Why I Don’t Watch Grey’s Anatomy…

I just heard a really bad advertisement for the Grey’s Anatomy episode airing tonight, and it continues to be very formulaic.

Narrator:  Tonight on Grey’s Anatomy, the doctors must work in (insert disaster that has a low statistical probability of actually occurring AND hasn’t already been featured in a previous season finale).

Doctor #1: I can’t work in (insert conditions from this season’s heavily anticipated disaster, even though, given the track record of the show, the doctors should be well-equipped to work in just about any scenario known to man, including volcanic eruptions).


*We all know the patient will breathe by the end of the episode.

A Sort Of Update


I promised I’d be back. And I even updated my other blog. 

The short story is that I missed blogging. The longer story is that I started feeling unsure of what to write about.  Apollo is always a good source of writing fodder, but I fear turning into the blogger I dread – the blogger who can’t stop blogging about her cute baby/dog/cat when no one else cares.

But I feel ready to write again, and to share stories.  I like being somewhat private so I’ll avoid blogging about the more boring details of my personal life, but I feel keen to share misadventures, music, fashion, and essentially awesome beauty items.  I’ve started subscribing to Ipsy Glam Bags and will be getting my first bag tomorrow (hopefully), so I’ll be doing a review here soon!

To give you a brief update of what I’ve been up to in the past month or so:

  • Workworkworkworkworkworkwork
  • Puppy training classes.  After Apollo chewed half a bow off one of my adorable new flats I bought from Target, it was GAME OVER.  He’s doing really well with the classes and I note a huge improvement. He’s graduating on Wednesday (squeeee), so I’m sure I’ll post a picture of the cuteness.
  • I went to my first bachelorette party two weeks ago. I missed the memo that you’resupposed to bring lingerie as your gift (dur, self).  My dad offered to drop me off but I declined because I figured it would be awkward to be driven to your first bachelorette party by any male member of your family. He let me borrow his truck, which led to much nervousness as I drove it.  I ended up having a lot of fun (and there were no strippers, thankfully.  It was a classy affair.)
  • I had to rush Apollo to the vet two weeks ago after some god-awful screaming. He had strained his paw, I think from jumping off the couch (I wasn’t in the room when it happened, but had just heard the horrible screaming).  I never want to hear that screaming again, it was awful.  I think at one point we were both screaming because I was like, “NO NO NO NO!” in despair.  Poor puppy. He’s fine, though. He was back to jumping on the couch immediately after we returned home from the vet (sigh…)
  • On Friday, a two-hour car drive turned into four and a half thanks to a nasty storm that passed through.  That was the worst driving experience I’ve had yet.  At least when I got stuck in a tropical storm three years ago, the experience was over in fifteen minutes.  There was a lot of water on the road and I pulled over several times to let the storm pass, since apparently I was traveling with it. I ultimately decided to keep going after my de facto weatherman told me that the storms had passed over the route I was taking and wouldn’t be severe anymore. I was never so happy to get out of that car.  “We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions” came on the radio when I reached my destination – I took it as a note of TRIUMPH.

I leave you with a song I’ve been obsessed with. Something tells me that I should consider this song a guilty pleasure, but I don’t CARE because it’s catchy as FUCK and I LOVE IT.

Hi Blog

I have not forgotten you. I have my mind full of posts I’ve wanted to do for months.  I just have been lazy.

I’m sorry I’ve neglected you, little blog.  I will be back soon, I promise, with more tales of misadventures and music I’ve been obsessed with.



So last month, there was a fire at Boyfriend’s apartment complex.  The occupant who lived above Boyfriend’s next-door neighbor left something cooking on his stove as he walked to the corner store.  It was on a Sunday evening, and Boyfriend and I had been relaxing when we wondered why we were smelling smoke.  Moments later, Apollo started barking frantically and we saw the living room fill with smoke.  We grabbed the essentials – I grabbed the puppy and my purse, while Boyfriend grabbed his laptop that held all his research data.  Then we ran outside, where a fire department was already battling the fire.  We stayed outside for an hour.  Apollo shook the whole time.  Boyfriend got interviewed on the news, with Apollo panting frantically in his arms.  Luckily no one was injured and all units (save for the source of the fire) were relatively unharmed.

Even though the fire happened about a month ago, Boyfriend’s apartment still smells like someone had an indoor barbecue in it.

This evening, I had just finished taking Apollo for a walk.  I was doing chores when I smelled something…familiar.  I looked at the dog.  “Apollo,” I said seriously.  “Is there a fire?” I inspected the apartment and to my alarm, I could smell smoke. I grabbed my purse and cajoled Apollo into my arms with a doggy treat (he’s going to puppy classes next week, incidentally).

I walked around the apartment building and didn’t see any fire.  Hesitant to call the fire department unless I could visually spot the fire, but not wanting to lose any of my belongings, I went back upstairs.  I knocked on my neighbor’s door.  We met this year; he has two beagles that Apollo is very fond of.

“Um, do you smell smoke in your apartment?” I asked. “Oh yeah, that was me,” he laughed.  Guess what happened?  He left his pan on the stove and walked to the leasing office.


