...A PENNY FOR MADDE'S THOUGHTS...

An Open Letter to...THE CHRISTMAS HIPPO!

2011-11-27T22:34:00.001-06:00

Dear Christmas Hippo,

Well, looks like she asked and she did receive. She wanted you and only you would do, and now you sit in her garage. If I may ask, how often are you getting your promised massage? I bet not often, right? She can barely do her weekly chores of trash emptying and Grandma time. Gee whiz, buddy--I am sorry.

Listen, I heard about the chimney incident on Christmas Eve. That little child said Santa wouldn't mind, but we both know from the scars on your tummy that he minded alright. Not only did he mind, but that old man struggled! He had no choice but to enter through that dirty chimney hole! He's Santa! That's his thing! I know you're a Hippo, but let's talk logic here. It's hard to stuff a fat animal down a chimney! Yes, I called you fat. You are a fat water dinosaur! You belong in the water, not in a moderatly sized claw foot tub in a suburban two-car garage! You're a water dinosaur! DINOSAUR! OF THE WATER!

Chins up, Christmas Hippo. It will get better for you. Here's the plan. When that selfish little bratty girl goes to sleep this Christmas Eve, I'm going to break into her room, verbally shame her as she sleeps, grab a Fresca from the kitchen, find the garage key, enjoy the Fresca, open the garage, empty your tub, get another Fresca from the kitchen, enjoy half of the second Fresca, and get you the heck out of that 2-car garage. Meet me by the Hello Kitty bike Santa brought that selfish little bratty girl last Christmas that she never touched after she saw you standing there. I'll be the girl holding the two cans of Fresca!

xo,

Madde

Oh, hi. I'm back.

2011-09-04T18:28:00.000-05:00

Oh, hi. Yup, I'm back at the blog! Crazy to be back. Ha. Ya. Funny. (awkward silence) You well? Well, that's good, I guess. Me too. Right. Ok. Well. Hmmm...Alright.

....Are you mad at me? Are we in a fight? Mmmk, well I'm not even going to insult you with an apology this time. Summer happened. I was enjoying it. People drift apart. It happens. It doesn't mean I don't care about you. No really! Look, I know you're upset. All I can do is promise that it won't happen again...until next summer, or until I get really busy again. You understand, right?

....can we hug? Please? (Hug your computer. Do it. Do it RIGHT NOW!).....Wow, I know I feel better. Do you?

I love you. Keep reading. I'm not the girl who cried Blog, je promise.

Now, who's ready to hear my skewed perspective on the world?? Let's dive in!

xoxo

Here comes the Debbie Downer...oh, and the Bride! Bum. Bum. BumBum. (RICE!)

2011-06-21T15:42:00.000-05:00

When I was 5 my Mother’s cousin flew the whole family out to Seattle to attend her extremely lavish and gigantic fairytale wedding. As the flower girls, my sister and I wore matching white dresses that complimented our matching bowl cuts quite nicely. 5-year old Madde thought this wedding was fabulous because her dress was soaked in sparkles and she got a McDonald’s Happy Meal on the flight home. 23-year old Madde has evolved into think that this wedding and most weddings are pretty redic.

You see when I turned 23 there was a definite gigantic shift in my life. Suddenly, without warning, my friends started getting engaged and popping out real, live babies! WHAAAT? Because my childhood bowl haircut screwed with my oxygen-intake levels, I have been left incredibly self-involved, and subsequently I can’t help but wonder what this whole wedding business says about me. Here I am at age 23, in what I’ve liked to dub my “Second Puberty,” being distracted by cute boys and playing the field, while my dear childhood friends have found their soul mates and are starting their families. It seemed like just yesterday the same friends were dressing like hussies and flaunting their foobs (future boobs) for any boy who has just sprouted 2 chest hairs. What happened?? When did we stop being little girls and start becoming women?

(....Alright, let’s talk about the elephant in the room....Yes, I just nearly quoted a Britney Spears song, but stay with me on this one!)

Weddings are a big deal, I hear. Upon reflection, I realized that my 5-year old fabulous wedding experience was the only significant wedding I had ever attended, and the extent of my wedding knowledge stems from years of extensive Romantic Comedy viewing, and seeing “Bridesmaids”...Twice.

My dear sister, with whom I shared the darling matching bowl cut, will be getting married this September, and the fam and I are beyond excited for her new marriage! We really like the boy, we really like her, we really like this wedding. She’s 4 years older than I and I still think...”Woah! You’re a baby! How are you getting married right now?” I had what Oprah likes to call an “Ah-ha! Moment” recently. A major “Ah-ha! Moment” that changed everything...for now.

"Ah-ha" with me for a moment...

With weddings come Maid-of-Honor duties, gift buying anxiety, brushing up on the Chicken Dance pressure, and looking appropriate/ showering responsibilities. There are multiple levels of anxiety when it comes to wedding talk with my friends and fam.

Level 1:

Insane pressure that this one day has to be ultimate perfection, and all involved are responsible for facilitating the success of this event. This is the level in which you feel like the ultimate wedding planner and imagine reality TV show crews following you around and capturing all this high-stress drama.

Level 2:

Bizarre self-involved stress time in which you linger for a moment and wonder if YOU will ever get married yourself. I'm assuming this is a self-soothing mechanism that is the only thing that prevents level 1 from making your head shoot off from the stress of the flower arrangements.

Level 2.5:

The level where you try to explain to your family and pals just exactly WHY you are NOT bringing a “plus one” to the wedding. At some point they will get this weird look on their faces and then say, “Don’t you have a fun gay bestie you could bring! You guys could wear matching outfits!” After crying from the judgement factor, you then consider bringing an actual straight man, but opt out of it because you’re not ready to explain to other guests how he’s NOT your boyfriend, just a friend, and then they proceed through the buffet line and talk about how they always figured you were a lesbian, and how someone had heard you were moving to Iowa very soon with your life-partner, Janet Thunderpaws.

Level 3:

The most selfish of all the levels. Here is where you wonder if your dear friends or family will still have time for you in their lives after they get married and become an old maid or father-like man. :) This level requires faith and trust that no matter how fabulous their new husband or wife is, you remain even MORE fabulous. And yes, it is a competition.

At the end of the day weddings force me to put aside my cynical side for a day and really believe in everlasting love and adoration between two people who love each other. It’s easy to make jokes and be a Debbie Downer when it comes to love. Hell! I’ve devoted over 200 blogs to this very topic (excluding my recent blog about my belly button...you can’t love a belly button...or can you??? I bet Janet Thunderpaws loves hers), but weddings are a time for optimism and the celebration of love. So, with the impending weddings of my dear love ones, I make this promise: I will celebrate all love.

If my extensive RomCom watching research has taught me anything it would be this,

You can’t truly love someone else if you don’t truly believe it exists.

BARF.

An Ode to my Belly Button

2011-06-17T15:59:00.003-05:00

(Warning: I am about to over-share.)

I'm not sure if I was nibbled on by a bug or what happened, but my belly button has been giving me some grief lately. Yes, my belly button. It upsets me. To deal with the angst, I offer you a very special blog entry....

On Ode To My Belly Button

Hey there little button man.

Hi. Hello. Bonjour.

Look at how you sit there and stare at me with your little button eye.

Staring. With. Your. Button. Eye.

Yes, I'm looking at you in a mirror.

That is the only way I can see you face to face.

Like. A. Man. Button.

When I stare down at you from up here, it is like I am a bird.

Flutter. Flutter. Fly. Fly.

A bird that stares at belly buttons as she soars on by.

Don't worry. I'm a friend, not a foe.

I shall not try to eat you like a tree mouse.

Chompy. Chomp. Crunch party.

Belly button, you have always been there for me.

I mean, where else would you be?

Belly. Button. Convention. In. Santa. Fe.

I'm assuming someone I know tied you to me when I was born.

Twisty. Twisty. Tie, tie.

Thank you for staying around for the party.

Enjoy. The. Punch.

I know sometimes I hide you from the public.

Sensible tshirts and legging tops have kept you my little secret.

I wanted it that way.

Secret. Belly. Button. Spy.

I don't think poorly of you.

You're a great pal.

Always there to give me a squeeze.

Belly. Button. Squeeze. Party.

If I could squeeze you like a navel orange...and make juice...

I wouldn't.

Respect.

I keep you lint free as a gift to you from me.

I don't want you feeling like you're some type of second-rate citizen.

You're important, just like all the other buttons.

Staples. Easy. Button. Ain't. Got. Nothin. On. You

Never leave my tummy belly button.

Stay with me forever.

We'll get through this.

Promise. Promise. Pinky swear.

An Open Letter to..DOGS HANGING OUT OF CAR WINDOWS

2011-06-16T00:28:00.004-05:00

Dear Dogs Hanging Out of Car Windows,

Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING can make me happier than seeing you guys hangin' out of the window of a speeding automobile. Tongues flappin' in the breeze, fur flying with wild abandon, a single doggie ear slapping against the car door frame. This is the picture of summer joy.

I love how much you love that highway wind. I do worry about flying objects sometimes, but not for long. Why? Because when you hang out of that car window you give me all sorts of hope. And my biggest hope is that a semi doesn't fly by and smack your little dog head off, but that won't happen, right?? Give me hope, doggies. Give me hope.

Sure, would I like you guys strapped in safe in the back seat of the car?

Maybe. But if we held you down, how would you bring me so much joy on the highway? HOW WOULD YOU DO THAT?

Keep pokin' your heads out of those cars, gang! I can't promise I won't run into you with my car because I'm so distracted by the adorability factor of the situation, but if I do run into you, forgive me, and when you get back from the vet, don't stop highway head pokin' outin'!

xoxo,

"OMG!!! PUT YOUR FACE ON MY FACE!" The Tale of a Drunken Texter

2011-06-15T23:53:00.000-05:00

So I went to a party held in a fort the other night (that's another story...don't ask. No seriously, don't ask). Perhaps it was the fort, perhaps it was the heat, whatever the perhaps may have been.. people were in fine drunken form. Some drunk chick drunkenly got my friends number that night and has continued with her drunkiness ever since. My response? Not cute.

Cellphones have been around for awhile, so you'd think people would have learned how to use them responsibly by now, but unfortunately there seems to be a grey-zone when it comes to drunk texting.

Drunk texting is Flirtexting's ugly step-sister. You know, that ugly little creature who is only let out of the basement after the dinner party guests have gone home for the evening. (Let me explain this metaphor for you. You see in this scenario the "ugly creature" is the drunk texter, the "basement" would be their soul or perhaps the bounds of their self-control, and I'm going to let the "dinner party" just be a "dinner party" because you can get super drunk at dinner parties.... if you're tacky, I guess.)

Sure there are certainly situations in which the drunk text can happen, is forgivable and sometimes even charming, but those times are walking a very fine line. If you are sending me drunk texts from Bonnaroo while you listen to your newest fav indie band, Daddy's Little Kitten Fairy Bomb, and it requires me to have to put my phone on silent...we're in trouble. A picture text of you in a sombrero eating a corn on the cob? Cute. 12 pictures of a weird rash you found on your leg after running through a swamp? Not cute.

Drunk texting gets even more tragic when the combo of "vodka + cellphone + smitten-dom" is involved. People think that professions of love via text message with the statement "i'm super drunky...and i think you're all sorts of hot sauce!!! PUT YOUR FACE ON MY FACE!" makes it all ok. In some ways it makes it may make it worse. First, you can't say that you like someone to their face? Second, you have to be 4 vodka tonics in to have truth spew out of your blow hole? Third, putting your face on someone else's face sounds.....aggressive. This makes me sad-sauce--and intrigued?

I know what you're thinking.....Am I completely innocent of this drunken text messaging behavior? Certainly not. I enjoy a sensible cocktail buzz and reckless texting as much as the next girl, but there's a point when shame must set in. Do I enjoy my stock excuse "Ooooo supey sorry about that one! You know how I get with a few pinot grigio's under my belt! Woo!"? Certainly not. As the sender and recipient of these drunken text messages, I will say that their amusing factor just becomes a little awkward turtle sometimes.

The problem with the drunken crush texts is that eventually you will come face-to-face with the textee. And when those faces meet, they may not be face-ON-face. Why? Well mainly because you both feel supey awkward about what was said. The non-drunk one assumes that the drunk one knew exactly what was said in that text message, and the drunk one assumes that the non-drunk one will pretend like it never happened and/or profess their love to them back. It's a cycle of awkward turtle. And if that awkward turtle were mine...I'd set it free in the ocean where it didn't get cell phone reception.

Ladies and gentlemen of the world, may I ask one thing of you this summer! Please avoid cellphones and hard alcohol combinations, for they will only lead to regrettable decisions, awkward turtle faces, and possible pregnancy.

An Open Letter to...Women that Wear Bikinis as Street-wear!

2011-06-06T12:52:00.000-05:00

Dear Women that Wear Bikinis as Street-wear,

Ladies, ladies, ladies. As the sun has become a fixture in our daily lives, so have the winds of change that seemed to have stolen your clothes right off your body. Swimwear is appropriate for the following places: pools, beaches, tanning beds, prancing around your house and looking in mirrors after you've lost that 10 lbs you've always resented. Swimwear is NOT, I repeat, NOT appropriate for the following places: restaurants, street corners, grocery stores, the theater.

The swimwear as street-wear phenomenon that seems to have taken over the nations youth (and sometimes the.... not so youth) is always a shock to the system when I'm walking into an establishment and remembered to bring my clothes AND put them on my body.

Let's just think about this for a moment. Say for instance you whipped out your old lady underpants. You know, the ones you wear when your cute undies are in the laundry and you can't bear the thought of going commando! Let's say you whipped those out and wore them on a leisurely stroll down the street. What makes that so different from your bikini bottoms, ladies? The rip in the bum of the old lady unders? That weird discoloration on the left cheek fabric? The control top? Basically what I'm saying here is that when you wear your swim suit out as street-wear it is no different from prancing about in your jacked-up underwear.

I'm just sayin....

On a separate note, I would also like to inquire where you got that suit because it's supey cutesies!

xo,

Madde

Summer lovin' had me a blast....Summer lo---wait,wait...why are you so awkward?

2011-06-06T12:12:00.001-05:00

I'm baaaaaaaaaack!

After a short hiatus, I have returned to the blogsicles. Yay!

I have been tirelessly out in this field researching all things love, boys, girls, questionables, chipmunks, awkward turtle situations, and many more! What did I learn in this field? Well for starters, wear sun screen. There's nothing more uncomfy than being burnt to a crisp while you're trying to get your flirt on.

So, won't you join me for my summer adventures in redic sitches and things I'll probs regret writing and putting on the internets? (I think it may be a summer of a lot of abreevs...it's hot out, you gots to save timesicles!)

Yay!

xo, Madde

Balls in your face!

2011-03-30T17:35:00.002-05:00

We're always told by our Mothers to "play the field" with men before we settle down. To try and test out all the possible superstar players before we sign onto the all-star team. As one who has no athletic skill to speak of, I find it supey challenging to "play the game".

I played softball once in middle school and the team decided I would be super strong way, way far out in the outfield. There I was, sun beating on my pale skin, nervous beads of sweat dripping from my tiny brow. My hand got super hot so I opted to take that leather paw off and place it on the grass where it would surely cool off. Suddenly...BAM!! a ball comes flying way, way far out into the outfield. I could tell by the disappointed looks on my teammates faces, this wasn't supposed to happen. Unprepared and so panic-stricken that pee streamed down my leg like Niagara Falls in a rainy season, I reached my piggy arms up to the sky...BAM!! BALL IN THE FACE! Fail.

The dating pool in your 20s is a lot like getting a ball in your face. I'm out in the outfield of the world, just waiting for a man to come around, after awhile I've taken off my leather paw because surely I don't need it, and then BAM! Balls in my face! Not literal balls...well....No, no, no. No literal balls are on my face out in public. Oh gosh, this metaphor has gone in a direction I could never have imagined. Jeeze.

Ok, what I mean to say is this: Men are like balls and I'm out in the outfield waiting to catch one. I become so distracted and bored when no balls come out in my direction, I take off my hand armor. Then suddenly out of NOWHERE comes a ball and I'm not prepared to catch it. It just hits my face. I'm just known as "Madde Ball Face" for the rest of ~~middle school~~ my 20s.

Basically what I'm saying is I need to learn how to catch a ball or else Ima get hit in the face.

An Open Letter to...THE CUTE OLD WOMAN WHO TOLD ME TO "F@#$ OFF!"!

2011-03-28T10:45:00.001-05:00

Dear The Cute Old Woman Who Told Me To "F#$* OFF!",

Well, well, well, aren't we a Bitter Betty? Listen lady, you came to an interactive show that I was in and I was simply asking you where your "happy face" was? Those words coming out of your face are certainly not happy, nor are they respectful. For shame.

Where'd you get a mouth like that Toots? Ever heard of a little thing called the swear jar? Someone owes it $5! $5 seem a little steep to you, Mouth? Well perhaps you shouldn't have told me to "F*&@ off!" TWICE!

Ma'am, I am but a wee and lowly actor, working for scraps and my shift cocktail after the show, your words have cut me to the core. Interactive theater should be a positive and enlightening experience of human beings coming together to create a magical and inspiring environment of make-believe! I have a copy of the script and no where in the character descriptions page is a "cute old woman who crushes the dreams of a young actor by use of her potty mouth" ever mentioned!

Today I ask you to look in the mirror and ask yourself some questions like "What would Meryl Streep do?". I believe Meryl is a good role-model for you in your aged state. Meryl Streep would never tell a youngin' to "F*#@ Off" and neither should you.

God bless and F--WOOPS!.... God bless again.

xo,

Me

Me, Myself, and I: How to Date Yourself

2011-03-27T15:54:00.002-05:00

Ooooo la la! Look! I got flowers this week!

And who gave them to me?

(Go on! Go on! Let your minds wander! Who do you think gave me flowers?? Ooo la la! Giggle giggle)

Well.....I'll give you some hints.

This person is kind, charming, funnyish, thoughtful, intelligent-ish, and sometimes adorable.

