Life Lessons I Learned From Movies

Growing up, I thought watching movies would teach me everything I needed to know.  I mean, if Madison could learn a second language from TV, I could learn about social structure and boyfriends.

Now that I’m older, I’m supposed to know better.  But every time I start to clear the fog of movie knowledge from my head, Kate Hudson rides in on the back of a motorcycle and confuses me.

In fact, I’ve become so lost the only thing I know to be true is that E=MC^2… Except I don’t actually understand that equation since I dropped physics after 3 days my junior year of high school and haven’t taken a science class since.  Is that even physics? Is it science? Who the hell cares.  I have a BFA in theater and can summarize the plot of any Chekhov play.  CAN YOU?

Anywho, here are some things I learned from the movies that confuse me greatly to this very day.

Family

• Adult children and their parents regularly discuss their sex lives in great detail.
• Fathers who spend their time watching sports and appear to be senile are in fact fonts of wisdom on relationships, careers, and life in general.
• Mothers who are poor are always kind and caring while mothers who are rich are always mean and will pay your pregnant girlfriend to fake a miscarriage and move to a different city.

Relationships

• Couples fall in love after 3-5 dates or a montage of candlelit dinners (whichever comes first).
• It is perfectly normal to purchase a $2,000, one-way, non-refundable plane ticket in order to reconcile and/or propose to the soulmate you’ve known for a week.
• The men who don’t think you’re the most beautiful woman in the room are the assholes who end up drunk, alone, and at the kid’s table at your wedding.

Sex

• A woman’s breasts are always covered.  Always.
• Men never put condoms on, remove them, or get a women pregnant (unless she’s a powerful CEO and it would be inconvenient timing).
• A woman typically has an orgasm moments after intercourse begins.

Friendship

• You’re either friends with the same people from kindergarden until you die or are only friends with your co-workers.
• Calories don’t count if you’re hanging out with your bestie.  You can eat whatever you want and not get fat!
• Everyone has a core circle of 3-5 ethnically ambiguous friends who are less attractive and fill the roles of slut, married schoolmarm, and workaholic.

Careers

• All women have a placeholder job until they can attain their serious career (i.e. political journalist, pastry chef, powerful Wall Street honcho), but really just want the love of a good man.
• To be an interesting person you must work in advertising, architecture, or at a magazine.
• Even though you have a job, you don’t actually do any work there, you just talk to your friends in the break room.

Food

• All successful career women keep sweaters in their stoves since they cannot cook.
• Any woman who is a size 4 or smaller hates exercise and can eat whatever she wants.
• Any woman who eats a burger on a date is instantly considered marriage material because her healthy appetite makes her unique.

Miscellaneous

• Women don’t menstruate.
• The dishwasher is always empty.
• You can talk about someone who is standing 3 feet away and they won’t hear you.

CatRape

Everyone knows that cats rule and dogs drool. Just ask Sassy.

Lest you accuse me of being the crazy cat lady that I am (special shout out to my brother-in-law for the mug that bears those words), I would like to point out that 2/3 of every pet store is devoted to dogs and their paraphernalia. Dog people even dress up their pooches in outfits. Cat people don’t do that. Partly because cats have a certain sense of dignity, but mainly because we fear for our lives. I’m 93% sure my cat is plotting to kill me while I sleep. She also only scratches me on or near major arteries. If I’m not at the farmer’s market on Saturday please check my apartment to see if I’m alive.

In all fairness to my cat friend (and because I’m also pretty sure she can read and has set up google alerts), this violence may be a little bit my fault.

One word: catrape.

Before you get all worried that I’m sexually assaulting my feline companion, take a moment and read the definition below.

catrape verb 1) Any human interaction within 10 feet of a cat. 2) The motor-boating of an overweight cat’s belly area. 3) The waking of a cat from a sleeping state when it is in a particularly adorable position.

“No means no, bitch!”

I dare anyone with a pet to not try to snuggle and squeeze them whenever they can. You won’t last more than 5 minutes. With a dog it’s just fun cuddle time. With a cat every attempt at contact is irritating. Unless it’s dinner time. Then they’re like a Friskies ad.

It’s not my fault she’s so darn cute! It’s hers! If we’ve learned anything from SVU it’s that a rapist can get away with it if they blame the victim. YOU ASKED FOR IT RORY!!!

