Safety First

Guys. I have a friend. (He's not my only friend, so don't make no jokes, bro.) This friend is named Josh, but I call him Hoovie, when I'm not calling him Precious.

Josh/Hoovie/Precious is a man of the finest sort. Besides his loving disposition, he bakes a mean lasagna, can dance improv circles around anyone, is an expert on people watching, and does this:

Any questions?

In Which Gary Dines at Hooters (and I Get an Apartment)

"Living in LA is expensive."

I looked up at the gray-haired man sitting across the desk from me, where he watched as I signed my name to the $3,000 check I had just written.

I handed him the check and, as he processed my apartment application, I let my eyes wander the room. Apartment manager's offices are funny little rooms, and Gary's was no exception. To my right, three stairs led to what used to be a doorway. The wall, now bricked in and coated with a worn pea green, blocked access to the courtyard of what is now my apartment building. The steps, now defunct, held the results of his latest trip to the hardware store: three boxes of light bulbs, seven packages of off-white mini blinds, a screwdriver, a hammer. A handful of nails lay scattered about the steps.

The rest of the office read less like an office and more like the contents of a filing cabinet. Several filing cabinets, to be accurate. You could tell that at some point in the very distant past, stacks—columns—of files had been created. What purpose this served never crossed my mind—a lamp stood on one, offering light to the desk when the sun had gone down for the day. Columns in the back of the room supported items of less clarified roles, such as a tape player from the 90s, an empty cigarette carton, and a pen collection that lay in want of a traditional pen holder. It was a veritable smorgasbord of practicality if you ask me (though no one has).

"OK, let me just make a call," Gary said. I brought my attention back to him and the task at hand. I nodded in agreement, though I suppose that had I shook my head in discord, he would have dialed the leasing company anyway.

"Oh OK, we'll wait," I heard Gary say into the phone. He held the phone a few inches from his ear as he said this. An associate at the leasing company was yelling at him, yelling words that I, and likely my parents who were sitting in their truck outside, could make out perfectly. Sean—also known as Wash—was momentarily unavailable. Sure. We'll wait. And as long as no one else asks for a $3,000 check for immediate deposit, my bank account will wait as well.

Gary switched the phone to speaker and laid the handset back on its dock. He rolled his swivel chair closer to my side of his desk. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, Gary looked at me over the rims of his wire frames. He's Armenian, with olive skin and calloused hands that speak of having previously lived a hard life, but one with a payoff that is well worth those difficulties. He's the father of two, a teenage son and baby daughter; and the husband of one, a high school math teacher. Gary gushes over his family, and was eager to tell us of his recent trip to Armenia, where he baptized his daughter into the Christian faith. He's an honest, decent man who drinks his afternoon coffee out of fine China, walks his son to school, and wears ratty socks with his sandals.

"Living in LA is expensive," Gary repeated.

"Yes, yes it is." I wasn't quite sure what he was hoping I'd say here. I had no real idea yet, as the limited time I'd previously spent in the city told me only of rental car prices at Enterprise, not grocery budgets and electricity bills.

Gary continued without acknowledging that I had said anything at all. "I mean, take yesterday, for example. Work hard, then dine with friends. We go to Hooters. Laughs, wings, get the bill. Fifty dollars! Oy."

My eyes widened in surprise. Gary presented himself far differently than a man who spends  $50 at a Hooters on random Wednesday night. How bachelor. How bizarre. How American.

Fortunately, he assumed mine was a reaction to his $50 tab, not his restaurant of choice.

"Exactly! It adds up. All adds up." He rolled his eyes and gestured to the side, as though pushing the thought away from himself and his belly full of hot and spicy chicken.

I offered my condolences: "You're right, Gary, it's a shame it costs so much to live the American dream."

He closed his eyes and nodded in agreement, letting the heat from his quick rant dissipate in our silence.

"Hello? Hello?" A voice came over the speaker on the phone.

Gary jumped in his seat and swiveled back to the phone.

"Yes! Wash! Are you there? It's me, it's Gary. Listen, I have a girl who needs to move in immediately—"

"—yes, well, no, well, listen to me Wash, just listen. I'm sending her to your office right now. Approve her, sign the lease, and send her back with my copies. Right now."

He slammed the phone down and turned back to me, offering a meager smile before feeling a rush to send me to the leasing office, where Wash approved my lease application immediately, just as Gary demanded, and rescued me from living in a hotel or being forced to ride back to Colorado with my parents.

I think I'll buy Gary some new socks for Christmas.

LA = Tattoos

Guys. Listen. The thing is, I'm not in LA yet. Which means my life is crammed with monumental tasks like working a lot and packing boxes and separating the various colors of my index card collection. But, I do want to share with you this little gem: a conversation I had with my brother. It pretty much sums up my current state of mind in regards to LA.

ME:

I'm slightly nervous about making friends.

BRO:

Who wouldn't want to be friends with you??

ME:

Well the thing is, I'm kind of awkward around new people. Which isn't the best first impression. I also quit my pot habit so there goes that circle of peeps.

BRO:

Well at least pot circles make good back up plans if the awkward thing gets out of control.

ME:

Oh that's true. But I was thinking: new town, new me, new crowd, yes?

THEREFORE I SHOULD GET TATTOOS.

BRO:

Logically.

ME:

Like, a heart/cupid/Mom situation? Or is that only for Navy dudes?

BRO:

No I like it. Navy is relative.

ME:

Yeah, but so is, like, a ying yang symbol.

BRO:

Dragons.

ME:

A dragon that's breathing fire and is positioned at the base of my back, so it looks like it's guarding my ass. GOOD IDEA, BRO.

(You know you're jealous your brother isn't as cool as mine.)

New Venture

Peoples!

Newest project. You won't want to miss this. It's called Mom Said So, and it chronicles the rules and guidance Mom gave us when we were kids, even if some of her advice didn't quite pan out.

Here's a lil peek:

So, hop on over to the site, and take a little gander around. And be sure to follow the blog for an instant bit of your mother, each and every day. Hope you enjoy!

(And yes, I'll still be updating this blog, and will resume its maintenance in full once my move to LA has come and gone. So don't worry, my little lovelies; I won't be leaving you.)

You're never too young to read AARP.

Oh, hey. Look at this.

(Hint: If you don't know what you're looking for, read the words by the little blue birdy.)

Yeah. Yeah, that's me. I'm @emilyjbenson, obvs. And my fine thoughts were published in AARP The Magazine.

Be jealz. And, e-mail me regarding autograph requests; I'll tell you what's what and how to get your copy signed. (But first, go buy the issue, duh.)

The Scheduled Rapture

The Rapture. It's coming to cities worldwide on May 21, 2011.

That's tomorrow folks, and for a certain religious group, their world as they know it is going up in flames.