They like me a lot. They are lovable, capable, and gosh-darnit, people like them!

Who was it?

ME!

Yup, I bought those little daisies for myself!

Who says you can't date yourself? I'm gonna do it! I'm just gonna do it! (Wait! Mmmk..I bet a lot of people say that's not ok. I retract that statement! No wait, no I don't. I don't retract that statement at all. Pretend like this parentheses never happened. Ugh. Now I've confused us all! You guys, I'm really sorry. I suggest you go back to the top of this blog post and start reading again, when you get to the part where I say "Who says you can't date yourself?" don't read the part in the parentheses. Just move forward. Let's just pretend this doesn't exist. Ok. Let's try this again.)

(TAKE 2)

Who says you can't date yourself? I'm gonna do it! I'm just gonna do it! There's so much pressure to find a mate, but how well do we really know the mate we already have? Me and myself: Celebrating our 23rd Anniversary on May 21st.

So, I did a little self-reflection about me. Fun fact about me: I'm a naturally anxious human being. My friends, my pillow pets, my family, and even my doctor all think I should just chill out a wee bit. When I sat down and thought about Anxious Me, I realized I don't give myself enough lovin' (please quickly remove your mind from the gutter so that we may continue....have you retreieved it? Wonderful. Let's move on!). Sure, I eat well and I like to hit up the Y every once and awhile (When I can figure out how to use the stairmaster!!), but when was the last time I did something nice for me?

I started trying something out, a little something here, a little something there, and you know what?? It WORKED! I wouldn't say Anxious Me is gone, but I have certainly chilled out a lot!

So, how do you date yourself? Some tips:

1. Flowers:

Buy yourself flowers and place them by your bed. When you wake up in the morning and smell the glorious smells of spring wafting from your bedside table, you can't help but be happy.

2. Tea Dates:

Take yourself out on a tea date! Go to your local Tea Garden with your favorite book and spend an hour reading and being fabulous. (If I may suggest a book title "Mr. FunnyPants" by Michael Showalter has changed my life. Pick it up.)

3. Smile Parties:

Guess what! You got invited to a party! It's called a SMILE PARTY! And if you don't wear a smile to the SMILE PARTY, your ass is getting kicked out! When is the party? It's RIGHT NOW! Hope you have your smile swagger on!

4. Sweeten Up!

No one wants to date a Debbie Downer, even you! So sweeten up! I'm sure if a scientist did an experiment about people being grumpy pants, they would find that no one likes a grumpy pants. That's scientific research right there! So put a smile on your face and a song in your heart! Sweeten up!

5. Do you like those shoes? Buy them:

Let us not get out of hand with this tip! I don't want you to end up homeless with a fabulous shoe collection, but if you see a pair that speak to you--purchase them. I guarantee that while you are dating yourself, your date will ALWAYS notice your shoes! (You know why? Because you're dating yourself!...and you bought them....Are you getting this yet?)

6. Never pass up a time to be fabulous:

It is a well-known fact that when faced with a date with another human being many people spend some time looking nice for that person. So why not look nice for yourself? Spring dresses or casual bow ties too much for you on a daily basis? Then let's start with a shower! Take one! Your self-date doesn't want a Stinky Sammy.

7: Museums, Zoos, and Movies! Oh My!

That new exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Art calling your name? Go to it!

Baby animals being born at a rapid rate at the Minnesota Zoo? Go to them!

Want to see the new "Jane Eyre" movie and have a good cry? Go to it!

There is absolutely no reason for one to miss out on the fabulousness of the city around them because they are a party of one! Go out into the world and see the things you love! The great part about this? Invite others to double date with you and yourself!

So why is dating yourself so important? Because new men come and go, but you are with yourself forever. Get to know you! You'll like them a lot!

An Open Letter to...Stairmasters!

2011-03-27T13:12:00.002-05:00

Dear Stairmasters,

You deceiving little monster, you! Yesterday I decided to "shake things up!" at the gymsicles. What a mistake that was! There I was, standing in front of you like an idiot! Why you gotta be so hard to understand, Stairmaster??

I came to you for a session of bum-bum toning and all you gave me was a session of looking stupid in front of all the other gym-goers at the Y. Here's what truly blows my mind, Stairmaster. I ALREADY MASTERED HOW TO WALK UP STAIRS! I went to a prep-school for gods sake! Do you think we even needed to be taught stair skills at a prep-school? No, we did not. We were such smarty-pants they just ASSUMED we could walk up stairs.

I have been graduated from said fancy school for many years now, is it possible I forgot how to walk up stairs? No, it is not. So here I am, in front of a Stairmaster in my early 20s baffled at it's functionality. Here's why you're so tricky, Stairmaster. YOU'RE NOT ACTUALLY STAIRS! I came to you excepting something of a stationary escalator and all I got were two platforms that rapidly fell to the floor when I stepped upon them.

Stairmaster, let's make a compromise. I'll leave you alone and you actually do what you came to do...BE STATIONARY MECHANICAL STAIRS!

If you need me you can find me on the elliptical.

xo,

Madde

An Open Letter to...PEOPLE WHO WERE ACTUALLY RAISED BY WOLVES!

2011-03-06T12:40:00.000-06:00

Dear People Who Were ACTUALLY Raised By Wolves,

I'm really sorry about what we've been saying about you guys. Seriously, I'm really, really sorry. Please don't eat me, I said I was sorry. Put your fangs away, I'm apologizing for the world, you guys.

I'm sure your wolf upbringing was really great, in fact--I KNOW it was a great. My mother certainly didn't teach me how to make a bed out of sticks, leaves, and the skin of a bear! That is really a life skill that you can take with you down the road. You've got a beautiful singing howl! Everyone in your choir thinks so. Your dad is really nice, a little bit of an attitude of "I'm so awesome 'cuz I'm a dude!!", but super nice. Your wolf family really prepared you for the world.

So, I guess what I'm saying is I'm sorry. I'm sorry that everyone has spoken about you in such a negative way. I know it's not fair and I'm sure it makes you sad/hungry to eat people sometimes. I hope you can forgive the world and we can cut it out with this wolf hate-speech.

Hey! Next time I'm having deer at my house for dinner, you should totes come over for a nibble!

xo,

Madde

Where's Lame-O????

2011-03-05T20:52:00.000-06:00

"Where's Waldo?" books always chapped my hide as a young pup. I spent countless days, hours, and minutes of my youth searching high and low for a weird man dressed like a candy cane. Guess what....I rarely found him.

We were led to believe that Waldo was the "perfect man". For if he weren't perfect, why would we spend so much time looking for his stupid face?

I looked high, I looked low. I looked for him in the ocean, I looked for him in the town square. I looked for him in Egypt, I looked for him in London. I was always looking for Mr. Waldo Perfect Pants!

And then it would happen, there he was! I had finally found him! Hiding behind that monkey in the middle of the rainforest! There was Mr. Waldo Perfect Pants, himself! I had found him! Woo!! ...........Ummm...now what? Do I just stare at him forever? The joy of finding him certainly couldn't last forever! I was forced to turn the page. Start a new journey with him.

With each new page, I grew more and more frustrated. The more times I found Waldo and then awkwardly stared at him for an extended period of time, the more I realized how incredibly flawed this little man truly was. He was constantly on the run, couldn't make a commitment to me on any page, and wouldn't stop wearing that stupid-ass hat! Waldo wasn't perfect, he was just a lame dude with commitment issues and a bad wardrobe!

When I look back at the books now, I'm far more interested in the characters that surround commitment-phobe Waldo. That handsome man selling fruit in the town square, or the man walking the 14 dogs through Paris. Waldo never brought me food, nor did he even suggest that he had an interest in animals!

We spend our days searching for what we think the perfect man or lady is, combing through the crowds of gentlemen callers and adorable ladies, searching for that one person that we think is what we want and need! When we stop looking for that Mr/Mrs. Perfect Pants for just one second, we will stumble upon the ones who are actually the most perfect for us. The ones who's quirks are out in the open, the ones who aren't so insecure that they have to hide behind a fountain while you are putting yourself out there in the town square (in the completely non-prostitute way, of course!). And maybe, just maybe, if we're lucky enough...Mr. Perfect will be wearing an adorable hat!

GUEST BLOGGER TIME! WOO! Emily Schmidt's "Awkward Times"

2011-02-23T15:18:00.000-06:00

.....5, 6, 7 8! IT'S GUEST BLOGGER TIME! WOO!

EMILY SCHMIDT is...

*an improviser

*a smarty-pants

*an NYU grad (ooo la la)

*a super funny lady

*my friend...jealous?

I'm super pumped to welcome Ms. Emily Schmidt to my blog today! You must think I'm a lazypants and don't like writing my own blog, but fear not, Judgey McJudgersocks...I just think Emily is super funny. Here's what's great about Emily, she actually went to college and got a degree in writing-related stuff. I ain't got no edumacation in that written word thang. No sireeeeee.

So please do me a favor and give a round of applause from your laptop for....EMILY SCHMIDT!

****************************************************************

Awkward is playing dress-up in kindergarten and having feet too big to fit in your friend’s mom’s heels. Awkward is a fifth grader forced to listen to her elderly teacher talk about her miscarriage. Awkward is your freshman roommate trying to burn you with a lighter in the dorm elevator as a “joke” and so “you can know what it feels like.”

“Awkward” became a part of our everyday vernacular again some years ago, like those stupid tiny-heeled boots that make me look like a circus monkey. Everyone and everything was suddenly awkward. For those of us really and truly cursed with the inability to make correct social decisions, this is still painful. That was our word, really all we could cling to in the middle of the night - that, and our mismatched bedsheets.

Suddenly, it was perfectly acceptable for my genetically-favored classmates to apply the wrong shade of lip gloss and, “OMG it was SOO awkward!!” Is it? Is it really that awkward when I have to walk around un-showered and wearing a garbage bag for Newspaper hazing? Do you understand how greasy my hair gets if I don’t wash it every morning? Yeah. Let’s rethink.

Being awkward became hip, and that’s when events in my life got a little bit out of control. Hispters made things complicated when they introduced the everyday personal application of irony. Suddenly, I could buy a Betty White t-shirt instead of having to make my own with iron-on Google images. What was cool? What was weird? How is anyone who is normally socially disadvantaged supposed to navigate the irony?

What happened was that people started rewarding me for finding myself in awkward situations and it became funny - a novelty, like kids gathering around a fireplace to listen to their decrepit grandpa tell stories about the war (this never happened to anyone, ever).

My interior flow chart is permanently effed. Instead of appropriately avoiding bad situations, I head straight for them, as if they were free Jimmy Fallon mustache rides. Where everyone else would take a sharp left, back to start, I follow the arrows around the contorted map until even my therapist has no words for me.

It’s subconscious. If someone doesn’t want to be friends with me, due to whatever circumstance, it becomes my personal goal to make that person my best friend. I will go out of my way to say hi, invite them to events and generally create various uncomfortable situations. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until it’s too late. These, of course, make for funny stories but at what price? My dignity? Well...that’s long gone.

Really, it’s no one’s fault but my own. I was born this way, consistently taller and lurkier than all of my peers and ready with the most inappropriate comment possible. Maybe I should be thanking hipsters for making me and my actions more acceptable to society. Instead of being shunned, I’m now part of an elite group that will unwillingly sacrifice themselves for a truly awkward story.

So, I guess the next time you find yourself surrounded by TOO MANY attractive and interesting boys, all vying for your attention, be more delicate when choosing to describe the circumstance. That, my lady friend, is not awkward. Leave this word to those of us who, if ever in that situation, would accidentally bring up our periods with food in our teeth and find a way to deeply offend at least two of them. And then fall down while trying to get off the bar stool gracefully. That is the correct application of the word.

An OPEN LETTER TO NOSE PICKIN' CAR DRIVERS!

2011-02-21T22:34:00.001-06:00

Traffic has been wacky these days and allowed me a lot of daydreaming time in the car. I have noticed an amazing new trend with drivers...NOSE PICKERS! I now present to you an OPEN LETTER TO NOSE PICKIN' CAR DRIVERS!

Dear NOSE PICKIN' CAR DRIVERS,

Whatcha lookin' for up there, folks? Gold? Treasure? Your keys? Your license and registration?

Whatever you're searching for--I can see you really digging from over here in my car. And let me tell you, it is intense what is happening over there.

I suppose I can appreciate your private nose picking time. I would much rather have you digging in your car, rather than a table next to me at Chino, but I must say it's hard to sip on my Jamba Juice while I watch you scavenging for your breakfast.

I commend your perseverance at stoplights, and even your multi-tasking abilities while driving, picking, and singing along to Katy Perry's "Firework". Well done, chap.

I wonder many things while I watch you at this stop light. May I list them for you?

1. Do you have a tiny dashboard kleenex kit you could use?

2. Do you sanitize your steering wheel before letting a valet park it?

3. What happens when you find what you're looking for?

4. Is this something you do alone, or just while the kids from the carpool are in the back of the van?

5. Have you considered tinted windows?

6. Is this a self-soothing method you use to deal with stressful traffic situations?

7. Do you know I'm watching you?

8. Do you care that I'm watching you?

9. Do you do this with hopes that it will encourage me to pick as well?

...and finally!

10. WHY ARE YOU PICKING YOUR NOSE WHILE DRIVING?

Mmmk. Just some thoughts for you. Happy picking!

xo,

If I were stuck in the snow, would you help me?

2011-02-21T22:19:00.000-06:00

Snowpocolypse 2.0 hit the Twin Cities yesterday and today.

Oh, joy! More snow(Booooo!)

There is a general unspoken rule among most Minnesotans when it comes to snow time. If you are in the vicinity of a person in a stuck car around blizzard season, you stop and help them. Today I experienced some of the most appalling behavior by some young gents EVER.

As my Jetta attempted to get out of a snowbank at the end of my ally today, I came upon 4 or 5 twenty-something dudes complete with snow-blowers and shovels. As I got down on my hands and knees in the snow trying to dig my way out, these dudes just stared at me. Finally I got up from the snow and asked to borrow one of their shovels. They threw it in my general direction and then continued to stand and chat by their pick-up truck. There I was on all fours, then on my twos, digging and shoveling. Not ONCE did these very strong men offer to even push the Jetta for a second. I dug for quite some time and then stuck the shovel in a snowbank by the car while I tried to drive out of the ditch sitch. As I sit in the car, foot pounding on the pedal, screaming at the Jetta to "just budge an inch!!!", I hear a knock on my window. One of the dudes stands at the window and says, "I'm taking my shovel back now. Peace out."

Yup. That's right. A petite blonde chick attempts to get her Jetta out of the snow for more than 25 minutes in front of 5 dudes that could have easily given her a shove, and they take their shovel back and go on their merry way. Trashy.

Here's the thing about this situation, I'm perfectly aware that it was not their "job" or "duty" to help ME out with my problem, but they were standing right there with their fancy snow machines for almost a half hour WATCHING me struggle, and they did nothing. No push, no dig, no words of encouragement as frozen tears sped down my cheeks. Nothing.

I have spoken in the past about the importance of being a gentleman, and today was an astonishing example of how it seems as though being a gentleman doesn't seem to matter to a large portion modern men. In the past week alone I have walked through doors with dudes who let it slam in my face, been called nasty little names by boys who clearly lack a filter, and just been glared at with some stink-eyes. It's really too bad and I hope that this is "just a phase".

To the gentlemen that I have in my life: you're goodies, stay that way, and a lady will swoop you up reaaaaal quick.

To the boys who would like to be gentlemen, but are struggling through your "douchey" phase right now: It's not cute anymore. Knock it off and put on a nice, clean shirt too.

An Open Letter to...The Red-Headed Actress Who Made Kombucha Disappear :( Sad-faced

2011-01-20T15:45:00.002-06:00

If you follow Madde Belle: A CLOSET CASE. you would know that I am currently in Kalamazoo, Michigan for the week with the fam. Kalamazoo, a quaint college town, truly is everything Frank Sinatra once told us it was (wait, was it Franky that sang a ditty about Kalamazoo? Who knows!)

Anywho, when traveling I try my best to keep my routines intact, which includes my weekly Kombucha Juice indulgence (fermented Chinese tea that smells weird funky, but makes me feel awesome funky!). Well wouldn't you know that my Kombucha was nowhere to be found in K-A-L-A-M-A-Z-O-O--and we have one person to blame...L-O-H-A-N. I now present to you my open letter to...The Red-Headed Actress Who Made Kombucha Disappear.

Dear The Red-Headed Actress Who Made Kombucha Disappear,

Not cool, lady-friend...not cool at all. Looks like you've "TRAP"ped us again. You see, just when I was becoming spirtually connected to my Kombucha juice, you just happened to violate your pesky little probation and blame who? My beloved Kombucha--when in actuality you should have been blaming it on the "aa-aa-aa-aaa-aaa-alcohol" (Thank you, Jamie Foxx).

~~MEAN GIRL~~ Red-Headed Actress, I commend you on your sobriety now (for seers, good job!), but it was not Kombucha's fault that you were going out to the clubs and suckling on the nose candy and sippin' on Gin and Juice, was it? Kombucha had minimal effect on your sobriety level, yet the moment you pointed your finger their way, my presh kombuch was taken away from the stores for "re-formulation". And let me tell you something--he didn't come back the same man. No, no, no. He is simply a shadow of his former self.

There was a time this summer when I lost all hope and was certain that I would no longer be able to look forward to an afternoon buzz from a beverage sold in the produce department of my grocery store, but somehow, by the grace of Jesus, Buddha, God, and Barbra Streisand-- they have returned. Well--sorta. Yes, they've made a return--but I doubt they will ever fully bounce back. Certainly no bounce to be found in the Michigan suburbs.

So here I am today.
No buzz, no fermentation, no nothin'.
I'm forced to drink water.
And I'm in Michigan.
Thank you very much.
Maybe you and your little car, HERBIE, could scooch on up here and bring me a Cranberry Kombucha fresh from an L.A. co-op. Think about it.

xo,

GUEST BLOGGER, TAJ RULER on "Sensitivity--has he gone too far?"

