Superfan

My beloved Coke Zero cans have been hijacked by Avatar! This stupid logo makes it appear as though I'm consuming a hyper sugary energy drink, when I'm really drinking a sugary soda. Avatar is everywhere, but I have zero desire to see this movie. I seem to be in the minority if you pay attention to the box office... or to my fellow employees.

I recently had to attend a silly "leadership" type of class. One of the many ridiculous activities involved dividing the class into pairs and assigning each group a particular management concept. Our task was to come up with a way to visualize this concept that would help the class remember it. (Yes, this was a colossal waste of time). My group's concept was "share thoughts, rationale and feelings."

Me (wanting to get this over with): What if we picture someone laying on a psychiatrist's couch sharing his feelings?
Her: What about the Wizard of Oz?
Me: What about it?
Her: What did the tin man want?
Me: Um, a heart.
Her: Maybe I'm thinking of the scarecrow.
Me: He wanted a brain. But what about picturing someone on a psychiatrist's couch?
Her: Or maybe something related to Avatar. Have you seen that yet?
Me: No.
Her: Would you believe my husband went without me the first time? I swear... I'm raising an 8-year-old, and 9-year-old AND a 40-year-old.

It went on like this for approximately 5 minutes. She referenced Avatar no less than 4 times, none of which had anything to do with "sharing thoughts, rationale and feelings." In the end, we settled on a mental image of kindergartners sitting around a show-and-tell circle. I still think the psychiatrist's couch would have worked just fine.

Later in the class, the instructor asked for a volunteer to share an example of a bad day. The point, I think, was to show that people have personal problems that can potentially interfere with work and you need to find a way to separate those parts of your life. (This is high level stuff we're learning, people.) My Avatar partner raised her hand and rattled off the following (hopefully hypothetical) BAD day:

• "Your cat is pregnant by the dog. Your husband is in bed with a man. The refrigerator is broke. Your dad is a transvestite. And your kid was killed in a car accident."

Yipes. Think about that the next time you're tempted to complain about your life.

I wish you all a GOOD day, dear readers!

No Use Crying Over Spilt MILK

Figures that as soon as I reveal my MILK secret (money.id.lipstick.keys) to the world, the whole acronym falls to shit. I was a few hours into Saturday night when I came to the sad realization that I had forgotten my ID and credit card at home. This is what I get for making a hasty switch from my giant work purse to my slim "going out" purse without going through the MILK mental checklist. But Marilyn wouldn't let that little snafu hold her back! Quick detour to pick up her ID, and she's back in the game! Gotta keep on keepin' on.

Seeking validation, I said to the bouncer: "Hey, funny story. See how I just got out of that cab? Well, I was already downtown earlier in the night, but I had forgotten my ID. People told me I couldn't get in here without my ID, so I went all the way back home to get it. Is there any way you would have let me in without the ID?" His stoic response: "Absolutely not." He was clearly uninterested in my backstory, but I babbled on: "Okay, so you're saying I definitely made the right decision?" He had already moved on to the next person in line, and barked at me, "It's $5 to get in." Ouch... in my FACE.

This leads us to an examination of the MILK hierarchy. Clearly, I is the most integral component. You can't play the game if you can't get in. M & K are a toss-up. Both are important, but if you play your cards right, you can probably get away without them. What about L, you ask? That's recently been knocked down a notch.

You see, Marilyn's life started out with a serious weight problem. Please stop feeding me! I can't move my face. She seemed destined to be plagued by body image issues.

However, by age 3, she had slimmed down a bit and started looking to cousin Kelly for make-up tips. I'm in awe of your beauty. Teach me how to apply lipstick.

From that day forth, L became an important part of the equation. (Okay, maybe not that day forth, but you get the point. There's a reason a lady goes out with MILK, and not just MIK.) All that primping and preening and coiffing. Does it really matter? Apparently not.

