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Attempt #2

31 Dec

Fair warning: Things are gonna get a tish personal.

I took a wonderful trip to Guatemala with friends back in 2010. It was totes amazeballs, fo realz. The pictures of me in Guatemala? Eeeshhh… For one, I had a remarkably icky haircut. For another, and to be 100% honest, I looked fat. And then I got home, stepped on the scale, and saw a scary number. To Weight Watchers I went. I stuck with it for a good 3 months, and I lost weight. About 15 pounds. And then for some reason I got bored with points and decided to go back to eating all the cheese. And I kept paying for my membership for a really long time – all the while still eating all the cheese. Eventually I quit the program altogether. And yup. The weight came back. And then some. Especially now that I live with Kris. It’s sooo easy to get in to that groove of thinking “Ehhh. Whatever. You’ll still love me if all my pants are sweatpants and I live off Bagel Bites and chocolate?” (side note: how delicious are Bagel Bites?) This is a relatively new thing for me. Up until Kris, I wouldn’t eat tons of bad stuff in front of a dude. Since living with Kris, it’s like bring on the Chinese takeout! Not so good for me and Mr. Scale.

For work we had to have a health risk assesment done to receive a discount on our health insurance. Mine came back. And? And I am medically, wait for it, obese. Oh.Bese. Ummm. Excuuuuse me? Maybe I’m a bit tubby. Overweight, okay. But obese?? Yikes. And wow. And ugh… And how I am going to not be considered obese? To me, obese is Fat Gina at work. Obese are the people who use scooters because they are too tubs to walk. I’m one of them? Hell to the no.

So I did it again. I signed up with Weight Watchers. And this time I went big time. Meetings too. More pressure and more $. Yesterday was my first day on it. I was within my points. But around 10 pm, as we were coming home from seeing a movie (Secret Life of Walter Mitty – screw the reviews, I thought it was wonderful) I told Kris I could seriously eat an entire other supper. I was really hungry. I rounded out my points with a carrot and a measured out tablespoon of hummus. Prior to yesterday, I don’t think I would have gone straight for a carrot. But that’s what this is all about. I think weight loss is about a million different little decisions everyday. So here I am. And I have to keep telling myself that not being obese trumps bad eating habits.

I’ve also observed a lot too. Thin people might have better metabolisms, etc, but from what I have seen, they also simply eat less. To throw out Ali as a prime example of this (sorry, Ali, just go with me) we met up for some delicious Mexican food in our college town last weekend before her flight back to Denver. True, we ordered the infamous queso, which is nothing, if not pure tastebud Heaven, but her meal was one single tamale. My point is not that all thin people are anorexic. Not at all. But they do just eat less. Which is, long story here, what I am trying to do. I trained for and ran an entire marathon, and people, I didn’t shed one pound of lard. Not one. I think, at least for me it’s got to be about food.

Pretty cliche of me to be writing this on New Year’s Eve, right? I know. It really is. My friends and I are taking a trip this spring and I don’t want to have to wear a one piece suit with a skirt like obese (ugh, I hate that word) women wear. Mayhaps I will start a separate blog to document this journey. I thought about just documenting it personally, but I fear it will get way too “Dear Diary” to be of any use to me. We’ll see. Here we go Day 2.


The Internet & Me: Why I Need to Participate Less

16 Jul

Like almost any human being on the planet these days, I don’t know what I would do without the internet. There is so much awesome stuff I wouldn’t know, so many wonderful things I wouldn’t have seen. This doesn’t mean I’ve learned anything of value -far from it -but good golly Miss Molly, I have been entertained by this medium beyond comprehension. I am information-addicted, and when my web browser has ten tabs open, it actually means that I need to find more SNL videos/NPR Code Switch articles/meaningless Top 10 lists to fill it up with. I can’t help but feel enriched when I can watch a special about Titanoboa from the comfort of my bed. However, I also can’t help but feel a bit old when my Internet reference-laden vocabulary is unfamiliar to those younger than me. The other day I started talking like the Teen Girl Squad, and called something a betch, and my four years younger roommate had no idea what I was talking about. It’s devastating when the viral videos and memes of yesteryear are abandoned for something like twerking (<–not linked for a reason).