2011-01-17T18:45:00.003-06:00

See this girl? Her name is Taj. She wrote a funny guest blog for me. You are about to read it...

*****

I am just tickled pink to have guest blogger, Taj Ruler, on today's blogsicles! Taj is an improviser, ukulele player, funny lady, and a dear friend of yours truly. She is one of the funniest ladies that I know, and having spent many a wine-induced night of boy chatting with her, I trust her with the blog today. So I present to you Taj's thoughts on the fine, fine line of male sensitivity. In 5, 4, 3, 2,1---

*****

Alright ladies, lets be honest with ourselves. We might all be strong, independent women, but we also want that special someone that we're with to be attentive to us. To hold our hands, to call us just to talk, to give us complements out of the blue, and to basically just treat us with respect. In other words, we would like them to be sensitive.

Yes, a sensitive guy is wonderful. Having a guy treat us like we're pretty pretty princesses? What could be better! Whenever I think of my ideal guy, it's definitely on my list of adjectives that describes him. However, there is a thing as being too sensitive. It might seem hard to believe, but it's true. Yes, Prince McSensitive-Pants, I'm talking to you. So I've composed a list of don'ts that all you extra caring guys should heed warning to. Because these things might just push your princess back to her castle that's guarded by a dragon. (Note: These are actual things that have been done. I'm not just making this up.)

1. Don't write your own sonnets expressing your love for her every morning. Especially via text.

2. Don't talk about your ex-girlfriend and how much she hurt you when she dumped you. Major turn off. You will not get into her pants that way!

3. Don't ask to be little spoon all the time! Your partner wants to be taken care of too! It's a two way street, yo!

4. Don't have a picture of your mom in the bathroom. Family is important, and loving your mom is wonderful, but a picture of her in the bathroom? That's just creepy.

5. Don't write songs to say you're sorry. It might be cute when you first start going out to write a little ditty about how you like her. But then new hit singles like, "I'm sorry I dropped your toothbrush in the toilet" won't make it to the top 40 charts and it definitely won't hit a chord in her heart.

These are just a few examples of things to avoid. Again, it is great for guys to be attentive, caring, and respectful, but also remember to have some back bone, too. Man up! Make us feel like princesses without becoming one of our ladies in waiting.

*****

Taj and I can be found in our new video blog "The Mittens and Buttons Sing-A-Long Blog" on the YouTubesies. And with our all-girl improv team, The Minneapples, around the Twin Cities droppin' the funnies. Look us upsicles!

Marry me by the dumpster for a week, please.

2011-01-17T01:42:00.001-06:00

(Please note that this may be the creepiest picture I have ever found on the internets. I'm sorry.)

When I was in elementary school we played this really fun game on the playground in which we married our classmates in an elaborate marriage ceremony by the dumpster. The students would peel themselves away from King of the Mountain, and waddle over in their snow pants as two of our classmates exchanged poorly written vows and rings made out of Laffy Taffy's from our lunch boxes. The couple was always the latest 5th grade crushes, excluding the time this one girl married this dead squirrel that had fallen from a tree and we had covered with a trash can during the ceremony.

As I think about it in my early 20s, I often wonder why I never got married in those elementary school weddings. I certainly had my fair share of 5th grade crushes who were certainly biting at the bit to marry me next to the dumpster, but I always opted out. Even to my 5th grade boyfriend who romantically gave me a $5 Caribou gift card because he thought I was pretty-ish.

I have entertained the thought that perhaps I am not "the marrying kind", but as I watch my former playmates grow up and settle down with live-in boyfriends or marry the women they love, I wonder if perhaps it is not that I am not the "marrying kind", rather I have a very low tolerance for dating.

My childhood chums have put up with a lot of foolishness on their adventures in dating throughout the years, and I (ironically) have a very low tolerance for foolishness. (Ironic because I have been regarded as possibly one of the most foolish humans to ever grace the world with my foolishness. How foolish.) I have never been able to play the game of pouting my puckers around a good gent or doing my best mating dance at the bar. No, no, no, none of that for me. I'd rather stay at home snuggled in with my Pillow Pet than endure that sort of horror.

So my conclusion is this: I am sure sometime in my life I will be "the marrying kind", and the truth is at 22 I am far too fabulous to settle down quite yet. The "foolish" games of the 20-something dating scene are definitely not this gal's style. I will not be putting on any hoochie dresses and strutting my stuff through Cowboy Slims with "mY bEST giRLIES!!! xoxoxoxo" anytime soon, but perhaps I could make myself a little more bearable to date. I could even start by not laughing at someone who asks me out on a date (this may or may not have happened in the recent past...woops)! Yay!

.....who wants to exchange laffy taffy rings by the dumpster?

Man 3G. Man 3GS. Man 4G. When am I eligible for an upgrade?

2011-01-15T12:34:00.001-06:00

Whenever I itch my nose I swirl my itching fingers around my nose tip 3 times, and if someone were to ever come upon me while I was thinking they would find me with my tongue hanging out of the side of my mouth. That's my thinking face. I didn't come to know of these habits on my own--no, no, no, I was not-so- delicately informed of their existence. Now that I know about them, I'm extremely aware whenever they show their ugly faces.

Habits.

We all have them.

Perhaps you think yours are a lot less charming then my swirly nose itch, but I doubt it.

As I took inventory of my last year, I reflected on my accomplishments, my embarrassments, my--other things that don't fit into those categories, and the men that have crossed my path like black cats.

I came to an astonishing realization:

I have a "go on dates with different versions of the same dude over and over again" habit.

How true this habit is. When I think about the dudes that have continually popped up in my life, the similarities they all share are pretty phenomenal. Shall I list some of them for you?

1. He usually thinks he's very funny.

2. He has fabulous hair.

3. He is goal-oriented.

4. He finds me mildly amusing sometimes.

5. He thinks very highly of himself.

6. He looks just like the one before him. (Please refer to the sketch)

7. He is supey Awkward Turtle.

8. He is a journaler. (It's all about the journal with these boys. I don't get it.)

9. He likes himself. A lot.

10. It's very possible he likes boys sometimes.

That is just a tasting menu of their qualities, but it's pretty consistent with most of them. Now don't get me wrong, some of these things are fabulous! Goal-oriented, hair maintenance, but some of those are definite dealbreakers. So what makes us go back for different versions of the same thing? I'm not exactly sure, but it will require some soul searching from all of us--that's for sure!

7 minutes of heaven in 20-11

2011-01-14T00:51:00.002-06:00

I bet you made a New Year's Resolution list this year, didn't you? No, no, I'm not knocking on your resolutions--(remember my resolution was to be more POSITIVE this year?! To knock your resolution would be a perfect example of negativity, you d-wad!).

Anywhos. Resolutions. They can build us up, or break us down. One year I resolved to be a dolphin trainer, that didn't work out for me in 1997--so I was let down for my entire year. Last year I resolved to write a blog on dating and romance as a 20-something. Lots of peeps read my babble in 2010--that was a good resolution last year.

So what about this year? Well this year my best friend, Nick and I, have decided to issue a challenge to the world. I am happy to announce that 2011 will officially be known as:

"SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN IN 20-11"

That's right, peeps! I have issued you a challenge to aimlessly make out with countless numbers of people for 7-minutes as many times as you possibly can this year! After all--it IS 2011!

Let me answer some of those burning questions you are having:

Q. Do I have to be in a closet to partake in the 7-minutes of Heaven smooches?

A. Certainly not! Our ancestors have traditionally 7 minutes in heaven'd in some of our nation's finest closets, but with this new decade upon us, I encourage you to find other places to find 7 minutes of bliss!

Q. Should I know my kissing partner before I spend 7 minutes with them?

A. Not necessarily. The world is your make-out oyster. Have at it! Mouths open, tongues out! Let's go, people!

Q. Will I be timed?

A. Yes. I will be by each and every one of you with a stop watch, ensuring that you are only making out for 7 minutes. Anyone over 7 minutes will be issued a ticket and be expected to show up in court--LOVE COURT!

Please feel free to leave any of your other questions in the comment box below. After leaving a comment please go find the nearest person and spend 7 minutes "M and O'ing". I will be checking on you soon.

It's 2011 and I'm baaaaaack!

2011-01-12T23:27:00.001-06:00

Well, well, well...look what we have here...I'm baaaaaack!

Please let me start out by saying...

Happy 2011, my peeps!

I decided to let your hangovers fully recover before I whipped out the 20-11 blogsicles. Hopefully we've all put clean clothes on, showered the stank of rotten tequila off us, and at least attempted to regain our dignity.

Well, I spent my holidays patiently waiting underneath the mistletoe for a smokin' hot man to accidentally trip on my strategically spilled egg nog mess and just happen to plant his face on mine. When those efforts proved unsuccessful, I abandoned the mission and dedicated my time to putting my face in my new furry boyfriends--

PILLOW PETS!

(They are pillows! But they are also PETS! Whaaaaat? Yes.)

So here we are--2011. Obama may have brought us change for the new millennium, but 2011 is going to bring us into this new decade in style. I'm feeling good about our chances here, people. Reaaaaallly good.

So who is Madde, the Blogger, in this new decade? I think she's optimistic. It was recently brought to my attention that I am somewhat of a charming "Debbie Downer" type. I don't make vacations to Disneyland as miserable as Debbie, but I sure do love to point out those flaws in people. Woops! So Madde is going to make an attempt to keep it positive in the new year. Afterall, it's a new decade--why not usher in a new fabulous her!*

*Note: This is a New Year's Resolution. I make no promises.

My horoscope says that 2011 is really the Gemini woman's year...so let's rock it out, shall we?

An Open Christmas Letter to...Pop Singers Who Use "Oh, Holy Night" as a Platform to Sing Their Faces Off!

2010-12-08T15:25:00.001-06:00

(Celine Dion belts out a little "Oh, Holy Night")

Dear Pop Singers Who Use "Oh, Holy Night" as a Platform to Sing Their Faces Off,

Good for you guys! Rarely in modern pop music do we find the perfect song that let's us really blow our tops off, but you kids have found it. Thank you. Truly. You have taken the birth of our Lord and used it to your advantage. He was born to not only save you from your sins, but also to encourage you to sing so high that dolphins scurry to the surface to hear you proclaim the word of the Lord.

When I snuggle into the Jetta for a warm winter drive through the snow, I shake out of my boots with excitement when I hear the first few notes jingle jangle from the radio. Here you are, your vocal chords sanded up for some hard work, your face loosened up with intensive Swedish massage...get ready world--you are going to sing "OH, HOLY NIGHT!"

I've employed a small man to be at your feet for today's performance of "Oh, Holy Night". I've equipped him with a small towel to dab the blood from your vocal chords, a sound-proof box to put you in, and a dust pan to wipe up your face from the floor after you sing it off!

Keep singing, kittens. I'm really proud of you--and so is Jesus.

Merry Christmas!

xo,

.....in case you doubt me.....here are some examples of mind-blowing "Oh, Holy Night" renditions, by some of Pop music's brightest and loudest stars...

(Mariah Carey screams her version "Oh, Holy Night")

(Carrie Underwood doesn't mess around on the high-notes in THIS version of "Oh, Holy Night")

...and finally,

(Josh Groban...is NOT messing around)

HAPPY 100th BLOG, Madde! Love, Madde

2010-12-07T16:18:00.000-06:00

HAPPY 100th BLOG, EVERY ONE!!

WOOO!!!

A little less than a year ago in January of 2010, my dear friend set me out on a challenge. My new part-time job was to "Julie and Julia" my life and start a blog about my adventures in dating and the general absurdity that is my life.

The last year I mounted my Sassy Horse to go on this massive blog-venture. I've run the gamut of topics including: MAN BABIES, An Open Letter to Muffin Tops and Flip Flops, and reveled my true feelings on SEXTERS. I've regaled you with tales of advice on what to do when a boy THROWS UP on you, Liz Lemon'd you with some definite DEALBREAKERS, taken you deep into THE MAN VAULT, reached out to the reader who found me by looking for GAY BLEACH, and proclaimed my love for all things CELINE DION and Adorable Animals on the Internet. All these topics while I attempted to get a date and steer-clear of my comfort zone, The Gay Bar: a one-stop shop for all of my Fabulous Ex-Boyfriends.

So, what lies ahead for the blog? A lot more bloggin', I suppose, but just like Mariah Carey, I have a few Grown-Up Christmas Wishes for the Blogsicles. So here we go....

1. Do you j'adore the blog? Why don't you open your yapper and tell me... on the blog!

The proof is in the pudding numbers, friends. I know you're reading the blog (I have a magical number counting thingy), why not share your thoughts on it? or give me an awkward date challenge? or make fun of me publicly? Please and thank you!

2. Sharesicles with your friendsicles!

I'm pretty sure you have friends who would like to laugh at my expense too. Don't cheat them of that simple joy. I'm a mockery of myself sometimes, others deserve to feel good about themselves.

3. Just keep reading, just keep reading.

Finally, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, and THANK YOU for reading my mindless blabber. It's a lot of fun to do'sies...now, a little less conversation, a little more awkward dating. Ready. Set. MAN-BABIES!

An Open Christmas Letter to...THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY!

2010-12-06T22:08:00.001-06:00

"THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY"

(The Little Drummer Boy being The Little Drumming A-Hole in some flick)

Dear The Little Drummer Boy,

SHHH!!! There's a baby sleeping, you moron! I don't know if you were aware of this, but the kid that was just born in that barn over there--is sort of a big deal. He doesn't need some rebellious pre-teen banging on the sheep skin drum he just got for his birthday! He actually would prefer some quiet so that he could reflect on dying for your stupid ass sins in 30 or so years. Got it? Get it? Good.

Regardless of the social status of said baby, let's talk about the fact that someone gave you a drum in the first place. You're not fit to be PA-RUM-PU-PUM-PUMing all around town...that's evident by your behavior tonight. Hand over the drum and take up some soft-shoe jazz dance, this would allow you to get out some of that excess energy IN SILENCE!

Good luck, kid.

Merry Christmas. (You'll figure out what that means in 30 or so years)

xo,

I'll Be Your Girl for All Seasons...I'm Sorry, Change of Plans--Only 2 Seasons!

2010-12-05T11:20:00.001-06:00

As I attempted to brush the 8 feet of snow off of the Jetta on my way out the other night, it hit me like a snowball...WINTER IS HARD WORK. It had taken me about 20 minutes just to assemble my winter ensemble of gloves, hat, mittens over my gloves, 4 pairs of socks beneath my boots, before I was even ready to go out into the world, and as I sat in the Jetta waiting for it to heat up from "frigid" to "freezing", I couldn't help but wonder (Thank you, Carrie Bradshaw)--was it even worth it to go out tonight? Winter is such hard work, couldn't I just stay home and snuggle in my bed like a hibernating bear? But I was late for a very important date (not really), and I was going to get my butt out into the world...mittens and all!

Winter is a lot of work and you know what? So is dating. This makes DATING+WINTER=DISASTER.

There's a reason they call it a "SPRING FLING", people! Let's break it down for a moment, shall we?

In the springtime, the world is full of rainbows peaking through the blue sky, unicorns joyfully leaping across the world to bring young love together. and bunnies encouraging us to do it! Just do it! ......Go on a date! DO IT! :)

The world is a beautiful, hopeful place in the Spring. No one can say "No!" to a proposed date on a beautiful rooftop patio, or a walk hand and hand around a freshly mowed park. (Mmmmmm.....let's take a moment and remember the smells of freshly mowed grass.....mmmmmmm.) It all sounds so beautiful, no?

As Spring and Summer wind down, we realize--was I dating the man, or was I dating the beautiful weather? Most of the time, you're dating the weather. Don't believe me? Go sit in a stuffy coffee shop with the same dude come December and see if you're so euphoric! Go on...do it! Just do it. Go on that date! Do it! :)

They say a true Minnesotan can weather a winter storm, so maybe it's not too far off to believe a true Minnesotan can find love in the snow too! Bundle up in your warm winter gear, and walk hand in hand in a freshly snowed-upon park. After all, a couple that bundles together...stays together.

An Open Christmas Letter to...FELIZ NAVIDAD

2010-12-04T19:46:00.000-06:00

"FELIZ NAVIDAD"

(this unfortunate version of an even more unfortunate tune)

Dear Feliz Navidad,

Go away. Get off of my radio. I don't like you or your trumpet solos. Go. Away. NOW!

Merry Christmas!

xo,

An Open Christmas Letter to...BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE!

2010-12-04T18:27:00.001-06:00

Continuing in the spirit of Open Christmas Letters, today I present to you an Open Christmas Letter to....

"BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE!"

(Tom Jones and Cerys Matthew's make me uncomfy as they sing "Baby, It's Cold Outside". Please watch for their awkward dance break at 1:40. Yikes)

Dear THE TEAM INSISTING THAT IT'S COLD OUTSIDE,

I'd like to talk to each of you individually, if that's alright? I'm sure that will be just fine, since this date is not going well. Cold Dude, meet me in the den by the fire place. Cold Lady, go grab your stuff. I'm giving you a ride home so that your Father will stop pacing the floor.

Cold Dude, what up with you? No means NO! It doesn't mean "Maybe I'll give her a half a drink more, get her wasted, and then she has to sleep over...in the nude!" It means NO! We have pitter-pattered about for over 3 minutes while this poor, polite, dim-witted gal attempts to let you down easy. She's just not that into you.

I don't mean to put you down. You've really put a great date together. A girl would be lucky to have you. You're so complimentary, this wine is great, the fire is really lovely, but she's just not that into you. If your buddies ask why you didn't seal the deal tonight, you don't have to say that she left because she wasn't into you, simply say it was too cold and she had some family emergency. Ok. Great. Have a good night.