Because you know what, Marilyn? Even when the lipstick wears off... you're still pretty :)

South Cakalackey

Marilyn had an honest-to-goodness southern/redneck experience this weekend. Friday night involved wings and beer at Hooters. The only other time I have been to a Hooters was in Ocean City, MD immediately after high school graduation. At that point in my life (having only lived in Ashland, PA and being under age 21), the Hooters experience was somewhat risque and daring. This weekend, it was just sad. Wings: tasted bad. Beer: tasted like any other beer. I spotted the following sign handwritten in sharpie marker on an 8x11 sheet of paper : "Try our cheese sticks and Bud Lite." Mmmm... delectable!

The Hooters experience was followed by a sweatpants-mandatory house party. This initially sounded super cozy and casual. Upon changing from "real" clothes into sweat clothes, Cousin Patches observed, "I'm only marginally more comfortable than I was before." Come to think of it, I agree. Sure, sweatsuits are soft and all, but are they THAT much more comfy than your daily clothes? If so, consider whether you might be buying too-small pants (BTW: I'm not buying too-small pants. I'm simply not buying pants because I refuse to acknowledge that I may have gone up a size since I last bought good dress pants.)

The sweatsuit cannot boast about its comfort NOR its warmth. Sure, I see the insulation properties of a form-fitting fleece top. However, an XL sweatshirt or hoodie provides no such benefit. Without direct material-to-skin contact, there is no warmth advantage. Refer to my past analysis of the NZ burrito vs. taco sleeping method for further explanation. What is the point of swimming in a giant poncho of a sweatshirt?? None, unless you're trying to conceal a figure flaw.

In the aftermath of the sweatsuit party, I found myself in the parking lot of a South Carolina gas station at 1:30am. Three young big-boned girls wearing daisy dukes (in January) with cowboy boots were being oogled by an old man who held the door open. Exiting out of the same door was a sweatsuit-clad man carrying a newly purchaed case of Miller Lite. "Geez, this place is full of white trash," I thought. Then I looked down and saw that I was wearing an XL sweatshirt emblazoned with the Miller Lite logo. Ehhh... Marilyn's judgments exclude present company.

For the love of comfort and sweatsuits, here are a few of my oldest and dearest girlfriends: Nic, Erin, and Kel.

This picture was taken on New Year's Day 2005 on the beaches of Atlantic City. This would be a natural segue into my thoughts on Jersey Shore, MTV's new hit reality show... except I am the only person in America to have not yet seen an episode of this show.

Complete and Total Mystery

I got a chuckle out of this article from The Onion:
"Roommate's Work Schedule Remains Complete and Total Mystery"

I've had my fair share of roommates over the years. Some were great and some made me wish I was homeless. Take, for example, a girl I lived with my sophomore year of college. We will call her T. I blame that entire miserable year of life on my friend Jess. We were supposed to live together sophomore year, but Jess decided to transfer schools at the last minute. I had no one to room with and was forced to enter the housing lottery on my own. The housing gods matched me up with T, a freshman who had apparently never done a single thing for herself other than shop. To make matters worse, we were in the smallest dorm room on the entire campus. To make matters even worse, that wishy-washy Jess didn't transfer after all but those housing gods would not let us change room assignments. (By the time Jess and I finally lived together in senior year, I had almost forgiven her).

T was having a torrid love affair with her 26-year-old chemistry lab supervisor Grant (cannot believe I still remember his name). I got to hear all the details via her tearful phone conversations with her friends... and her mom. Seems like an odd conversation for an 18-year-old to have with her mom, but this family was weird. Her older brother was a Blue Man. That's just not natural.

T's nighttime routine involved stumbling into the room drunk, banging into furniture and turning on all the lights. At least I had the common decency to stumble and bang in the dark! T's morning routine included a blowdryer and CD player (typically India Arie) 5 feet from my sleeping face when there was a full bathroom 15 feet down the hallway. She would often comment that she didn't have enough "alone time" and college was hard for her because she didn't have to share a room with anyone back at her parents' house. Me either, bitch.

I was pushed to my breaking point when T asked if we could make a schedule to allocate room time. For example, if she wanted to hang out alone from 1-3pm on a Thrusday, I should simply find another place to be. HA. HA. HA. I pointed out that my weekly schedule was always taped to my desk, available to peruse at her leisure. This schedule included a full-time course load and 2 jobs, so you can see that I must have spent loads of time "hanging" in the room and breathing her air.

