well, it’s another entry about my boobs.

Just got back from seeing Inside Man, or The Inside Man, or whatever it is. It doesn’t matter. I wanted to see it because Clive Owen is amazing, and if the entire movie was him doing that first monologue straight to the camera I would have been much more entertained.

Consequently, about half an hour into the movie I started thinking about writing this entry.

There’s a scene that’s in the trailer, so I’m not spoiling anything, where the bad guys make everybody in the bank strip to their underwear. This taps into something I’ve never talked about here, mostly because it hasn’t come up. I recently confessed my this confession to a co-worker, and while he did give me the, “Every day I learn something weirder about you” look, he didn’t suggest I keep this neurotic fun fact to myself, so I’ll blame all of this on him.

The scene confirmed my fear, and let me know that it was a perfectly normal, rational thought to have each morning.

When I get dressed, I always think, “Is this what I want to be seen in when the bad guys bust into the building and force us to strip down to our underwear?” Continue reading

they walk alike, they talk alike, sometimes they even… (nevermind.)

When my friend Rebecca and I are out in public, we are sometimes mistaken for sisters. In fact, when Dan, his brother Adam, Rebecca and I are sitting at a restaurant together, we look like an East Side version of the Bobbsey Twins: the boys in their ringer t-shirts, Rebecca and I in blue hoodies with our hair pulled into ponytails.

But the story Dan told me today, this one’s the best. Here it is as I heard it, during mile three of this morning’s ten-mile run with Dan (Yes, I ran anyway, even though the nice nurse suggested (ordered) that I don’t. I didn’t want to call Dan in the middle of the night or early in the morning and puss out on him, particularly because we’d logged all the miles during the week leading up to our long run. I got up early and had a good breakfast, drank lots of water, ate an orange, and did some stretching. What do you know, all that preparation worked! We did all ten miles, and didn’t die, and we’re awesome and this week, unlike last, I didn’t come down with the chills for an hour afterward. Yay, us.)

Anyway. Back to the story.

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quickly

I’m waiting for Dan to get here because we’re about to go for a very long run. I don’t know if I’d do it if Dan weren’t coming over. He’s a big motivator, for more than just what he’s done over the past month, on this restrictive diet that would cause most of us to go fetal in tears. Continue reading

blood, sweat and tears

Which of the following things didn’t happen to me this past weekend?

A) Cried at a museum.
B) Ran seven miles.
C) Met someone in a hot tub who knew Dan from college.
D) Held Sara’s head as blood gushed down her face.
E) Stayed at home, finishing my book edits. Then went to the post office, got my windshield wiper blades changed, did some grocery shopping, cleaned my house, made cookies and folded my hands in homemaker glee.

Yeah, good guess. Continue reading

Meet New York Pam.

Leaving Los Angeles, I got a few tips on surviving New York during the holidays. I was told:

1. I’d need heavy clothes. An enormous coat I didn’t own. Lots and lots of layers and sweaters and basically I’d need to go buy a new wardrobe and a huge suitcase to put it all in.
2. I shouldn’t wear earrings because it would be so cold that the bars in my earlobes would freeze and hurt.
3. I was going to need to wear long underwear, and I needed boots that could survive getting soaked and I’d need to buy those boots and gloves and sweaters and did anyone mention the huge coat?
4. There was going to be a subway strike, and I’d be stranded and alone. Continue reading

Bettye LaVette: I’ve Got My Own Hell to Raise

Song: “The High Road”

I didn’t know anything about Bettye LaVette when this CD came into my life. So I immediately thought, “I didn’t know that Fiona lyric was a reference to an old song.” Nope. Other way around. This is a collection of covers that is so good it feels like you’ve snuck into Bettye’s house when she thought she was alone and boozy, singing sad songs while cleaning her kitchen sink.

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