My Own Planet

OMG!
I swear, if I see one more ad campaign that features the phrase "OMG," I am going to scream. (Although yes, the screaming will probably include an "Oh my God!" or two.) Seriously, though. It was kind of self-deprecatingly cheeky when Gossip Girl did it (in that signature self-depricatingly cheeky Josh Schwartz manner), but all the second-rate copycats are wearing on my last nerve.

I think I probably need to watch a little less CW and a little more PBS. And maybe spend less time reading about the Miley Cyrus controversy and a little more time reading about...I don't know, the economic crisis. Although really, at this point, it seems like only a matter of time before President Bush begins a press conference with, "OMG! The Fed totally just cut interest rates again!"

Retro no-no
Yesterday afternoon, I was cruising home from work, listening to She & Him while wearing my compliment-inducing, Katherine-Heigl-bastardizing yellow rose sundress and feeling pretty cool with the retro '50s vibe I was working. But then I saw a girl drive by in an aqua-blue T-bird convertible, and I was suddenly seized with envy, knowing that my retro facade would not be complete without that car.

Unfortunately, earlier in the day, I'd succumbed to the sale goings-on at Fish's Eddy and ordered myself a 12-piece set of their Pantone dinnerware, so I didn't really have enough money (or lack of conscience) left over for another impulse purchase.

Double dog dare
I was Metro-ing back from the Mall one Saturday last April when a bunch of people in matching T-shirts rushed onto the train. Matching T-shirts are a common occurrence in D.C., but this group stood out--not only because their shirts said "Urban Dare," but also because they were consulting maps and talking excitedly about strategy. Even before I got home and Googled "Urban Dare," I had a sense that in a year's time, I would be on the receiving end of stares from curious Metro riders.

Who better to accompany me on this mini-Amazing Race through the city than fellow TAR fan Autumn? Fortunately, she was just as excited about the concept as I was, and so yesterday at high noon, we found ourselves on the south end of the Ellipse, tethered together at the knee, about to plow over a couple of sunbathers who were blocking the path of the world-record-setting three-legged race that marked the start of the 2008 D.C. Urban Dare.

While waiting for the race to begin, in addition to taking a couple of practice strides with our three-legged gait, we had discussed strategy. Given that the sample race on the web site didn't seem to follow any particular geographical order, I thought it might be best to take a few minutes at the start of the race to gather answers to all the clues and map out the best route. Autumn agreed. Unfortunately, once we had our clue sheet in hand (after swiftly completing the three-legged race as other teams floundered around us), all talk of strategy was instantly forgotten in the heat of the moment as we set off toward the first clue we knew the answer to, planning to gather others on the way.

This proved to be a costly error in judgment, but it wasn't until we phoned Jason for help during a dash through Capitol Hill that we realized we were walking mere blocks from the finish line...with at least half of the clues left to go. Most of which were pretty far west of us, in Foggy Bottom, Dupont Circle and near the Mall. Oops. Although doing the race essentially backwards did cause a little backtracking (we ended up walking/running more than 10 miles, whereas the most efficient route would have only taken 6), it also had its advantages, in that we were able to speed through all of the Hill dares in record time. We managed to recover quite well and devise a fairly efficient route for the rest of the race, although we did experience a few other hold-ups, including a possible sabotage on one of the dares (so not cool) and a lengthy argument with a Union Station bus driver about the best bus route to the finish line.

In the end, we finished 80th out of 126 teams with a time of 3:46, which was well within our goal of not coming in dead last. (I'm guessing that honor went to one of the more nonchalant teams we passed on our route, like the ones who were strolling along with big fat Starbucks cups in hand.) We managed to learn a little bit about our fair city (Did you know there are a bunch of statues of South American liberators along Virginia Avenue? Or that there's a rotunda at the Canadian Embassy that has a really awesome echo?) and to devise a strategy for next time (i.e., actually stick with strategy devised before the race). Not to mention, we got one hell of a workout.

Babes in Thailand
Hey, remember that time Bri and I went to Thailand? Yeah. I've finally managed to finish the maybe-a-little-too-detailed recap of all of our adventures. I post-dated it in November '07, because years from now when I look back at this blog, I can just see myself thinking, "Wait, why is the Thailand recap in March '08? We went to Thailand in October/November '07." (Or actually, years from now when I look back at this blog, I'll want to pretend that I'm not such a procrastinator. Although procrastination is only part of the story--this thing is nearly 20,000 words long, and that kind of meticulous recounting takes some time.)

Anyway. If you don't feel like working on your Monday morning (and who does, really?), you can start your adventure-by-proxy right here.

Worlds are colliding!
For 18 years, I lived in the same small town and had pretty much the same circle of friends. Sure, there were subtle shifts as the years passed and our ages and interests changed (case in point: Bri, whom I've known pretty much forever, used to be my sister's best friend when we were all still in the single digits, age-wise), and there were some peripheral people from camp and band and other activities whose paths occasionally converged, but for the most part, I'd known all of my friends in some form or fashion for most of my life, and therefore was pretty much immune to those cool little cross-connections that the writers of Lost are so fond of.