In some cases, the "complete and total mystery" is the bratty roommate, not the other roommate's work schedule.

Busy Bee

Gosh, it's been almost a week since I last wrote you, dear readers! Time flies. I've been busy... a good busy.

1) Marilyn has been enjoying the weekends!

2) Maureen has been work, work, working. As of January, I think I'm officially done my moonlighting job... a job I originally tried to quit in July 2008. They kept sucking me back, which was mutually beneficial. It is with mixed emotions that I finally say goodbye. The additional money was nice, but man it sucked to come home from work and keep working. The end of job #2 comes just as job #1 is really starting to pick up.

3) I'm suffering from a combination of writer's block, time constraints and guilt. My job in NZ was such a joke that I always blogged at worked. No can do now. Sadly, I have real duties to fulfill. Don't get me wrong; many aspects of this new job are joke-ish and it gives me SO MUCH material. However, it is a good career opportunity and I must tread carefully. Mama needs to keep her jobby job.

Always a Bridesmaid

Here's an oldie but a goodie for your amusement. This is me as a junior bridesmaid in 1992. Thanks to this atrocious photo, I was a 2007 People magazine finalist for "Ugliest Bridesmaid."

What a pastel disaster! God knows you couldn't buy this mess of a dress off the rack. The bride had these dresses custom made by a tailor. I clearly remember going to the tailor's house... and going into his bedroom for a fitting... and, uhh, sitting on his water bed. In retrospect, this seems suspicious. I can't remember if there was wood paneling and a home video camera, but it's possible. Perhaps the "tailor's" glaring lack of fashion sense should have tipped me off that his design business was a front.

The devil is in the details. The dress features a giant 3D pink rosette flanked by puffy sleeves the size of my head. It was like wearing football gear. Each car could hold only two bridesmaids due to our large wingspan.  The bodice had pink piping that went up around the hips and came to a point right where it matters. Gotta accentuate the positive! Oh right, I was 11...pervy tailor. The look was completed by baby’s breath in the hair, white stockings, and white boats on my feet.

If I looked awkward as an 11-year-old girl, imagine the grown women forced to wear this dress. Brace yourself.

Raindrops on Roses and Such

From time to time, I will share some of my favorite things with you, dear readers. How exciting! Maureen might be on a budget, but Marilyn's money is burning a hole in her pocket. How exciting! Let her help you spend your discretionary income.

At some point in every girl's life, she learns never to leave home without her MILK. I first heard this term as a college freshman and I still use it as a quick check before a night out on the town. As concerned as I am about the health of my bones, osteoporosis is not my main concern on a Friday night. The MILK I'm talking about is...

•  Money
•  ID
•  Lipstick (Or, more likely, lip gloss. Lipstick is often too Aunt Ethel for my taste.)
•  Keys 

Unzip your purses, ladies, because I'm about to throw a new weapon into your arsenal. Drumroll please...

COLGATE WISPS!

You'll have to come up with your own acronym. I can't think of a catchy way to add a "C" or "W" to milk.... KWILM?

These mini disposable toothbrushes are the cutest oral hygiene product I ever did see! And, bonus, they're highly useful. Each wisp comes pre-loaded with a dollop of toothpaste, and the end of the tiny handle is fashioned into a toothpick. Each is individually packaged so you can slip it right back into its foil wrapper if you don't have immediate access to a trashcan. I keep at least one wisp in every purse and I've also added them to the emergency supply kit I keep in my desk. (Note: Said emergency supply kit was assembled to address a bad hair day or hangover, but not an earthquake. Just one way in which South Carolina differs from New Zealand.)

I'm not the only one who has taken notice of the Colgate Wisps. I was recently watching The Tonight Show, and Jay Leno made some crack about how Americans are too fat and lazy to squeeze out their own toothpaste. Now, come on! No one is suggesting you use the wisp as your primary toothbrush. In fact, that would be gross. Jay is so obviously out-of-touch with the young demographic that NBC is booting him right out of the 10pm time slot.

Perk up your ears, Jay, and let me tell you why the wisp is perfect for a gal on the go.

• Say you've been drinking coffee all morning, ate tuna for lunch, and have an important 1pm meeting. No worries. Whip out a wisp!
  
