March 4, 2015 § 1 Comment
I’ve had two bridal showers thrown for me. Rest assured, I’m practically an expert. Showers are often non-negotiable extracurricular wedding events. It’s expected to have one. Sometimes one for each side of the family. Sometimes your co-workers will throw you a third one depending how boring the office gossip is that particular month. Of course you don’t need to have a shower, but you will disappoint a lot of people. Kind of like eloping, or promising cake and bringing a watermelon disguised as a cake and saying smugly “it’s paleo.” So suck it up and have twelve showers. At least you are going to get the presents you picked out for yourself.
So a bunch of women gather to honor a bride to be by drinking enough to play silly games, eat finger sandwiches, and gift her household items or the occasional piece of lingerie. “Thaaaaank you, I picked this out for me.” It sounds absurd, right? So I did a bit of digging.
Let’s start at the beginning. In 16 Century Holland showers were an alternative to the dowery system. If the parents of the bride were too poor to provide a dowery the MOB will hold a party where her lady friends would pass down small kitchen items and advice on how to keep a man happy. You know the type of advice, plus whatever you had laying around the kitchen that was a duplicate.
There is even a Dutch legend to go with this common sense inception of bridal showers. It is said a young uptown girl, living in her high class world fell in love with a downtown guy. Boy, was her dad pissed. He withheld her dowery as she crossed the tracks to marry her heart’s desire, but not without a little help from her friends. Pretty soon the whole town was contributing small gifts for the start of their married life. Fortune smiled again on our young heroine and her father changed his tune. They and their dowery lived happily ever after, like all good fairy tales.
In the late Victorian era, bridal showers became events of the elite. Only ladies of high social standing would organize pre-wedding celebrations for would-be brides. Although, it was more because it was a place to get drunk and hear the latest gossip, rather than giving gifts to compile a dowery. Make no mistake, gifts were given, but not enough to fill a Uhaul. The presents would be inside a parasol, which when opened would “shower” the bride-to-be with gifts. Or knock her out cold so they could freeze her bra and draw on her face.
The next evolution came in the 1930s. Although, at this point showers in the United States were a big to-do and anyone could have one. The fad hadn’t spread to England though, probably because they were still considering noble families and inbreeding. First or second generation Americans were just starting to really simmer together in the country’s melting pot. No dowries or elite social standings needed for a little party, party.
The earliest use of this sense of the word, “shower” in print may be in the Grand Rapids Michigan Evening Press 22 June 4, 1904: “The ‘shower parties’ that through mistaken hospitality the wedded couple are forced to attend…” (WHICH IS HILARIOUS… mistaken hospitality).
When I first started working as a videographer in LA, I was hired to shoot weddings and bridal showers. Sometimes the shower would outshine the wedding. There was one at The Beverly Hills Hotel that had a dance floor, three course luncheon, and about 75 Persian women. I imagined that I was that bride and wanted to hide in a hole.
I’m not a fan of being the center of attention unless I’m giving instruction or opinion. I have present opening anxiety even if I know what’s inside. Because my birthday is so close to Christmas I have a lack of practice at these types of person honoring soirées. I’m a terrible bride to plan a shower for.
For a while, I just thought the bridal shower was just another party to have for all the women who it was inappropriate to extend a bachelorette party invite, like if they were too old or pregnant. Come to find out, etiquette says you shouldn’t invite people who aren’t invited to the wedding. Well, what if I couldn’t invite all the people I wanted to celebrate with?
I want to rewrite this invite rule. It seems stupid to invite someone to your shower and expect a gift and then invite them to your wedding expecting another gift. Just give the gifts if you want to give the gifts. Wouldn’t it be better to invite all the people who couldn’t make it or that you wish you could invite but you have 200 family members and your best good work-wife just didn’t squeeze onto the A list?
Etiquette says the maid of honor has to foot the bill, but what if that chick is broke? It seems like it should be a pot luck. Let’s not be fancy. And again with the gift giving only if you want to, I rather be showered in laughs.