Cold Lady, what up with you? You knew coming to his house for the first date would make things complicated. You're letting him down easy, I respect that, but you should just say NO...it's not that hard. I hate to say it, but here's bound to be talk tomorrow either way. You live with your family and as soon as you get home tonight they are going to look you up and down like a hussy. Your sister won't be suspicious because your Aunt not only has a vicious mind, but a nasty, gossipy mouth..and she just proclaimed to your whole family that she thinks you're a slut. That's what you get for staying so late at this date! Next time...meet at a coffee shop. Just sayin'!

Alright kids, you two have fun. And wear a coat.

Merry Christmas!

xo,

Me

A Christmas Open Letter to...THE GIRL WHO SAW HER MOTHER KISSING SANTA!

2010-12-04T17:04:00.003-06:00

Woopsie poopsie, I haven't blogged in a while.

Many people may be wondering where the eff I've been the last few weeks?

Well, kittens--don't you worry your pretty little heads about it because I AM BACK and READY FOR SOME BLOGGIN'! WOO!

Alright, for the month of December I have decided to dedicate some of my Open Letters to Christmas songs! (My favorite songs of all!)

Let's dive into the snow head first, eh?

"I SAW MOMMY KISSING SANTA CLAUS"

(The Cheetah Girls from their album "Cheetah-licious Christmas"...obviously)

Dear The Girl Who Saw Her Mother Kissing Santa,

Wow, you really want to break up Santa's marriage, don't you? Maybe you don't understand the gravity of your choices, little girl. Not only did you snoop on your Mother, but then you wrote a hit song exposing the dirty laundry of a very well-known and respected man.

Snooping isn't a crime, but it will land you on the Naughty List. You know what else will land you on the Naughty List? Ending Santa's marriage, that's what. Next time you creep down the stairs to have a peek, you better be prepared for Mrs. Claus to be there with a big Christmas bag of whoop-ass for you. Don't say I didn't tell ya so!

Merry Christmas!

xo,

An Open Letter to...PEOPLE THAT SMOKE WEED WHILE DRIVING!

2010-11-13T14:51:00.000-06:00

Yesterday my sister yelled at me for engaging in a "Wave-Off" on the road with some dudes right next to us in the car. They kept waving at me! I couldn't be rude! I thought they were friendly until she noted they were probably high because they were clearly smoking weed in the car. Today I offer an open letter to...PEOPLE THAT SMOKE WEED WHILE DRIVING!

Dear PEOPLE THAT SMOKE WEED WHILE DRIVING,

What the hell is wrong with you? Clearly you're an idiot, so let's get that out of the way, but seriously--what's the logic on this one? Oh, I'm sorry. Have I lost my "cool"? Am I not being "chill" enough for you "bro"? I'll lower my voice....It's cool man. It's cool.

Ok, cool. We cool? Cool. Alright. Awesome. Rad. Mmmk...So, I digress--you're so goddamn enlightened, so why don't you enlighten me on this little ditty? Why are you smoking weed in your car...WHILE IT'S MOVING?? Seriously. First off, you couldn't wait until you were at least pulled over to pass that pipe around? I'm no square, but this is where I draw the line! I get it, someone likes the mary-jane! More power to you, but when you're driving? Are we being for serious on this one? Seriously bro, it's not safe, you'll probs get arrested, and well...you look like a moron when you're high and waving at two sisters as they drive in their automobile.

Put the pipe down and stop waving at me, I can't help but wave back! So really, you're making ME look like an idiot. I resent you for that, bro.

xo,

Damaged Goods

2010-11-13T14:19:00.000-06:00

I love to shop. There, I said it. The first step is admitting you have a problem. Ugh. That felt good. Now let's get this blog written so I can go shop some more! :)

I've always been a sucker for bargain shopping. I love vintage shopping and clearance shopping. I love the possibilities of finding something fabulous to love forever. I can be found heading straight to the clearance rack to find that one piece of clothing that is missing a button or has a small mark on the bottom, something fixable on an item with flair! Many people see these things as "damaged goods", but I just see them as an opportunity on something I simply can't give up!

After bearing witness to one of my famous disastrous love interactions, a love mentor of mine, or a "LOVE-TOR" if you will (and I do hope you will), recently told me that as I got older she hoped I would learn to avoid "damaged goods".

Hmmm...."Damaged goods"..."damaged goods"...I haven't been able to stop thinking about this. When I sat down to reflect on this concept, it dawned on me, at the end of the day..........

...aren't we ALL damaged goods?

I'm pretty sure I'm missing a few buttons up in my mind-grapes, why shouldn't everyone else have the opportunity to have a few loose too?

I guess the level of damage is important to think about though. For instance, I would never buy a sassy polka-dot shirt with a rip in the armpit because that is a damage to the shirt that is pretty much beyond my abilities of restoration, but a missing button on the front? Shoot, I can do a little cross-stitch button action to get that baby up and running again. The same can be said for a man. We've all had a heartbreak or two, we can sew a button on that! No problem! But if the last relationship he was in left him homeless and wandering the street searching for the love of a passing stranger, I'm pretty sure I don't have a sewing machine that can deal with that rip.

We're all searching for a deal, but when it comes to matters of a mate perhaps one should stay out of the clearance bin and simply buy off the rack at a Vintage store. True, we're all damaged goods, but what about finding a fabulously pre-loved and cared for item that you will cherish as your own forever.

An Open Letter to....MUFFIN TOPS!

2010-11-11T11:26:00.000-06:00

It's almost wintertime and they have reared their ugly selves. Today I offer an open letter to....MUFFIN TOPS!

Dear Muffin Tops,

Whatchu doin' out this time of year? In fact, whatchu doin' out ANY time of year? Muffin Top, as I stood on the street corner last night (hangin' with my pals...not workin' it! Je promise!), you came sauntering around the corner like you owned that place. I was in shock. I was in awe. I was in...vomit. Muffin Top! Stay inside where you belong! This is for your own good, I promise. Muffin Top, you aren't cute, you aren't fun at parties, you bring a frowny face to my face. Muffin Top, do we need to talk? I think we do.

We've all got a part of you inside of us, Muffin Top, but the smart peeps don't let you wander out onto the street unsupervised. Muffin Top, you suffer from inflated sense of self. This may be offensive to you, but it's time for some tough love. Muffin Top, you shouldn't feel as good about yourself as you do. This is for your own good, get off the streets and into a loose-fitting tee. The air is a drug to you, I know.

I found a really helpful Muffin Top Rehab for you to go to, I've stuck the brochure in your belly button. Read it over. Consider getting some help. After all, the winter time is coming and I shan't say "I told you so!" when you catch a cold on the top of your Muffin.

xo,

The Lady-Besties Revolt

2010-11-09T13:10:00.000-06:00

There has been an increase in my dude-friends getting these things that they like to call "girlfriends" lately. It's a very confusing concept to me. These women have creeped in right under my nose and BAM! dude-friend=gone!

You see as the "lady friend" or "token girly bestie", one of two things happen when this "girlfriend" comes into the picture (both are equally as unfortunate). The first thing that can happen is he will turn to you for advice. In one situation dude-friend had been quietly dating the new girlfriend and not mentioning a word of her to me, and then suddenly...BAM! he's in love! Of course he's in love....of course he is. Plagued with the feelings of new love, he turned to me for some love advice. Uh-oh.

When dude-friends ask their lady-besties for advice about their new girlfriends, things can get sticky. You see because girls usually don't like other girls...for the most part. It's hard to be impartial in a situation in which you think that other girl is a tad on the skanky side, or smells like trouble. If you are a lady, you know this is true. I went to all-girls school so the scent of girly trouble has been beaten into my nostrils my whole life. So there he is, sitting with a pouty face, and he asks "What should I do about my new girlfriend?"...and what do I do? I roll my eyes and say "Get over it. Move on." Not cool, self. Not cool.

If dude-friends aren't coming to you for advice on their new girlfriends, it's because they have turned to the next option....DROP OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH. This is where most dude-friends go when they have their new girlfriends. You see, new girlfriends are threatened by his lady-besties and have asked that he spend less time with them, and more time with her...doing nothing. It's sad when the dude-friends drop off the face of the earth, lady-besties tend to miss them a lot when they vanish. A bit of advice to dudes to vanish when the new girlfriend comes into town...that's not cute. We forgive you for your stupidity, but it's not cute. Seriously. We didn't want to date you before, this new girlfriend isn't going to eff up our mind-grapes and make us think we're in love with you...calm down and call the lady-besty back every once and awhile. Yeesh!

Being a lady-besty can be a tough job, but they exist for a reason. Lady-besties are the perfect situation for a dude-friend because they offer the giggles of a lady, without the inevitable mundane boredom of the new girlfriend. At the end of the day, this new girlfriend is fleeting, but lady-besties are forevesies.

FREE KISSES!

2010-11-08T00:05:00.000-06:00

FREE KISSES!

So last night I partook in some smooching (the innocent sort, of course). As the face of a very dashing gentleman was pinned up against my own, it suddenly hit me..."Kissing is sorta weird, right??" Right.

Of course, I have shared many a kiss with many a fellow in my years, but it wasn't until last night that I realized what a bizarre behavior kissing truly is. I mean seriously...what the eff is it anyway?

Don't judge it, just listen up. Let's just talk about the logistics of kissing for a moment. Mmmk...When we human beings are attracted to one another we put our face ON another person's face, and sometimes, when we're feeling sassy, we lick each other's mouths. Humans do this for hours, sometimes DAYS, at a time. This is called "a kiss".

Why is this our instinct as humans? To press our faces on each other sounds bizarre, yet 90% of the world's population (this is a true fact that I googled) puts their faces on each other. Animals put their noses on each other to smell the other one out, but when was the last time you were kissing someone just so you could smell them?

As I reflected on this kissing phenomenon further, I realized that surely kissing is something that cavemen must have come up with, and I'll be honest with you...kissing is not the wheel. Caveman FAIL.
Imagine if they had picked a different body part to push together to show signs of affection! I propose our BUMS!

Here I display my proposed kissing idea. It is called "a Biss"--a bum-kiss. Whenever you're into someone you just go in for the bum touch!

Positive things about "A Biss":

germ free!

fun for the whole gang!

you can have a conversation with another person!

Long-story short, kissing is strange, but 90% of us are into it. Deal with it and put your face on another person's today!

An Open Letter to....DUDES WITH MAN-PONIES!!

2010-11-04T11:30:00.000-05:00

As I have wandered through life these days, I'm noticing a new fashion trend in the male world: man-ponies. Today I present some of my advice to the man-pony wearers of the world in my open letter to....DUDES WITH MAN-PONIES!!

Dear Dudes with Man-Ponies,

I commend you for making a fashion choice. A lot of men don't even bother to pay attention to their appearance and just walk around the world lookin' like a slob. Man-ponies have the potential to be very alluring. I mean we've all seen what David Beckham and Gavin Rossdale have been able to pull off with their Man-Ponies! Rock it out!

With that said, Man-Ponies also have the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong. A few simple problems with the Man-Pony can make you go from spicy sex-pot all the ladies want to pounce on, to homeless man I feel I need to run away from.

Here are 3 simple tips for the Man-Pony:

1. Length of the Man-Pony: A shoulder-length Man-Pony is good enough, boys. At the shoulders we get the point..."Oh, look! He has a Man-Pony! Coolsies!" Anything past the shoulder has the potential to get creeper.

2. Find a good conditioner to rub up in the Man-Pony: Nothing ruins a Man-Pony more than dryness. Gentlemen, I can not express this enough! If you are going to have a Man-Pony that you use to entice the ladies and gents of the world, condition that shit! No one wants to run their hands through a pile of straw! Spend that extra money you use to buy weed this month, and buy some deep conditioner. You'll thank me.

...and finally...

3. "How vulumptious and enticing is my Man-Pony?": This should be a question all Man-Pony wearers ask themselves before engaging in a Man-Pony. Don't know what this means? Here's a simple test. Stand in front of a mirror with your Man-Pony intact. Turn on Seal's "Kissed By a Rose". Seductivly remove your Man-Pony. If what you see in the mirror is similar to an Herbal Essences commercial, you are a good candidate for a Man-Pony.

Carry on bravely with your Man-Ponies, gentlemen. When done well, they can your secret weapon. Spiderman had his webs that sprung from his hands, Batman had that fancy car, YOU have your Man-Pony. Wear it with Pride....and condition that shit!

xo,

You're stupid...Oh, I'm sorry...I meant... "I like you".

2010-11-04T00:41:00.000-05:00

In the 2nd Grade there was a boy who routinely pushed me over and called me "Moron Madde". It sorta made me sad. One day on the school field trip to the History Museum, he took me inside the life-size Wigwam Tipi and kissed me directly on my face region. Apparently he liked me. It was a surprise. It was a gross. It was surprisingly gross.

Girls are told as children that if he hits you or calls you names, that's only because he likes you. Sometimes that's true, but what a ridiculous thing to teach the young girls of the world, "Don't worry, girly...some day you'll realize how lucky you are that a man even talks to you at all, let alone push you down on the ground and call you an idiot! Enjoy it while it lasts..."

Those crazy, effed-up messages from my youth must have seeped in somewhere in my being, because today I realized something alarming! When it comes to matters of love, I've sorta become a 9-year old boy! AH! RUN!

Let me give you a run-down of the sitch today: A seemingly normal afternoon progresses, then cute man approaches. We've never met before. He is there meeting with my friend to go over some very official-looking paperwork. They are giggling. I'm awkwardly standing on the side. My friend gestures for me to come over. I stumble over, eyes glazed with attraction intrigue, also, this can't be verified, but surely drool dripped from my face. Cute man: Smiles. Me: "Who the eff is this person? I've never seen you before...you have something on your face..over it!" I proceed to ignore him the whole time.

Apparently this afternoon, I thought I would win this poor fellow's heart through a series of insults! I'm sure if he had been a tad closer to me I would have pushed him down into the gravel and found the nearest pile of dog poo to shove up his nose...You know, because that's what you do when you like someone! Today I lived up to my childhood name, "Moron Madde".

Had today been an isolated incident, it wouldn't be cause for concern, but this seems to be a habit for ol' "Moron Madde". Without getting into gory deets, I was recently told by a gentleman caller that I had a biting tongue...and not in a hot way. Apparently my blunt observations about the way he lived his life weren't sugar-coated enough for him. So either I'm just super observant and good at pointing things out, or I'm a meanie-pants. Woopsies! My bad! Guess this habit is gonna be a hard one to breaksies.

9-year old boys insult other 9-year old girls because they are nervous that their affection will not be reciprocated, or their love will ruin their rep on the playground as a badass. The 9-year old boy stuck inside of me...(wait..nope..can't say that.....let's try that again.....ummm...)....My newest bad habit is caused from those same fears and insecurities shared with the male peers of my youth. If I show my cards of affection right up top, there's a chance he will go running in the opposite direction of my own personal jungle gym...and that would make me sad.

When faced with an age-appropriate gentleman caller, I shall try and say something nice from now on. There is a chance my badass reputation on the playground of life may precede me, but hopefully word hasn't gotten out yet! :) See ya on the swings!

An Open Letter to...THE SLUTTY (FILL IN THE BLANK) HALLOWEEN COSTUME GIRLS

2010-10-29T11:47:00.001-05:00

As Halloween quickly approaches this Sunday night, girls and boys all around the country are putting their final touches on their 2010 costumes! Many adults hope to make a stir at their office Halloween party dressed as a very topical Chilean miner , while others hope to give a friend a giggle with their ridiculous (and outdated) Spongebob Square Pants get-up, but a large fraction of lady-people have ONE thing on their minds this Halloween....TO BE SLUTTY SOMETHIN'.

I now present to you, dear ghoulish readers, an open letter to.....THE SLUTTY (FILL IN THE BLANK) HALLOWEEN COSTUME GIRLS.

Dear THE SLUTTY (FILL IN THE BLANK) HALLOWEEN COSTUME GIRLS,

Ladies, ladies, ladies. What the eff? Put some clothes on. Your costume is neither logical, nor cute. Here I am at the Halloween party in my giant 3-headed dragon costume, while you stand there dressed in 2 small pieces of glitter-filled fabric you like to call a "Slutty Unicorn". Tell me, ladies...when was the last time you were face-to-face with a "Slutty Unicorn"? What made him so slutty? Did he wear see-thru pasties as well? If so, more power to you! Also, if Slutty Unicorns truly exist, I'm positive that his unicorn horn is NOT placed in the place you have placed it. He has it on his head, you have it on your lady bits. VERY different places.

Ladies, I respect your eagerness for the holiday, but I must ask...are you chilly? You must be! I wonder only because it is 30 degrees out and you seem to be wearing close to nothing. If you're ok with that, that's cool, just know I'm over here with a sweater stuffed in my dragon crotch for you to pop on in case of emergencies. I come to parties appropriately dressed and prepared for emergencies!

For me, Halloween is a time for good ol' fashioned fun. A time to watch "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" and trick-or-treat until I throw up from sugar poisoning. If you can't respect the good nature of the Halloween I take great pride in, you should have it taken off your calendars, Slutty Halloween Costume Girls. Put your pasties and short skirts away for your wedding night...or for other fun slutty times!

3-headed dragon and I are going to go carve a pumpkin in the shape of a good-natured unicorn. Put some underwear on.

xo,

An Open Letter to...USERS OF UNISEX BATHROOMS!

2010-10-21T16:30:00.000-05:00

A few days ago I fell into a toilet. Here's my story. I present to you an open letter to...USERS OF UNISEX BATHROOMS!

Dear USERS OF UNISEX BATHROOMS,

See the toilet in that picture?? Take a long, hard look at it....Do you recognize that fine piece of porcelain? You just happened to be with it in that bathroom right before me. Do you know what happened after you left? I FELL INTO THAT TOILET! Do you know why? Because you didn't put that seat down when you left!

I respect and appreciate the beauty of the unisex bathroom, but with the beauty of the unisex bathroom comes great responsibility. No longer will I live in a world where I run the risk for falling bum-first into the pool of germs. Gentlemen, put the seat down. Ladies, don't clog it up. Simple as that.

If I fall into it again, we're in troubsies. For seers.

xo,

Pick-a-little-Talk-a-Little

2010-10-21T15:22:00.004-05:00

See this dude? He's awesome. We're besties, jealous?