• Say you're out at the bar and need to slip away to "poke yourself in both eyes at the same time." No problem. Whip out a wisp!
• Say you can't quite make it home on Saturday night and have to crash at your cousin's house... No cause for concern. Whip out a wisp! (And by "cousin," I mean... cousin. Sadly, this is not a euphemism.)

Noon, night, and morning needs for a convenient disposable toothbrush. You'll soon be wondering what you did before the wisp. Okay, maybe you used those Oral-B Brush-Ups finger cover things. Whatever, this is better. 

Wanderlust

Marilyn's grandparents on their honeymoon... at least I think I remember hearing that. Or maybe they're standing on their front porch? Either way, it's one of my favorite family photos of all time. The shades, the tie flapping in the breeze, the gaze into the horizon, and the wide open road ahead. Life awaits.

“What is the feeling when you're driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” 

So very Jack Kerouac!

Food Fight

That oh-so-appetizing pink stuff is:
A) ham
B) spam
C) cheese

None of the above. It tastes like strawberries. The debate raged on for minutes until everyone put aside their differences and danced until 5:30am. Thank you, Lady Gaga, for diffusing the situation.

Happy Birthday Jess and Marwin!!

Hickey: The Ghost of Kisses Past

This week at work, I was having trouble with a certain file, so I tried to google "how to convert..." for help. My finger slipped and I typed "how to cov..." At that point, the google search predictor thingy took over and the #1 suggestion was "how to cover up a hickey." Hmm, I thought. That's odd. Are hickeys really that prevalent? Are tweens taking over cyberspace? (Toothpaste is a popular suggestion. File that away for future reference.)

When I was a little girl, I watched a lot of TV that was probably inappropriate for a little girl... high school dramas and the like. I couldn't wait for the fabulous teenage years ahead of me. I also blame Molly Ringwald for these high expectations. Bras, make-up, purses, joy rides, make-out parties... it was going to be totally awesome! I envisioned wild scenarios in which my mom would block the doorway and fold down my turtleneck to reveal a hickey. "Just where do you think you're going, young lady!" I'd storm out of the house,  jump into my boyfriend's car, and break curfew. Oh, the angst.

That never happened. The reasons are twofold:

1. Curfew? Ha. In hindsight, I realize I could have run a brothel out of my bedroom and my parents wouldn't have blinked an eye.
2. Turns out that hickeys aren't all that easy to come by. They require a Hoover-like suction, which is strangely not so pleasurable.

At least that's what Marilyn told me. I certainly don't know anything about pre-marital kissing, but that Marilyn lady has had 2 unfortunate run-ins with The Ghost of Kisses Past.

Run-in #1 occurred in high school when a boy came at me with an overabundance of gusto. This was more of a "joke" kiss (aren't they all?) than a romantic kiss. Think about an Italian grandma planting a big wet one on ya. He held the smooch too long, and I was left with a big hickey. SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF MY FOREHEAD.

Run-in #2 occurred when I was a young college co-ed. Spring break in a foreign country... some things in life are inevitable. At least I finally got to use that turtleneck trick I had been dreaming of since childhood. It worked fairly well until I had to slip into my clubbing clothes. (One's chances of acquiring a second hickey decrease significantly if she wears a turtleneck to the bar. My momma didn't raise no fool!) I thought I had done a decent job with the concealer, but then a cute bartender who had been chatting me up asked if I was from Transylvania. I panicked. "Oh my god... Transylvania... vampires... biting necks... sucking blood... I can't believe this guy is calling me out..." My face turned red enough to blend in with the hickey. I froze. The bartender pointed to the Pennsylvania ID I had given him, and repeated: "You're from Transylvania?" Then it hit me... He wasn't referring to the hickey. He was attempting a geographical joke. Lame. And, thus, Marilyn quickly ruled him out as a contender for run-in #3.

 Yes, London is the tropical spring break destination to which I refer. It would be weird to wear a turtleneck in Cancun.

Curious Sidebar: The 3rd google search suggestion for "how to cov..." is "how to cover a book with a paper bag."

Brrr!