It’s pretty much a roast anyway. You play games about the bride and groom’s intimate life details and sit her in a special seat like a contestant on a daytime TV show. Parade around her choices for home decor and kitchenware while we quietly place bets on how long the marriage will last. Mostly it’s just good backstabbing female fun.
Fortunately for me, both my showers were equally entertaining, mostly because of the wonderful hosts who planned around my awkward shyness with their grand mastery. Showered with laughs, a flash mob, and cards with little pictures inside them of the gifts I already knew I was getting. I even spit my water across the room in a fit of laughter. And I wore black, like a boss.
In truth modern bridal showers are a complete charade. An absurd pretense intended to create a pleasant or respectable appearance. Except for mine, because every time my appearance is respectable I spill food down the front of me.
February 16, 2015 § 3 Comments
I’m stuck somewhere between being a conventional bride and being a way out-of-left-field, Dr. Seuss-style bride. Sure, I’ve thought about my wedding since I was a wee little gal, but not at great length. I never had wild dreams about it where I planned it all out. I’m also not very good at being an adult, so a lot of etiquette is lost on me because while it’s rooted in tradition, it negates common sense.
Take the wedding registry, a tradition that began in common sense. It’s sentiment is that of the father giving away the bride. He’s giving her away because he doesn’t want her anymore. So he’s going to throw in a bunch of household appliances and kitchenwear purchased as gifts by his friends and family to sweeten the deal. A starter kit for a good wife. See now, it’s all set up and the groom has little to no room for argument. Next stop: Buy a house, followed by have a baby. So simple.
It’s not so simple anymore. When I moved into my first big girl apartment all by myself, I didn’t have a dish to eat off. Over time, salary promotions, and a household merger with my future husband, I’ve acquired many fine dishes to hold food. When we need something, we buy it. My pops doesn’t need to give my fiancé a spoonful of sugar with his medicine. We bought the bag of sugar ourselves. Classic wedding logic works no longer.
This tradition now puts us in a pickle. They say register as soon as you get engaged. People want to give you gifts. SAY WHAT?! I think this is silly, and a lie. It’s not like these people asked us to get married, and the gift part isn’t the reason why we are getting married either. It’s to shut our parents up once and for all (until they want to have grandchildren). Most people’s subconscious when they are invited to weddings are like, “I’ll bring a gift that relates to my fun-time expectation barometer. Probably cash, but if I’m at the old person table I’m knocking off $50.”
If people are invited to a shower they be like, “Damn, now I got to get her a gift she’s picked out herself, but will probably return.” It’s hard to get jazzed to give a gift that has already been chosen for you. Sure, it makes it easy for someone who doesn’t know you that well, or your uncle who’s constantly getting it wrong, but it doesn’t make it more fun.
How could I make this fun for my guests? It was a mind bender. Which is why I did the total wrong thing and procrastinated registering for gifts until three months before the wedding. What we really need are upgrades of products we already own, replacements for worn hand-me-downs, and cold hard cash. What we really wanted was decor that reflected our style and humor, adventure gear (camping is expensive for a sleeping on the ground activity), and cold hard cash.
Fortunately for us, jazzing up the run-of-the-mill registry was pretty easy. After all, there is a whole industry dedicated to this stuff. We registered on Zola.com because we were too far past the point of department store laser tag. We had to do something quick that didn’t want to make us gouge our eyes out. The best part was being able to write a note on each item, explaining why we wanted it. It’s like lobbing for your list of top gifts. But half way through we started not to take it seriously, so there are a lot of jokes too.
Maybe offensive to die-hard fans of wedding etiquette, but totally entertaining as you scroll through yet another registry of items people in third world countries have never seen. Another note on this off script registry, the giving is done on the digital plane. You buy online and send to my house. Super easy for you, and it cuts down on my present opening anxiety (which is a real big issue for me). Also, eliminates the transportation of goods. I’m really pleased I won’t have to drive a Uhaul to my wedding.