Though I love the internet, and it loves me, there are some ways that I interact with it that need to stop. I mean make like Joey Gladstone and Cut. *Scissors* It. *Index Finger* Out *Backwards Thumb*. Why, whhhhyyyyyy do I still bother to read the comments on articles –and why do I comment on them?? Comments are for trolls and people who have developed an opinion off of one badly researched CNN article. It never gives me any satisfaction or any feeling that I’ve actually contributed something to an actual conversation.

Since I haven’t yet stopped commenting on articles, the universe gave me a reason to just yesterday. I had of course commented on the soon-to-be Pulitzer winning Rolling Stone article, “The Dumbest Band Names of All Time.” Don’t ask me why I still read stuff on Rolling Stone. It used to be my dream job to work for them, and now they are basically one notch above Buzzfeed in terms of quality. Still, I shared my opinion, which I’m sure the world was waiting with bated breath for:

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

I had completely forgotten about making the comment, as one tends to forget about trivial, meaningless things, until I got an e-mail saying that someone had replied to my post. Since I hadn’t put up anything polarizing or inflammatory, I couldn’t guess why someone would actually want to interact with my milquetoast observations. This is what I got:

Idiot Stick

OH MY STARS –someone find me this adorable little devil stat so I can marry him and carry his child. Not to mention the fact that he is about as witty as they come. But seriously folks, I really need to stop doing this kind of thing. Especially on Twitter . . .

I have had a Twitter account for approximately three years. I’ve maybe posted something on an average of perhaps one post per three months, if that. Honestly, I think Twitter is a sack of garbage most of the time, except for stuff from seriously funny comedians like Mindy Kaling who are putting up solid gold pretty much constantly. Somehow I was hired as a social media guru this past year without letting on about my grumpy, grad school grandma distaste for tweeting. The only reason I took to my Twitter this past weekend was because of the ruling in the George Zimmerman case. I got home late Saturday night, and made the mistake of checking the news before I went to bed. Big mistake. Huge. I found myself feeling incredibly angry and worked up over the whole thing, which is not good, because that’s definitely when my foot-to-mouth syndrome comes into play. I went on Facebook and was about to post something angry about privilege and being very, very anti-gun and anti-violence, when I suddenly knew what would happen: my dear mother would ask me about it later on the phone, and would tell me that it was very immature for someone my age to let spew on Facebook. I knew she would be right. So I took to Twitter instead.

When I got there though, I was like an unstoppable machine. I somehow thought that because I don’t think Twitter matters, everyone else doesn’t either, which is so very wrong, especially when it comes to future employment. I put up my post, but was of course then prompted to see what other people were saying about the whole ordeal. Why did I do that? Naturally, the first neanderthal I saw who had said something betraying his ignorance, racism, sexism, I felt the need to pounce. Though I want to maintain calm and have conversations that actually get us somewhere, I have to admit that if I see or hear someone saying something ignorant (*cough*Ann Coulter*cough*), a very small (narrow-minded and size-based definitions) vengeful part of me wants to throw a rabid animal in their face. However, instead of chucking a salivating raccoon at this guy, this “conversation” ensued:

Twitter Fucker

I’m sure the world is a better place for this exchange (please note my deep sarcasm here). This went on for a couple more posts, but here’s the takeaway: I wasn’t going to make this guy a better person, mostly because I don’t think this kid had IQ enough to understand my 140 character messages. Yes, that’s me bashing him again, but what was I going to achieve? I had no chance at all. Ultimately, I had to just quit and try to go to sleep, which didn’t happen because I was still, of course, angry. I think I had to find a YouTube video of soothing nature sounds to get there.

