Ahh, James Dean

While in Allentown I was at my old stomping ground, the South Mall, looking for an Eagles jersey for my mom when I paused at a calendar kiosk set up outside the sporting goods store. I browsed for a bit. Truth be told, I have a strange fascination with calendars and for a moment, I thought about getting another French phrase-a-day calendar. Sure, I didn’t resolve to learn French this year, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still practice.

Somehow I found myself in the heartthrob section, staring down at a black and white picture of James Dean.

Big sigh. James Dean.

I smiled, remembering how every year for Christmas my father would get me a James Dean Calendar. I turned it over to look at the back, at all the pictures I have seen a dozen or so times before.

I bent down to return the calendar to the rack when I noticed in the rack above my former beloved were calendars featuring none other than Edward and Jacob.

My initial reaction was one of disgust until I remembered the calender I was just swooning over.

Then I remembered that I own all three of James Dean’s movies on VHS and obsessively watched them as a teenager.

I remembered how I saved my paper route money to buy the limited edition James Dean watch that I loved so much (and still have somewhere).

I then shook my head. It was different. I didn't have t-shirts with his face silk screened on it. I didn't have a blog talking about how much my life is like one of his movies. Also, James Dean was dead, so I couldn’t follow him around Comic-Con screaming his name and swooning when he looked my way which is when it hit me. Oh my god, James Dean is dead.

He’s dead.

Just like Edward.

A while back I was at a happy hour with former co-workers, including an ol’ favorite of mine that we will rename here Brad. Brad and I get to talking about Twilight. He mentioned that he read an interview with Anne Rice and some other given vampire expert (or an expert on teenage girls) about why the sudden vampire craze. According to Brad, Anne said something about women are drawn to vampires because they represent exactly what women are looking for in a man, an older, more experienced man, in a body that will never get fat and go bald. Young women in particular are drawn to Edward’s character because he's wise and mature, from another time when men were respectful of women. So unlike the immature guys that are in their homerooms and classrooms and hallways.

And just like Edward (and Jacob) James Dean will never grow old or ugly. Just like Edward, James Dean was from another era. He seemed old and wise beyond his years, but more importantly, my years. He wasn’t like the guys in my high school. He was deep and sensitive and brooding and well dressed and I just knew he would understand all my angst. I mean, once we sorted through all of his.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. And I get it. Sort of.

Shoes Make The Woman, Or At Least The Outfit

It’s been said that a suit makes the man.

Well, I wonder if shoes make the woman.

They sure do make this woman.

I was stuck in Allentown these past couple of days. It was only suppose to be a short trip; a long weekend really. But then I learned that my mom had a doctor’s appointment and so she might not be able pick me up at the bus station on time on Thursday. For those of you that have never been to the Allentown bus station, believe me, it isn’t the sort of place you want to be hanging around.

So, I moved my arrival date up to Wednesday. Then, once I was home, my mom and dad talked me into staying until Monday, then Tuesday and then Wednesday.

But originally I had planned on being home Saturday night. Which is why I only had two pairs of sneakers with me; one for running, one for running errands. Once it was decided I would be staying, I planned on stopping by my place before the baby shower I had to attend and picking up my pony-hair flats to wear there. After, I figured, I would also pick up my red patent leather heels, and maybe my black booties as well as my UGGs, you know, just in case.

Then I got to my place on Saturday and realized I left my house keys in my other bag. I had been a blonde again for less than two hours and I had already reverted to airhead.

Long story short. I have been without cute shoes for almost a week.

Last night, I was getting ready to meet up with an old friend for drinks. I put on my jeans and a gray sweater which is a bit of a uniform for me when I want to look cute without looking over-done. But last night I felt fat. I did my hair, wondering if my ugly feeling had something to do with getting used to being a blonde again. I stared at myself for a few minute and decided I definitely liked my hair. I put on my make-up and decided I looked cute enough, but still felt gross.

Then I sat on my old bed and reached for my black running errands sneakers when it hit me, it is these goddamn, not cute at all sneakers that are leaving me feeling less than put together.

I decided that if your hair is the icing on the cupcake than shoes are the happy ending at the bottom of a Friendly’s happy ending sundae.

And really, what is better than finding those last couple of Reese’s Pieces after you have almost finished all your ice cream?

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of The Year

I love making resolutions.

Now, those of you that have not been with me since my Devil days, you won’t know that every year I promise to learn French and how to play tennis. I have been making this same resolution since I was 13 years old.

Now, my Aunt Zelda, who is so old she took Moses to the prom, was left a long time ago by her no-good husband for a younger, uglier bartender. Aunt Z moved into a townhouse, got some work done and made herself a bucket list (obviously this was way before the movie ever came out and actually some speculate the movie was inspired by my Aunt Z). Because my Aunt Z is fabulous her list contained really spectacular things like taking an African safari and volunteering in a refugee camp.