It’s difficult to ask for cash at a shower. I got pots and pans, but I really need a fridge, okay? But we set up the refrigerator fund anyway. So far ZERO contributions. We were able to register for things we actually wanted like a tent and weird movie posters as well as things we actually needed like a new can opener. You don’t know how desperately we need this $9 can opener. Someone please buy it for us (it’s been years).
I hope the guests who know us well understand that we have a Shark Bathroom and we really want to deck it out like a boss. I hope the guests who don’t know us realize that we aren’t kidding about the Star Wars pillow cases. We designed it for people to get creative and celebrate what we all mutually enjoy. Mostly booze, movies, and funny tv shows.
And when should we enjoy these items? Etiquette says we have to wait until after we are married. I did not find this out until I snap chatted a fun thank you with a full glass of wine to a dear friend who bought me the wine glasses. What?! Wait to use my wine glasses? We’ve been together for 5 years, lived together for 4 years, would have eloped 3 years ago, put our money together 2 years ago, saved for the ring for 1 year. It’s not like we aren’t invested. There are things that would be harder to do than send back gently used wine glasses, should this thing not go off with out a hitch.
But you know what might make us call off the wedding? Wading through unopened boxes for the next 6 weeks as they stack up around our house. This isn’t a museum, this is my home. My little tiny, apartment home. Although, I have considered the box fort possibilities, I’ve got an actual life outside of this wedding. I ain’t got time to ponder the epic hide and go seek battle that could go down if I wait to use my wedding gifts.
In the end, I still find it a bit ridiculous to be getting more possessions. When we go to buy something we ask, “Do we need this, or is it just another thing to have?” In the case of the Death Star Cookie Jar, we needed that, and it’s cool. We are just trying to be responsible citizens. It’s nice to have nice things, but it’s nicer to have people you love.
Share your thoughts on wedding registries. Is it a dying wedding tradition in the wake of modern relationships? Should you still have to buy china for people who have been living together for 3 years? Do you frown upon alternative registries? Would you be offended/think its bad juju to open and use a gift before the wedding?
It’s really an anomaly to me, hope you can clear it up.
February 3, 2015 § 1 Comment
If our ropes have not been tested for strength we would not know the threshold of our grace. It is through gritted teeth that we smile through the annoyance of arrogance and ignorance. At least that’s how pet peeves are made.
One of my pet peeves is when people want to have a discussion as I’m about to go into the bathroom. It’s like, “Come on, you know all I can think about is urine. How productive will this conversation really be?”
And another pet peeve is when people dare me to guess how old they are. Unprompted. I don’t want to guess. I know that’s a slippery slope.
I’m terrible at this game. I’m one of those people who wouldn’t be able to tell if you dyed your hair purple until three weeks too late. “Something’s different about you, but I can’t put my finger on it.” Same thing with weight gains and losses. Unless you really let it go, I’ll probably just think you got stung by bees. A lot of bees.
Not to mention age is a different beast all together. Take me for example, I look like I’m a good 6 or 8 years younger than I am, and my voice is probably 4 years younger than that. It’s true, as a 31 year old woman, I could pass for 24 if you didn’t look too closely at my crow’s feet (come on, eye cream). But I’m not going to prompt you to guess my Chinese astrology. That would be rude.
So I was me, minding my own business–literally, I was steps away from the bathroom. I had to pee, and I had been holding it for a bit. This was my escape. Then I was cornered by a challenger. “Seriously, how old do you think I am?” She asked, as if we had had a long conversation about it already. We didn’t.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to guess,” I said. This is always my response to the inquiry. I don’t ever lie or fib, and I could already tell my response was not going to be welcomed. I really wanted to pee instead. In fact, I was truly distracted by my brimming bladder, I couldn’t even come up with a ball park decade.
“No, really, guess how old I am,” she persisted. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If I do guess and I guess too old, or too accurate, I’m an asshole. If I guess obviously too young to cover my ass, I’m clearly lying. No one wins this game.