All in all, I really need to disconnect more (she writes as she types on her blog). I went home for a visit about a month ago, and since I don’t have a smart phone and my parents’ internet service is somehow worse than the service I get from Comcast, I just went offline for over a week. It was actually incredibly easy and wonderful. I couldn’t bear to do it constantly, but it is doable. I also think I should make you a promise: I do so solemnly swear to stay away from article comments, social media rants, and anything that might lead to an awkward situation in any future interview. I’m making it sound like a freak out online on the regs, but I promise that this is not the case. I think it will pay to be overly cautious.

In closing, I would like to share with you one of my favorite things that the internet has produced: cheap scam ads. You know the ones. They have some ridiculous message next to a picture that in no way connects to said message? I’ve amassed a pretty great collection. Have a looksee:

Baby Mortgage Hate

Baby Mortgage Hate

Ever been arrested -for over-plucking?

Ever been arrested -for over-plucking?

He better hurry up and buy.

He better hurry up and buy.

Or it will turn into delicious banana bread dough.

Or it will turn into delicious banana bread dough.

So many ridiculously easy tricks, that he forgot the simple idea of not going out in a cartoon thunderstorm

So many ridiculously easy tricks, that he forgot the simple idea of not going out in a cartoon thunderstorm

Osmosis linguistics!

Osmosis linguistics!

If you are, you better put this thing on so you don't wake up your significant other in the meantime.

If you are, in the meantime you better put this thing on so you don’t wake up your significant other.

More like "Woman Looks Covered in Spray Cheese."

More like “Woman Looks Covered in Spray Cheese.”

Oh man guys, you have no idea how long I’ve been holding on to some of those. No seriously, it’s kind of embarrassing. I only want what’s best for you internet . . .

Run Club

28 Jun

Holy Hell. I hate run club. And I need to seriously get over that because I’ve got about oh-you-know 14 weeks left. I signed up for a marathon clinic through The Running Room. Last week it was just me and the trainer which initially I thought sucked because all the attention was focused on me. Thanks, but no thanks. Then on Wednesday of this week was a free run night which was explained to me kind of like this, “Run club meets every Wednesday and Sunday. Usually a bunch of people show up, but people go their own pace and distance.” Sa-weet. My own pace and distance? I like that talk because here’s the truth folks: I am a slooow, slooow runner. Like when I’m tired it looks like I am shuffling in a sad, depressed way down the street. In truth, I showed up with a buddy totally expecting this “your pace, your distance” thing and there were about 5 ELITE runners there. Like this one lady runs so much she has somehow modfied her feminine genitic makeup and has the body of a man. This chubby runner ain’t got nothing on her. My poor friend had to turn around early. I kept up about halfway, but then between huffing and puffing managed to tell the group to leave me. (Side note: If I ever find myself in a war movie where I selflessly tell my comrades to leave me behind as I die in the dirt, I will draw upon this experience.) These runner folks did not stop. For me? This is problematic as I love a little walk break. Hush you. I can sense your judgement.

And then the worst thing happened. Content with making it back to the store by myself (seriously, I was super happy to be alone) the leader and old man marathon dude came back for me. Cue me in my head a la White Fang, “Leeeave!” Just leave, okay?!” But no, they came back and said the dreaded words of encouragement that don’t encourage, but just make me feel pissed. “You can do it.” “Everyone has their own level.” and my personal favorite – “we just felt like running with you.” Uh huh. No you didn’t, LIARS. You felt sorry for me. It’s super lame when people feel sorry for you. I hope I can get better so that stops real soon.

Then yesterday. Oh, how yesterday sucked. Went to the clinic where there were a handful of others that had since joined the clinic. All great runners, which makes me wonder why the hell they joined the clinic. Leave the real training to couch-lovers like me! How I missed the week before when I didn’t have to worry about being the one who is slow that people are waiting on.

Remember my foot problem where it goes numb when I run? Apparently it’s a compressed nerve which my custom-made orthotics are supposed to help. Well, I picked up those orthotics on Wednesday, and um yeah. My foot totally still fell asleep, although I feel as if maybe it’s not as bad with them in? I’ll keep trying, but here is the other problem – orthotics take a bit of getting used to, and since I have only had them since Wednesday my leg muscles on day 2 of running in them were basically screaming at me. So…run with them in and have less/more manageable foot numbness, but overwhelming leg pain? Or take them out and have a foot that is dead. Super awesome predicament, eh? I am going to continue wearing the orthotics until my leg muscles get used to them. And I hope and pray so, so hard that it will help make the numbness better.

