'm only too happy to oblige by tracking all I can about the junkie.

SO, on to the inaugural Winehouse Watch (and it's a doozy):

Amy Winehouse was filmed screaming that Satan was giving her drugs at the recording studio last week. She also was apparently unable to record one song before trashing her guitar. I am DYING to see this video. Until then, this picture detailing the differences between the wax figure at Madame Tussaud's and the real life image will have to do. Meth kills, people. And so does the devil.

I also had time for Netflix Roundup this weekend: the last two Wonderfalls discs (Bryan Fuller, I want you to be my best friend) and The Good Shepherd.

Perhaps my brain was a tad fried after running around at a one-year-old's birthday party, but I felt totally stupid watching The Good Shepherd. A film about the early days of the CIA directed by Robert De Niro and starring Matt Damon, The Good Shepherd is rife with amazing actors with little to do: William Hurt, Michael Gambon, Alec Baldwin, Timothy Hutton, Joe Pesci, John Turturro and several others complete a cast of characters that have screen-time of approximately 12 seconds each.

This film couldn't decide if it wanted to be a film about the destruction of a family, or a film that chronicles the shady beginnings of an institution with frightening power in the government. At two and a half hours, it tries to do both, which is too much. It feels as though there are about a hundred characters in this movie, and it is difficult to keep track of them all. Additionally, the film spans approximately twenty years and is told asequentially; none of the actors look much older in the "current" scenes, and it is difficult to know what is happening when.

The Good Shepherd could have been great- two messages that stood out were that of the danger of believing, immovably, in one's own actions as well as the dangers of being born entitled and feeling that nothing can touch you. However, these messages were lost in an over-complicated plot that took too much of my brain power to follow, leaving little room to ruminate on deeper meanings.