“I can’t,” I said. I had only one thought. BATHROOM NOW.
“I’m not going to guess,” but you’re acting like a 4 year old, “you’re going to have to tell me,” because I don’t give a shit, I just want to relieve myself.
Boasting with the pride of a child who just lost their training wheels, I am finally allowed the answer. With a generous head nod and a big, fake W-O-W, I’m finally able to complete the last two steps behind the lavatory door. That was a close one.
“Age ain’t nothing but a number.” I once met an older man resembling Santa who wore a t-shirt that read that. Then I was strapped to his belly and jumped out of an air plane. It was the 400th time he’d been sky diving. It was my first.
I have to really think hard about age to give any number gravity. I want to honor it, the time, the climate, circumstances of the year of birth, old or young. Otherwise, I don’t consider it relevant to most discussions. If you are an adult living in the world today, we can have an ageless conversation. It is insulting to assume that I would not get a reference that dates 20 years ago. And if I didn’t, I would surely love to hear the explanation. Knowledge is power.
As for physicality, age is transient. We will never age like the generation before us. We age by how we take care of ourselves, armed by the science of our culture. 60 today does not look like the 60 of 30 years ago or 30 years into the future. We have things like sunscreen now, and we may be living on Mars soon.
Of course that doesn’t take away from the wisdom your years awards you. Or perhaps, the crazy you have developed over the years, but that varies from person to person and it would be truly ageist of me to generalize that all 90 year olds are bat shit. They aren’t. Just the challenging ones.
****As you might have noticed, I took last month for myself. You can find me posting new musings bi-weekly, and repeats on the off weeks. Mostly Tuesdays, or Wednesdays.
November 25, 2014 § Leave a comment
Below is the post I wrote five years ago after I decided to skip the voyage home for turkey day and crashed with some friends in Las Vegas. Oh my young ways. Coincidentally, I ended up meeting my future mother in law, hung over, the day after Thanksgiving. It is with the true gratitude of the season that I report not needing my escape plan that day. Also I took that glass of white wine offered to me like a champ.
Being single at an Orphan Thanksgiving or a Friendsgiving, as they say, is perfectly acceptable. Your peers just want to eat, drink and be merry. It’s quite a different story if you’re dining with family. It’s like a murder interrogation. You can redirect the questions for the first couple hours, but by dinner you’re running out of diversions, they’ve got a few drinks in you, they’re onto your tricks, and you left your backup weapon in the freezer.
“Meet anyone nice lately?”
“Whatever happened to that nice fellow that you brought to so-and-so’s wedding?”
“I hear little Tommy Walters is engaged. He’s the one that got away,” and so on, and so forth.
All you can do is ask, “Anyone need more wine?”
Getting older only makes it harder deflect the seasonal cross-examination. Best case scenario, entering the minefield with someone who could be sort-of serious. It plays right into these little family gatherings perfectly while simultaneously uncovering certain truths about your newish lover that would have otherwise taken months to expose if he was on the spring boyfriend track. All the holiday skeletons come out of the closet. Family brings the manners out in everyone. As does an extended weekend trip. And even if he does offend your mother with the smell of his feet or yells at your father about his lack of enthusiasm regarding Call Of Duty, at least you a have a partner in crime when you sneak out in the middle of the night to smoke a joint and ravage leftovers.
In truth, no one likes being alone for the holidays, it’s cold and there is a lot of unnecessary pity going around. There are precisely three and a half weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving to nail down a winter man. A lot of men won’t truly commit until after October 31st in order to honor the sluttiest day of the year, no matter how much they seem to enjoy taking your tits out for dinner. If you reach the second week in December and are still coming up empty handed, you might as well forget it. A two week investment will not yield any sort of jolly holiday despite above average blow jobs. At that point, keep your options open for running into old flames and randoms on New Years.
If you’ve figured it right you’ll hit the holidays around the 3-6 month period. And there is something about meeting the parents that sinks that hook in deeper, making diamond earrings on Christmas Day 50% more likely. Do your duty, soldier, put on your pearls and curb that sailor mouth, you’re meeting the family.