I feel like when I explain my situation to people, they look at me is if I am explaining to them that I have fibromyalgia or some other “disease” for attention seekers. No one knows my pain!

 Despite all my bitching and moaning, I want this. I want this just once. To say I ran a marathon. To say I did it and counted. Unlike all my run-happy comrades, I’m not looking to make some marvelous time. Screw that! My goal is as bottom-o-the-barrel as one can get. To run it and count. To not get kicked off the course because I was too slow to count. That’s all.

So I think I will do training club once a week and push myself super hard then. The rest of the time, I’m going to train my way.

Here we go.

I Am (NOT) A Model, You Know What I Mean/ And I Do My Little Turn On The Catwalk

16 Apr

I would like to start out this post with a little shout out to Right Said Fred for being more confident and sexy than should be allowed.

Now that you’ve got that song stuck in your head for the next four days, let me share with you my thought process for this post. I was looking through my roommate’s Marie Claire magazines, and I was kind of surprised at how many designers and major labels still use way too skinny models who mold themselves into almost sickening poses and postures. After all of the Dove “Campaign for Real Beauty” stuff, and with the general cultural awareness that has been raised in the last several years about what kind of beauty we idealize, I guess I am still (naively) shocked that women who look anything but sexy are still appearing in ads. However, there was more of a mix of body types within the magazine than I expected. Still not a great range, but better than what I remember from opening any woman-targeted magazine at the beginning of the millenium.

One trend that was definitely apparent from looking through the mag is the downturn of designers using professional models, and the upsurge of them using actors and celebrities. Now, I know that many, many actors get into the business by modeling, but I wouldn’t consider them professionals at hawking labels and perfumes. This is even true when celebrities try to sell their own clothing lines and fragrances. Do I really believe that they designed the clothes and fragrances even mostly on their own? Hell to the no. I also don’t buy into it because it seems that most of the celebrities who “create” their own perfume are mostly people I certainly do not want to smell like (re: Jennifer Lopez, Britney Spears, Taylor Swift . . . I can smell the mediocrity just thinking about it).

Anyhoo, the notion that got my brain turning was the process of modeling itself. More specifically, I found myself pondering: how hard could it possibly be? I decided I was going to show up these ladies by proving how ridiculous their posturing is in the context of real life, and how easy their jobs really are. However, after attempting these poses I have to admit that, while models certainly aren’t brain surgeons in terms of the difficulty of their jobs, creating a persona that people want to imitate is pretty taxing. I also learned that, after years of doing stupid faces and poses in photos, maybe my generally goofy looks aren’t so much by accident after all. I am fo’ sho a fairly awkward human being, and I can’t “do sexy” to save my dorky little life. I have to give major props to my dear roommate, Claire, who tried to coach me into at least trying to reasonably mimic these poses and looks, but the failure here is all my own. However, the following comparisons between the model photos and my photos below (I hope) will give you the best laugh you have today. If any of you happened to be wondering why my roommate and I were peeing our pants laughing on the floor last night while I was clutching a jar of Miracle Whip, wonder no more. Enjoy.

The "Apathetic, Disjointed" Look

The “Apathetic, Disjointed” Look

The "Somebody Smack Me If I Make This Face Again"

The “Somebody Smack Me If I Make This Face Again”

The "My Ankles are Broken"

The “My Ankles are Broken”

The "My Pride is Broken"

The “My Pride is Broken”

The "Questioning Tilt"

The “Questioning Tilt”

The "Dazed & Confused"

The “Dazed & Confused”

The "Smell the Hair"

The “Smell the Hair”

The "Eat the Hair"

The “Eat the Hair”

The "Intense Stare"

The “Intense Stare”