Besides, is the rape even legitimate if the cat is spayed/neutered?

Probably not if, you’re a republican.

Oh, and happy 12th Birthday Rory.

Things To Do While Unemployed

1) Make a wreath

2) Redecorate your car

3) Cook up some mints

4)  Take a bath

5) Bake bread

6) Make a chair

7) Learn a new hairstyle

8) Watch someone sleep

9) Learn a new, useless skill

10) Shop

Best of luck to you.

Ode to DiDi

I have a slight confession.  I am a 23 year old woman who still sleeps with her baby blanket. Even when my boyfriend sleeps over.

It may not make me any friends, and it will definitely make me the the butt of many jokes, but alas, it is true.  Here is the history of my great savior:

The Basics
Didi is her (yes, her) name.  She is crocheted of blue, white, pink, and yellow acrylic yarn. She is older than I am.

BDE (Before Didi Era)
Didi began as my mother’s attempt to be crafty when she was in college.  Apparently the whim didn’t last long as she sent the Didi embryo off to her grandmother to finish.  Didi was somehow returned, used as my sister’s baby blanket, and then, eventually, mine.  Thankfully, despite the fact that Didi was created in the 1970′s, she does not contain the colors avocado or mustard.  I consider this a small miracle.

AD (Anno Didi (The Year of Didi))
My mother claims she realized Didi’s name when I wouldn’t go down for a nap as a baby. Apparently I stood in my crib saying Didi repeatedly until she was brought to me and I promptly fell asleep.  For the record, I have tried this method with other items in my adulthood but my boyfriend has yet to bring me a Sprinkles cupcake before bed.  As a child she kept me warm when I watched TV, served as a pillow when I was sleepy, and came on every trip with our family.

Didi GPS
She was once left at a hotel.  Luckily, after several temper tantrums and phone calls, she was returned.  In another instance I was sleeping over at my preschool best friend’s house when I forgot to pack her but didn’t realize until bed time.  I felt silly saying something to her or her parents and tried to fall asleep in my sleeping bag. I couldn’t sleep.  Somehow, without being called, my father brought her over in (what felt like) the middle of the night (which I’m sure was closer to 10pm) so I wouldn’t have to sleep alone.

Eau du Didi
Didi has a very special smell.  No, you asshole, not of nastiness.  She smells like sunshine.  The way a towel smells when it’s been left in the sun for a few hours.  Crisp and warm.  When I was little, this obviously meant that washing was out of the question.  Many an argument was had and many an argument was lost (by my mother) over whether or not Didi was to be washed.  As a result she was often washed while I was at school or dance class.  This resulted in more temper tantrums. Even now when I’m stressed, I bury my face into her and breath deeply.  I’ve also been known to watch television while pressing a scrunched Didi to my face.  I am not an insane person.  I swear.

Heirs
Didi has one child, creatively named “Baby Didi.”  Baby Didi was smaller than Didi (a more appropriate baby blanket square shape) and had a popcorn stitch instead of the zigzag.  Obviously, as a child I viewed Baby Didi as inferior as she did not possess Didi’s fragrance, size, or general Didiness. Baby Didi was used only in emergencies or on a few rare occasions when my mother decided Didi should not accompany me.  I distinctly remember being very upset when Baby Didi was my date to a sleepover at my grandparents’ house.  Childhood is tough.

My Baby Blanket Is Better Than Yours
In high school, my group of friends would often sleep over at Becca’s* house because her basement was huge and AWESOME.  Because we were all losers many of us still had, and brought, our baby blankets.  I can proudly say that Didi was, and still is, in the best shape.  Becca’s looked like a tangled ball of grey yarn (that’s really not an exaggeration), one girl’s was unravelling from the ends, and another’s had an enormous hole in the center.  To this day, Didi’s only cosmetic flaw is a stretched out corner.  This is because I used it as a handle to drag her around the house.  I’m sure you can imagine young Stephanie dragging around a baby blanket being trailed by a cat or two.  Needless to say I make my own parade.

DiDi the Hankie
I am sorry to admit that yes, when I am completely traumatized and upset, Didi is used as a 3′x5′ handkerchief.  These times have included but are not limited to: the death of my cat Mittens, the death of my grandmother, most of 6th grade, the death of my cat Brownie, being cheated on by my rat of a high school boyfriend, being dumped 3 months later by aforementioned rat, college auditions, a coked out college roommate, and the death of my cat Princess.  She has seen me through it all.