There has been a cold front sweeping the nation recently, and Marilyn couldn't care less. Thirty degrees may be cold for the south, but it is close enough to paradise for me.

New England: Terrible.
Upstate New York: Excrutiating.
New Zealand: No central heat.
South Carolina: Ain't no thang.

No snow, no slush, no subzero temps, no whipping wind! I actively appreciate this Every. Single. Morning.

When I lived in Boston, I walked over a mile to and from work... every day... in the snow. I won't make the cliche claim that it was uphill both ways because that would detract from the stark reality of the situation. To prevent frostbite, I dressed to cover all areas of skin other than my eyelids. I'm talking about the type of cold that just plain hurts.

When I lived in Rochester, I had a car. No more walking. Sweet! Except that I once missed an entire morning of work because all 4 of my car doors were frozen shut. Ice cream.

Those childhood winters in Pennsylvania were no picnic either...

This photo shows a young Marilyn sledding through the streets of Ashland in 1983. Notice that she is being propped up in an empty case of MICHELOB BEER. Oooh, so that's where Marilyn gets it.

Fast forward to the winter of 1985. My little sister has been bundled into my hand-me-down snowsuit (right down to the light pink accessories), while I've upgraded to a sleek bright pink ensemble. My 3-year-old buddy put it best: "I am a penguin. Waddle, waddle, waddle."

You might be wondering about the hockey goalie gloves that enlarge my hands to the size of my thighs. These are my Freaky Freezies, beloved winter accessory of the 80s. The full design of the glove did not emerge until it was exposed to cold temperatures. Put these gloves on in the house and you see only the torso of a peacock. Borriingggg. Walk outside and the plumage explodes into color! Freezing feathers! If that doesn't freak your freak, I don't know what will! That girl is pretty wild now. That girl's a super-freak.

Early exposure to alcohol and freakiness... this explains a lot.

Thank you, family, for my my awesome new scanner! This Twistmas gift will entertain us all :)

Get Your Feet Out of My Wine

Sometimes Marilyn has to take a backseat to that other lady during the work week.  I know... I hate it too.

For now, I leave you with a video that is many years old, but still makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it.

Five Guys Surprise

Marilyn recently had her first taste of Five Guys Burgers and Fries. Yummm, greasy goodness! I've been trying to watch my diet, so I regretted eating it even while I was still in the act of eating it... yet I continued to eat it.

When one approaches the counter of a restaurant like Five Guys, she expects to be greeted with, "Hello, can I take your order?" Instead, I was hit with this: "Are you here to apply for a job?"

Excuse me?

Granted, I was bra-less, hungover and hadn't washed my hair in two days, but since when are you allowed to judge a book by its cover? I thought this was America.

I politely clarified that I had entered the premises as a paying customer and I proceeded to place my order. Eager to nip this case of mistaken identity in the bud, I took care to ensure my words were clear and eloquent to counteract the stale tequila breath coming from the same mouth.

I moved to the side to wait for my order and reached into my bag for my Blackberry. Nada! I had forgotten it at home. To my chagrin, I had to stand there with nothing buy my own thoughts for a solid 10 minutes. Torture! No texting, no web browsing, no Facebook stalking... how do people live like this?

I considered pulling out my book and knocking out a few pages, but I worried this might appear condescending. Is it appropriate to flaunt your literacy in a burger joint? I could already feel the cashier's glare... "We get it, Marilyn, you don't need a job here. I hope this burger makes you fat."

Hi, My Name Is...

In case you are not lucky enough to be one of my current 201 dear Facebook friends, let me introduce you to Marilyn by way of a few months of Facebook status posts. While we're on the subject, who actually has 201 "friends?" And who am I kidding to think that anyone beyond those 201 "friends" will care about this? But I'll humor myself...

Continuing confusion about my name has conditioned me to respond to any name that starts with M. I'm Pavlov's Marilyn and I'm often mistaken for an adolescent.

• Just opened the door to someone who asked if my mom and dad were home. Unsure whether this offends or flatters me.
• Saleslady: You must hear this a lot, but you have a face just like the girl from Family Ties. Me: Justine Bateman? Lady: No, that show with Kirk Cameron. Me: Tracy Gold? Lady: No, the little girl. Me: Oh. Chrissy... the 8-year-old.
  