The Holidays is a shifty time to start dating anyone, and it will accelerate even the most casual relationships. It’s like going from a Sunday afternoon cruse to a high-speed chase; always have a backup weapon and an escape plan. Meeting the family, particularly the extended family is unpredictable, no matter how much sun shines out your man’s ass. If you are ill prepared, you’ll be sitting at the kids table with dish duty finding your only relief in getting great-aunt Kacky liquored up by request of her husband. So study up, ask the proper questions beforehand to rule out any accidental buffoonery. For example: Who was the last girl they met? This way you can outshine accordingly. Inquire about traditions. You don’t want to be benched in heels when you could be scoring touchdowns on the fields. When in doubt, bring play clothes. Also, be aware of touchy subjects, this not only brings the skeletons out of your lover’s closet but helps you curb the conversation in your favor. You don’t want to be boasting about your liberal pro-choice views only to discover that the kid sister was knocked up last year. “Thanks for spilling the beans, Grandma won’t come back inside. Please tell me you know how to thaw out an old lady,” and this is also good example of when you use your escape plan. Best to have previous knowledge controversial issues and prepare unbiased answers appropriately. You should actually have an arsenal of these answers ready to fire at all times. However, I do realize that not all of you are serial monogamists like me, so I will give you a bit of leeway here.
If you are the one bringing someone special home for the holidays, do him a solid and educate him on your parent’s pet peeves. He’s a keeper if he chooses to listen to you. If he doesn’t well… you’re stuck with him for the long weekend. Even in this situation, it remains the same: always have a backup weapon and an escape plan. It’s a merging of worlds, collision bound trains set to expose everything you were hoping to keep under wraps for a few more months of bliss. You sat for hours stuffed into germ infested public travel just so you can see these two animals sniff each other’s assholes. And just like dogs at a dog park, there is a fine line between playing and fighting. No sudden movements, and make sure he know who’s the alpha, even if it is your mom.
Relatives and boyfriends are hit or miss, but when you come out of it all you’ll either have learned a lot about the other person or you’ll vow to remain single for the rest of your life. Because I need a mother-in-law like I need a hole in the head.
June 24, 2014 § 2 Comments
I’m 30 and a half this month, and although I was alright with it at first, it’s just now settling into some kind of fear. Here is a post about turning 30 I wrote right before I turned 28 (yea, I was worrying about it 2 years before it actually happened, possible head case over here). For some reason, recounting my adult tendencies (or lack of) is comforting. I think my thirties are going to be quite dirty after all.
30 isn’t all that bad, it’s just marks the end of the 20s. 30 means you’re farther away from collage and closer to grandchildren, farther away from high school varsity sports and closer to water aerobics, further away from leveling your parent’s liquor bottles with water and closer to discovering your kids put water in the vodka.
They say time speeds up and your metabolism slows down. They say in a blink of an eye you go from 30 to 40. It’s some sort of middle age time machine. Fortunately for my generation, 30 is the new 20 and with the current economic climate there isn’t much of a stigma anymore for living in your parent’s basement. However, no matter how young we feel or how powerful our denial is, you can’t fight the aging process. 30 will always represent a milestone for the perkiness of your ass and titties. And even though we like to cover it with the veil of the “new 20” by 30 you should really have your shit together.
I’m talking adult tendencies. Cooking a balanced meal for your party of one instead of just eating an entire box of cheese its for dinner. Not sleeping past 10am on a Saturday. Gardening. Home décor and having “colors.” Flossing. Knowing what gives you gas and avoiding those foods. Finally learning the importance of breakfast and that laundry will never ever be done. Packing your bags the night before. In fact, doing anything the night before. Saying ‘no’ to the third glass of wine on a Wednesday. Making your bed, everyday. Asking guests take off their shoes when they enter your house. Calling them ‘guests.’ Asking yourself, “is this outfit too slutty for me?” These things creep up on you. You’re doing it, being an adult.