Meet my best friend, Nick.

We like to talk. We like talking. We talk to each other, we talk to ourselves. Heck! We even talk to walls! Whatever we do..we can be found in the middle of a talk.

We can talk for hours at a time. About what. you may ask? About anything and everything, I say! Whether it be a run-down of the latest episode of critically-ashamed sitcom, "Cougar Town", or even hours of talking about our mutual adoration for Destiny's Child.

Our friendship knows no end. Even though Nick has moved across the country, the love our chatting chatter never ends. We can talk 'til we're blue in the face, or even 'til when we get sleepy and need to take a little chatty break.

(Recently on one of our weekly Skype dates, hour 2 of "Nick and Madde Chat Time!" was spent napping!)

I bring Nicholas up for a reason (not only just because I wanted to share this ridiculous picture of us napping together on skype), but because Nick is a rare breed of professional chatter from Chattiapolis, Chatisota.

Conversation is something to be cherished, but not a lot of people know how to keep it up! Those people are what we like to call "losers". Je hate them.

Conversation is a lost art.

Hey readers! Snuggle in...it's story time! Woo!!

Once upon a few weeks ago, I could be found hanging out with a man named...well, let's call him... "Gentleman Caller". After spending quite a lot of time together, Gentleman Caller and I hit a wall. I like to call this the...

"WHY ARE YOU SO BORING AND I NEVER REALIZED??" WALL.

After I recovered from the love concussion caused from hitting the "W.A.Y.S.B.A.I.N.R" wall, I had to do some serious self-reflection. I realized that my Gentlemen Caller and I had never really had a significant conversation. We spent our time going to movies or out with others... or my personal favorite, watching him play Soccer video games! None of these situations required us to have to communicate if we didn't want to. Whaaat? How is this possible? I'm a chatterbox! I love to chat! I'm the Mayor of Chattiapolis, Chattisota! I live to chat! I was spending a significant amount of time with a person who's conversation with me consisted of the following gems:

"Sup?"

"Hey"

"Cool"

"Call me"

"Good movie"

...and my personal favorite:

"You're sorta weird, aren't you? "

As I dug deep in the history books of my brief encounter with Gentleman Caller, I had enough of the boring. I made the executive decision to put an end to our silence make a move toward greater inspired conversation with a man who spent most of his time with zipped lips.

My dabbling in conversation ended up blowing up in my face. It ended with another one of his classic one-liners:

"Jesus, what's with you and talking?"

At the end of the day I realized something very important, Gentleman Caller and I were vastly different. We were doomed from the start, and no attempts at conversation about critically-ashamed Courtney Cox sitcoms is going to save us from ourselves. I'm the Mayor of Chattiapolis and he's simply a City Councilman from Snooze Paul. Simple as that. I care to communicate, he cares to be a mute. To each their own, I suppose.

Until then...I get to chat up a storm with this:

....jealous?

"Dating is like a dance..." GUEST BLOGGER: LAURA BUCHHOLZ

2010-10-08T11:57:00.001-05:00

Well, it looks like I'm growing up as a human being. No longer am I selfish, not only have I removed the giant picture of my face from the front page of my blog, but I'm sharing the spotlight now too!

My Guest Blogger today is the beautiful Ms. Laura Buchholz. Laura ranks in my top 5 fave peeps..ever. She writes a lot of funny stuff for a lot of funny people. Sometimes we do improv together...so that's fun.

I typed Laura's name into Google...and this is what I found. What an awesome picture of her to share with you! Doesn't she look fun? Read on...

"Dating Is Like a Dance..."

By Laura Buchholz.

They say that dating is like a dance, and maybe the reason we all have so many problems with dating now is because dancing has changed.

I think when people liken dating to a dance, they have a very specific kind of dancing in mind: namely, couples dancing of the sort that is just not done anymore, except in the slow-dance portion of the prom, which isn’t really dancing anyway, just an extended hug accompanied by music.

If you go back to, say, the 40s, dancing was facilitated by two things, both of them initiated by the man. Here is the series of events:

A)   Man asks a woman to dance.
B)   Man leads.

Easy, right?

Yeah.

So fast forward to today.

Dancing is hip hop and house and the man and woman are equal, mainly because nobody initiates, everybody is just sort of there jumping around in front of each other but not touching. Most of the motions are sort of violent, fist-pumping, jerking around, moving from side to side.   In fact, there is not a huge difference between what happens in the dances of today vs. what might happen in a step aerobic studio, (if that even happens anymore) with the lights off. Instead of dancing WITH each other, people now just dance NEAR each other and we get a pretty good workout and then we get in our separate cars and go home.

There’s a problem of initiation, and a problem of follow-through. If we apply the old-timey dance model to dating, here is a simple model of how an ask-out might have happened in the past:*

A.   Would you like to go to the Stag Supper Club on Saturday at 8? With me?
B.    Yes.
A.   Okay, I’ll pick you up at 7:30.
B.    Sounds great!

Easy, right?

Okay but here is the modern equivalent, and can you just hear the thumping bass in the background?

A.   I’m not doing anything Saturday night.
B.    Oh cool, me either.
A.   I’m off work at 7.
B.    That’s great. I’m off work at 8.
A.   So.
B.    Yeah.
A.   I was thinking about going to the Stag Supper Club.
B.    Oh yeah? I’ve heard good things about that place.
A.   Me too but I’ve never been there.
B.    You haven’t? Huh.
A.   No. Have you?
B.    No I haven’t. My sister has though. She said she liked it.
A.   Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister.
B.    Yep. She lives in Arkansas.
A.   Hot there isn’t it?
B.    Yes, pretty hot. Winters aren’t bad though.
A.   There’s a prime rib at the Stag Supper Club I’d like to try.
B.    Me too. I’ve heard about it.
A.   That’s awesome. Maybe someday we’ll go together.
B.    Sure, maybe someday. Like Saturday?
A.   Oh wait I just remembered I had something else going on on Saturday.
B.    Oh, great.    See you later then.
A. Take it easy.

Are you sweating? Because I am. And nothing has even happened yet. Can someone just turn on the slow music so we can just stand here and hug for a while? Thanks.

(KEY: A = man, B = woman)

An Open Letter to..MAN WALKING DOWN THE STREET WHILE READING A GIANT ENCYCLOPEDIA!

2010-10-07T14:25:00.000-05:00

...Somehow I run into the craziest things. This is just an example of this week's run-in.

Dear Man Walking Down the Street While Reading a Giant Encyclopedia,

HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE? I am in shock. Sir, I had to stop the Jetta and watch this madness happening in front of me. True, Minneapolis is known for it's cooky and sometimes questionable behavior, but you have really outdone it. Bravo!

I shan't hate on you very long. Actually there are a few things you are to be commended for, my friend. Firstly, pure arm strength. What gumption you have to carry that giant encyclopedia down the street whilst doing a little, shall I say "light" reading? Not only are you a wise, wise man, but you must spend some time at the gym to have guns like those. Uh-oh...Bravo!

Secondly, your thirst for knowledge is inspiring, young buck. When I was a student in my schooling days, my studies tended to cease the moment my little feet hit the pavement outside of my education facility, but clearly that is not the case for you! No, no...you are a life-long learner, with a thirst for knowledge like a camel in heat. You shan't be confined by the limits of a classroom wall, no, you will bravely march into traffic with your head in a book larger than your head. Carry on bravely, and make sure you look both ways!

Bravo! Kudos! Cheers!

xo,

Me

An Open Letter to...MARATHONS!

2010-10-04T12:44:00.000-05:00

The Twin Cities Marathon ran by my house on Sunday morning....let me share with you some of my thoughts on it.

Dear MARATHONS,

Yesterday when I woke up at noon (yes, noon!), all I could hear was screaming coming from outside my window. Of course, my initial thought was that there were people outside that were really excited that I had survived my wild Saturday night, alas..I was wrong. It was for you, runners! Woop-de-frickin' do!They were outside on a Sunday morning screaming for you as you waddled on by.

Good job, you made your point. You've sufficiently made me feel badly about myself, thank you. As I am sleeping in my bed on a Sunday afternoon, cursing the Sun for being so bright, you are showing off and running around. Don't get me wrong, I support your healthy efforts, but couldn't this be done in the countryside somewhere, why do I have to hear it from my window?

Don't you run away...I have another bone to pick with you, Marathon! When I finally peeled myself out of bed and headed out for my day, I wasn't able to leave my neighborhood in the Jetta! It seems that on Marathon day people that drive cars to Minneapolis are chastised. I'm SOOOOO sorry I don't have the time to "run" or "speed-walk" to the matinee of "The Glass Menagerie" that I have tickets for this afternoon. Some people have cars for a reason. It shouldn't take me an HOUR to get to Minneapolis, it should only take me 10-15 minutes. I know you are really into this running thing you are doing, but that doesn't mean that my life has to be put on hold so that you can run down the street. I go on the elliptical at the gym in the morning time, but do you see me shutting down the city so that I can do that? No, you don't.

In conclusion, Marathons, reconsider your methods next year. Perhaps opening up a street for me to drive down would be the first step I would take. The next thing I would do would be get muzzles for the yelling morons sitting on the street. Wanna cheer on the runners at the Marathon next year? I will provide you with a muzzle and a sign that says "Way to Run Fast", this will ensure that I will be able to sleep in next year.

xo,

me

The "Cut Off" goes Awry.

2010-09-27T19:14:00.000-05:00

I think we've all been there. A romance has gone awry and you must never speak to the other person again. Perhaps it was too painful, too miserable, too awkward. Whatever the reason, you'd like to pretend like they never existed.

In this age of uber-technology, we are at the beck and call of every person at all times. If they can't reach us by snail mail or yelling our name out a window, in hopes that we come scurrying... they can try our cellphone, text message, facebook wall post, facebook message, facebook poke, BBMing us, G-chatting, Skyping, Tweeting at us, twatting at us, tooting at us. Somehow they will find a way to reach us.

So when it's time to cut all ties from a person, there's going to be a lot of work. It's exhausting. I haven't had to do the "CUT OFF" to many people in my life, but there are a select few who had become so toxic in my life, it was really best for us both to not communicate anymore.

So what do you do when it's time for the "Cut Off", well I start with Facebook. Defriending someone is harsh, but it keeps establishes some boundaries reaaaaal quick. When do you do the "Cut Off," it's important not to do it with malice, rather, it's important to do it with a pure heart. If you truly know that having the other person so prominently in your technological life is toxic/destructive to you, it's probably best to just go back to square one with them.

Here's the problem with the "Cut Off". When you cut a person out of your life because they have been so awful to you, you sometimes forget they exist. That's where you run into the problem I had recently.

While out on the town with a bestie of mine, we walked into a restaurant and there "he" was. "He" had taken me on a wild goose chase of teenage-like love months before, and ensured he stomped all over my heart as he made his swift exit from my life. (That sounded so dramatic...I'm aware. I just love an extended metaphor..It really wasn't so bad. Let's continue with the metaphor for drama's sake though..) After he stomped off into the night months before with my naive heart clutched in his devilish paws, I ensured he was "Cut Off". (See? Didn't that metaphor feel good?)

But there he was. Sitting at a table with a friend. He noticed me first, I couldn't help it. He invited us to come take a seat. Here's the thing about the "Cut Off," not only do you forget they exist, but you also leave yourself vulnerable when a possible run-in occurs. We sat down. I had forgotten how adorable he was....until he opened his mouth. And I remembered how obnoxious he IS.

That evening taught me something important. I'm not exactly sure what it taught me...perhaps my affinity for vodka soda's with lime (this was after I left the table in a huff..remembering WHY things had not gone well with us months before..), or perhaps the "Cut Off" was done for a reason. We were toxic in each other's lives. Simple as that.

It happens. Romances go awry all the time. Now let's gallop into the sunset with our IPhones and update our statuses telling the world how we are better off without him...

An Open Letter to...SEXTERS! AH!

2010-09-27T18:42:00.001-05:00

Lock your phones and protect those all those with a weak stomach!

We are all at risk!

Are you a victim of...SEXTING??

Dear SEXTERS,

You know who you are. All of you. Please leave my innocent friends and I alone. Whitney Houston said it best when she proclaimed, "Crack is whack". Well I'm here to proclaim the same sentiment..."Sexting is WHACK!"

UrbanDictionary.com defines "sexting" as such: "The act of text messaging someone in the hopes of having a sexual encounter with them later; initially casual, transitioning into highly suggestive and even sexually explicit".

Tell me something, Sexter, what was it about ME that fits that definition? Because I'm pretty sure your "highly suggestive and even sexually explicit" words in that sext, make me want to vomit and laugh at the same time. Sexting me would assume that we are engaged in a relationship of some sort, when in reality we've only hung out a few times. Let's turn the tables for a moment, shall we? If I were to sext someone I had only hung out a few times with, I would wonder if perhaps they thought I was being a bit forward? Did this go through your mind? Or were you too busy trying to take a cellphone picture in your bathroom mirror. This "turned table situation" wouldn't happen though. Do you know why that is, Sexter? BECAUSE SEXTING IS WHACK! I know it. You know it. The American people know it.

One of you Sexters sent my best friend a picture that was neither casual, nor suggestive. In fact this picture was just plain GRAPHIC. A picture of your man bits saying "Look who wants to say hi!" is....how should I say this....umm...WHACK!

I think I can speak for most recipients of a Sext when I say, we appreciate your efforts, but if you wouldn't say that to my face, don't you DARE send it to my IPhone! Many a gentleman caller has accused me of not being a very good recipient of romance, but I can tell you that what you Sexters are sending to our phones is not romance...it's just WHACK!

And some advice, if the recipient of your sext responds with a "haha" or "awky turtle!" or even "wtf?".....you've misjudged the situation. Try again.

xo,

Me

Butt Sniffing, The Situation, and "The Incident": A Cautionary Tale

2010-09-22T23:54:00.002-05:00

I think our canine friends have it all figured out.

When dogs first meet they sniff each other's butts. Butt sniffing just gets it all out of the way right up top. Smelly butt? Smelly future with new dog friend. It's as easy as that.

Human butt sniffing practices have gone out of style recently. Since it is taboo to sniff the anal region of a new friend when we meet them, we are left only with our first impressions.

Let's take a moment and talk about first impressions, shall we? Let me tell you a story, kiddies. Snuggle in with your goldfish crackers and get ready for a tale.

The other night I met a strapping young gentleman. For the purposes of this story, let's call him...."The Incident" (like The Situation...but a six pack of beer, not of abs). "The Incident" had the charm. "The Incident" had the smarts. "The Incident" had the cutes. Immersed in our first conversation, I couldn't help but think how lovely this new friend was. He got a lot of points right up top from me. Sense of humor? Check! Similar interests and passions? Check! Not the last few nerd nightmares I've had to spend my time with recently? Check!

Now let's travel ahead in time, shall we? 2 hours later. The party is bumpin'. I'm feelin' fine like red wine. "The Incident" has clearly thrown a few too many back in the whole black hole of his mouth region. Time to go home. While riding shotgun in my beloved Jetta as I gave him a pity ride home, "The Incident" declares that he'd like to take me out for a drink sometime. I oblige politely and tell him when he's sober we can chat about that possibility. "The Incident" tells me I'm pretty. I smile demurely like a lady should. Then....."The Incident" PUKES. ALL. OVER. THE. JETTA. Ladies and gentlemen, we've got a SITUATION AND an INCIDENT up in here.

For all you gentlemen looking to pick up a lady-friend out there...some advice:

PUKING IN A GIRL'S CAR IS NOT CUTE.

Forgive the expression, but this puking incident put a bad taste in my mouth. All of "The Incident's" positive traits I had gathered from the evening went flying out the window with his vomit (the amount that actually made it to the window, at least). This was an example of a BAD first impression.

Nowhere in my future friendship with "The Incident" will I ever be able to forget that on the first night I met him, he called me pretty and vomited all over my beloved Jetta. Apparently my beauty made him ILL?!? We don't bounce back from this.

I wish I had known a few hours earlier that this incident was a possibility, but HOW?? Society says the butt-sniffing practices of our canine companions may not have pin-pointed "The Incident" and my future problems, but it may have...we'll never know because society tells us to keep our noses to ourselves. It's too bad. I'm going against the societal norms. Beware of your butts, I may have to sniff out our problems. I'm apologizing in advance.

An Open Letter to....the BABY THAT CRAWLED ONTO THE HIGHWAY!

2010-09-22T15:00:00.000-05:00

Headline from the newspaper:

"Baby found crawling on State Highway"

Dear Baby That Crawled Onto the Highway,

Did someone get out of his crib? I commend you for abilities to escape bedtime, Mr. Man...Baby, but please note that I'm pretty certain you shouldn't crawl onto the highway, lil' guy.

I know, I know. I know I sound like an old fuddy duddy, but I really have your best interests in mind! You'll thank me when you're older. There are a few reasons you should avoid the highway. First, when cars come whizzing past you, you will surely make a poopy in your diaper. You get grumpy when that happens.

Second, you haven't mastered crawling yet, so you will surely invest a lot of time crawling onto the highway...someone will miss nap time! You get get grumpy when that happens.

And finally, you're a baby. Babies shouldn't crawl onto the highway. Getting hit by a car will surely give you a reason to get grumpy, Baby.

Ok, well next time make sure to look both ways!

xo,

That's a dealbreaker, ladies!!

2010-09-19T20:03:00.001-05:00

There are some sure signs that a fellow is bad news bears. There are the obvious ones that we all know (ie: if he bites you at any point while knowing you...he should probs go away, etc...), but what about those little details we let slip by?? Well, I like to call those "Madde's Red Flags!". These "unique" details about a person that we turn a blind eye to because they may be cute, or funny, or breathing... but too many of those "Madde's Red Flags!" can be disaterous. I have taken the time to compile a list for you, dear readers, of some ABSOLUTELY TRUE "Madde's Red Flags!" from my life. Join me, won't you? I'm embarrassed for myself.

