I had a “if you see something, say something” moment where I called to report suspicious activity [read: a strange man leaving strange looking bags in a porta potty near the Kodak Theater]. The cops said he was “probably setting up for the Oscars, cause that’s going to be a big party!” Sweet. I did my civic duty, and though I hate to be proved wrong, I am glad that the vast majority of Hollywood including some friends and coworkers did not blow up on Sunday.
Speaking of, the Oscars happened, which technically I have nothing to do with, but it is my department so ya know—puts things on edge.
Coworker Amy had a birthday. Lots of day drinking. I accosted Annaleigh Ashford in the bathroom at The Den and geeked out a little bit. After I went on a rambling, “I’ve followed your career for awhile. I think you’re fantastic…” she very seriously said, “Oh my God, I thought you were kidding at first.” I get starstruck by (almost) unknowns.
My little man turned 3.
My main man turned 30.
I’m pretty sure it’s almost spring, but it was in the 40’s this morning in LA. What the what.
Here’s a picture from J’s 30th.
We will return to our regularly scheduled programming soon.
“I don’t know about you, but I have lost my ability to be surprised by the things that come out of these candidates’ mouths. I am fully prepared to hear Santorum refer to Obama as the anti-Christ, only to be one-upped the next day by someone calling Obama the super-duper, most evil anti-Christ ever — fo’ real.”—
“I recognize that, as a Democrat, I’m in no position to offer advice to Republicans. But hey, keep it up boys. The version of Republicanism you are offering is a gift to Democrats looking for recruits. The anti-gay, anti-woman, anti-immigrant, anti-Latino, anti-Muslim, anti-Europe (particularly the French and the Greeks), anti-labor, anti-poor, anti-99 percent and now anti-college graduate rhetoric enables us to eagerly welcome your castoffs into the Democratic Party — where inclusivity is celebrated and their contributions are welcome.”—
“This new policy has been a long time coming for the residents of Los Angeles County," he said. The policy, which goes into effect immediately in county restaurants that are inspected by the Department of Public Health, gives restaurants the authority to allow pet dogs onto outdoor dining areas, a move that benefits both dog owners and businesses, Knabe said at a news conference.”—
Hi friends! My friend, Dom, is casting the 3rd season of Sundance Channel’s hit series ALL ON THE LINE WITH JOE ZEE. Check out the official page.
ALL ON THE LINE WITH JOE ZEE is a transformational documentary series that focuses on turning businesses around while also preserving the designers’ credibility and increasing their line’s profile and success. Sundance Channel is the destination for What’s Next, Now…and is available to over 41 million homes.
As the Creative Director of Elle Magazine, Joe Zee is one of the biggest powerhouses in fashion. If Joe believes in the talent of a designer, the fashion world takes notice. In ALL ON THE LINE WITH JOE ZEE, Joe uses his expertise to help struggling designers make it big. This is the chance of a lifetime for any designer.
Because Joe is the last word in fashion, retail giants around the globe are lining up to set buyers appointments with his AOTLWJZ cast members. Also, the designers may be given a featured spot on Elle.com, the magazine’s flagship website that gets more than two million unique clicks every month.
If you or anyone you know is interested, please contact Dominique Bouchard at (646) 801-8263 or AOTLCASTING@gmail.com.
“As further proof that conservative efforts to paint President Obama as the enemy of religion are a red herring, nearly two dozen leading Catholic nuns filed a brief in the Supreme Court last week supporting the president’s signature legislative accomplishment. The Catholic sisters who joined the brief include the leaders of many prominent religious orders providing health care and other services to the needy.”—
“Mitt Romney has been running as the vanilla candidate of the GOP establishment. His problem is that no Republican voters are marching in the streets, shouting. ‘We want vanilla!’ " said Castellanos, who was a top media adviser for Romney’s 2008 nomination bid but who is not taking sides this cycle. "But if Santorum continues to marginalize himself in this debate with wacky positions on social issues, vanilla will sell because it’s the only flavor Republicans have left.”—
“Presidential hopeful Mitt Romney’s been married to his wife for more than 40 years. During that time, the two of them have joined forces to produce five strapping Romneys, all of whom have their pros and cons. For the sake of the game, let’s pretend that they’re not all married. There are five of them, so you get to choose two fucks, two kills, and one marry (because marriage is forever, amirite?). Also, it’s just a game — we are not honestly advocating actually doing the things listed in the game’s traditional name to any of Romney’s sons (we’re talking to you, Secret Service). If you’re uncomfortable with the harsh tone of “Fuck, Marry, Kill,” feel free to change it to “Fuck, Civil Union, Kill.” Whatever works for you. This game is all about choice.”—
It’s actually not one of my favorite’s of me, but my friend, Kirsten posted it today on Facebook. It was probably taken some time in 1999. Shannon (bottom) passed away twelve years ago, today. I’ve mentioned her before. Today has always been a strange day. This picture is a bright spot.
Remember when I got taken out by a hummer from Compton before Christmas?
Against the advice of J, I did NOT call my insurance company because I listened to everyone else and thought I’d be fine just going through the other girl’s.
Everything started out fine. Kelly and Chad from Liberty Mutual were actually quite lovely at first. They were apologetic and friendly and assured me they were doing their best to get this taken care of as soon as possible. I was so clearly not at fault. Easy breezy.
Not so much. Chicky-who-hit-me decided to change her story. She said she never came in contact with a silver Jetta and there wasn’t any damage on her tank to back it up. Chad told me they couldn’t rule her at fault.
What the what?! I cried. I actually cried.
Then I called my insurance company. They told me it wasn’t looking good. It was months after the accident. I had no police report. They’d “try their best.”