You might eat the occasional Cosco-sized tub of hummus in a week or have a Tuesday morning hangover. Sometimes we have popcorn for dinner or forget to water the flowers. But we feel guilty about it. It’s not that we know better, because we’ve always known that flossing is a good thing and baked goods are a friendly gesture. It’s that we’ve put these adult tendencies into practice and now understand the benefits.
You actually feel good after eating vegetables and making a To-Do list. Everything’s more calculated. You do things just because you have to get up early the next day and you’re less likely to suggest shots at happy hour. You’re a planning machine. You have a planner that’s synced with your phone, your computer, there’s one on the wall, on your desk, in your pocket. You plan for the near future, you plan for the far future, you plan for your future bathroom breaks by purchasing toilet paper in bulk.
I hear it now, it’s ticking all right. People I know are getting married. People are on their second or third kids. Some people are even on their second husbands! You got to keep up with that clock. If you’re single you start getting serious about finding Mr. Right. Or you try to turn Mr. Right Now in to Mr. Right, which might not be too difficult if he has a 401K. You aren’t just circle-hearting your crush in your yearbook, you got to get on the internet and find a husband. Done are the years of sleeping past noon and eating ramen noodles. Done are the years of singing into your hairbrush and making eyes to your life-sized cardboard cut out of Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Done are the years of putting soda in the Brita filter just to see what happens. You know what happens. It’s just brown water that tastes a little sweet. Face it, you’re a grown up. Well, maybe not a complete grown up, there is that beach party next week with a couple kegs. But it’s okay, you have adult tendencies: you don’t have to get up early and you’ll say no to the nut mix because it’ll give you gas.
May 27, 2014 § 2 Comments
This was originally posted 1/24/12, but with Basketball play-offs and baseball season what-have-you going on, I felt a reminder was in order.
I expect this from the guys, but ladies… this is an outrage, and it’s gone on for too long. You know what I’m talking about: long lines, clogged toilets, and bitches puking.
Sunday I spent some time at a sports bar. I actually like football, I wasn’t there to flirt with dude/bros in my extra small little boy’s jersey I cut up to show my cleavage. I wasn’t there to accompany Mister Red just to text the whole time then get into an argument ending in tears because he won’t leave at halftime. I was there to watch a couple of the most exciting football games of the year. I didn’t have to paint my face with the team symbol, sit on laps, or drink too many vodka tonics to enjoy myself. It’s fucking football, it’s awesome even in pajamas.
I’m getting off topic. This isn’t about the spray tanned queens with half their butt cheeks hanging out (you know who you are). This is about a public facility in an establishment that offers alcohol. You will never see bathrooms in the Natural History Museum looking like the cesspool most bars do two hours after opening. It’s the Ladies room, you should act like one.
Lady (noun) can be defined as: a courteous, decorous, or genteel woman. This is not someone you have to follow into the lavatory armed with a plunger and wearing safety goggles. Why does it look like wild beasts have been using the same toilets as five foot nothings in pink chiffon? You tell me.
I’d like to discuss some preventative measures in an effort to make bathroom breaks after a couple cocktails more rewarding for everyone across the board.
1. Stop clogging the toilets! Sometimes drinking a lot of beer makes you shit, but I hardly beleive these skinny bitches are each laying dumbo sized deuces stopping up every available john in the place. I’m all for being sanitary and laying delicate pieces of toilet paper down for your expensive yoga tush to rest on seems like the best option, but most septic tanks can’t handle the volume. You do chair pose for a reason. Now put it into practice and SQUAT! Or hover, whichever you prefer. You’re going to be working off your drinking calories, keeping your ass clean, respecting the future intermissions of other women, as well as trimming your piss time for those waiting behind you. Which brings me to my next point…
2. Don’t hold up the line! The buddy system is great for most things, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been relieving my bladder in private since I was two. I don’t need any help with this one. I will never understand how two people going into one stall makes the task “really quick.” Especially because I can hear every word of your conversation and know that one of you has her pants down. “Gasp! I love that thong! I have the same one in black.”