1. If on the first day of knowing you he says: "HEY! It's YOU! I know YOU! I've done my research on you...your facebook page is super fun! That pink dress you wore is super cute"

2. If he doesn't speak English, but you do.

3. If he attempts to make out with you while you are watching Liza Minnelli on the T.V. Liza is sacred, keep your tongue to yourself.

4. This is not a pick of line. I repeat, this is NOT a pick up line: "Do you want to go to my room and watch 'Teen Wolf' on VHS?"

5. If while walking down the street hand and hand: "So, I think I'm in love...her name is ______" If that blank spot does not contain your name, you should probs go home.

6. If at anytime on a date the words "Close your eyes and open your mouth, it's a Jelly Belly tasting party!" are uttered. RUN!

7. If during dinner he has to go outside and check to see if someone has stolen his car, he's probs not the most balanced individual.

8. The Darth Vader suit in his house is better dressed than he is.

9. If you go over to his house for dinner and his cat violently attacks your leg, chances are the two of you (you + the kitten) are NOT going to be able to live harmoniously together. Do the cat a favor, and get gone!

10. If he can tell me where he was when Kennedy was shot, he is probably too old for me.

11. If he has a thing for Miley Cyrus, but can't name all of the Spice Girls, he is probably a child and shouldn't be asking you out on dates.

....and finally...

12. If he has named his bong "Charlene", there is no hope.

So there you have it! Some red flags...just in case you are ever wondering if he's loco or not.

An Open Letter to....STRANGERS THAT SMILE AT ME FOR NO REASON!

2010-09-18T19:55:00.001-05:00

Dear STRANGERS THAT SMILE AT ME FOR NO REASON,

I'm obsessed with you guys. No, seriously...you make my day. Your Random Acts of Smiles brighten my day more than any unicorn pictures, cartoon pratfalls, internet monkey videos, or glitter parties... combined!

Imagine my surprise as I'm walking down the street, minding my own business, and then BAM! Your pearly whites are there to greet me on the sidewalk. I never know who is going to whip out the whites! It's like a surprise birthday party EVERY DAY!

Old man with the Twins ball cap in the parking ramp? You would have made me sad had you not sent a grin my way...but YOU DID! Little girl with pigtails who was clearly peeing on the floor of Target? Thank you for smiling at me and letting me share in the joy of your misbehavior! Hot waiter guy who was not MY waiter....I'm sorry I recklessly smiled at you with food on my face. Thank you for indulging me with a smile. If I could have tipped you, I would have. Instead, I send you a smile...from my soul!

I love to smile. If I could have a smile party, I would invite all of you. We would have cupcakes with smiles on them. There would be ice cream sandwiches arranged in the shape of a smile. We would play Pin the Smile on the Grumpy Donkey. What fun! Yay!

Smile at strangers, they might dedicate an entire blog entry to you.

Keep smilin'!

xo,

Me

When You Wish Upon a ManVault.

2010-09-15T17:05:00.001-05:00

Every few years Disney goes deep into their Disney Vaults and releases some of their classic films again. As I walked through my local DVD retailer yesterday, I found myself drawn to the Disney aisle. Picking up each beloved remastered cartoon, holding it close to my chest as I hummed "When You Wish Upon a Star" with tears welled up in my Alice in Wonderland blue eyes.

.....And then I remembered something very important:

Bambi's Mom got shot.

The nostalgia of seeing those old Disney films in their brand new shiny packaging, made me forget how awful it was when that baby deer's mother was shot and killed in front of me as a child. Somehow I had been dragged into the vault and there was no hope of my escape. Memories, emotions, catchy songs about whistling, had all overtaken my logic. You guys, BAMBI'S MOM GOT SHOT! And I fell for it!! AGAIN!

I've been going into my own vault these days..it's called a Man Vault. (Wait...what? Gross. No. I didn't mean it that way!) I digress...the Man Vault: A place where you keep all of the the men you've ever gone on dates with. You keep them in the man vault for safe-keeping...just in case you have a change of heart somewhere down the line.

Here's the thing about going into the depths of your own personal Man Vault, when we dabble in the Man Vault, BEWARE: everything will look shiny and new again. Maybe he's even remastered himself with a haircut, better teeth brushing skills, social graces that don't make you want to crawl into a corner and die every time you find yourself out in public with him.

Let me illustrate this for you...for example:

6 Months ago: An arrogant bully with an affinity for tight shirts and looking in the mirror.

After 6 months in the vault: Aladdin. Hot. No shirt.

Don't be fooled. I repeat, do not be fooled. Proceed with caution. Now, it is very possible that 6 months in the Man Vault will have him coming out a changed man. I know I've changed in those 6 months, fingers crossed that he has too!

My dabbling in the Man Vault the last few weeks has brought some very nice surprises though. Bachelor #1 may have been an uptight man-baby 6 months ago, but has loosened up in the vault and has apparently looked up the words "fun to be around" and "don't be boring around adorable girls" in the dictionary. Thank God. The nerves and anxiety of our first interactions have gone by the wayside, and while I don't want to date him anymore...it is nice to see him growing as a human being. I was worried there for awhile.

There is a Man Vault problem that I need to warn you about. The shiny new boxes for the new Disney remastered films allow us to fool ourselves into thinking that somehow the movie inside is going to be different. True, sometimes the Disney detectives have found an alternate ending to Cinderella sitting on cutting room floor (In that new version Cinderella is sent to work for a pumpkin farm and spends the rest of her life putting on Halloween extravaganzas for the community...), but usually the story is still the same. Dumbo is still made fun of for his freakishly large ears, Eeyore is still a downer, and BAMBI'S MOTHER IS STILL SHOT AND KILLED!

He may have been in the Man Vault for 6 months, but be aware that his storyline is still pretty much the same thing. If you are a true Disney fan, you will wish upon a star and hope for him to change his ways. It's possible! ;) The nostalgia of days gone by may have brought you back to him, but know this: he may look shiny and remastered on the outside, but usually it's the same ol' movie from before.

Also, I'm pretty sure HE was the one who shot and killed Bambi's mother. Jerk.

An Open Letter to...THE BLOG READER WHO FOUND ME BY LOOKING UP GAYBLEACH.COM ON THE INTERNET!

2010-09-08T23:14:00.006-05:00

There's this really nifty gadget on this blog. It allows me to track things like how many people read the blog a day, what entries are most popular, how popular I am in different countries, and how people even find my blog to begin with. I'm fascinated by this little gadget. If you ever need an ego boost and a good reason to use proper punctuation and spelling in your blog, this little gadget will do it for you. Not only is it shocking to see just HOW many people read this crap a day (it's a crazy number...I don't want to sound like a snob, but it's a number I didn't even know I could count to), but I stumbled across one of the most concerning things in my entire life.

According to the gadget, the majority of people that read my blog have found it via Facebook or Twitter. Many people use Google searches to find my little blog. I wasn't surprised when I saw people found me by typing in "Madde's Blog" or even "Madde + Dating + Unicorns", but what did surprise me was the person who found my blog by typing into Google (I kid you not on this one)....."Gay Bleach. com". I now present to you an open letter to...THE BLOG READER WHO FOUND ME BY LOOKING UP GAYBLEACH.COM ON THE INTERNET!

+ =

Dear THE BLOG READER WHO FOUND ME BY LOOKING UP GAYBLEACH.COM ON THE INTERNET,

Well this is surely not what you intended on reading! What a magical place the internet is that it would send you to me, when you were clearly searching for....well, I guess...umm...gay bleach?

I don't mean to sound ignorant, Reader, but what exactly is...gay bleach? I have chosen not to google it myself, for fear that it would forever stay in my computer's history and someone might find it and pass judgement on me. I hope you know this is NOT a judgement on your reading materials, Reader! Never would I pass judgement on such a loyal reader such as yourself!

My mind wanders when the subject of this gay bleach comes up. What is it? What is it used for? Perhaps it is a cleaning solution you are seeking out to rid yourself of your homosexuality. If so, I strongly suggest you reconsider this! You are beautiful the way you are! NEVER rid yourself of your beautiful qualities. EVER. This blog is strongly supported by the homosexual community that thinks I'm mildly amusing, so I shant lose you as one of them!

Perhaps this gay bleach is something one uses in their hair to lighten the color to an extra gay blonde. If so, I have been using gay bleach (disguised as peroxide) myself for quite sometime! What joy! We have something in common, Reader! YAY! High Kicks! Glitter! SMILE PARTY!

At the end of the day, Reader, whatever gay bleach is and however the internet thought it was related to my blog, I'm glad it brought us together! Truly. Madly. Deeply. Gay Bleachly.

xo,

An Open Letter to..THE 131 PEOPLE I DEFRIENDED ON FACEBOOK!

2010-09-07T23:55:00.001-05:00

I have a lot bizarre habits. For instance, I have a strange tissue phobia. Yes, that's right. A tissue phobia. Just the sight of a box of tissues forces me to stuff the puffy part down into the hole so I don't have to see it. There. I said it. It's weird, I know. Sorry.

One of my most bizarre and unnecessary habits is defriending people on Facebook. Defriending usually happens whenever I get a cold that requires me to stay in bed for at least a few hours. Perhaps minor common colds give me a feeling of mortality, forcing me to "get real" and "focus on the people that are important in my life"...but I think I do it cuz my nose is stuffy and I'm bored.

So now, an open letter to...THE 131 PEOPLE I DEFRIENDED ON FACEBOOK

DEAR THE 131 PEOPLE I DEFRIENDED ON FACEBOOK LAST WEEK,

Well........................this is awkward. Umm...You well? That's good. So.....anyway....So....how 'bout them Twins, eh?........................ I don't like sports!! We all know that! AH!!

Ok, I can't do this charade anymore! I'm just going to cut to the chase, you guys. I just had to do it. I had to defriend you! I'm sorry. If your feelings are hurt, I suggest you get over it.

You have to understand this was hard for me too! I don't want any tears! Stop with the tears!! Please. You're making me feel guilty. Just stop it.

You have to know this...My process was organic. I didn't go into the Facebook defriending with YOU in mind specifically. It just happened to end up that way. You didn't make the cut this time. This happens sometimes, former Facebook friend. You see, I went through my friends one by one, and had to use some very harsh tactics to ensure that my defriending was efficient that day. These are the following reasons I probs went all deletey-crazy all up on your profile:

1. WAIT, WHO ARE YOU AGAIN?

If I had no idea who you were from your name alone...DEFRIEND. I'm not sure how you got in my facebook to begin with. I'm sure it was a "you know my friend and I got drunk and told you a dirty joke at a party one night, so you friended me on Facebook...yay! We're best friends!" situation. Carol "The Body" Messerschmietz? DEFRIEND.

2. EMO-KID STATUS UPDATES FROM AN ADULT WHO SHOULD KNOW BETTER:

If you continually post status updates that make me feel the following emotions, you're headed for defriendville: sad, depressed, annoyed, bummed sauce, woebegone, irked, and miffed. I don't have time for those feelings in my daily life. I have a lot of things to do today, and feeling badly for you is not one of them. DEFRIEND. (I'm sorry. I'll buy you a journal for your birthday. I promise.)

3. One Word: FARMVILLE:

Knock it off! I don't like fake farming, I repeat, I DON'T LIKE FAKE FARMING! I don't want to help you buy a chicken, or find a home for the fake turtle you "found" somehow while you were sitting on your bum at work. You know how I respond to your request for me to milk your fake cow?? DEFRIEND! It's not that I don't like you, I just don't like that stupid game you play. You understand, I'm sure. Quit the fake farm, regain the Madde.

And finally..the most offensive of them all...

4. 20 MILLION PICTURES OF YOU AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND MAKING OUT:

If I wanted to be in your relationship, you would find me spooning with you 2 in the middle of the night. Please look in your bed right now... am I snuggled in next to your cat with my September issue of Vogue? No? That means I don't want to be in the middle of your make-out session with you and your lady friend. You, your tongue, your girlfriend, and your nastiness have earned you a DEFRIEND.

In conclusion, I hope you are able to rectify some of these things before you refriend me. It has the potential to get reaaaaaaaally awkward-sauce if you refriend me and I have to defriend you...AGAIN.

xo,

All The World's A Stage to Us...

2010-09-06T14:29:00.006-05:00

Here is a rule actors should all live by:

DON'T. DATE. ACTORS.

Here is a rule that normal people should live by:

BEWARE.OF.DATING.ACTORS.

As an actor myself, I have learned the importance of avoiding fellow drama-makers. Why? Well, unless chosen VERY carefully, dating an actor can be a big pile of messy.

"But Madde, if we were to follow this rule...that would mean that no one could ever date you! You're an actor!" said this adorable puppy pointing his finger-paw.

To that I say...shhhhh, puppy. Simmer down. That's not true. I'm awesome. I'm ALWAYS the exception to the rule.

Anywho. Dating actors. Let's get back to the point. Actors are a special breed of human being. If you have ever been in a group of us, you can sometimes feel as though you are in an alternate, heightened reality.

For instance, the other night as I stood on the beautiful rooftop balcony of a closing Minneapolis theater, I took a moment to look around. I was surrounded by hipsters and actors screaming at each other about the importance of doing avant garde Shakespeare for the masses in the modern age. Yes, that was a real conversation. And yes, eyes were welling up with tears. Actors mean business. All the time.

One can argue that it isn't just actors that wear their hearts on their sleeves. That is true, but as actors we are bred to be so in touch with our emotions that if the moment is right to cry....we will cry. If the moment is right to scream expletives as we do jazz squares...we will break out our character shoes and scream the f-bomb in a British accent at the top of our lungs. If the moment is right to put on full clown make-up and a mink, while we sing "Everything's Coming Up Roses"...we will put on clown shoes, channel Mama Rose, and effing belt out "Everything's Coming Up Roses". It's just how we are made, we can't help it.

Dating actors is especially dangerous if you are an actor yourself. Think about it in your mind grapes for a second. Let's think about actors as explosives for a moment.

Let's do some simple math:

1 CHERRY BOMB

1 CHERRY BOMB
+
TEARS

DRAMA

=

BAM!! BOOOM! BUUUUMMM!

Truth: There are many actors who have made it work together. They are in the minority, I'm sure. Truth: I fully admit I am filled the brim with dramatic tendencies, therefore...for me "actor + actor=bad news bears".

So, a warning to all those who don't know any better and date an actor:

All the world is a stage to actors...don't be surprised if things end up accordingly.

I'm just sayin'...

AN OPEN LETTER TO....FLIP FLOPS. (Spoiler: I HATE THEM!!)

2010-09-06T00:42:00.005-05:00

I became irrationally angry at some girls feet tonight. Here is my tale: an open letter to...FLIP FLOPS!

Dear Flip Flops,

Who the hell do you think you are? Are you shoes? Are you slippers? Are you a shower sock? Or are you nothing more than cheap pieces of rubber that promote sprained ankles? What is happening with you? What's your deal?!? I'm super confused. All I know is this fact: you make me so angry sometimes.

You can keep flippin' and floppin' all over town, Flip Flops, but know that you have an enemy in me.

First of all, have some self-respect and get some coverage for the top of a foot! Jeeze louise. You just keep walkin' around, gathering dust and dirt build-up around your stupid little v-shaped strap. You and I used to be friends, but every time I took you off, that dirt V that appeared on my foot was so sickening that I threw you in the back of my closet and chose not to hear your cries for help when my cat gnawed on your pink rubber heels.

Second, women should have to sign waivers before putting you on. In this waiver they would promise to ensure that their toes didn't resemble anything that could be found on an elf, including, but not limited to, wacky long toenails and hobbit hair on their toe tops. As for dudes, dudes should never wear flip flops! When did you become so damn inclusive, flip flops?!? You should know you aren't proper footwear for men!

In conclusion, I effing hate you flip flops. You make people look like d-wads when they wear you. You get dirty very quickly. And you're just generally stupid. Get out of my closet and don't look back for any love from me.

xo,

Love is blind..but I am not.

2010-09-05T16:57:00.001-05:00

Blind dates.

Were you aware they still existed?

Were you aware they existed AT ALL?

Well they do, and I'm going to be the first to say...

...methinks they are making a comeback!

The closest I've ever come to a blind date was a blind "we sort of know each other because we know people in common, and they keep talking about you to me and it's getting annoying...let's hang out so they leave us alone" sort of situation a few months back. That was fun.

Although we were already facebook friends (we are still not sure how this happened...), we really had no idea who the other person was. A few texts sent back and forth pre-hang out, but really, that was all I knew about this fellow. I opted out of facebook stalking pre-hang out, noting in my mind that it would really be more fun if I had no idea who this mysterious creature was. For all I knew he could have been 9 feet tall with a mustache in the shape of a balloon animal. Or perhaps he dressed up in Renaissance puffy pants and insisted that all women must call him "Lord SugarDaddy". Alas, he was a normal fellow. Charming, adorable, and didn't even attempt to kidnap me (le sigh.).

The blind date is a crazy concept. Think about it in your mind-grapes for just a second. A third party is SO confident in their own personal mating skills that they take it upon themselves to set up two poor souls for romance. Talk about over-confidence! Yow-za!

With the birth of dating websites in this new millennium, the blind date has gone by the wayside. Instead of the confidence of another person, people looking for dates have the confidence of a...well, of a website? Does anyone trust the Internet? I don't. That's why Internet dating creeps me the eff out. (For more reasons on why Internet dating creeps me out: http://maddebelle.blogspot.com/2010/05/get-your-match-babes-here-five-dollas.html) I digress.

So, I suggest the blind date make a comeback. Why? Because although the 3rd party setting you up on the date has the over-confidence of Danielle from "Real Housewives of New Jersey", they can be fun! What a new adventure! My 20-year old pessimistic friend just got set up on a date with some chick. Why should blind dates be reserved for the over 40s? The 20-somethings love a good adventure! My blind "we sort of know each other because we know people in common, and they keep talking about you to me and it's getting annoying...let's hang out so they leave us alone" sort of situation a few months back, developed into a lovely friendship with someone I would have otherwise never hung out with.