She is down to the last item on her list, learn to ski, which she refuses to do because she fears that once she has, her next chairlift ride will be to the hereafter. And now that the old girl has gone blind, it seems she will never learn to ski and will outlive us all.

My point? Well, my reasons for not learning French or how to play tennis are not nearly so interesting. It’s mostly because I am too lazy and have no one to practice either skill with. The Republican offered to teach me tennis, but I think he was just trying to get in my pants (or up my skirt as the case may be) and like so many things with the Republican, it never came to be.

So this year I am resolving to do things I can actually accomplish and that will make me a better, more interesting person. I am also choosing things that I can do every day as opposed to something I can put off until the weather is warmer.

What are these resolutions, you ask? Well, since they aren’t really private and I think it will help me keep them the more people know them, I will tell you. In no particular order they are: take more risks, care less about what others thing of me and take better care of myself.

Oh, and of course, finish the novel.

Sadly, it is already January 4 and I haven’t managed to keep a single one of these resolutions; which may be a new record for me. Honestly, by the first day of the new decade I had failed on the second and third. As for taking risks, on Two Street, I did call out to Hot Bartender and he did stop and chat, but that is where that ended. And really it wasn’t much of a risk as it was more an instinct to say hello to someone I knew than a conscious choice to take a chance on that guy I have been chasing most of the last decade.

Still, I will persevere and try to implement at least one of these resolutions by the end of this week. If not, by the end of the month for sure.

A Proud American Ice Princess

While not a super power, an icy demeanor does have its perks

Salty was making sauce the other day and invited me over for some. Bored and missing human contact after a Saturday spent cleaning my apartment, I braved the sub-zero wind chill and trekked to her place.

During a commercial break from the Jersey Shore, Salty casually asked how it was for me to see DB on Friday.

Did I mention DB is best friends with Salty’s husband?

I had been at her place for at least an hour (possibly more) and I feel like we had both been circling this question. Then again, maybe it was just me. After all, I have been extra sensitive about this topic the last couple of days.

So when Salty casually asked this question, I shrugged my shoulders and said fine. It’s not that I don’t trust Salty. I do. I just hate putting my friends in awkward situations. And talking trash, even a little trash, about her husband’s best friend seems to me like a hard place to be.

She smiled and launched into a story about when she asked him the same question. Please note to fully appreciate this story, you would have to know Salty. Still, I will do my best to impersonate her rapid style story telling.

“It was funny, we were all sitting on your couch. I can’t remember who was sitting with us, but I was here (Salty indicated the corner seat) and DB was behind me, and someone was sitting right next to me and I turned to DB and asked how he was holding up and he said fine. He said that he didn’t think you minded him being there and I said that if you did he would be the last to know. He said he was sure you would tell him if you wanted him out and I said that sure you had strong opinions and you would have no problem telling him to get out of your place, but that you would never let it show that it bothered you that he was there. I told him he could dance on your table and you would act like you didn’t even notice.”

I smiled at her and said, “You know me so well.” Salty has known me for a long, long time.

She just laughed.

And I relaxed knowing that while I felt like every conflict was showing on my face (or in my shaking hands), in fact I appeared like a cool, gracious hostess.

I believe even Martha Stewart herself would be proud.

Big Moments in Break-ups

There are some really great moments in a break-up. For instance, when you are sitting at a friend’s holiday party and you learn that your ex-boyfriend has recently been wearing Crocs.

Then there are some not so wonderful moments in a break-up. Like when you are standing in the kitchen of your own holiday party and that same ex asks you, “So what happened to your job?”

Let me explain.

Every year I host a Mummer’s Day party and while it isn't the social event of the year, I do get a pretty decent turnout. Amongst the revelers are a number of DB’s friends, which would have left him without anyone to strut with on New Year’s Day and so this year he decided to tag along.

So you know, he wasn't so callous as to show up without warning me he was coming. New Year’s Eve, Salty’s husband (my part-time husband as Salty lets me borrow him when I need something heavy moved or a ride to a big box store) dropped off a couple of cases of beer and as he put the beer in my backyard he joked that DB might come join them the next day. I shrugged and said that would be fine. See, I thought this was a joke PTH and I had. In the last year and a half, there would be occasions when DB was invited somewhere, but he wouldn’t show. Presumably because I was there. PTH would tease me about it and I would give it right back to him.

But as he was leaving, PTH brought it up again and again I shrugged it off. Then he turned and said, “Is any of your family coming tomorrow?”

Suddenly I knew he wasn’t joking. See, I’m tough, but I’m nothing when compared to the rest of my family. Daddy was a marine, mommy was raised in a bar, Lana lulls you into a false sense of security with her high voice and big doe eyes before she whispers something sweetly into your ear that makes you cry and Ivan, well Ivan is a just a big kid with killer wit and sometimes a gun hidden on his person. My only weapons are my keen intellect and my icy demeanor.