• Flying south for the winter! A TSA agent asked if I was ready to go back to college after visiting my parents for fall break. I wish.
  
• Was just carded while attempting to buy wine STOPPERS. Sigh.
  
• Is both amused/annoyed by 2 40-something orientation-mates who make continuous irrelevant references to their collective 3 ex-husbands, 5 children (ranging from 8mos to 28yrs), and 2 grandchildren (with 1 on the way). After 2 days, the new BFFs refer to each other as "babe" and plan to hit the bar tomorrow in celebration of "Working Women's Wednesday." I will now develop a Thelma & Louise-esque sitcom about 2 overworked and underpaid middle-aged nurses. They take care of patients at work and kids at home... something's gotta give! So on wed nights, they let loose with bud lite, line dancing, and start a crime spree in hopes of seducing police officers (bc I'm told nurses, of course, mostly marry cops).
  
• Fielded the following pertinent questions at work this morning: How old are you? Do you have a husband? Do you have a church? And I'm the sucker who smiled and answered politely.
  
• Today at work, I was informed that when someone looks into my office from a certain angle, they see only my hand. Due to my fair complexion, this apparently resembles a skeleton wax hand from a bowl of Halloween candy. WHO SAYS THAT?!
  
• Someone shared that her husband is a materials engineer specializing in absorbency. He hold several patents for tampon "innards," some of which are framed in their guest bathroom.
  
• A person I've worked with every day for the last month just greeted me with "Good morning, Marilyn!" I was angry for a half second until she followed it up with "you look cute today."
  
• The lady at work referred to me as Marilyn again today... this time in a written email... even though she had to find my address by searching for my real name in the directory. This is starting to get awkward.
  
• I overheard the work lady whisper, "What's the name?" Then she came to my office and said, "I am so sorry for calling you Marilyn in that email. I just got back from cruise to Guatemala, and well... you know how that goes." No, I do not.
  
• While attempting to dress a 3-year-old, I accidentally put both legs in one pant leg. His response: "I'm a penguin. Waddle, waddle, waddle." He was really thinking: Get it together, Marilyn.
  
• A would-be big sister engaged me in some "straight talk" due to our perceived similarities. Her: People think I'm ditzy, but I'm very smart. This isn't PC, but I'll be honest. You're going to be challenged because you're a woman and you're young. Me: I know. I'm surprised that people think it's ok to flat-out ask my age. Her: Yeah. Sooo...how old are you anyway?
  
• A perfectly hot stranger stopped me in the hall to say he likes my glasses. Finally, some sense around here! I may never wear contacts again. Spexy!
  
• Was disturbingly close to responding to questions for Marilyn at a meeting today... until I realized there was a real Marilyn in the room. That would've been tough to explain.
  
• 8am banter from the woman who calls me Marilyn: "Girl, that's why I have a pistol in my nightstand and I'll blow up anyone who comes in my bedroom." I think I'll let her call me whatever she wants...
  
• My Boss: Jane is going to the lunch on Mon. The Woman: Is Marilyn going? My Boss: Um, Jane is going. The Woman: But what about Marilyn? My Boss: Um, are we talking about Maureen?
  
• My dept has taken to referring to any type of preliminary analysis as a "quick and dirty," so that people are always asking each other to "do a quick and dirty." I seem to be the only one who finds this inappropriately funny. My grounds for a lawsuit are growing, and I hope to retire by 30!
  
• During a 1-hour meeting, there were no fewer than 4 references to attendance at church events this weekend. I thus limited the description of my weekend to "pretty good."
  
• People discussing the "cold" SC weather (current temp: 45) referenced the "phenomenal insulation" of wolves that allows them to survive temps of 50 below. 1) I doubt this is true. 2) It is 100 degrees warmer than that! You need a cardigan, not a wolf coat.
  
• Isn't it ironic that a woman named Marilyn is the one who realized everyone forgot to invite Maureen to the Christmas lunch?
  