The "Impotent Glare"

The “Impotent Glare”

The "In Love With This Product"

The “In Love With This Product”

The "In Love With This Condiment"

The “In Love With This Condiment”

The "Sunny Sprawl"

The “Sunny Sprawl”

The "Dead Fall"

The “Dead Fall”

The "Whimsical Leap"

The “Whimsical Leap”

The "Barely Hop"

The “Barely Hop”

The "Girly Kick"

The “Girly Kick”

The "At Least My Leg Is Up"

The “At Least My Leg Is Up”

The "Windy Shoulder"

The “Windy Shoulder”

The "Drunken Mess"

The “Drunken Mess”

The "Sheerly Serious"

The “Sheerly Serious”

The "Sheerly Dumbfounded"

The “Sheerly Dumbfounded”

The "Shhh Up"

The “Shhh Up”

The "Almost Pick" Up

The “Almost Pick” Up

The "Sun Goddes Pout"

The “Sun Goddes Pout”

The "Sun Goddes Pout Pt. 2"

The “Sun Goddes Pout Pt. 2”

The "Dead Trout"

The “Dead Trout”

I’d say I got the closest with the leg kick up picture, but really, if I can’t do everything Jessica Simpson does and do it better, I really don’t see any reason to try anymore.

Life Achievements

29 Mar

Recently The Onion posted a hilarious faux article about how certain Facebook, or FB, friends should just stop with the life achievements already. Like, for realsies. Some of you people need to stop.  There is the girl I know from college who always looks ridiculously adorable because she is ridiculously adorable and you can’t even hate her for it. The worst. PS – she’s married and somehow has some miiighty deep pockets cause the girl is constantly travelling and making me jealous. That’s just one example out of many, many examples of people achieving things on my facebook homepage.

In a couple weeks, yours truly, will be celebrating a milestone event. The one year anniversery of dating. Say what? I know, a relationship that didn’t end after a couple months! I’m feeling rather nice and adult about the whole thing, thanks for asking 🙂

Now for me, this achievement is Big. Huge! (For those that got that Pretty Woman reference you are amazing). For some, my little one year of dating, ain’t got no thang on what they’ve got. Engaged, married, doctors, master’s, lawyers, homeowners, babies! It’s truly overwhelming at times. And let me show you the statsFB

Sorry if that’s hard to read. But yeah, I mean, considering the vast majority of my FB buds are my peers, the stats are daunting. I count single as you would if you file your taxes, so there are many in the single slice-o-the-pie that are dating, living together etc. Of course that’s just relationship status wise. Take a look at the babycentric pie chart. Though it’s only a third of the chart, I feel like my Facebook has utterly exploded with babies and pregnancies. Which is weird for me because I eat cereal for supper far too many nights a week to be considered mom material at this point.FB2So yeah. I even did a graph for the single with kids. I wanted to call it the bastard chart, but being the sensitive and culturally aware person that I am, chose “Single with kids.” And look! Turns out my friends are more traditional than I thought.

FB3Does anyone else feel like this is happening to their homepage? Or are you an “other” with your wedded bliss and baby glow? I jest. Of course I want all of that someday – marriage and 2 fat little babies (who grow up to be not fat) to love. Someday.

Peace out and have a great Easter. I’ll be paper writing. Woot!


The stuff of entertainment

15 Mar

Despite not having cable (sad thing, yes, I know) I can generally fulfill my entertainment needs with Netflix, Hulu, and Redbox. Actually, I find myself invested in a lot of different shows. Some shows are difficult for me to explain why exactly I watch them. Take, for instance, the teen drama Pretty Little Liars. I know the show’s target audience is about 12-16 years old, but what can I say? I totally watch it every week. About a month ago, I went to Macy’s out of boredom (shush you!) and bought a new jacket. As I tried it on I thought to myself, “This is such a Hannah jacket.” As in Hannah from Pretty Little Liars. Sometimes I can be a real gomer.