3. Don’t be gross. If you are old enough to drink you know that it sucks when you drink too much. What sucks even more is drinking too much in public. Drunk and Disorderly citations exist for a reason and should be handed out to every lightweight who cuts the line, and holds up the line (#2) because she can’t handle her liquor or her emotions. This also clogs the toilet (#1). No one wants to dodge the kamikaze barbie because she “forgot to eat” before she guzzled 12 tequila shots. Not disposing of your feminine hygiene products properly also falls into this category. If you are old enough to get your period, be a woman and take care of it.
4. Don’t be bitchy. You never know who’s standing next to you or in the stall. It’s okay you can smile and laugh, we’re all in the same shitty situation doing the same dirty deed. You can’t be that up tight if you are out to clog a toilet.
5. Check yourself, don’t wreck yourself. Mirror is there for you to make sure you don’t have lettuce in your teeth, not recreate your entire primping ritual. This includes making everyone else uncomfortable as you complain about your thighs. If you felt self-conscious you should have worn a little more than a washcloth and some pasties.
6. Freely warn others. If you come out of a bathroom that is without toilet paper or has been defecated beyond comfort, give the the next gal a heads up. Please note #4 and add a joke to ease tension. It’s okay to talk to strangers when you are being nice.
7. Lady in the street, freak in the bed. You know what I mean. I don’t want to piss where you just had sex. I’m going to hover, after all. And if you really need that quickie, use the Men’s, they are less likely to talk shit about your slutty behavior behind your back.
8. Wash your hands, and dispose of waste. Kindergarteners have more sense and courtesy. Throw away your used paper towel. You know it doesn’t belong on the ground. Have some respect. Someone will eventually have to clean up this mess, you spoiled brat.
9. Keep it in the sink. This is not the time nor the place for a water fight. This counter, I’m going to want to put my purse up here while I wash my hands and put on lip gloss. However, after your private wet t-shirt contest I can’t. It’ll ruin my vintage Gucci. This may be the local watering hole, but you are not an animal.
10. For god sakes, flush! Enough said.
Alright Smarty Snatches, I’m going to ask you to respectfully, and sincerely to tweet, retweet, post, repost, share and share again. And all those other internet things you do. This is a serious issue, girls. Things are starting to look worse than a gas station restroom at a rest stop that doesn’t have running water. It’s the Ladies room, you should act like one.
April 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
REPEAT ALERT: This was originally posted in June of 2012. I have been out of the Reality TV Business for almost 2 years, and it still feels [explicative] amazing!
You’ll have to hang in there while I get back into the game here. I have the Hollywood Hangover. When you finish a show and are just exhausted, emotionally drained yet amped enough to punch someone. This is where the majority of the crime comes from in this town. You want to sleep for days but you either wake up at funny hours or have constant work dreams. It takes weeks for you to feel back on your feet/normal, adrenal glands pleading for rest. Then you start a new job…
Not me, not this girl. Yes, that’s right, I’m getting off the reality show marry-go-round. Now that I’m making my unofficial exit, I think I’ll start my tell-all book about the real reality TV and see if I can get money from the conglomes to not publish it. Kidding.
I thought it would be fun to give my final OTF. In TV talk that means On the Fly [interview]. OTF’s are the little pieces of interviews you see when a reality personality is discussing the event that is happening on your screen. It’s usually the voice over to an activity, or event, or drama. And the person usually appears to be standing. A girl crying in a van after she didn’t get a flower saying, “I really love him, I just hope she doesn’t hurt him. Boo hoo hoo.” That’s a final OTF. See, you learned something today. So this is my final OTF. Uncut.
Producer: Tell me why you’re leaving reality TV?
TIB: Because I’m done.
Producer: Okay, now tell me in a full sentence why you’re leaving. Say: I’m leaving reality TV… then tell me why and how you feel about it.