My challenge to you is this: Be over confident and set 2 awesome people that you know up on an amazing date today. And what if you want to go out on a date? I'll set you up on a blindy with some of my amazingly awesome friends. (Disclaimer: I may have gone out on dates with some of the dudes I will set you up with...So, if you're a lady lookin' for a hot dude from my files, I'm sorry. If you're a dude, you're welcome. I know how to pick 'em!)

Now, someone set me up so that I can write an awkward blog about it. I can technically write the date off on my taxes, right? No? Oh, who knows!

Someone Call OPRAH! I HAVE A GREAT IDEA!!

2010-09-03T15:18:00.001-05:00

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An Open Letter to...PEOPLE WITH FAKE ACCENTS!

2010-09-02T10:57:00.001-05:00

Dear People with Fake Accents,

Oh, hey. Or should I say "HOWDY!"....Someone call a doctor, I'm concerned. One second I'm having a normal conversation with you about the significance of the Cherry on the Spoon sculpture, and then BAM! someone from Tennessee walks in the room and you start talking like Dolly Parton! I know you were born in Minneapolis, Minnesota...so this accent you started speaking in? I think it's fake. Just a thought.

People with fake accents, you're not fooling anyone. LeRoy from Tennessee knows that you are not from Tennessee! The jig is up, my fake friend! Do you know how he knows your dirty little secret? Because HE'S from Tennessee and you don't sound like anybody he's ever met. Your accent is a mix between a bad George W. Bush impersonator, Jessica Simpson in "Dukes of Hazzard", and a touch of Big Bird.

I suggest you stop with the fake accents as soon as you are able. I'm concerned for your well-being. Everyone knows it's not real, and if it continues I may have to smack you in the head with an over-sized cowboy hat. You'll have no affinity for the South after that, so let's not let it get there. It's not worth it.

xo,

Me

Gay Bar Probation...perhaps it was a good idea?

2010-09-01T14:38:00.001-05:00

If you have been reading the blog from the beginning, you will remember that I put myself on "Gay Bar Probation" about a year ago (http://maddebelle.blogspot.com/2010/01/on-your-discostick.html) in an attempt to peel myself away from the arms of the adoring gay men in my life, and leap into the less fabulous arms of a straight man. I realized how ridiculous this decision was very soon after I proclaimed my probation on the internets, and have since returned (many times) to the places where fruity drinks flow freely and the dance floor is begging for me to take a boogie all up on it.

For a straight girl with bleach blonde hair and a flare for wearing animal prints, the gay bar is a haven...a safe-place, if you will. A short sparkly skirt isn't met with the googly eyes and drool-drenched faces of a man waiting to pounce on my lady bits, rather it is met with a "Heeeey Girl! You rock that! Take a spin around the room!" It's a lovely feeling to walk into a bar, not a meat market. Well, I should say it WAS a lovely feeling, until the other night...

This was me the other night. A mop of blonde hair atop my head and lips smothered in my new Chanel lipstick "CoCo".

I have been in an artistic hibernation for the past 3 months, spending every night in a dark theater telling tales and making fart jokes for money. I finally had a night off. My friend Aaron had suggested we go out for an evening of fun. I was all in! We hopped from one place to another. Seeing the sights, enjoying the smells of the city, and because I'm not a huge drinker, the beats of the dance floor at a local gay bar. I don't like to drink, but I have never met a dance floor I don't like!

Having had a tumultuous summer full of dates with boys from the wrong side of the tracks (more to come at a later date..if I can stomach it), I looked forward to an evening of dancing. I danced. And I danced. And I danced some more. Jumping from one side of the room to another, hands in the air, swinging my mop of blonde locks from side-to-side. My dancing reached a level of...shall we say...umm...huh..what's the word...insanity? Sure. It reached a level of insanity. And then...BAM! I punched some dude in the face!! Woops.

When you punch someone in the face while dancing, they should yell at you and walk away. This man did not do that. Instead he invaded my personal space with his groove thang. Still under the impression that I was in a gay bar and my lady-bits were safe, I proceeded to dance with this fellow as an apology for Mike Tyson'ing him. What happened next is....repulsive. I apologize for anything I am about to say. He...oh god...well, you see...he...uhh...well...umm...he licked my ear. It was gross. I know you are sitting there thinking..."Gross. That is disgusting."...To that I say, yes, it is disgusting, but you didn't have to have it happen to you. So I need your sympathy, not your judgement right now.

Ok, so this stranger licks my ear. I push him away and I'm all..."Excuse me? Did you just lick my ear?" He nods. "Ok, umm..ya. You can't do that again. I'm a girl..you know that, right?" to which he says..."I'm straight! You think I'm gay??" Yes, yes, yes, all sorts of yes! I think you're gay because your hair is slicked back, your shoes are pointy, and you are dancing at the gay bar! Maybe this is judgmental of me. And if it is, I'm ok with that! YOU LICKED MY EAR!

The moral of the stories, kids...your ears are never safe. Someone is always lurking around the dance floor corner waiting to stick their tongue in your ear. Watch out. Be safe. And just remember, always keep dancing! And never date a man who puts his tongue in your ear. You don't know where that tongue has been.

An Open Letter to...HENNEPIN AVENUE WEEKENDERS! (puke.)

2010-09-01T00:32:00.001-05:00

I spent a rather unfortunate evening on Hennepin Avenue in Downtown Minneapolis this past weekend. It has taken me days to recover from the mayhem that is Downtown on a Saturday night. Ladies, Gentlemen, Lady-men, I now present to you..AN OPEN LETTER TO THE HENNEPIN AVENUE WEEKENDERS!

Dear HENNEPIN AVENUE WEEKENDERS,

You guys are really cramping my style. I usually try to avoid this strip at all costs, but tonight I was showing some Canadians the Minneapolis "hot spots" and apparently you fall into that category. As I have become accustomed to do, I shall now break you down into categories so I may talk to you crazy people more directly.

1. Ladies out for "GIRLS NIGHT!! WOOO!!"

See this picture? This is the image that came up when I googled "hookers". Do these women look familiar to you? They should! You know why? Because you are dressed exactly like them! Ladies (I use this word ironically), some time I would like to go shopping with you. At this time we will talk about "Size of Dress" vs. "Size of YOU!". We will also discuss "How to walk down the street in heels", "Closing our legs when we get out of cars", and most importantly, "How to stay home on the weekends, and subsequently save money because you don't have to purchase as much eye make-up".

2. Drug Dealers

Drug dealers, do I seriously look like your clientele? I don't know where you went to drug dealing school, but when you ask me if I would like to buy drugs from you and I say "Umm..no thanks", drug dealing text books would say you would move on and find a new client to buy your drugs, right? That's not what you did, Drug Dealers. While I respect how persistent your business model is, telling me that "You'll reconsider this decision" is a dumb response and not going to get me to buy your drugs from you. You know why? Because D.A.R.E taught me not to do drugs. Just sayin'. Drug Dealers, go back to D.A.R.E!

3. The D-wads who towed my Jetta

What the eff? Seriously? Seriously?? You're going to TOW MY CAR?? SERIOUSLY? Wait..hold on...that sign says the lot closes at 2:30 am. You're right. You should tow the Jetta.

Oh wait! NO YOU'RE NOT! It's 2:45! Give a girl a grace period!! SERIOUSLY! Ugh. I need a pancake.

4. Ridiculous Bachelorette Parties

I'm just going to say it. If your future husband saw you right now...he would reconsider his decision. I know that's harsh, but it's true. "Buuuut WHYYYYY?" the girl in the veil and unfortunate sash that says "Bride-to-EFFING-BE!!" in a ridiculous Muppet voice. I'll tell you why, Mrs. Muppet.

First off, what's with all the grumpy faces? You look grumpy. Your girlfriends look grumpy. Even the guy who just walked out of that strip club looks grumpy. I'VE even become grumpy just staring at you. Wipe those pouts off your faces...YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED!

And those shirts you had made that say "Rachel's Bachelorette Party! One more reason to FLASH the world!!"? You remember those? First, when you ordered those online you should have asked for a bigger size. No one looks good in a bedazzled tank top...NO ONE! Especially when said bedazzled tank top is made for a toddler, not a grown women who has plans to do keg stands all evening.

You are all hot messes. I suggest the following things tomorrow morning. Wash your face. Drink some water. Delete those pictures you took with every gay man you encountered on the Avenue. Pretend like it never happened.

Never speak of it again. Trust me.

...and finally...

5. Dudes who look like THIS:

Stop it. Just stop it.

HENNEPIN AVENUE WEEKENDERS, I appreciate your desire to come "party" in Minneapolis. I just don't think I can be down there with you again. Ever. Someone text me when you leave.

xo,

An open letter to...CELINE DION PANDORA!

2010-08-18T17:16:00.001-05:00

Thanks to the Apple store I have found a new passion. Pandora Radio...IN MY CAR!! Woaaaah!! The Jetta and I have spent many an afternoon bumpin' down the streets of the MPLS to Mika or Showtunes, but it wasn't until last week that my life was truly changed by in-car Pandora passion! On a whim, I decided to create a...wait for it....keep waiting....still waiting...one more sec....CELINE DION STATION!!!!

I now write an open letter to....CELINE DION PANDORA!!

Dear Celine Dion Pandora Station,

You have changed my life. Before you, my whole life had been tainted by my tuning into one light-rock station to the next with the hopes of hearing Celine, Whitney, Mariah, and Ray Charles all in one station. The common radio station can not provide me with the joys you have given me. The passion in each tune, the high notes that I pretend I can hit, and the emotional lyrics make you fine listening materials.

I decided to photo document what 5 minutes with you is like, Celine Dion Pandora Station. You take me on such a journey of emotion.

Pure joy from the Celin-ticipation.

Sing it, lady! I'm feeling it. I also feel ALIVE! Just like you, Celine! JUST LIKE YOU!

Uh-oh...looks like someone is starting to get emotional. Stand back, folks. It's about to get messy in here.

MY HEART WILL GO ON TOO, CELINE! How do you know me so well???

"Get ahold of yourself, Madde...it's just Celine Dion! You've got to simmer down..." Next song!

UMMM....Pandora: when I say Celine Dion...I don't mean PHIL effing Collins! NEXT!

WHITNEY! WHITNEY'S ON! YOU GUYS, WHITNEY!! SHOOOOOOOP! PRAISE JESUS!

WOAH! HOW IS SHE EVEN HITTING THESE NOTES RIGHT NOW??? WHITNEY!!!!

I'm so happy right now...that's why I'm crying. It's from the joy of Whitney+Celine! I promise! I love them so much!

THANK YOU, CELINE DION PANDORA RADIO STATION!!!

Love,

The Wrath of Gemini's Twin...

2010-08-18T12:06:00.001-05:00

It's a Sunday morning. Your footy pajamas on. The morning sun shines through your windows. You are snuggled in with your Green Tea and open the Sunday newspaper. After pretending to read the International news, and feigning an interest in the Local section...you come upon your horoscope! It tells you that you are going to have a 2-star day. Wait, things were going so well this morning! You are wearing your footy pj's, the green tea is making you feel alive! A 2-star day?!?! Do you believe it?

Astrology has always been inconvenient for me. I believe what I want to believe when it comes to my star readings. If it's proclaiming great things for me in my future, of course I'll hop on board the Crazy Starlight Express, but if it's bad...I decide to forgo my ticket on the Express and take a brisk walk into my future instead. Don't even get my started on astrological compatibilities with potential mates. Well eff...you got me started...here I go.

(if you understand why i put this picture up...we are going to be friends forever)

I recently came across a dashing young lad who, on the first day we met, proclaimed we could never have a romantic future because I was a Gemini. Apparently because I was born on May 21, 1988...I am a toxic human being. It doesn't matter who I am as a PERSON, rather I am to be judged on the location of aligned stars the day I flew out of my Mother's hoo-ha!

This immediate judgment threw me for a loop. This young pup didn't even know me, yet he was able to spout his apparent theories on me right away. (I'll also note that despite his apparent "fear" of Geminis, this didn't stop him from his shameless hitting on me....just sayin'!) I digress...

I immediately looked up some qualities of the Gemini woman to see if I fit the bill...here are a few examples:

1. Gemini women are quick-witted and clever

(This is true. I am, if I do say so myself...)

2. Gemini women have sharp, long noses.

(Umm..no. I have a pug nose. It's round and short. Dear Stars...you fail.)

3. Gemini Women experience extreme anxieties and worry.

(Ok, this is VERY true. I am prone to anxiety attacks. You win, stars. Good job.)

4. Gemini women are romantic by nature, yet their interest in men can change at the drop of a hat. They are a creature of extremes, and move on VERY quickly.

(Ok. This is extremely true. At the end of the day, I am a sap. I love RomComs, I love romantic gestures, I love the idea of Romance in general. BUT as soon as things don't go my way, or I decide I'm "Over it"...I move on. QUITE quickly! One minute I'm head-over-heels, next minute I'd like you to go away. Woops)

Alright, so these examples are endless. I fit the bill with some of them, but a lot of them are ridiculous and not me at all. When this recent young lad said we were incompatible because of my astrological sign (now that I write that down it sounds EVEN MORE ridiculous than it did when it came flying out of his mouth like verbal diarrhea), I couldn't help but wonder (thank you, Carrie Bradshaw) if I even factored into this equation at all, or did my birth date seal the deal for me?

Are all women the same? No. Are all Gemini women the same? No.

I have a friend who was in a long-term relationship with his boyfriend. They were in love. They lived together. They had cats together. They shared clothes. One day my friend fell in love with a woman. They live together now. They have cats together now. I'm sure they even share clothes. My point here? Things change depending on the human being standing in front of you. Yes, qualities of the Gemini woman seem to be consistent...depending on the day, but don't let your head get so lost in the stars that you fail to see the gorgeous young lady or dude or dudelady (long, sharp nose or not!) standing in front of you!

An open letter to..Court Room Audience on Daytime Court Shows!

2010-08-17T23:40:00.001-05:00

Dear COURT ROOM AUDIENCE ON DAYTIME COURT SHOWS,

One quick question. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE????? SERIOUSLY!? Where did you come from? Whenever I tune into "Judge Joe Brown", or turn on a little People's Court, I can't help but wonder who the hell you people are!!

I have a friend who used to be a plant in the audience of "Deal, or No Deal". He would do a lot of big faces for them, make things very dramatic and exciting just by manipulating his face. He was a professional actor...the at-home audience could tell he wasn't really into the game. His over-enthusiastic clapping and "Ooooo girrrrrrrl!" rolls of the eyes didn't ring true to me as the viewer! I can't say the same for you, Court Room Audience on Daytime Court Shows. You guys are really invested in these cases! From where do you draw such passion?

Are you being paid for your exceptional work? Or are you able to write this time off on your taxes since technically you are partaking in some sort of civil service? Aren't you? Is that even a correct term? I'm not sure. Needless to say, I respect you, yet I am perplexed by you. I dare say I am RePlexed by you, Court Room Audience on Daytime Court Shows.

I guess all I can say to you is...nice work...whoever you are! I don't know WHO you are, or WHY you do what you do...but I sure do love every minute of it!

Love,

Me

An open letter to...COUPLES THAT COME TO THE THEATER

2010-08-16T15:33:00.001-05:00

And she's back!!!

**Please accept my patented "Apology Face" as a small apology to you. I know you've been sad (just lie to me..once..just do it!)**

You guys, I can't believe I haven't blogged in almost a month. What the eff is wrong with me?

I would like to say I've been building a school for stupid elephants in Africa during the last month. That isn't true. I would like to say I've been writing inspirational music for the Opening Ceremonies for the London Olympics, that is also not true. I would like to say I have been spending every waking hour meditating on world peace and practicing my Downward Dog...we all know that isn't true.

There are multiple reasons I haven't been blogging (you will get a run down of those in future blogs), but the main reason is..I've been putting on skits around town. That's right. Skits. I've been pretending to do things on stage and people have been paying to see me do this.

This leads to me to my latest open letter... An Open Letter to....COUPLES THAT COME TO THE THEATER!

Dear COUPLES THAT COME TO THEATER,

Date night, eh? Presh. First I want share with you how pleased I am that you have chosen to come to the theater to see my play. Wait..you guys! You aren't listening! You guys! Stop touching each other! Guys! WOAH! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY PUTTING YOUR HANDS THERE IN PUBLIC??

Ok, couples...I have had ENOUGH! I totally get it! You're really into each other! Super. Good job. I'm glad you have found your soul mate, but why are you doing your naughty business DURING MY SHOW! This has not happened just once! No, in fact I have seen many of you couples out doing this nasty business all throughout the month of July and August! What don't you get about what is happening right now???

Even though you are seemingly amateur exhibitionists, I should not assume you know the logic of the theater. Let me give a little lesson. This wooden platform I'm standing on right now is called a stage. I stand on it and spout my lines from my face. I have a feeling you may be confusing this experience with a little thing we like to call a "MOVIE". Although the seats you are sitting in are very similar to those found in a movie theater, you are not in a movie theater. You are in an actual theater. I am real. I can see you from where I'm standing. Don't you dare think for a second that I can't see exactly what you are doing! Including the placement of your hand DOWN her floral skirt! I can see that, you guys! I'm right up here! You are lit! I saw your awkward approach, and I am bearing witness to the ridiculous aftermath that is your naughty behavior IN PUBLIC!

This is making my uncomfortable. Like super way no ok uncomfortable. Please stop! And if you can't, you shouldn't me allowed out of the house. EVER!

Love,

ps- thanks for coming to my show! Hope you liked it! Tell your friends! Hopefully they have some social graces!

I wear my sunglasses at night...and during the day...and when I sleep...and when I shower..

2010-07-17T22:28:00.001-05:00

I spent a beautiful afternoon at Lake of the Isles the other afternoon with a friend. We sat for hours discussing life, laughing, sunning, and working on big kid work. A few hours later the sun was going down and I was on my way home. On my way home, suddenly the sunshine went away and from the west, a shit-storm came my way! My friend called to air some of his grievances with me..and revealed that he was offended that I hadn't taken my sunglasses off the entire afternoon. Wow.