My lack of cable also is a factor in my watching of tv shows on Netflix. One that I’ve watched about half of the first season of is Hart of Dixie, a ree-dic-u-lous show about a sassy New York doctor and her trials and tribulations working at a family practice in (I kid you not) the town of Bluebell, AL. Her arch-rival is a southern debutante named Lemon. (Don’t you just hate when that happens?) This town seems to live for floral prints, drawled out expressions like, “Daddy, I’m so excited for the sweetie pie dance!”, and having aligators as pets. Okay – don’t get me wrong – I’ve never been to Sweet Home Alabama, but I’m fairly certain Hart of Dixie’s portrayal is rather off.

Recently through Netflix I watched Heavenly Creatures. Released in 1994, (I’m really convinced that 1994 was one of the best years for film) it stars a young Kate Winslet and Melanie Lynskey as 2 young girls in New Zealand who form an obsessive attchment to each other, and through a series of events, plot and execute the murder of one of their mothers.This is based on a true story! Which then prompted my fingers to Wikipedia that shit with great fervor. Sidebar: every time I watch a movie about a real killer, I have to research them on the Intenet. It’s way creepy, but seriously fascianting stuff to me. Can’t really explain it, but I swear I’m not a killer! There is a line in the film in which Lynskey’s character says, “We have decided how sad it is for others that they cannot appreciate our genius.” That’s so Ali and me. Ha. Kidding. (shhh not really)

It has been many years since I decided to purchase a movie I had never seen before, but yesterday at Target I purchased Life of Pi on a whim. I knew I wanted to see it and just decided to go for it. I watched it last night and loved it! I know it’s gotten mostly good reviews, but there are some that are bad. And not to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen this film, but if you are frustrated by the ending because it’s not wrapped up in a neat little bow, I’ll probably think you’re dumb. Yes, the girl who openly admits to watching Pretty Little Liars and Hart of Dixie will think you’re dumb. I don’t like it when Life of Pi is compared to Avatar because Avatar sucked enormously. Life of Pi had stunning visuals with really intellectual themes. Even now, a day later, I’m still thinking about it. So watch it if you can. It’s one of the best films I’ve seen in a while. The director, Ang Lee, is just such an interesting guy. I think he’s got an amazing storytelling ability. Here you have this funny little Taiwanese man who has beautifully told Jane Austen’s English period drama Sense & Sensibility with as much richness as the western Brokeback Mountain, and now weaves the wonderful story of survival, the inter-connectedness of life, and fantasy/reality in such an incredible way.

In other events, T-Minus one week until Ali and her gentleman caller pay a visit to Minnesota. Wooo!

A Quick, Funny Story

8 Feb

I was cleaning out my desk drawers today, and I came across one of my Christmas gifts from my stepgrandparents. I always look forward to their gift since they have a knack for getting me thoughtful things that are also really cool. Last year, it was a cheeseboard for serving fancy cheeses to guests (I didn’t even know I wanted that. Now I do!!). This year’s assortment of goodies included this little item:

Photo on 2013-02-08 at 12.06

It’s essentially a ponytail holder with fluffy furballs on it. Well, not essentially. That’s exactly what it is. I was a little perplexed as to the purpose of this (un)fashionable piece.

Photo on 2013-02-08 at 12.13

I showed it to my mom to see if she could make heads or tails of how to wear it without looking like a complete freak. She stared at it for a few seconds, then stuck it between her legs thusly:

Photo on 2013-02-08 at 12.08 #3

And yelled, “Rabbit testicles!” That be my mother.

On another note, if anyone wants a ponytail holder with rabbit test-,I mean furballs on it, I’m selling one for super cheap.

It’s Bred For Its Skills In Magic.

11 Aug

Ligers are real, you guys. Ligers are actually real. Whhaaa? Is this common knowledge?

So it’s Friday night. Got to get down on Friday! Or…even better stay in bed with your laptop and watch a Discovery Channel show about big cats on Hulu. Oh, and my cat is watching with me. #imnotaloser

It ended with them discussing the “ultimate cat” which is the liger.