I really want to make a public service announcement on billboards everywhere – “DON’T LEAVE YOUR FUCKING STOVE ON IF YOU’RE GOING TO STEP OUT OF YOUR APARTMENT OR HOME.  GOD.”

And now this place smells like smoke. But not the barbecue smell that Boyfriend’s apartment has, just smoke. Lovely.

An Apology to Justin Timberlake

It recently occurred to me that I am a fan of Justin Timberlake.  And not just because of his Lonely Island collaborations (which I have listened to more times than I am willing to admit.)  I like his music.  As in, songs will get stuck in my head and I will listen to them over and over and force Boyfriend to listen to, say, “Sexyback” if it pops on the radio.

It’s not like I am a huge music snob or anything.  I mean, I happen to idolize one of the most mainstream musicians on the planet and I’ve already confessed my (sometimes reluctant) love of Lady Gaga.

However, I owe Justin Timberlake an apology because my sixteen-year-old self detested him, N*Sync, and all of his annoying fangirls.  DETESTED.

I was never one of the popular kids (I swear that this post isn’t going to be “Repressed Middle-School Memories/Jenny Therapy Session.”)  And since I was never readily accepted by my peers, I developed a taste for going against the crowd to justify my alienation.  All the eighth grade girls said their favorite movie was Titanic?  I was obsessed with Gone With the Wind.  OBSESSED.  I read the book, cut out pictures of Vivien Leigh from magazines to put on my wall, and analyzed the movie in my diary.  (I was thirteen; cut me some slack). 

All the kids in my class watched Road Rules?  My favorite TV show was a British comedy that aired on PBS called Keeping Up Appearances.  All the girls were obsessing over Leonardo DiCaprio and Keanu Reeves?  My celebrity crushes were Jim Carrey and Kevin Spacey (I can’t explain that one at all). 

But keep in mind, my hipster tastes had its boundaries, even as a teen.  I was a huge fan of Backstreet Boys and my first album was Hanson, so that effectively loses any nerdy credibility I might have gained in the previous paragraph.

Even though Backstreet Boys were wildly popular when I was in high school, I felt like everyone around me liked N*Sync, and especially Justin Timberlake, more.  This meant that I had to hate him. I just had to. I found him and his stupid curly peroxide blond hair and high-pitched voice and that god-awful song “This I Promise You” (which they also recorded in SPANISH which meant I had to suffer through both versions TWICE ON THE RADIO) incredibly annoying. 

My disgust of Justin Timberlake carried on well into my late teens.  I missed the whole Superbowl “Wardrobe Malfunction” in 2004 because I was so disgusted that he was the “special guest” that I turned away from the TV.

So, what happened? Saturday Night Live, for one, showed me that he actually has a sense of humor and is a talented comedic actor.  Then there was the fact that I started playing “Cry Me a River” on repeat.  And I kept begrudgingly enjoying his acting and singing endeavors until finally, as I watched his latest SNL episode with my cousins last weekend, I felt comfortable enough to admit to myself that I’m a fan. 


To my sixteen-year-old self, I’m sorry. But not really.  We don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things anymore, so you’ll just have to get over it.

Things That Have Made Me Cry – Futurama

Boyfriend and I were watching an episode of Futurama a couple of weeks ago. I like the show – I hadn’t watched it before we started dating, but it’s funny and intelligent. 

In this particular episode, Fry had found the fossilized remains of his dog and had hoped to clone him (if you’re like me and had never watched the show, Fry was cryogenically frozen in 1999 and thawed one thousand years in the future). Right before the cloning process was complete, Fry realized that his dog died at age 15, more than twelve years after Fry had last seen him.  Assuming that his dog had lived a long, happy life without Fry, he decided not to clone his dog.

Boyfriend, who had seen this episode before, warned me that the ending would make me want to “hug Apollo.”  “Aww,” I said after Fry’s surprisingly poignant monologue.

“That’s not the sad part,” Boyfriend said.

The episode ended with a flashback to 1999, showing Fry’s dog camping outside of a pizza parlor, the last place he’d seen Fry.  With the song “I Will Wait For You” playing in the background, the viewers were able to see that the dog never forgot about Fry – he waited in that same spot for the rest of his life, futilely waiting for Fry’s return, until dying from old age on the sidewalk.  Watch it for yourself here, but be warned – this clip is full of SADNESS.

I felt betrayed that I would be so emotionally blindsided by an episode of Futurama.  I tried very hard not to cry.  When I was ten, I was able to stop myself from crying at the end of Forrest Gump by thinking, “These are actors and this is just a movie.  There is no one in that grave.  Tom Hanks is just talking to himself.”  I tried that tactic now by thinking, “THIS IS A CARTOON, DO NOT CRY WOMAN, DO NOT CRY.”

This tactic failed miserably.

In Less Than Two Weeks…

Mandy will be here!

Mandy will be here!

Mandy will be here!

She and her brother, Tony (who I am also very excited to see) will be visiting me in Texas!  I can’t believe they will be here in less than two weeks!

The last time we all hung out, we were in the general admission section of the Wells Fargo Center in Philly, watching Dave Grohl scream his lungs out…what adventures will be in store for us this time?