The next day, when he did in fact turn up, I got to play gracious hostess, while I struggled to hide the fact that I was shaking from my internal struggle. I know he is a douche bag, and showing up at my party really only confirmed this for me and my friends, but he is still a guy I really liked. He is still the guy that I shared a lot of great moments with. A guy that I was probably the most intimate with. And while he turned out to be a jerk, his physical appearance didn’t change -- he didn’t look like a jerk. He still looked like the guy whose body I used to like to lie against while we sat on my couch watching a movie.

And it didn’t help that it was New Year’s Day when a person is already extra introspective about. I suppose I could have used this opportunity to reflect on my life but instead I chose to ignore my feelings and drink until I stopped shaking.

Which is how I found myself in my kitchen with my ex pretending everything was perfectly normal. Sometimes self-reflection is best done the next day, sober, in front of a computer.

Maybe the Grass Isn’t Greener

I have always thought lesbians were the smartest women because they didn’t have to deal with man’s bullshit.

Well, I think I have changed my mind.

The other day I was walking to the Field House to meet Pepper and the Duchess for the Eagles’ game. Along the way I came up on a young woman that looked as if she was walking home from the gym. Her phone rang and she answered it. We were keeping about the same pace so I got to eavesdrop on a good bit of her conversation.

After all there are few things in this world I enjoy more than eavesdropping on strangers’ conversations.

So, from what I gathered, this woman was talking to a friend and this friend had asked her about her ex-girlfriend. Things are not so great with the ex. It seems whenever this girl starts to get serious about another, her ex miraculously shows up to mess with her head and heart. Once she just called her, out of the blue, when she was getting ready to go out on a date. Another time, she showed up at a bar, where my fellow side walker was waiting to meet someone new. She didn’t know how ex knew where to show up or if it was all just a coincidence but she really needed to do something about it because she just couldn’t handle any more of the heartache or the drama.

I shook my head as I passed the poor, young thing.

We all know how crazy girls can get. Hell, I bet we all know some just plain ol’ crazy girls. Crazy girls are attracted to me like moths to a flame, but fortunately Bridie is like a big bug zapper when it comes to crazy. Not only can she smell them as soon as she walks into a room, once she drops the therapist card, they run away faster than Victoria Secret’s models from carbs.

Still, even with Bridie at my side, I know a couple of really crazy girls. And as ridiculous and unfathomable as guys can be at times, I don’t know any that would send their guy friends over to an ex’s house to urinate and defecate on her stoop.

And for the record, that wasn’t something I overhead the lesbian complain about to her friend. That is something one of my crazy friends did when her boyfriend dumped her.

A Republican By Osmosis

I think my parents have a secret plot to convert me into a Republican.

Or at least a Fox News watcher.

I was home for a few weeks while I finished my grad school applications and my little brother Ivan visited. While there are a lot of lovely things to say about Allentown, one thing I don’t like is how quiet it can get at my parent’s home. As you know, I live on Broad Street and so I am used to the background hum of traffic and ambulances and the occasional drunken screaming match to lull me to sleep.

In my old bedroom, however, all I can hear is the wind and the noises of wild nocturnal animals which I somehow don’t find relaxing or soothing or especially conducive to sleeping. So when I am home, I often fall asleep with the TV left on.

Well, the third or fourth morning I woke up and the TV was on the Fox News Network.

I know I didn’t go to bed watching that. In fact, I was pretty sure I went to bed watching an old episode of Law and Order and so how the TV magically switched to FNN is beyond my understanding. I surmised that maybe, MAYBE, at one time it was on FNN and in my sleep I hit the last button on the remote (that, yes, I fell asleep on top of) and that is how I ended up waking to Fox and Friends.

Though this seemed highly suspicious as I was pretty sure I was watching a movie before I switched on TNT, but nonetheless, I gave my parental units the benefit of the doubt.

That is until it happened again the next morning.

Seemingly, it would be even more likely that I accidentally switched back to this channel in my sleep as I obviously had recently watched it. But, I distinctly remembered the last channel I was watching before TNT the night before. It was one of the Showtimes. I remember because whatever movie I was watching was followed by some soft porn series and I was worried that one of my parents would come in to turn off my TV after I had fallen asleep and walk in on the porno. So, instead of facing that potentially very embarrassing situation, I sacrificed the end of the movie and drifted off to an episode of Bones instead.

The gig (or is it jig?) was definitely up the next day, when sitting in the living room with my mother she turned and asked, “doesn’t that worry you?”

I looked up from my book to see my mother, clearly troubled by something that she just heard reported on FNN. “Clearly, I’m not paying attention,” I responded. I then watched for a few moments as some man yelled and screamed and made me feel really stupid. I then looked over at my mother again and offered, “actually it makes me really proud of you and daddy that you aren’t living in a bomb shelter yet.”

She laughed. I returned to my book.

The next morning I woke up to Without a Trace.