Napoleon Dynamite Liger Scene

While it doesn’t look like this:

It does look like this:

Mind.Blown. A liger “is not naturally occurring in nature” and is born when a male lion is bred with a female tiger. For some unknown science-y reason, ligers are HUGE! They can be as big as their mother and father combined!

Seriously though. How did I not know they were real?

This is me and Lucy. I’m a lunatic making her learn about her brethren. She’s super happy about this.

Big Girls Don’t Cry (Unless It’s Ridiculous)

14 Jul

I, Ali Jepsen, have an odd relationship with tears.  I almost never cry out of sadness, and when I do, it is so long after the event that I’m upset about that I almost can’t remember why I’m upset.  However, there are several things that will make me cry instantly, and they are ridiculous.  I’m not saying it’s stupid to cry, I’m saying that the things I cry at, more often than not, do not deserve to be cried over.  I know a lot of people have these “tear triggers,” but lately I’ve had a few conversations with friends over this phenomenon so I decided to compile a list of the things that consistently make me bawl.  Feel free to laugh at me about it; I do all the time.

A Little Princess: Sara & Captain Crewe Reunited Scene

If you were a girl (or maybe a guy) growing up in the ’90s, it’s highly likely that you saw A Little Princess.  If you’re like me, you probably saw it close to 500 times.  Everyone who has seen this movie knows that the scene when (spoiler alert!) Sarah’s father, Captain Crewe,  gets over his amnesia and runs after his daughter while she is being dragged off by police is a tearjerker.  You would have to be completely heartless not to be touched by it.  However, you would think that after watching this movie into the ground that I would get over intensely sobbing at this scene.  Sorry, no.  I have literally NEVER watched this part of the movie without crying at least some.  I think this moment really gets to me because my reasons for crying at it have changed over the years.  When I was younger, I just marveled at the miracle of a father and daughter being reunited.  When I got older, the thought of a cute little girl (who incidentally reminds me a lot of my cousin) nearly being taken away from her father was too much to bear.  I don’t know if I’ll even be able to handle watching this scene when I have kids.  I’ll probably break out into convulsive spray tears.


Homeward Bound: Sassy, Chance, Shadow, et al Reunited Scene

In the same ’90s vein as A Little Princess, the last scene of Homeward Bound always gets to me.  Even though one of Kenz’s and my first bonding moments was making fun of the way Shadow says/thinks “Ohhhh Peterrrrrrr . . .”, I also cry as I laugh.  I sit there and tell myself how crazy I am while tears come down my face and schizophrenic laugh/cry (craugh) noises come out of my mouth.  It’s all very attractive.  Also, “craugh” is now a word.  Feel free to use it as I just have, or you can use it as punny wordplay,”That play was so melodramatic that I nearly craughed my pants!”  (“Craugh your pants” (verb phrase): when you cry and laugh so hard that you lose your bowels.)


Hy-Vee Summer Olympics 2008 Shawn Johnson Commercial

Maybe it was because I was super emotional the summer of 2008 since I had just graduated from college, but this Hy-Vee commercial brought on the waterworks something awful.  Perhaps it was the mix of Olympic glory and Iowa pride that got me going.  Whatever it was, I got made fun of a lot before and during the Games because of it.  To be truthful, when I searched for the video on YouTube and watched it again, a few tears still escaped me.  You may be retired, Shawn, but you doing it all “with a smile” still makes me emotional and proud as hell.