Didi and the Adult World
When I went away to college I made the heart-wrenching decision to leave Didi behind.  I didn’t want to be judged for having a baby blanket and I felt this was the time to separate.  After all, it was only a month until Columbus Day weekend and I could always change my mind.  I did.  In my defense, this change was brought on by needing the comfort of home and childhood when your roommate is snorting cocaine, taking Bellinis to class in a Fiji water bottle, and giving you dirty looks when you eat.  After that, a “fuck it” mentality was created and I stopped caring that people cared.  Didi was coming with me to college, and eventually to Los Angeles.

Finally,  I suppose I must not only thank Didi, for giving me a lifetime of  bragging rights, warmth, and most importantly comfort, but also my mom, for attempting to make a blanket, and my Nana, for fixing whatever my mom did so well that Didi is still rocking it down more than 30 years later.

Epilogue 
Didi is still washed as rarely as possible, though at this point it is more to elongate her life than change her smell as Stephanie has developed a fool-proof “make Didi smell normal again” routine that can be accomplished in just 72 hours.  She is sometimes disguised as a throw blanket at the foot of the bed when company comes.  Didi still accompanies Stephanie on trips to her childhood home so she can spend time with the family cat.  She still resides with Stephanie and their love for each other has not waned throughout the years.

*Names have been changed to protect the friends turned uppity bitches.

Keeping Up With The Kardashians

Since Jodie Foster’s completely unsolicited rant on reality television and the new season of Kourtney and Kim Take Miami beginning on Sunday (YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY), I’ve decided it is more critical than ever to defend my unrequited love of the Kardashian fam.

1) Time - I have devoted countless hours of my life to keeping up with my favorite Armenian family, why stop now? It would be the same as getting a Ph.D. but quitting with only 5 pages of your dissertation to go!

2) Mindlessness - Sometimes a girl just wants to watch something that means absolutely nothing and the CW’s programming just isn’t always enough.

3) Count the Birkins -  Whether you’ve turned it into a drinking game or  you’re watching with sheer horror/fascination, how many $50,000 purses can Kim show off in 42 minutes?

4) Schadenfreude - I don’t have a sex tape, I’m not going through a messy divorce, and I didn’t get terrifying plastic surgery in the 1980′s.  I’m a saint compared to these people!!!

5) Business Tips - I have a lot to learn from the woman who turned a sexual encounter into a $38 million empire.  You do too.

6) It drives my boyfriend crazy -  I think that one speaks for itself!

7) Body Image- Next to Kim’s, my Italian ass seems practically normal.

8) The Girls Next Door isn’t on anymore. - Damn I miss Bridget.

9)  Completely (Un)natural storytelling – Don’t we all do yoga naked and get married within a month of meeting someone?

10) Why the hell not?? - So they’re lowering my IQ and taking the place of the scripted shows I would so desperately kill to write/act on, but aren’t I entitled to enjoy what makes me happy?

In conclusion:

Embrace the glorious death of television!

Or  I’ll tell everyone about YOUR guilty pleasure.

Boyfriends and Movies: Manipulation at it’s Best

By now you’ve probably realized that I’m dating a sic-fi loving, George Lucas worshiping, Apple Store geek.  So what do you do when it’s Saturday night and you’ve watched all the DVRed Parenthood? Normal couples pick a movie like adults.  In my relationship we go back and forth until my boyfriend says, “I feel bad for your parents.  You must have been a terror as a child.”  Thanks, honey.  Love you too.

Oh Nora, if only life were that simple.

When it comes time to pick a movie what does the ever charming bf want to watch? Something involving guns, aliens, or gun-toting aliens.  This poses a problem as my DVD collection rivals Mindy Kaling‘s when it comes to Rom-Coms.  This is where manipulation comes into play.  How do you twist a Rom-Com into Indiana Jones running from a bunch of aliens while throwing a lightsaber at whatever pretty-boy actor is trying to revitalize his career by being in Coen brothers’ movie?  Not to toot my own horn, but it goes a little something like this:

1) Pretty Woman- She’s a hooker and it’s 1990 in LA.  Richard Gere is basically playing AIDS roulette by having sex with her.  He didn’t even use a dental dam when they did it on the piano!