Fast-forward 10 years, and the waters of my circle of friends have gotten a lot muddier. I've lived in four different places (Columbia, London, Birmingham, D.C.) since leaving home, and now I have several subsets of friends to keep track of. Not only that, but there are certain people who fit into more than one category (I met Danielle in college, but we weren't really friends until she moved to Birmingham; I grew up with Ryan, and then he ended up at my college...and then in Birmingham), which makes it all the more confusing.

So when I saw the notice on my Facebook feed the other day that Chase and Jessica were now friends, it didn't occur to me as strange at first, since I knew both of them. But then it dawned on me: Chase and I met in college; Jessica is a friend of a friend from Birmingham. There's no way they possibly could have met each other through me, and so they must know each other some other way. Yep--it turns out they went to junior high together. Whoa.

I think it's incidents like this that make it possible for me to wake up from a dream in which Taylor Hicks is proposing marriage to me and not think it's all that strange. (I also had one recently in which I was giving Billy Bob Thornton love advice, but I did think that one pretty strange. And yet also an improvement on my last Billy Bob Thornton dream, in which I was naked in the back of a pickup truck.)

"All the immediate unknowns are better than knowing this tired and lonely fate"*
Lately, it seems like my new blog obsessions tend to mirror what's going on in my own life--or, more accurately, what's about to be going on in my own life. (I'm no Boy Scout, but "always be prepared" seems like a good idea, no?) When I was planning a trip around the world, I was addicted to reading the blogs of people who were taking trips around the world. Don't get me wrong, I still love my travel blogs, but now that those plans have been scrapped and I've been thrust back into the world of single-girl-hood, I've become more obsessed with reading the next Carrie Bradshaws (that is, ones with way better fashion sense and way fewer stupid puns. Although can I pause to say how totally excited I am for the Sex & the City movie? I didn't think I would be, given how Carrie and I left things, but I really, really I am. I think it's because the clothes don't look too horrible. Well, except for the infamous wedding dress. I mean, what is with that pointy hat thing?)

But I digress. While the lovely and amazing KT and Rachel have been fitting the single-gal bill for the past few months, I've recently stumbled upon another Carrie incarnate to love: Single + Cats = Sad. The blog's author, Martini, is a 27-year-old magazine editor who recently broke up with a long-term boyfriend because "it just wasn't right." So basically, we're the same person. Oh, except that she's a model in her spare time, hangs out at the Playboy Mansion and dates B-list actors, whereas I write quizzes for teenagers in my spare time, hang out in dive bars and...well, given that I live in D.C., my only option for dating the marginally famous is B-list politicians, and given the way the A list has been behaving lately, that doesn't seem too appealing. But these are tiny, insignificant details. The point here is that her blog is well-written and funny and makes me just a little less nervous about dipping a toe back into the shark-infested waters known as the dating pool.

*Is it just me, or should Jenny Lewis be the poster child for girls who break up with boys who seemed so right but turned out to be not so right? I heart Jenny Lewis, and only partly because starred in Troop Beverly Hills.

I heart Rob Sheffield
It's no secret that I've had a pretty huge crush on Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield for a while now. His column was the only thing that kept me subscribing to Rolling Stone for years after the rest of the magazine failed to hold my interest. I even proposed marriage to him once, although he, along with George Clooney, Colin Firth, et al never responded. (Although looking back now, some of these non-responses were blessings in disguise. Ralph Fiennes? Ryan Adams? Both kind of skeezy now. And Hugh Grant was technically kind of skeezy at the time of the proposal, but he's even skeezier now. And let's not even address the whole Clay Aiken thing, except to say that I have always had a soft spot for the gays.)

Anyway. Given my long-abiding love for Rob Sheffield, and the fact that I tend to fall in love with memoir writers anyway (see also: Obama, Barack), I realized that it was going to be somewhat difficult not to fall even more hopelessly in love with him while reading his memoir Love Is a Mix Tape. Sure, the fact that the book is all about his love for his late wife did give me pause--at least, until I discovered two very important pieces of information about Rob Sheffield last night:

1. He hates it when people interrupt stuff (dinner, a conversation) to answer the phone.

2. He hates the word "utilize."

I also do not believe in rushing to answer the phone if you're doing something else (isn't that what voicemail is for?) and think the word "utilize" should be banned from the English language. Clearly, this is meant to be. The only problem is, I'm afraid that if Rob Sheffield were to look at the cumulative collection of mix tapes and CDs I have created over the past 15 years or so, he would deem me very uncool indeed. Alas.

I don't think it's going to work out with me and Barack Obama, either. But at least I still have Clooney. If he ever writes a memoir, I'm a goner.