So here's the thing. Should the Rapture come tomorrow, I will more than likely be ascending on those clouds or buried in the rubble caused by an earthquake. Which leaves the rest of you fighting over my belongings. So here, let me will them away so we're all clear:

• To my sister, I leave the string of pink glass beads I stole from my mother, who stole it from her sister. But since we all know Katie is the most angelic of all and will be at those pearly gates before anyone else, this necklace will more than likely be handed down to her niece or someone's neighborhood dog.
• To my friend JT, I leave my library. Yes, I call my book collection a library and yes, it's more exciting than yours. Upon this thought, however, I realize that JT will also be ahead of me on the good list, so in that case, anyone interested should e-mail me for dibs on this one, and JT will approve or disprove of your rightful claim to said books.
• To anyone who cares, I have a sweet yellow velvety chair. It's more comfortable than air, so you should be super ecstatic about wanting it and super envious if you're not the lucky chosen one. So start fighting over it, people.
• And to the one weird-and-creepy fan of mine, you may rifle through my sock drawer. But only after everyone else has come and gone and left my belongings to rot.

That is all, folks. Contact me if you're confused, worried, or in a general state of panic about the end of the world. I'll tell you why you shouldn't be.

Yes I'm Alive

Hi, guys and gals! I can't believe a month has gone by since I last posted! I'd love to tell you I've been out saving the world and just don't have time to look at my computer anymore, but the truth is, I spend all day working on a computer and probably should have been telling you the gory details of said life. And also, Cat Woman took back her costume so that whole hero thing I was working on is officially over. Apparently she's not keen on the stealing of other people's black tights, and especially not when they are hers. Blah.

Anywho, look at the top of your screen. See that banner? It's pretty great, yes? My dear friend Leigh designed it for me. She's amazing. I've spent an average of 36 minutes per day staring at it. That's how great it is. And now you should visit her site for more of her amazeballs design work and hire her already.

As for blog updates, they are going to continue on this few-and-far-between path. Until I move to LA, that is. And once I arrive in the land of glory, I'll be back to posting so often you'll be leaving voicemails on my machine asking me to quit inundating your life with such frivolous details as to my apartment neighbors, my friends' cats, and my latest food fetish. So please, bear with me until then.

MmmKthanksbye.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Credit Card Company,

You don't know me, but you have a file loaded with data about me. The file is accessible to many in your company, and with the right security clearance, your employees can view my social security number, my address, and my birthday. Which, consequently, has produced no more than zero birthday cards and Christmas packages in my mailbox and yes, I'm holding a grudge.

I tried making calls about this grudge, but my call was outsourced to India and the worlds "Christmas" and "package" and "mailbox" weren't on his list of credit terminology and therefore, your Indian associate went home that night with a bout of confusion. But not before I spent a half-hour attempting to navigate this confusion, during which I learned that your company is fully aware of:

• the year I graduated high school.
• the make and model of my first car.
• my last 15 mailing addresses. (Need I remind you that there were no cards or packages sent to these addresses?)
• my grandmothers' maiden names (though the pronouncing of these names was another half-hour battle).
• the name of my first pet.
• the name of my second pet.
• the name of a pet I never had.
• the name of the squirrel I ran over and buried during my senior year of high school.

And despite this vast knowledge at your disposal, you really have proved nothing beyond your keeping my answers to five years of security questions on file.

Sometime later I called again about an actual credit question. Specifically, I wanted to know my current balance because it's time to close that hunky piece of plastic and move on to a life of cash and in the black. So when I made this call, one of your American employees answered. (For future reference, it has been noted as to which number to push on the automated recording so as to speak to an American, regardless of the reason for the phone call.)

Let it be said, however, that I really don't care who takes my call, except that I'd prefer to not be charmed by a woman with a must-please attitude, as is the American way. Because now my credit card is still open. As in, it's not closed. As in, it's still active. As in, she charmed me into keeping it with promises of more rewards and higher credit limits and now I still have a hunky piece of plastic in my wallet with which to buy me the world.

So thanks, Credit Card Company, for making my dreams come true. But let's not make a friendship out of this, if that's OK, because friends don't loan friends money.

Sincerely,

Emily

Adventures in Los Angeles

(Note: I haven't moved yet. I'm just letting you eavesdrop on the process.)

When I move to LA, I hope:

• To have an elderly lady neighbor who has an elderly gentleman suitor who brings her flowers and wears three-piece suits.
• To have annoying and quirky neighbors. (Where else will I get my blog fodder? Because we all know I'm not leaving the apartment. Like, ever.)
• To learn how to turn on my oven.
• To learn how to use my oven.
• To learn how to turn off my oven.
• To learn how to call 911. (In case of an oven fire, obviously.)
• To learn how to make coffee. (My balance on my Starbucks gift cards is dwindling drastically. But if you'd like to increase that balance, here is my e-mail address: benson dot ej at gmail dot com. Donations are always welcome and wanted.)
• To graduate from my twin-size bed to normal adulthood with a normal adult-size bed. (My affinity for PB&J sandwiches and the Disney Channel, however, are a different story, and will therefore remain vital elements to my life.)
• To stock my refrigerator and pantry with nutritional, delicious—but primarily edible—food. (One can't live off Crystal Light and soy nuts forever, you know.)

And in non-apartment-related concepts, I hope:

• To maintain my vampire complexion. (It's the only trendy thing about me. And after Breaking Dawn premieres both its parts, I'll need a new fad to follow. I'm open to suggestions.)
• To make human friends. (They tell me that having regular conversations with my invisible friends and houseplants isn't socially acceptable. Whatever—you don't know anything.)
• To keep a scorecard: How many times did Emily trip this week? Today? This hour?
• To be the best, snarkiest, youngest-looking Assistant to the Assistant ever.

That being said, apartment hunting has commenced, as has life-planning. First things to have been researched were, in this order:

1. Apartments. (Obviously.)
2. Los Angeles Public Library branches and their proximity to choice apartments. (This cheapo ain't buyin' no readin' stuff.)
3. Starbucks locations, and their proximity to choice apartments. (I will, however, buy me some $5 coffee beverages in a friggin' heartbeat.)
4. Grocery stores, and their proximity to choice apartments. (Foooooood.)

So far, plans are coming along swimmingly. And if you're worried about it me, know this: I have no plans to live in a shack on a beach and learn to surf. So chill out already.

This Has Great Potential. Right?

The other night I went to see my friend's band play. They're called Lake Street Dive, FYI.* The concert was at a bar. It was one of those establishments that has, like, two tables, so really the only room to sit and sway with the music was at the actual bar. Lucky for me I have a charming personality that matches those of hermits, the clinically insane, and bartenders. Not surprisingly, bartenders 1 and 2 and I got along swimmingly.

But my point is not about my personality. It is that, while sitting at the bar being adorable in my little black dress and boots, I was hit on. By a hideously drunk couple. (That's two people. Not one, it's two. Not just a man, there was also a woman.)

"Who are they?" The woman asked, leaning too close for my comfort. I don't let anyone lean that close. Unless that person happens to be Ben Barnes. In that case, he and his beautiful locks may lean as close as he so desires.

But I digress.

"Lake Street Dive," I yelled in her ear.