And then at 4:30 on a Friday, I got a call from Chad. He said, “Hey there. This was the phone call I was hoping to make. Chicky-who-hit-you admitted the truth. We are ready to close this case and send you your check whenever you are ready.”
And just like that, sometimes people do the right thing. Perhaps it was the threat of legal action with two insurance companies now pursuing her, but I don’t care. She told the truth.
A very happy weekend to all.
Also, lesson learned. Always trust your boyfriend. (Okay maybe not yours, I don’t know him), but you can trust mine. He was right. See babe, I CAN admit it. I should have called my insurance first. You were right. You were right. You were right.
“House Oversight Committee Chairman Rep. Darrell Issa (R-CA) held a hearing today about the Obama administration’s new regulation requiring employers and insurers to provide contraception coverage to their employees, but they prevented women from testifying on the issue. Democrats had invited Sandra Fluke, a third year law student at Georgetown University, a Jesuit school, but Issa prevented her from testifying.”—
Issa may have gotten away with not allowing her to testify in the hearing. Except her words are now available to the world. And I for one an am happy to pass them along. Read what she had to say here.
“Wait, are you upset with me? Yes, I slept with him. No, we’re not dating. Well, because I wanted to, and from all indications, I thought you were definitely on board.” While this sounds like one side of a difficult discussion with a pushy girlfriend, it was actually the internal dialog I used to have with my vagina. Apparently she wanted me to have one serious boyfriend. Quaint, but not my plan. As 31-year-olds entering our sexual prime, the vagina and I both wanted sex in the city, but how did I end up a Samantha with a vagina who was acting like a total Charlotte?”—
“Unfortunately, the “fetal personhood” bill wasn’t the only nutty and frightening piece of legislation that Virginia’s House of Delegates passed. Another bill was advanced requiring a woman undergoing an abortion to have a “transvaginal ultrasound” — i.e., to require a doctor to insert a speculum and then an ultrasound probe into a her vagina against her will and reflect that image onscreen. Not only is a bill like this rather rape-y in its forcefulness — and yes, I realize that is a strong statement, and I mean it strongly — but there is no medically necessary reason to do so. And there are no exceptions. Gov. McDonnell has stated his intention to sign the “transvaginal ultrasound” bill if it lands on his desk.”—
At this very moment, up to 25 million tons of debris--occupying an area roughly the size of California--is a on a collision course for the North American west coast. The floating wreckage, often called flotsam, is a result of the massively destructive, 9.0-magnitude earthquake that struck just off the coast of Japan last March.
Yikes. Rest of the article here. But is it bad, all I could think of was:
When I was 19 at NYU, I walked into my favorite bar (Finnerty’s, RIP) and spotted a cute boy across the room. The story goes something like this…
I thought we were making eyes at each other. Apparently, we weren’t. But I sent my friend, Becca, over to him and instructed her to tell the boy I thought he was cute. (Liquid courage. I had nothing to lose.) Becca and the boy realized they knew each other from class. Eventually they called me over, and I introduced myself.
"Hi, I’m Michelle." "Hi, I’m Justin." And so it went.
It sounds cliche, but I knew then. He says he knew, too. I won’t say love at first sight, but I will say it was something. Something big. Something that made me think, Oh, okay then.
We hung out all night. Two of his friends made out with two of my friends. But he didn’t kiss me when he asked for my number at the end of the night. I was mad, but I still had hope. Imagine my surprise when he didn’t call. A week went by. (I had actually met a different, totally lame boy the night before who I was NOT into, but he DID call. Men!) And then just when I was starting to put him out of my mind, my phone rang. He apologized for not calling me earlier. He explained that he was on the NYU hockey team and had gotten hurt in their last game. He had been in the hospital. Fine, valid.
And then he said, “Do you have plans on Saturday Night? I’d like to take you to dinner.”
And I paused. And then I said, “You mean, Valentine’s Day?”
He paused and said, “Uh, yes?” If this were his blog, he’d chime in here and say that of course he knew it was Valentine’s Day. I call bullshit. It was a ballsy move.
But it was a good move. We had a romantic dinner at I Coppi in the East Village. And we’ve been pretty much inseparable (almost) ever since.
Like any great love story, ours has been complicated and complex and passionate. In the beginning, there were hockey games and sorority formals. Long distance phone calls over the summer. Trains up the Hudson River to his hometown. Transatlantic flights to visit me while I studied abroad. Then we transitioned from “college sweethearts” to young professionals (sorta). There were new coworkers to meet. Weddings (seven and counting) to attend. A business was started and sold. Some dreams came true with a career in TV. A serious family illness and eventual death to mourn. Family vacations to Maine and Arizona. Secret trips to Miami and Amsterdam. A new puppy came to live with us. And then a cross country move when he got into law school in San Diego.
And then things fell apart for a bit. After 6 years, we just weren’t us anymore. Simply put, things were just off. So we took some time. I moved home to LA and convinced my best friend to move out from Boston. And it got really, really hard. Too hard. We didn’t talk. For the first time since the day we met, we were not a part of each others’ lives.
And then some time at the end of last summer, things just kind of happened, as they often do in life. The pieces fit again. It hasn’t been perfect, and honestly, if it was, I would doubt it. It’s been trying. There have been tears. But also, lots of smiles. Lot and lots of smiles.
And so here we are. Eight years later today, on the anniversary of our first date. And things are really good again. I can (and often do) look at him and think, we’ve been through a lot, and I still love you. It’s not a perfect story, but it’s our story, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Happy Valentine’s Day and Happy (old and new) Anniversary HS.
This is the oldest digital picture I could find of us. It’s from 2005. Apparently, our love pre-dates digital cameras and facebook albums. Yikes! Here’s to growing even older together.