• It was worth coming to work today just to hear this exchange. Woman: "Let me tell you something about women to put in your 'future wife' file. Acrylic nails are too thick to work necklace clasps." Man: "Do you know what use that is to me? ZERO."
  
• Back at work and opening mail addressed to a Maureen Coyle.
• A lady just asked me, "Melissa, do you bake?"   
• Someone just tried to tell me that balance is an oxymoron. Reply: "No it is not, my wise co-worker." 
• Was asked to distribute a Crime Dog McGruff pamphlet about the rising rate of homicide in the workplace. Who could do that with a straight face?! The pamphlet also addresses human trafficking, which I didn't realize was such a problem in this town. Here I was thinking McGruff only dealt with lighthearted crimes like stolen lunch money.  

During my morning commute, I often sing a personalized version of the Cheers theme song: "Making your way in the world today take's everything you've got... sometimes you have to go where nobody knows your name..."

• 
  
  

Art Imitates Life

Many of you have encouraged me to start a new blog, but I've had my misgivings. Yes, I loved writing N to the ZED, but things are sort of ho-hum now. What will I write about? Do I have enough time? Maybe it's better to leave cyberspace on a high note? Will I turn into an old lady with cats? Maybe my observations are better suited to Twitter?

Any trace of doubt was erased from my mind when I watched Saturday Night Live this weekend. In this clip, a family sits down to a holiday dinner and breaks out into song at the 4:20 mark. What song might that be? Billboard's Top 100 Single of the Year in 1990 - "Hold On."



I spit out my Coke Zero and busted a gut because this is note-for-note how Marilyn's New Year's Eve played out 2 nights earlier. I shit you not. We sat down to dinner, champagne in hand, and belted out some Wilson Phillips. It was delightful.

My life has literally become an SNL skit.

And, for the love of Marilyn, that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

(With Marilyn's luck, NBC will probably pull this video from youtube before anyone can watch it.)

I'm Back, Bitches!!!

New year, new blog.

For Twistmas* 2009, my amazingly thoughtful and creative friend Kristen published my N to the ZED blog (a chronicle of my travels in New Zealand and beyond) in this book!

I am madly in love with it, and the experience somehow seems much more "real" now that I can hold it in my hands. How wonderful to have a written account of a my travels! Assuming someone will someday want to procreate with me, I can pass the book along to my progeny to prove that I was once cool.

N to the ZED was very much about a great year abroad, but it was also about me and everyday life. New Zealand is in the past, but me and everyday life are still here. This year may be a little less thrilling, but I think it has the potential to be great in its own way.

So why not write about it? Well, here's why... I knew the people who would read N to the ZED would be living half a world away in the US so there was no risk offending anyone. Somewhere along the way, I spilled the beans to a native and he didn't always agree with the way I portrayed his country. (Get over it, young Kiwi male.) A new blog would hit closer to home, and Maureen has been a little wary of the idea. Marilyn, on the other hand, wants to go for it.

Who's Maureen? She’s me. A borderline neurotic, but hey... she’s good enough, she’s smart enough, and doggone it, I like her. Maureen has a good life and is lucky to be surrounded by great family and friends. She’s trying to figure it all out in a new job in a new city in a new part of the country. She’s single, sort of looking, and reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that her metabolism might be slowing down a bit at the tender age of 28. She has a legitimate career to pay the bills. Well, sort of… she currently lives in a basement.

Who's Marilyn? She’s my alter ego and, ICE CREAM**, is she fun! If she had her way, Marilyn would spend all her time blogging, traveling, reading, and watching TV. She keeps odd hours and has been known to over-indulge on occasion. Somewhere around midnight, she stops obsessing about life and starts enjoying it. Lord, that girl has nothing better to do but to hula-hoop away a few hours of time. She don’t care… girlfriend lives in a basement!

I hope 2010 is gonna be a good, good year because Marilyn will document the hell out of it.

In case there is still any confusion, allow me to illustrate the differences between the M girls. One of these pictures is of Maureen and one is of Marilyn. Any questions?



* For the benefit of the sober, Twistmas is a holiday in which Christ is replaced by an alcoholic beverage called Twisted Tea. As they say in Thailand... same same, but different.

** Ice cream! is 5-year-old slang for damn!