Drunk Lady shrugged. She didn't hear me. I yelled again. I yelled loudly. I yelled, even though the music and the other talking and the cup stacking right in front of us by bartender Flip all told me she wasn't going to hear me. But I yelled anyway, and it was louder than the cumulative volume of all of these plus a freight train. She still didn't hear me. Her eardrums must have been drunk as well.

I mouthed a few more phrases at her, just for kicks. They included:

• "Your shorts are tacky."
• "You have spinach in your teeth."
• "Flip is making eyes at you."
• "If you reach one more time for my glass of water, you'll be wearing it."

She threw me a blank stare. "Well are they any good?" She moved on. And then she gave me what was supposed to be her seductive eyes. Her bedroom eyes. She was doing her best come-and-get-me face. And had I remembered to bring a mirror in my purse, her reflection would have reached out, slapped the skin off her skull, and reminded her that by minding my own business, I had no intention of forgetting my heterosexuality for that—or any—night.

I turned back to my left, where J was waiting ever so patiently for my comments regarding my latest foray in 19th-century literature. Yes, I'm a nerd and I take that with me to the bar and on any other efforts I may make to be a normal 26-year-old.

A few minutes later, I felt a hand graze my right thigh upper thigh hip. I snapped my head in that direction so quickly it set the world record for time taken to acquire whiplash. An ugly man's head blocked my view. And it was talking to me, as though we'd been in conversation for hours. As though it knew me. As though we arrived at the bar together, were great pals, and would be leaving together.

"Do you like to dance?" Drunk Dude asked. I recognized him as Drunk Lady's male companion.

I opened my mouth to answer, but he cut me off. "You look like you do." His hand grazed my hip again. I looked down at his hand, and then back up at him. His droopy eyelids were barely holding themselves open. His right arm was barely holding on to Drunk Lady's stool. I knew if I reached out, I could flick his forehead and send him pummeling to the ground. But then there were other victims and a beautifully-tiled floor and my disinterest in giving a statement to the police to consider. So I didn't.

Another hand graze brought me out of my trance. Drunk Lady was watching this interaction with great intensity. Reading lips really must be a difficult thing.

"Yeah, you look like you like to get jiggy with it," Drunk Dude was saying. And there it is, ladies. There is at least one adult male in this world who propositions girls with phrases including "get jiggy with it." Watch out; it's a crazy world out there.

"Uh, actually, no," I reply. While I always knew these thighs would come in handy one day, it was not to give signal that I like to get jiggy with it. Apparently he thought otherwise.

"What?"

"No."

"What?"

"I. SAID. NO. I won't dance with you."

"Oh, no?" he innocently responded. "Why not?"

"Because I'm in a conversation."

"What?"

"I'm talking to my friend."

"You're being boring?"

Are my words really that indecipherable? A lightbulb went off in my head. Yes I'll admit I'm boring if you leave me alone. He must know people who know me and my homebody habits.

"Yes, I'm being boring."

Drunk Lady was still staring. She gave up a while ago at following the conversation and was just fixated on me.

"OK, well, if you decide you want to quit being boring and get jiggy with me, you let me know." He was completely oblivious that he could be even slightly offensive. I knew I saw tact leave the building when he entered.

"OK."

"What?"

"I'll keep you posted."

"What?"

"Ohforthelove."

"What???"

"OKOKOK." And I turned back to J and our riveting conversation. Sometime later I heard Drunk Dude refer to me as Boring Chick. No one was listening to him. And no one even cared when he and his ladyfriend left the bar. But I did get enjoyment out of watching her parade through the crowd, giving her best Miss America pageant wave before tripping over her own feet and hugging the doorframe.

-----------------------------

*At this point in the program, I will interrupt for an all-seriousness news bulletin. This band that I have mentioned was my sole cause for having set foot in that bar. They are called Lake Street Dive, and they are good. Like, really good. Like, they're the bee's knees and the cat's meow and they should have a placeholder on every single one of your playlists.

Some things regarding Lake Street Dive:

• They are four people—Rachael, Bridget, Mike, and Mike.
• They met in college, at jazz school.
• They are geniuses, and can write lyrics like nobody's business.
• Rachael and I have been friends since high school. Meaning, we used to cut class together. Chinese food is that important. Seriously.
• Frequent their website. Like them on Facebook. Follow them on Twitter.

Parenthood: Where Candy Necklaces Are Acceptable Jewelry (And May We All Take That Cue)

Season 2, Episode 20: New Plan

Last night's episode of Parenthood had us all eavesdropping while the Bravermans search to find answers, plan Bs, and comfort within the current state of their lives. Adam and Kristina, still adjusting to Alex's presence in their daughter's life, face the possibility of Haddie having sex on prom night. Sarah finally learns of Amber's [this-has-to-be-a-mistake] omission from Berkeley's acceptance list, and Blount tells her to rewrite her play. By like, yesterday, thanks. Crosby buys a house in an effort to earn Jasmine's forgiveness. Julia focuses Sydney—and not on her new diagnosis.

And if we could just stop crying long enough to write this recap, we might actually have ourselves a snarky lovefest, right alongside the Bravermans. Woot.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

Zeek and Camille spent much of last night's episode house hopping, which, for the slow to catch on, is much like bar hopping. Only for the Bravermans, they toss around emotions instead of beer. (Sometimes. And sometimes they toss around both.) On prom night, Zeek and Camille stop by Adam's house to for prom-picture festivities. And amidst all of the frills and flowers, Zeek pulls a man-talk and reminds Adam that he needs to talk to Crosby. As if Adam isn't already aware that the family wants them to repair their bromance. Later, Zeek and Camille pop up at Joel and Julia's house, where they learn about Julia's inability to get pregnant. And even though we've been getting whiplash from the Braverman emotional rollercoaster, we can completely justify our sobs because Camille stepped in and gave Julia a mother's embrace and a shoulder to cry on when Julia has a breakdown in the kitchen.

Surprisingly, there were no tears to be had at the Adam Braverman household last night. Rather, their entire focus was prom, which included a few arguments over the after-prom activities. Haddie invites Alex to prom, making Adam upset because his entire memory of prom was taking the dress off his date. Like we're all shocked by that one, Oh Man With A One-Track Mind. Kristina, however, tries to assure him that everything will be OK if they just trust her. What a novel concept, and one that never seems to work with Haddie. In an effort to appease Adam, Kristina tries to discuss sex with Haddie while they are dress shopping. "Are you and Alex talking about sex?" she bluntly asks, making Haddie blatantly uncomfortable with the entire discussion. Haddie assures her they aren't at that point in their relationship, and then she runs for cover from the bomb of emotions her mother is about to launch.

On prom night, various family members gather at the Adam Braverman home to take obligatory prom pictures and give obligatory awkward vibes to the strange men who may or may not make moves on their daughters. Alex shows up looking fly in a tux. He brings Brandon, who is Amber's date. There's a meet-and-greet with all the parents, and then the girls descend from the heavens looking so capital A Amazing that they inspire instant regret of everything I ever wore in high school. Really, being a teenager wasn't this cool until Parenthood went on air. Not to be outdone where spotlights are concerned, Adam and Kristina spend some time hovering over Haddie, perhaps hoping their presence will remind her to keep her clothes on all night.