TIB: I’m leaving reality TV because I’m done. And I feel happy about it.
Producer: Okay, great! Now tell me, just like you did, but this time tell me the events that lead up you “being done.” But in a full sentence.
TIB: But I’m just done. There isn’t much to it.
Producer: Sure there is. You’re doing great. You got this. There has to be a reason why, or a person you didn’t like, or something holding you back? Tell me why. You’re doing great.
TIB: I just didn’t get my film degree to interview numb-nuts and work 18 hours a day.
Producer: Perfect! Now say that again but start with, “I’m leaving reality TV because…” and then say what you just said.
TIB: I’m leaving reality TV because I didn’t get a film degree to interview people and work a lot. — wait, I messed that up. What did I say before?
Producer: No you didn’t, you’re doing great, doing great. You said, “I just didn’t get my film degree to interview numb-nuts and work 18 hours a day.” Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.
TIB: I’m leaving reality TV because I just didn’t get my film degree to interview attention whores and work 18 hours a day. I have a boyfriend, and friends, and a family I never see because either I don’t have the money or I don’t have the time.
Producer: How are you feeling about your decision?
TIB: I’m feeling great about my decision. It was a little scary at first, but I think it’s for the better.
Producer: Great, this is great. Do you think because you don’t have the time or the money, that’s the reason why you’re not married and don’t have kids? In a complete sentence.
Producer: Do you think working in reality TV is to blame for not being married or having any kids?
TIB: Well, I have a pretty solid birth control method. That’s why I don’t have a kid.
Producer: What about not being married? You’ve have a few long term boyfriends, and this Mister Red seems like a catch. Is reality TV the reason why you’re not married?
Producer: You just said you didn’t have time or money. Could that be to blame for your “single” status?
TIB: I’m The [EXPLETIVE] Internet Bachelorette, I’m not married because I’m [EXPLETIVE] awesome! Reality TV has nothing to do with being [EXPLETIVE] awesome. I just met the love of my life 2 years ago… I need time, lay off me.
Producer: Okay, great. That’s a great answer. Now that you’re out of reality TV do you think you and Mister Red will get married?
TIB: We might–
Producer: Start with, Now that I’m out of reality TV Mister Red and I…
TIB: Now that I’m out of reality TV Mister Red and I probably will enjoy our new barbeque for a while and not worry about it.
Producer: Not worry about what?
TIB: We’ll probably just enjoy our new barbeque for a while and not worry about marriage.
Producer: Good enough. I think we’re good here. Let’s wrap it up.
TIB: Wait! Aren’t you going to ask me about what I’m going to do for money? Or my writing?
Producer: Oh sure, we can do that. What are you doing next? How will you make money?
TIB: I’m getting certified to teach Pilates and other fitness classes. This will also afford me not only time to write, but time for family and friends.
Producer: Will you still write TIB after you’re engaged?
TIB: I’m not getting [EXPLETIVE] engaged anytime soon. Where are you getting this?
Producer: But why would you keep writing TIB if you weren’t a Bachelorette anymore?
TIB: Maybe I’ll start a new blog. I don’t know. I don’t have it all figured out. Right now, I’m not engaged to be married to anything. But I am engaged in living my life and achieving my goals, writing for TIB or writing scripts or writing articles. Just writing. [EXPLETIVE] writing all the time.
Producer: Okay, great. We’re done. (under breath to AP) Let’s make a note to cut that last part out about Pilates and all that writing. It’s too real, too boring. We’ll put the rest of it over her crying to her boyfriend after she killed baby birds “accidentally.” I think the food poisoning and working from the bathroom is too graphic, unless we can make it look like she was drunk. Whatever, we made our day. We’ll fix it in post.
Truth is, I got a little misty as I watched the last reality moment I produced unfold with romance, fireworks, passionate kissing wrapped in a blanket in the middle of field. But that all changed the second the chick got into her final OTF and asked me the name of the guy she had just been making out with for the last half hour. Yeah, I’m done.
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