2) Wimbledon- Tennis is an incredibly dangerous sport.  Those balls (hehe, balls) fly at over 100 miles per hour! Not to mention they get on the London Eye, a glorified ferris wheel waiting to kill someone.

3) You’ve Got Mail- Corporate espionage, internet stalking, it’s practically Wall Street 3.

4) When Harry Met Sally- She creates a scene in a restaurant, old people are loitering on park benches.  If this were happening now Homeland Security would be roping off the area and breaking out the bomb-sniffing dogs.

5) My Big Fat Greek Wedding- A Greek marries a non-greek.  Racial tensions haven’t been this high since the Rodney King riots.

6) Something’s Gotta Give- If Jack Nicholson isn’t scary enough for you, he’s also smoking.  In bed.  Can you say house fire?

7) Notting Hill- A movie star is stalked by paparazzi then gives a Chagall painting to a travel bookstore owner. If that’s not tax evasion I don’t know what is.

8) Maid In Manhattan- Have you ever cleaned a bathroom? Didn’t think so.  It’s horrible.

9) Splash- Possible Presidential assassination, frequent near drowning, and a man who keeps soaking silk dresses.  I’m never leaving the house again.

10) Bridget Jones’s Diary- A plump English woman can’t lose weight no matter how much she exercises and smokes and is then forced to wear a tacky acrylic sweater.  Terrifying.

And another year bites the dust…

Once upon a time 3 monumental things happened in just one week to a lovely young lady. That lovely young lady is me, though I’m beginning to have second thoughts about the adjective in that last sentence (the adjective not the adverb, smart-ass). In chronological order they were:

1) Someone looked at the headshot of 59 year old woman and asked if it was me.

2) My new dermatologist suggested I get botox.

3) I turned 23.

First, I’d like you to examine my gravatar and ask yourself if I look like I’m approaching the Early Bird Special at Denny’s. Personally, I think I’ve got a few more laugh lines to go.

Second, a special thanks to my friend who recommended the aforementioned dermatologist. I will now spend our next outing scrutinizing your forehead.

This rather intense week got me thinking about a few things. Am I really at the point where I need to start getting botulism injected into my my face? According to my doctor, he’s got patients as young as 19. What do people say to them, “You don’t look a day over 12!” That’s just creepy.

How can I possibly compete with a frozen-faced teenager? Even one of the girls on Glee admitted to getting Botox. I’m totally screwed.

Virtually every actor I can think of has admitted to some kind of treatment, which is why they all look better than I do even though many of them are twice my age. Is it time to get more proactive? I am freakishly fair-skinned. I’ve lived in LA for less than a year and I already have more new freckles than I can count on both hands. God help me when the crow’s toes turn into feet. They’ll try to cast me in a Life Alert commercial (not that I’d turn it down).

Here’s one thing I do know: I have absolutely no tolerance for pain. I tear up when I get a paper cut so I’ve got a good feeling I won’t be able to handle a doctor cutting off half of my forehead and stapling it to my skull. But it’s just an inkling.

Obviously I need a handsome, shirtless, foreign man to carry a palm frond over my head. That is clearly the best way to avoid any wrinkles from sun-damage. To stop any aging issues from my diet I’ll turn to raw foods, but I’ll have to go easy on the sushi unless I want to drop out of Speed The Plow mid-run. To stop myself from furrowing my brow when stressed, I’ll have to quit my job, stop taking phone calls, and avoid my entire extended family… That last part doesn’t sound so bad….

Of course, once I quit my job, I’ll have no way to pay the man who shields me from the sun. That means I won’t be able to go to the farmer’s market and purchase the fresh produce to supply myself with the few nutrients one can actually get from a raw diet. All of my bones will break from malnutrition and I’ll be stuck on the floor slowly starving to death. As I lay on the floor in unspeakable pain, I’ll be unable to call anyone because my phone service has been cut-off from my lack of funds and no one in my family will try to find me because I’ve pissed them off by not speaking to them. And then I’ll die young, but at least my skin will be flawless and pulled taught across my face from the starvation.

Got dark quick didn’t it?

Then again, I could always pull a Diane Keaton and age gracefully, but I bet her dermatologist is way more supportive than mine.

In loving memory of Princess, who never aged.

February 14, 1994 – June 13, 2012