Haddie's prom experience lands her on the dance floor talking sex with Alex while shiny stars hang from the ceiling and teenagers supposedly imagine it's midnight in Paris. He reminds her that timing is everything and right now, their relationship is just where it needs to be. But then we see them making out in a conspicuous hallway. And she says, oh, nevermind, right now feels pretty good. And he unlocks a door, they go inside, and we assume they do the horizontal tango because that's what happens with teenagers who are alone in an apartment. Haddie barely makes it home before her curfew expires, her worried parents father finds relief, and Haddie gives us a little smile because we all know her latest secret.

Post prom-picture festivities, Sarah is on her way out the door when she turns to give Adam a piece of her sisterly mind: though Crosby made a mistake and Jasmine may never forgive him, they are his family and they don't have that option. Crosby is hurting, he needs them, and it's time for Adam to be present in his life again.

When Sarah's not giving the advice, she's taking a verbal beating from various members of the family and/or people she is barely acquainted with. Sarah stops by Julia's office to pick up some computer paper and learns a few things: (1.) Julia is unable to conceive, but says she's OK with it; and (2.) Amber didn't get in to Berkeley. Back at home, Sarah tries to discuss it with Amber, but Amber is too "vulnerable and upset and sensitive" too have that conversation. But Amber's candy necklace inspires us, so we nearly forget how Sarah is left standing dumbfounded in the kitchen, feeling as though it's her fault. Later in the week, Amber returns home early from Prom Experience 2011. (Amber has encountered the used-to-be-BFF Kelsey, who gets too focused on college and Amber flips out. Hence Amber's quick departure from the prom.) Amber is clearly very upset, and admits to her mother that she's been living her life for her mother, not for herself. There's a lot of one-sided yelling, and Amber reveals her intent to make her own decisions, whether Sarah approves or not. And so we watch Sarah shrink against a wall, being told that her daughter's unhappiness is her fault.

During all of this prom chaos, Sarah is trying so desperately to work on her play. Because Gilliam T. Blount is back and is as vocal as ever with his criticisms. He tries to convince Sarah to cut two scenes from her play, an idea that Sarah is less than pleased about because that means rewriting the entire Act Two. Blount's assignment, besides the rewrite, is to make room for some Sarah-time. She has an opportunity for a staged reading of her play at the Berkeley Theatre Company, so she is to put all her energies into the play. "Sarah," he says, "you have a gift, you really do. . . . For once in your life, let yourself come first." And we finally agree with something he says. If only he'd consider shutting up once in a while.

Also one to not take the shutting-up hint (and thank you Jesus for that) is Crosby, who tells his entire Jasmine-saga to a realtor, because he's making the not-so-wise decision to sell the houseboat and buy a house. For Crosby, buying a cute house equals forgiveness from Jasmine. Or at least the road towards it. Crosby visits Adam to apologize for the hundredth time and to get his opinion on the new house. Adam, still angry with Crosby, yells at him for his immaturity and pretty much throws him out of the house. Which is good, really, because that's a move we haven't seen yet this episode. Needing some assurance of his Jasby-repairing approach, Crosby convinces Sarah, Julia, and Joel to come look at his new purchase. He then sells the houseboat, and when the camera lingers on his face, we see how nervous he is that this plan may not work and he'll be homeless foreva and eva.

Fresh off the painful pregnancy news, Julia chooses the not coping part of coping. She's throwing all of her energy into building special moments with Sydney, which is starting to crowd Sydney bubble. We see this when Zeek and Camille arrive with Julia's old golf clubs. Julia intends to teach Sydney to play golf, and then it will be that thing they do. Sydney protests, saying she doesn't like golf, which sends Julia to the kitchen to regroup. Zeek and Camille notice something is wrong, and then Camille appears in the kitchen and comforts a sobbing Julia. Later that night, Joel and Julia lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. "For what it's worth," he says, "I've always wanted to play golf with you." And as she reaches for his hand, she loses her composure to another set of sobs. (And so do we.)

The Miscellaneous

Alex is back and present as ever. And while we love him, what we love more is how he wears that tux. The man is a god, and since we're living in Fictionland and are quite aware that the Bravermans have a life in between episodes, we thus begin our campaign to make Alex the fourteenth Ocean, because Danny O. is looking for more. Or so I've heard.

Evan Peters guest stars as Brandon, Amber's blind date slash prom date slash funny pal. See "I kinda want to wear this [corsage], but I think it's for you." and "Can I take your coat? What do I do with it now?" for examples.

While we really hoped Gilliam T. Blount was a one-episode appearance, we're still loving every moment he's on screen. Because, though a man with a missing professional decade in the recent past probably doesn't have the clout to make Sarah rewrite entire plays when he's more than likely not paying her a dime for this, he's still Richard Dreyfuss and we're still starstruck.

When Sarah, Julia, and Joel convene at Crosby's new crib, we really see how Crosby's effort to win Jasmine's heart may not succeed. The house is a dump; the idea is a dump. Even Crosby himself isn't looking all that great. The siblings take a gander around the house and rattle off a list of repairs and improvements it needs, none of which are as simple as "paint walls" and "replace light switch covers." "Do you think I can fix it?" he asks. The siblings stare blankly at him. "No," says Adam, who's sudden presence gives great potential to the Adam-Crosby relationship we all heart so much. "I think we can fix it." They hug, we all hug, and there are smiles through the rain once again.

MVP of the Night: Joel, for holding it together while his wife breaks down, over and over and over. She's miserable, she's making Sydney miserable, and he's the only one remembering to get dinner on the table. But that's OK, because he's the solid rock we all depend on.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Sarah, regarding the pile of formal dresses Amber has on her bed: "So what, are you going to cut one of these up? Give it a Pretty in Pink kind of treatment?" Amber's quick wit shows up: "You just dated your self," she says with her typical eye roll and heavy sigh.

Parenthood: Tears, Fears, and Amber Gets High Before Five

Season 2, Episode 19: Taking the Leap

Everybody who's anybody has acted on faith at least once or twice. (In my case, it was that day I had to retrace my whereabouts during a bank heist that may or may not have happened in Sleepytown. But that's not up for discussion right now.) The Braverman family is no different, which they prove to us time and time again, and last night's episode of Parenthood was no exception. Adam and Kristina must decide if Max is ready to face the challenges of a mainstream school. Amber's future is in limbo. Sarah is uncertain about her play's merit. Crosby hopes a trip down memory lane will incite forgiveness from Jasmine. And Julia's desire to get pregnant hits an unforeseen roadblock.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

Zeek got a hold of Sarah's play, made a few copies, and—because he's the fatherly figure that insists on taking care of his little girl—he called in his Army slash Broadway-producer friend Gilliam T. Blount to help Sarah with her play. Always jumping the gun, Zeek spends the Gilliam-and-Sarah conversations assuming G-money is producing her play, whereas Sarah is really only receiving his opinions. It's quite the hilarity, especially when Zeek wants to have a toast at the exact moment Blount tells Sarah that a key moment of the play "sucks on every level."