Can we get real here for a minute? Can I tell you that I honestly didn't even think about it. Seriously. That was not a thought that had gone through my mind AT ALL. I mean for god sake, we were OUTSIDE! How was I supposed to know that by hiding my eyes for hours at a time, this could be considered offensive. The sun was out!

As I brooded over this topic for many hours, I thought I would turn to my facebook to see if I had a sunglasses addiction. The results are shocking.

I present to you now some of my research...

GOOD SUNNIES TIME or BAD SUNNIES TIME

GOOD:

Why? Simple reason..Because I'm outside.

BAD:

Why? Because I'm clearly in bed sleeping. Sunnies are not required for sleeping.

(Please note that the sun is indeed out, but alas, I am in bed. Bed time is night time, not mid-afternoon "I require sunglasses to sleep" time.)

GOOD:

I'm clearly outside. I'm clearly on a boat looking over the island of Manhattan. Sunnies would be appropriate for this time.

BAD:

Some experts would say.."Madde! You're outside! You can wear sunnies!"

Many people do not know that it is offensive in the stuffed bear community to wear sunnies while trying to make out with them. Clearly my tongue is out and ready for some stuffed bear action, my sunnies prevented me from ever meeting his parents...because I had offended his culture. I'm sorry.

GOOD:

This picture was taken at dusk as I slurpped on a soft serve ice cream cone. The sunnies serve a very important role in this because they prevented my eyes from the backwash of the melting ice cream. They were helpful and served the greater good.

GOOD:

I am in an elevator, at night, wearing a leopard print dress. NOT wearing sunnies at this moment would be wrong. VERY wrong. Who knows when the next paparazzi would come around the corner to try to take my picture and sell it to OK! Magazine...

(...wait...hold on...)

I'm sorry. This has been moved to the BAD category because...I'm not a celebrity. In fact, I'm far from a celebrity, I'm just a girl wearing a leopard print dress in an elevator. Things look pretty safe.

GOOD:

Although this was at night and inside, by the looks of my lipstick...I was in rough shape. Sunnies provided the boy in the picture safety from my wicked side.

BAD:

Unnecessary use of sunnies at night time. Clearly this picture was taken by a friend who had a thirst for my hidden eyes. I'm sorry.

GOOD:

Goats have devil eyes. I didn't want him to steal my soul. The sunnies were protecting me...Levar Burton -style...

BAD:

This many sunnies on one face is known to cause an inflated sense of self and fish mouth. A poor placement of sunnies.

Ba-GOOD:

This llama hadn't earned the right to see into my soul. We had just met...he would get the sunnies until he EARNED my eyes.

So yes, perhaps my friend was right. I wear sunnies a lot. I don't mean to be offensive in my wearing of them. Perhaps I think I'm Rachel Zoe? She wears her sunnies everywhere she goes, yet no one yells at her...

So I guess my only option is this: If it is sunny out, I will pop one of my lenses out of my sunglasses revealing ONE of my eyes. This way the person sitting across from me knows that they exist, and then the other eye is safe from the rays of the sun! Deal? Deal.

Is there dust in your eye? oh..that's a flirty wink...awkward. Stop that.

2010-07-16T12:50:00.001-05:00

(this is a picture of an awkward audition. that old guy in the background will be directing this piece..and touching you whether you like it or not...he will pretend it's him trying to help you speak from your diaphragm..we know that's a lie.)

Ok, put your dance belts on! Stretch it out! It's time to do a reading of my new play called: "Inept Flirting Girl" Ready?

Boy:

Hey Girl. You look cute today.

Girl:

Stop it. You don't mean that. Seriously. Stop that. Walk away. Now.

Boy:

(winks at Girl)

Girl:

You should get some eye drops. Your eye seems dry.

Boy:

(sits close so his arm is touching hers)

Girl:

Oh, do you not have enough room in that seat of yours, buddy? Why don't you give a lady her space?

Boy:

(Runs away crying)

....and SCENE!

Take a bow!

That was an excerpt from the play, it was Scene One: Common Scenario of Inept Flirting Girl, Just another Monday. While everyone we saw at callbacks for this play were good, the role of the girl in this scene is going to be played by ME. Sorry folks. See you at the next auditions!

I am not a flirty person. Any type of flirtation that comes out of me is merely by accident. You see, I think I may have been dropped as a child causing my flirting tools to be permanently damaged.

When it comes to flirtation many people say.."live in the moment" or "just feel it out"..here's the thing..it makes me uncomfortable to feel it out, it makes me feel stupid to live in that moment. I have a lot of friends who like to "get their sexy on," but that's simply not me. It doesn't matter who it is in front of me too.

As the recipient of flirtation, I am a mess as well. He could be a dolphin trainer with the looks of Hugh Grant and I would still behave like a bumbling idiot. If someone winks at me, I wonder if they have a piece of dust stuck in their eye. If a boy sits close to me, I assume it's because they don't have enough room on their enormous couch, and then politely ask them to scoot over so that I can have room to breathe. Say for instance his hand brushes mine, I make no mind to that..I assume it's because they have a shaky hand and it just shook over to mine by accident.

Flirting makes me feel dumb. There. I said it.

I have this thought, flirting is a little selfish if you think about it. It makes the Flirter feel good about themselves, it isn't always about making the Flirtee feel special. You see, flirting allows one to show off how charming and adorable they are. By flirting with another person they develop an inflated sense of self. They think, "Wow, I'm so suave and delicious. This person has no chance at resisting the meal I'm bringing to this dinner table!"

Now, now..calm down, I'm not saying that I'm a martyr because I wasn't born with the flirting gene, but I am saying that flirting is an act of ulterior motives. Perhaps we flirt to make ourselves feel desirable?

They say people are born flirts. Babies are born and start winking at everyone, and people just say about them, "Oh, he's such a flirt!"...but where did he learn that? He flirts with everyone because he's a baby, it makes him feel good about himself! His flirting target is of no mind to him, he just likes winking and feeling like the big baby on campus! It doesn't matter if it's his classmates at daycare, the lady at the check out at Babies-R-Us, or even his own mother! He flirts because he's a baby and it gives him power! (I'm not saying I hate babies. They are fine...I guess)

Flirting is not something I can do. I wasn't born a winker, and I'm not going to evolve into one. It's just the cross I have to bear. I have to go rehearse my play now. "Inept Flirting Girl" will open next summer...in my basement. There are seats for everyone. I have to cast BOY, but I keep stumbling over them every time I go out on a date, so I'm sure I'll find one and then about 45 understudies.

An open letter to...THE CRAZY MEN WHO HIT ON ME DURING THE FULL MOON,

2010-06-29T16:55:00.001-05:00

I just found out that full moon's happen every 28 days (don't ask me why I didn't know this before...yikes!). Perhaps it was this new-found knowledge, or just crazy full moon behavior, but this week was full of the crazies all up in my bizzzz-naaaasss! So, I offer you an open letter to....THE CRAZY MEN WHO HIT ON ME DURING THE FULL MOON!

Dear THE CRAZY MEN WHO HIT ON ME DURING THE FULL MOON,

You guys...where did you come from? Seriously? I'm concerned.

This week I was minding my own business and BAM! there you are. I've never seen you out and about before! Hitting on me from all angles. I didn't even know how to respond!

This may be an invasive question, but since you have already invaded MY space...I'm sure you'll understand.

Are you werewolves? It's ok...you can tell me. I won't tell anyone. I just need to know. If you are werewolves, I probs don't want you all up in my bizz as I don't want to catch the werewolf from you! You understand this, right?

Imagine, if you will, seeing this girl out and about on the town...what about her blue bow makes you think that she wants you all up in her area distracting her from her vodka delight?

Let me talk to each of you individually because I don't want the others to hear. Let me start with you MAN WITH A MULLET AT THE NEIGHBORHOOD BAR.

Sir, I just...I...jesus..I just don't even know where to start.

My friend and I certainly are the age of a daughter you may or may not have. Your insistent awkward banter is upsetting me. Please, for the love of your mullet...stop.

Ok, GUY PRETENDING TO BE MY WAITER.

The jig is up, dude...I know you don't work at this restaurant. You know how I know? You're drinking a pitcher of beer when you say you're going off to get me some more waiter.

No, I will not tip you by giving you my number.

No, I will not drink anything you have given me.

No, I will not even look you in your creepy face.

Stop.

Alright, MAN WHO SORTA LOOKS LIKE A GIRL AND IS WEARING A HALTER TOP WITH SKULLS ON IT:

Where did you even come from, sir??? It was Pride weekend, were you lost? I'm sorry, that was a mean thing to say. I apologize. But seriously, where the eff did you come from, and why are you lounging at the bar staring down my shirt? It's unnerving.

Cute top though.

You're not going unnoticed, GUY WHO HONKED AT ME FROM HIS CAR AS I DROVE HOME FROM THE THEATER!

Sir, honking at little blonde girls when they are driving and winking is frowned upon these days. Perhaps you didn't know...but this is common sense.

Also, sir...I'm wondering why you thought THIS....

....was something you needed to tap. I still had clown make-up on my face, I may or may not have just been picking my nose, and I always drive with that sneer on my face.

May I ask...what did you find so enticing?

Sir, let me drive and leave me to my driving.

Finally...

MARRIED GUY.

Have you no common sense? Also, what makes you think I'm "the other woman" material. Here's a tip for you, buddy...I'm not!

Also, you just talked about your wife...so umm...that's a dealbreaker for me, ladies! Get it together. Keep it in your knickers, and get out of my face. Please. Your cute level went down 304% when you asked me out.

Puke. On. Your. Face.

Gentlemen, work it out and get it together over the next 28 days before the full moon returns.

Cute, normal, non-werewolf men....call me.

xo,

Sparky! Not just a seal anymore!

2010-06-22T23:33:00.001-05:00

Do you believe in "the spark"? I do. A friend of mine went on a seemingly perfect first date tonight. Ice skating, dinner, and even a good night smooch. Sounds like a perfect date combo, no? Not tonight. She left the evening feeling....blah. She said ice skating was funsies. Dinner was alright. And the kiss? Well the kiss was awkward...so awkward, in fact, that mid-way through she started thinking about her physics homework! No bueno.

So what happened? If you'll indulge me in what I believe to be the best physics metaphor I can make... (this will soon turn out to have nothing to do with physics by the time I'm done with it)...Why didn't A+B=2nd date? There was no spark. I usually say I know within the first 5 minutes of meeting a person whether I dig them or not. I know that is a probs a gross overstatement, but it's pretty true for me.

Recently I went on a first "let's hang out but not call it a date" and I knew I was smitten right away! Our conversation lasted hours, I couldn't peel myself away from how effing fascinating he was. He was adorable. He had all the qualities of a human being I enjoy. I knew right away that I was on the path to Smittenville. Perhaps this makes me sound loco...but I knew it! Does this mean that I was ready to run off and buy a suburban home, make him put a flashy ring on my finger, and start taking couples pilates with him? Certainly not! I just knew I dug him.

Recently I went on another first "let's hang out but not call it a date" and I knew I was NOT smitten right away. Our conversation was a bit of a snooze-fest, he was also adorable, but only had some of the qualities of a human being I enjoy. I knew right away this was not the dude for me. Why? No sparky! I just wasn't into it. So our lack of conversation topics and the fact that I wanted to go home pretty much 5 minutes into the "let's hang out but not call it a date"... didn't bum me out very much! Why? No SPARKY!

Here's the thing about the sparky...it's not always turning into a flamey! Perhaps I could feel the spark right away with Bachelor #1, but that doesn't mean that his campfire is open for business. Take for instance my friend's date tonight...she was NOT feeling it whatsoever, yet he insisted on having an awkward make-out sesh in which he allowed his stubble to "give [her] chin an unexpected microdermabrasion". Why did this happen? Because he felt the spark, yet didn't care to notice that her logs weren't ready to be burned. I dare say...they were soggy logs? (no, I shan't say that..that's gross). What I mean to say is that the spark can be one-sided. Ya...that's what I meant to say (I think).

So how do we make a flame? Hell if I know! All I know is this: I am more inclined to hang out with Bachelor #1 again because he gives me fireflies in the tum tum and I like that. And Bachelor #2? Well...not so much. If he asks...my logs are soggy and can not ignite from his sparks to create a campfire suitable for..umm..making s'mores (jeeeze louise...i'm sorry for the metaphors).

Go find a spark!

An OPEN LETTER TO....THE PEOPLE THE WRITE THE SIGNS IN THE WOLF AREA OF THE ZOO.

2010-06-21T01:32:00.001-05:00

Today I went to the zoo. It was epic. I couldn't help but notice some of the very graphic educational signs scattered about. So today I present to you an open letter to....THE PEOPLE THE WRITE THE SIGNS IN THE WOLF AREA OF THE ZOO.

Dear THE PEOPLE THE WRITE THE SIGNS IN THE WOLF AREA OF THE ZOO,

You guys are comedy gold. Seriously. Someone call Stephen Colbert and John Stewart and tell them that they MUST have you geniuses write for them. Don't know what I'm talking about? Seriously? You have NO idea what I am talking about.

Ok, ok..what about this little sign that you posted?

Do you see the comedic value in this drawing at all, Wolf sketch artists?

There is comedy in here. Childish comedy? Perhaps, but comedy nonetheless. You see, the snarling wolf face, labeled as "aggressive", behind the erect tail of another wolf, labeled "dominant", presents a sort of "A+B= Inappropriate wolf sex sketch" sort of comedy. With his wrinkled nose and exposed teeth, that aggressive wolf is truly ready to pounce on that other wolf's naughty bits. There is comedy there. See it. Embrace it. Love it.

Amateurs would have stopped at one sign, but you guys are no spring chickens! No, you took this opportunity to post another little gem!

Seriously guys...THIS is what you drew for wolf submission? That wolf is on her back with a smile on her face..that smile was clearly drawn on there by you, the artists. Do wolves smile like that when they are ready to give it up and do the deed? Perhaps they do, I am no wolf-ologist...but methinks they keep their gentle wolf faces clear from any smiling action. The addition on a wolf smile? Comic gold.

Finally, you comedic geniuses know the rule of three. 1, 2, BAM! You know how to leave us laughing! And so, you left us with this ABSOLUTELY UNNECESSARY piece of artwork....

THE ANAL SNIFF.

Wow. You really know how to keep me giggling through the day, you saucy minxes, you. As if the words "Anal Sniff" didn't create a detailed enough picture in my mind, you took this opportunity to sketch it out for me! Thank you. Thank you SO much.

You guys....are awesome. You are truly educating the world, but not in wolf facts...rather, you are educating in the art of comedy.

Thank you.

Love,

Pressure cooker...not just for rice anymore, but for your relationships!

2010-06-21T01:02:00.000-05:00

(Don't cut your child's hair like this...it will lead to relationship problems and complexes)

Settle in, children. I'm going to tell you a story. Here are the important deets you need to know. Alice, Elizabeth, and I were in 6th grade. Elizabeth had recently cut her hair into a very short pixie cut. A family party was that night...we were attending. No one would have guessed that this night would life in infamy.

As Alice and Elizabeth gallivanted about at the party, a guest tapped Alice on her shoulder. "Is that your boyfriend?" she said.... shooting a presumptuous look in Elizabeth's general direction. "Umm..no. This is my friend Elizabeth" little Alice said.

Wow. Awkward.

I have a theory that was the night things really went downhill for all of us in the men department.

I'm just going to come out and say it, folks. Single girls my age are getting a lot pressure these days. Everywhere I go it's "Are you dating anyone?" or "Is that your boyfriend?" or even "That strange boy sitting 3 feet away from you should probs know you are single because we're worried you're a hopeless cause and perhaps he'll take pity on you and take you out!" What's the deal, yo?

It always happens around my parents friends. My phone rings, they glance down, it's a boy..."MY GOD! SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND! THANK GOD!" You can sense the relief in all of them. You always want to just say.. "Guess what, folks? He's not my boyfriend! In fact, he's just another boy on the long list of 'just friends' "...but instead you just coyly smile and leave them to their aged imagination. :)

As much as we would like to say the pressure doesn't get to us...we're all lying..it gets to us. How could it not? Constantly fielding the questions of why you are perpetually single can get...repetitive. The questions make you think about why you are single, and then question if you're weird or somethin'. (Disclaimer: you're not.)

Single or not... here are some facts. I'm a happy person. I love my friends, my family is pretty awesome, and my job[s] make me smile. So what's all the fuss about? Why is everyone trying to pair me off with some goon, when perhaps I'm happy runnin' solo for awhile? Here's why: people my age are effing getting married already! WHAAAAT? It's like a race to the finish line with the people I know. Girls I grew up with are moving in with their boyfriends, or even (it's not even something I can truly comprehend..gasp!) getting engaged. Boys I know are biting at the bit to seal the deal AND actually date the girls they think are gorgeous! Are we living in a 20-something twilight zone or something?

So where do I fall in this 20-something, love-hungry equation? I don't even think I factor into it to be quite honest. The expectations from my peers to "settle down" or "pair off with that special someone" seems absurd to me. I'm 22 and I have no intentions of settling down anywhere! In fact, I feel like I'm just beginning! You see, I never dated when I was in my teenage years. I explored the world, I laughed, I skipped and frolicked! I did all of those things while my friends skipped and frolicked from boyfriend to boyfriend. Of course at 22 they are ready to settle down, they must be exhausted by now! But that's just not for me. I seem to be on a different timeline.

The truth is this: the pressure doesn't come from anyone other than ourselves. Whether it be our peers or our parents and their friends, WE decide whether we feel badly about ourselves or not, they are simply a mirror in which we see ourselves. If you start out feeling badly that you are single, someone pointing it out won't make you feel peachy keen! If you make the conscious effort to embrace your singledom, and spend time with the people you care about the most...you will continue to be happy! If you want to stay single until you are 84 with 12 cats...just do it..and be HAPPY about it! Also...Whatever you do though, don't cut your hair into a short pixie cut like Elizabeth and walk around with your girlfriends...the pressure will triple! :)