I moved...

to WordPress.

Click here.

(And adjust your Reader subscriptions, s.v.p.)

What are you still doing here when I'm asking people to touch me here?

Over there

Without much any fanfare and certainly without knowing what the hell I'm doing, I've moved.

Come with me!

On snooping

Before I get into what I really want to say, I have a confession to make:

I think I'm having a lesbian relationship with my new car. (Yes, it's a she.)

I talk to it, as I do to all of my cars, but with her it has started to take on a different tone.

When I turn the key: "That's it, purr for me baby."

When I accelerate onto the freeway: "Oooh you like that don't you. I can hear that you like it."

When I pass boy cars: "You're so much hotter than he is, baby. You've got sexy curves and a smoother ride."

It's getting a little out of hand.

Now back to our lofty topic.

I don't snoop.

No, I mean it.

You know when you first spend the night at a new guy's house and he leaves you alone to make breakfast/shower/walk the dog? You take the short stroll around his bedroom to get a better sense of who he is from the stuff he keeps and the things he owns. You open a drawer or lift a pile just to get a bit more info. You tell yourself that it's just natural curiosity. And that he wouldn't have made it so accessible if he really wanted it hidden. And even that he probably expected you to look.

Not me.

It's not because I'm an angel and it's only partially because I have a deep-seated respect for privacy. Mostly it's because longlongagoinalandfarfaraway, I learned that if you snoop, you will find information you never wanted to know. And lessons learned when you're ten stick. (I still don't run with scissors or play with balls in the house.)

If you need someone to get into your email account to copy and paste without reading, I'm your girl. If you want someone to house-sit without rummaging through your things, call me. I won't go anywhere near anything that looks like it shouldn't be touched, even if it requires carrying the dog across the street instead of digging through a closet to look for a leash. If you say don't, I won't.

That being said, sometimes I pretend I'm a stranger and wander around my room snooping about in my own stuff. I try to think like a stranger would think, sniffing perfumes and opening medicine cabinets. This routine usually happens before a party or a date when people who haven't already seen my construction paper heart with "My roommate is better in bed" written in marker will be coming over for the first time.

While this is far from the most embarrassing thing I could admit to doing, I wonder if it's normal.

Ghosts of Girlfriends Who Would Never Give That Ass a Third Chance

Dear Hollywood,

If Matthew McConaughey isn't going to remove his shirt, then whyinthenameofallthatisholy is he in the movie?

Sincerely,

People for the Objectification of Men

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Dear Hollywood,

In real life, Jennifer Garner's friends would spend the couple's happily ever after thinking that she had married beneath herself.

Honestly,

BS

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Dear Hollywood,

Is the sickeningly perfect Daniel Sunjata character still available? Because I could get over my aversion to doctors.

Yours,

Revising My Top 5

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Dear Hollywood,

Me again. You missed me, right?

I'm pretty sure no one's still buying that whole "psycho bridezillas are hilarious" thing. Did Bride Wars teach you nothing?

With love,

Rational Women Everywhere

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Dear Hollywood,

When did Lacy Chabert get that rack? Maybe she's secretly related to Jennifer Love Hewitt.

With empathy,

BS

Top 5

Because I'm incapable of coming up with my own material these days...

1. Josh Lyman
Right, like there's any more chance of you getting special private time with Brad Pitt than there is of me getting time to be schooled in the way of national politics by a fictional character. Whatever.

2. Joshua Jackson
(No, they won't all be named Josh.) He's smartfunny. And you can tell he loves women.

3. Kevin McKidd
Oh how I'd love a little game of Connect the Shoulder Freckles. It also helps that he seems to play intense, brooding soldiers a lot. In my mind, he always wears a uniform (well, not allllways). Preferably Old Guard* or Navy Dress Blues.

4. Josh Hartnett
I don't need him to open his mouth; he can just sit there and look pretty. But not too pretty. Oh those eyes.

5. Channing Tatum
Again, not so much with the talkey-talkey. But the dude CAN dance. (Also? *ahem* shoulder freckles.)

*I blame The Dangerous Ex for this one. I'd just post one of his Tomb pics, but the egotistical bastard (and I say that with love) would enjoy it too much.

Don't Look Down

Sometimes I hate making little decisions like where to eat or which pair of Loeffler Randall flats to wear. And yet I never mind the medium to big ones. I approach the bigger decisions carefully, logically. I develop a mental matrix that compares all of the factors that are important to me. I do an insane amount of research and gather anecdotal evidence. And then I go with my gut.

My gut and I get along well. I trust it, even if I occasionally ignore it (*cough* The Texter *cough*). It leads me to good things, good people, good experiences. But if big decisions are like sky diving, then my gut doesn't get me out of the plane. Logic can tell me my chances of ending up a pile of human sausage and my gut can tell me that I'm willing to take that chance, but neither one pushes me to take that last step into thin air.

Your gut is pure emotion as is whatever force convinces you to take a chance, so it frustrates me to no end when people speak ill of being led astray by their feelings. On Saturday, a friend told the story of a man with a brain injury. He was a high-powered lawyer or accountant, something generally considered very left-brain, who lost everything when the injury took away his emotions. He became paralyzed by even small decisions like which pen to use because his gut was gone. When there was no logical reason for choosing one item over another, he couldn't decide. He lost his friends, his family, and his job. He lost his humanity.

I've examined my options.
I've done the research and gathered the evidence.
I've consulted my gut.

It's time to jump.