While on a walk, Kristina and Max stop by the Lessing's house where Kristina is greeted with a surprise: Gaby has been hired as Noel's behavioral aide. Kristina offers some damning words to Suze and Gaby, and storms off in a huff that leaves us all super annoyed with Kristina's (im)maturity.

Meanwhile, Adam and Kristina are called into Max's school, where they learn that Max is doing remarkably well in all areas—so well that Footpath would have to restructure a curriculum specifically for Max if he continues to attend there. Therefore, it's recommended that Max gets mainstreamed. For us laypeople, that means non-specialty schools. Like, public school. Like, he would encounter the weirdos that roam the planet (that's you and me). Adam and Kristina argue about the situation, an argument that is heightened when Adam calls Sycamore Charter to set up an appointment for Max without Kristina's agreement. However, Kristina receives some helpful advice when Gaby stops by the house. Though Kristina is initially put off by Gaby's presence, she eventually warms up, affording Gaby the opportunity to provide some comfort and apologize for the Crosby incident. After all of this, Kristina and Adam decide to risk their deposit at Footpath and put him in a new, mainstream school.

Also dealing with a school issue is Amber, who applied to Berkeley and one alternative, her safety school, and should hear back from either any day. During these pressure-filled days, Amber goes to work at Julia's law firm. Wowed by the office and the opportunity, Amber enjoys her days working as a runner for the firm, until she's found high, jamming to music in Julia's boss's car, and freaking out because she didn't get in to either college. Julia advises that Amber talk to her mom about it, but Amber is worried that Sarah will be mad.

But Sarah can't be mad. Because she's got her own confusion and disappointments to worry about when she receives mixed reviews from ol' Gilliam T. Blount regarding her play. He thinks the current state of the play is pretty much worthless, but that the direction it's headed slash the potential it has is genius. Sarah takes these criticisms constructively, but struggles to agree with Blount on its overall value.

The one bright star in the Bravermans' lives is Jabbar. He is selected as "Star of the Week" in his class, which gives Crosby and Jasmine an opportunity to bond over their son. They each separately help Jabbar work on his poster for class, and then band together as a family for the "Star of the Week" celebration at school. While talking about their family, the memories appear to soften Jasmine. So then we all love her and vote for her and wish we all had her amazing hair and clear complexion. Later, Jasmine stops by Crosby's boat and seems happy and positive. But really that's just her passive-aggressive tone. We hate that tone. It's a tone that says horrible things all while wearing a sweet, sweet smile. "I'm not ready to forgive you, Crosby, and I don't know if I ever will be," she says. And with that funky attitude, she tells Crosby she's moving on.

Disappointments also abound at the Graham household. Julia takes a pregnancy test, which turns out negative. She suggests that Joel and his sperm-fish may be the problem. Joel visits the doctor and finds out his fish swim just fine. Happyhappyjoyjoy! But. Julia also got tested, and her results aren't so wonderful. She's got a condition that makes it unlikely to ever get pregnant again. Feel free to hit pause here. You should have started the episode with the box of kleenxes. Duh.

The Miscellaneous

Mr. Holland! Richard Dreyfuss! guest stars on last night's episode. While we love him so much, his character is less than snuggly. As Gilliam T. Blount, we get annoyed at, flustered with, and defensive against this ass of a man who is giving Sarah a verbal beating. But, you know, he's Richard Dreyfuss, so we just stare starstruck at him, his pinky ring, and his shortness of stature and tact.

Gary (guest star Scott Michael Foster) is a valet at Julia's law firm. We all knew he was coming, and have been anticipating the storyline for Amber. But please, Gary, cut your hair. Or at least comb it before you show up to work next time. Thanks.

It's Adam and Kristina's decision to mainstream Max that reminds us that a life without leaps prohibits us from knowing the unknown. Sometimes a child needs new challenges. Sometimes the path to college needs a few hurdles. Sometimes a play needs to be read, forgiveness needs more time, or desires need miracles. But all of these moments—these happenings, these life-altering events—could never have been possibilities if leaps and bounds and tears and fears were never addressed.

MVP of the Night: Sarah, for enduring the forced attention on her play when she's not ready for it, and therefore handling her vulnerability with class.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Sarah sees her father coming out of the bathroom with some papers sticking out of the back of his pants. "What do you have in your pants, Dad?" she asks. And then Amber's quick wit kicks in: "What kind of question is that?" Go ahead, rewind to moment 2:52. You'll notice no one takes a beat, and the scene just moves right along. It's brilliant, and you're welcome.

Parenthood: Mae Whitman Charms Our Socks Off (Again)

There's not a new episode of Parenthood on tonight, which is so sad I might embark on a strike against Spring Break and ruin the lives of beach-going, bikini-clad teenagers everywhere. In their normal time slot, however, NBC is rerunning one of the best moments we've seen from the Braverman clan thus far: Amber overcomes her fears and shows us her song-writing talents and the Bravermans [mostly] all show their support.

For the Parenthood-obsessed, we all know that Mae Whitman is the one whose friendship you wish you'd grasped closely in high school and maintained throughout college and gratefully counted on when you could barely afford rent and food. She's the one you wish you could hang out with foreva because her voice and her humor and her older-than-her-age wisdom are the answers to every single mood of your existence. (And yes, I'm fully aware I'm saying all of this based on conjecture because no, I don't know Mae but yes, I'm pretty sure I'm still correct on this account.)

Back to the point. Tonight is a second chance for you, my readers. Should you dare to have missed Parenthood's "Meet the New Boss" when it first aired in January, you get to watch it tonight. And you will love it. Because you will laugh. And cry. And giggle. And yell at one or more of the Bravermans. And become an emotional trainwreck, beginning at minute 39:15, when Amber questions her ability to take the stage and take a leap and Momma Sarah saves her courage and the day.

Also, for a little more Mae Whitman love, this gal is killer-hilarious. As in, her hashtags will kick your hashtags' butts to the curb and back. Examples? Um, OK, duh. Here are a few of her latest and greatest:

#nowimcranky

#itscoldandgreyincaliforniaandimgoingtoamuseum

#im47stuckina22yearoldsbody

#imtooscaredtomakefriends

#dontworryimjustnaturallysuspicious

For more of Her Funnyness, follow Mae on Twitter. And watch Parenthood, Tuesday nights at 10/9 central on NBC.

Internet Vacations (And Then Some)

Um, hi. It's been a while. Like a month, and then some. I'd love to tell you I was surfing in Hawaii or learning to cook Moroccan food from Moroccan geniuses in Moroccan lands, but neither of those are remotely close to accurate. Alas, I took an vacation from most Internet things so I could focus on work. And then more work. And now, what I've gathered from the e-mails and texts and comments I've received lately, my return from absentia is long overdue.

So, consider this, my lovely readers who I hope are still reading, my return.

In my weeks away, a few things happened, the details of which aren't as important as the lessons learned. And those are:

• When a girl is wearing an uncomfortable face while sweating a few drops on a treadmill, don't interrupt her workout to tell her that whatever she's doing at the gym is working, so keep doing it. It's not cool, and it's gives everyone in a 20-foot vicinity the opportunity to spend the remainder of their workout staring and whispering.
• When a car needs an oil change, get it done. Otherwise you'll spend weeks telling everyone that the funny noises it's making are sound FX rehearsals for an upcoming techno tour in the Northwest.
• Encountering a deer (or 5) walking down the middle of the road isn't an invitation to continue driving. Rather, it is an invitation to stop what you're doing, don't make eye contact, and wait for the herd to pass.
• When a dog is pouncing on you in an effort to wake you up at 5:00, get up. Ignoring him will only deliver diarrhea on your bedroom carpet.

That's all for the life lessons learned during the past few weeks.

How have you all been?

Parenthood: In Which Vulnerability Is Its Own Character

Season 2, Episode 18: Qualities and Difficulties

There's an element to cheating that raises a thrill. Stacking the deck, pocketing cash from the tip jar, and relying on chemicals to improve a person's performance all alter the outcome of a specific situation—and give a cheater a boost of excitement at his or her efforts to get ahead on the sly. But that's exactly where the thrill ends. With cheating, someone always loses. The other gamblers, the coworkers who need those tips for rent, and the athletes relying on their own strengths to win the race not only lose to a cheater's maneuvers, they lose to a lie that cheating is an action one can take without paying for it. The cheater's high will eventually settle, and when the dust clears, there are truths to clarify, hearts to mend, and regrets to live with.

When it comes to cheating in relationships, the results are no different. There are no winners. The lies that are spun make the situation no better than if the truth were told. The individuals involved are succumbed to a vulnerability that is suddenly void of the protection, security, and love once felt before the cheating occurred. But, if there's anything Parenthood has taught us about cheating, it's that there's an entire family to give you sense when your brain fails miserably, or to stand behind you when you can no longer hold yourself up.

And it is here that we find Crosby, hoping desperately to find forgiveness, repair damaged relationships, and restore faith in himself and in his family.

Let's recap, shall we?

The Family

As much of an ass that Zeek can be, especially with his tough-love attitude towards Max, I have to agree with him: blood is indeed thicker than water, which is why the united relationship that Zeek and Camille have now is the support system this family needs right now.

Adam and Kristina are faced with explaining Asperger's to Max. I can't even imagine how to do this. It's worse than the sex talk. It's worse than the death talk. Syndrome's aren't tangible, especially to someone who is smarter than the average person and yet can't put an image to this concept and understand what it means. When Max runs upstairs after their first talk, one can only wonder if this reaction means he's relating his syndrome to a fatal illness. But, the triumphant moment that Adam and Kristina have when they tell Max how great he really is is what makes parenthood a worthwhile concept: there's a heart and soul in that boy, and he deserves love like anyone else.

Sarah operating on no sleep is hi-freaking-larious. That being giggled at, it's a refreshing take to see her writing. She's doing something she's excited about, that she's good at, and that exposes her emotions and thoughts in a creative measure. And even though she was a nervous wreck when Mark caught her kneeling at his door, Sarah's taking leaps and meeting challenges and discovering a reason to get up in the morning.

Two weeks ago, Crosby had drinks with Gaby. Later we see him apologize to her for being too forward. Yet, he and Gaby spend the after-party doing the horizontal tango. If we pause for a moment, we would realize how confusing this is to Gaby and to himself. You either are or aren't that kind of person. You can't play fickle with which parts to act on. Even in an emotional moment, there are choices to make, and throwing cross fire at yourself doesn't help those choices.

But that's as far as I go with the words against him. Because yes, he was stupid for sleeping with Gaby, but let's think about this: mistakes happen. And before you throw stones at me for seemingly belittling his one-night stand, think about the situation. What good is it doing to not talk about it? What good will come for Jasmine when she wakes up months later and all she has are wonderings as to why things happened the way they did? No, I'm not suggesting that Crosby's infidelity be forgotten. What I am suggesting, however, is that ignoring him is only going to rip the family apart and create even more of a hostile environment for Jabbar.

Not to be left out of the drama, the Crosby-Jasmine break up has put Julia and Joel in an awkward situation. Having to decide the monumentality of a sleepover isn't an understatement. But here's where I get stuck: if Jasmine is so against Crosby and his being in her life, why would she encourage socialization with his family? It seems contradictory to her actions of throwing him out of the house. That being noted, should Jasmine be considered family, even through all this? I'm a little shocked at it all, given her history with: 1.) not telling Crosby for 5 years that he has a son, and 2.) pulling Jabbar away from the family for the New York period. It's not like she has a track record of allowing Jabbar to know his family all these years. So yes, even though Crosby cheated, I'd say Jasmine needs to take a beat before she continues acting as though his family is her family and she has a right to give them her side. But, drama aside, quite possibly the best outcome so far of this awful situation is Joel telling Julia that he will never cheat on her. Sometimes, even if everything is momentarily perfect, a partner just needs to hear that cheating will never be an option.

The Miscellaneous

Finally, Mark Cyr Jason Ritter Mark Cyr is back. He's so charming it makes him beautiful. He's so charming it makes me lust after him. Because he plays a nerd and probably is a nerd and he makes Sarah weak in the knees and their banter is one of the things that makes her eyes sparkle.

Dr. Pelickan is a pretentious little man. I mean, seriously. His responses to Adam and Kristina when he hears details of their conversation with Max are a little on the cocky side. Duh, Dr. P., we all know you would have done it better. Because you are better. You have practice. Get off your high horse. Or maybe I just heart Adam too much to disagree with him.

The moment that Sarah realizes she's actually worth something is a moment we all covet. At some point or another, we all need someone credible—someone meaningful to us—to tell us that our existence on this big blue marble has merit. Sometimes that realization hits us at age 6 when our gymnast talents move us from the Y to a competition gym. Or at age 12, when we test in higher math levels and our paths are directed to a career in engineering. And sometimes, that realization happens at age almost-40, when being a bartender is fine, but not enough to settle the soul and make life livable.

MVP of the Night: Zeek, for being the only one with enough brains to give Crosby the hug that he needs.

Funnypants Line of the Night: "I get a little freaked out in the daytime." Mark scares Sarah when he approaches her house. He calls her the cat burglar, reminding them both of her stalking his door at an earlier moment, to which she exclaims that "the cat burglar worked during the day; that's not scary," Mark's only retort is an admittance of fear of all things sun and shine. Ha.

Happy Weekend!

My lovelies, what are you doing this weekend? I have no plans, and that's my favorite kind of weekend. Anything could happen, which includes the possibility of meeting Mr. Man, telling strangers how much they annoy me, or stewing in my filthy pajamas for three days straight. Like I said, it's the best kind of weekend to have.

But before I sign off till Monday, here are the week's posts:

• I have a history with the Valentine's Day concept. You don't want to miss this chronological exposition.
• Spiders have been added to my black list. I have good reason for this.
• Gnomeo & Juliet is finally out in theaters! Here's a clip and my top reason for seeing the film.

Any big plans for you over the weekend?

(Image found here.)

Gnomeo & Juliet!

OMG, guys and gals, OMG.

This week I went to see the new animated film, Gnomeo & Juliet. I frickin' loved this movie. Funny, charming, adorable, perfect. So so perfect.

Here, a clip for your enjoyment:

And if the romantic frog wasn't enough to convince you to go see it, you should know that darling Gnomeo is voiced by James McAvoy. You're welcome.

The Resurrection

It's only natural that, by living in the mountains, we would make friends with critters. What is not natural, however, is when those critters invade the house.

About once a week, I find some member of the spider species crawling up the bathroom wall. Or descending from the ceiling above my seat on the john. Or hovering too close for comfort near my toothbrush.

Today's criminal was found on the ceiling in the shower, no doubt plotting my demise while my precious head was receiving a relaxing shampoo. Will--the cousin to whom I trust my life when it comes to eight-legged creatures--stepped in with Kleenexes and sent that spider to its trash can grave.

But then.

I bent down to grab the towel that I had dropped in my moment of panic and fear for my life. I glanced at the wad of tissue in the garbage, giving a moment's thought to a eulogy for the freshly deceased.

And then.

That spider came crawling out of the mound of tissue and began to climb back to its post in the shower, all limbs intact and not a hair out of place.

What the heck.

I thought Jesus was the only one with self-resurrecting capabilities.

Parenthood: Don't Blow the Ingredients (And Other Advice)

Season 2, Episode 16: Amazing Andy and His Wonderful World of Bugs

Raise your hand if you predicted Crosby's indiscretion like a chef predicts a dinner menu. Raise your hand if it still stopped your heart and sent your jaw dropping to the floor. Hurdles in a relationship are no new concept, and when they unfold before our eyes, we can only pick a side and hope our little souls on our couches across America will magically change the course of action in our favorite TV family. Even when that doesn't work, we cry and yell and hurt right alongside Crosby and Jasmine, waiting rather impatiently for their emotions to calm and their voices to simmer and their relationship to right itself again. But we'll just say it out loud now: Crosby is far from fixing The Great Demise of Jasby, which is obvious given the mistakes made in last night's episode. (See the nonconsecutively numbered moments throughout the recap for full disclosure on how he tossed their relationship down the drain.) Good thing there are a million other Bravermans to keep us occupied until peace comes to that struggling little home.

Let's recap, shall we? (And for the OCD-prone, this one is packed with goodies: bulleted lists! numbered lists! heightened use of the em dash! oh joy!)

The Family

In a gesture to welcome the now-very-present, refuses-to-admit-his-age-and-adulthood Seth, Zeek tries a polite conversation—which ends in an angry throwdown of words and Seth's body. Drew sees this violent move at the end, and thus continues Zeek's struggle to be the protective-yet-hands-off patriarch of the Braverman tribe.

With a similar outburst, Max struggles to adapt to Gaby's new behavior rules. Pencils are broken. Books are thrown. Buckets of crayons hit the floor. And words are painfully hurled at Gaby for her methods. Luckily for her and the scandal we all see coming, Crosby enters the kitchen (it's laundry day; he somehow amassed a few loads while staying on the boat) during Max's tantrum and gives her a few comforting words and one ironically seductive gaze (demising moment 1).

On a happier note, the Adam Braverman household is focused on one thing: Max's birthday party. Kristina spends much of the episode stressing about the party details, which are even more involved because of the gluten-free police who plague her with phone calls. Most of the family is recruited to prep for the birthday bash, giving Crosby and Gaby a bonding opportunity (demising moment 3). Threatening the perfection of their partying ways is Amazing Andy (guest star Michael Emerson), the bug guy who is hired not hired hired to perform a bug exhibition for the kiddos. Though there is one hiccup—which is remedied by Gaby, the behavior whisperer (demising moment 4)—Andy, with his Asperger's and plush-cricket-giving ways, manages to wow the crowd and the family, and give a bit of hope to the Bravermans that Max could actually have a wonderful future.

While helping Kristina taste-test the gluten-free cupcakes for the party, Sarah receives a surprising phone call: Drew is in trouble, and has been promptly positioned in the principal's office for punishment. When Sarah arrives at the high school, Seth is present and waiting to be his half of the parental unit, a concept that makes Sarah visibly uncomfortable. Over the next few minutes, Sarah learns a few things:

• Drew got in a fight with a bully
• Seth taught Drew to fight back
• Seth thinks fighting back is the best form of defense
• Drew prefers Seth's parenting approach over Sarah's

Drew goes home with his favorite parent; Sarah goes home with continued worries that Seth just doesn't understand being a father.

Also struggling to be on the same page, Crosby and Jasmine still haven't made up. He calls; they argue. He shows up; she's cold and unfeeling and they can't agree. She needs time; he now needs a place to sleep. Their situation worsens when Jasmine decides that Jabbar can't go to Max's birthday party—she reasons that Jabbar needs to visit his faraway aunt, when really she just doesn't want to face Crosby and the other Bravermans. All of these emotions are confusing for Crosby, who leans on Gaby for comfort and discernment. They have drinks at a bar (demising moment 2), during which I gripped the edge of my couch cushion in anticipation that someone—Jasmine's brother Sekou, perhaps?—was going to enter the bar just as Crosby and Gaby engaged in an awkward and chemistry-filled embrace (demising moment 2.5). It is this conversation at the bar, plus the other noted moments, that lead us to expect Crosby and Gaby's banter-filled attraction to culminate in their having S-E-X (demising moment 5).

Another couple with sex on the mind is Julia and Joel, who are trying to conceive a second child. Desperate to make pregnancy a reality, Julia places a hold on their bedtime activities until her body is screaming now is the moment to make this happen. When they can finally act on the tension that has been building for two days, Julia and Joel choose the master bathroom in Adam's house during Max's birthday party for the big moment. This is all really of very little consequence except that Kristina walks in on them (hilarious) and instead of freaking out, she offers them the bed (I. Died.).

The Miscellaneous

Fresh off a hostile high from his altercation with Zeek, Seth takes Drew to the batting cages, where he uses a bat to threaten the lives of boys who are being brats. Rather than being shocked at this outburst, Drew thinks Seth is perfect and wonderful and knows what he's doing and is embracing his role as father superbly. And we all agonize over this mistake, knowing Seth's presence in Berkeley will only end horribly.

At the end of last night's trip through Parentdise, Seth and Sarah have a small exchange on the steps of her abode, during which Seth: (1.) shows an appreciation for her parenting skills, (2.) discovers his son might actually need him, and (3.) reminds Sarah of her talent at song-writing. It is in this moment that Sarah realizes she has merit in more ways than as a mother, and she shouldn't ignore that. But isn't that how it is for all of us? It's so easy to get caught up in the given roles we play as parents, children, or siblings—and to forget that our value also comes from our individuality, a concept we too often misplace.

MVP of the Night: Sarah, for taking The Seth Saga one day at a time and being patient with Drew's need to be around his father.

Funnypants Line of the Night: Julia and Joel offer to make bug-shaped cookies for Max's birthday party. "Why can't we just buy bug-shaped cookies from somewhere?" Adam wants to know. Kristina replies, "Think about that sentence." It's true; no one makes bug-shaped cookies because that's a disgusting concept that should be abolished along with eating escargot and muffin-top revealing clothes.

An EB Valentine History

Today is Valentine's Day. And unless you've been living under a rock, having only resurfaced to read this post and have therefore lost all sense of time, reality, and self, this is no news to you.

To celebrate this holiday, I'm doing a few things: (1.) buying myself a dinner of Chipotle burritos while I whine dine with other singles, (2.) browsing my true loves on the shelves at Borders, (3.) relishing the emptiness of the bookstore because no one takes a date to Borders on Valentine's Day, and (4.) paying for my own Valentine's present because no one knows me better than me because that's what strong, independent, single women do because I want one.

Are you OK being single? you may ask. Actually, yes. I could tell you things like "I'm happy being single" and "I'm taking time for myself right now" and "I don't have time to date right now." And all of these things are true, but my purpose in pointing out my singledom is to tell you just how much my future Valentine has to live up to. Because it's a lot. To exemplify this statement, let me present you with some chronological evidence:

First Grade, Age 7:

This is the first year I remember making Valentine's for my classmates. We each decorated a shoebox to put on our desks for the day. I'm sure mine was coated in black spray paint, which no doubt made me high as a kite while decorating. A tradition foreign to no one, each classmate was to bring a valentine card or treat or whatnot for each of his or her peers. I probably wanted something cool or nerdy like Tiny Toon Adventures valentines; Mom probably made me use a box of Hello Kitty love notes she found at Sanrio. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the theme of the valentines; I was too focused on what I wanted to write to my peers who, frankly, annoyed the heck out of me and deserved no statements as to my faux affections for them. I followed the rules and provided something to put in each student's box; Mom followed the rules and made me write nice things on the cards. I remember Alice (I think that was her name, anyway) snubbing her nose at me when I dropped her card in her box. There were pink hearts perfectly lined across the sides of her box, which matched the pink hearts perfectly printed on her dress, which matched the pink letters she perfectly formed on every single thing she wrote. I hated her; she hated me. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't because I spearheaded my own campaign for thieving pencil grips and erasers from Mrs. Dillpickle's Mrs. Dillman's supply bucket. But who knows, and who cares.

Second Grade, Age 8:

This is the year I had my first boyfriend. His name was Chris, and he was shorter, skinnier, and overall smaller than I was. Thank goodness my only concept of self-esteem was wrapped nicely around my brain and the knowledge that I was smarter than most people between ages 10 and 15. That sounds like I was cocky. I wasn't; I was just confident that I read more than the average anyone. I'm pretty sure Chris and I had a short-lived relationship, and that it didn't happen anywhere near Valentine's Day. We wouldn't admit we were a couple; we just sat against the wall during story time and held hands behind our backs. He frequently wore his hot dog condiments on his shirts; I frequently held my breath around him out of my hatred of mustard. Our relationship was so romantic, especially when I got bored one day waiting in line for lunch and kicked him in the crotch. When interrogated by our teacher, I completely denied having done it and continued with my crime-free record, even though our entire class saw the event happen in real time and no doubt had a play-by-play reeling in their minds for days. Some of the guys even passed me in the halls holding their crotches for protection.

Eighth-Eleventh Grades, Ages 14-17:

These are the years I spent harboring a major crush on my best friend, a guy named S. We didn't go to the same school, so we spent hours on the phone each night talking about our amazing and dramatic lives. Really, I just pretended to listen to him drone on and on about C, the girl he was in love with, while secretly plotting her demise and my rise to pageant queen beauty and the top of his affections. My dreams finally came true during our junior year. It was like a scene out of My Best Friend's Wedding, but before the real ending happens and Julia Roberts says goodbye to her BFF and his new bride. Our relationship blossomed, but it all began after Valentine's Day and therefore S missed his chance to tell me how perfect I am and how much he equates his love for me with a bouquet of roses and a box of really bad heart-shaped sugar.

Twelfth Grade, Age 18:

I began this final year of high school still dating S. But it wasn't going well. We ended things in November, but spent the remainder of the school year trying to define this new stage of our relationship. In the meantime, I had moved on to another boy, L. This new relationship actually happened near the holiday of love, but not near enough for us to acknowledge that our affections for each other required spending money on each other. That, and we were keeping our relationship completely off the books, out of fear that L's ex-girlfriend would find out and burn us at the stake. Prom season came around, and this new relationship fizzled. L left me to reunite with his ex, and I called S for an emergency prom date. He agreed to come with, but then broke that promise two weeks before prom. I was devastated; my dress was too.

College, Ages 18-22:

I spent my college years having an on- and off-again relationship with one guy, R. Conveniently, our off periods fell on Valentine's Day, so we didn't celebrate the holiday. Instead I spent those holidays hoping I'd open my school mailbox and be pummeled by cards and gifts all screaming of his affections for me. But usually, I had one or two pity cards from friends, and once I received a belated care package from my mother. My luck in this blasted love department changed in my senior year. R and I were giving our relationship yet another go-around, and this time, Valentine's Day was happening and being acknowledged. We talked about going out to eat, so when he said he'd make the reservations, I assumed he would have the night planned out and ready. The morning of the big day, I woke with a smile on my face. I was going to have my first valentine. Turns out, R didn't make reservations. He forgot about our conversation. He wasn't planning on doing anything. My reaction to this new revelation wasn't a happy reaction, which royally pissed him off. He nearly broke up with me. Somehow the relationship and the holiday were salvaged and dinner was back on--at R's parents' house. R and his roommate decided to cook dinner for their girlfriends, which meant I was sharing my very first Valentine's Day experience with someone I didn't really know and really didn't care to know. The menu was fettuccine alfredo, with some frozen chicken they threw in for kicks. I think we had peas for a side dish. Miraculously, they knew to thaw and reheat the previously-grilled-by-the-manufacturer chicken. Also miraculously, I came away from that night having rolled my eyes at the roommate's girlfriend only seven times, rather than my usual 20.

Post-College, Ages 22-Present:

It's kind of sad to say, but there have been no romantic happenings in these recent years. In fact, the only action I've seen is a make out session here or there with a few serial make out artists, most of whom did not give me the slightest desire to write them love notes of any kind.

So, to conclude this lengthy list of evidentiary facts presented to you for your information, there is a lot to be lived up to by the future Mr. EB. You, sir, must: (1.) be breathing, (2.) have a backbone, (3.) share my requirement of using napkins when eating, and (4.) actually stick around for Valentine's Day.

Hope you have a happy Valentine's Day!