Disney’s The Little Match Girl Short

Of all my tear triggers, this one in particular stands alone because it also makes me mad.  Imagine, if you will, me a couple years ago sitting on my couch and checking out the DVD extras on the anniversary edition of The Little Mermaid while waiting to go to work (as one does).  I start watching a clip where a Disney animator talks about how much he loves reading Hans Christian Andersen stories to his daughters.  He was so inspired by working on The Little Mermaid that he decided he would also make a movie short of The Little Match Girl, one of HCA’s other works.  Of course I was intrigued by this man’s love of the story, so I watched the short film which was also included on the extras.  Ho. ly. Crap.  Nothing in me was prepared for how devastating this story is.  By the film’s conclusion, I was sitting alone on my couch with my shoulders heaving and crying so hard that my throat hurt (You know the throat cry.  Sounds like: huuuuhh, huuuuhh, huuuuuuhhhh . . .).  Here I thought I would be watching a sweet little kid movie, when in reality the hopeful innocence within me was brutally beaten with a club.  Once I finally got the tears to stop flowing, I got angry.  SOMEONE should have prepared me for such unnecessary sadness!  I don’t know if I was mad at this animator, Disney for funding him and putting the film on a classic childhood movie, or at Hans Christian Andersen himself.  All this story does is kill happiness -but of course I’ve included it here so you can be mad with me.  Hopefully I’ve prepared you enough so that the morbidness of it won’t run your soul through with a steak knife.  Even now, I still tear up when thinking about the story –and that only works to tick me off all over again.


This Article About Santa Impersonators

I know, I just used the word “impersonator” to describe people who play Santa.  As if Santa is like Elvis, or something.  Psh, everyone knows Santa is more real than Elvis.  Or at least more real than Elvis still being alive and/or being abducted by aliens.  In any case, this article about the men who play Santa professionally got me weepy.  Perhaps it made me recall when “Santa” would come to my house and wouldn’t be quite quiet enough not to wake me up.  Ah, how I loved those times when my body would be paralyzed with the need to see Santa in the flesh, and the fear that he would yell at me for sneaking up on him and watching his magic in action.


Pampers/UNICEF Commercial

This commercial is so potent with cry material that I used to tear up just talking about it.  Pampers (yes, as in the diaper company, as I had to clarify with my incredulous friend Mark) partnered with UNICEF a few years back on a campaign that gave one vaccine for every pack of diapers sold.  The commercial is actually kind of bad since it perpetuates certain stereotypes and is shamefully cheesy, but I can’t help but lose it when the baby in a Siberian poncho hugs the whitey suburban mom’s leg.  Is it because of the cute, needy babies?  Or is it because I want to believe that yuppie white people can save the world?  Who knows.  I might be better off not analyzing this one.


If you’ve gotten through all of these articles and clips and haven’t teared up, congratulations, you are a stronger person than I am.  Either that, or someone has surgically removed your heart, and you’d better look into that.  Let me know if you have any of your own forays into ridiculous cries.  After seeing this list, you can bet that I certainly won’t judge you.

It Happened Again

20 May

I don’t know if you’ve heard kids, but Ali had another bad date.  As if I really needed another notch in my goober belt.  However, this one is worth recounting since this guy pulled some pretty crazy moves.  No, not the kind of stuff that I freak out over and the rest of you roll your eyes at.  I’m talkin’ ’bout some real crazy sh*t, Willis.

So I thought I was in safe territory with this gentleman (nee, creep) since, like me, he is a graduate student at CU –in renewable energy, no less!  I tend to like to date guys who aren’t in the same program as I am because, let’s face it, I get plenty of it on my own.  I like to be with people who can teach me about something I’m not very familiar with.  Makes things a bit more interesting.

Anyhoo, this guy asked me on a date, and he proposed that we go on a hike and then go for dinner and drinks after.  He asked if his roommate and his girlfriend could join us for the hike, and I was completely fine with it.  I thought it might keep the date light and fun.  In fact, it WAS fun.  We hiked a very challenging trail on the Flatirons that I hadn’t done before, and we made it up in great time since we were distracted by the chit chat and get-to-know-yas.

However, this first date/group date thing has given rise to a new theory of mine: don’t do first date/group date things if you want to find out quickly if the guy you are dating is a weirdo.  Otherwise, it will take you a while until you get him by himself.  In my case, I was about seven hours into the date.  Yes, seven hours.  I know what you’re thinking, but no funny business went down.  It just took that long into the conversation to pull out every bit of the crazy.

Once we got done with dinner, we went back to his place for beers (which he brewed himself!  Can you see how I was initially charmed?)  We chatted it up for quite a while, the usual first date stuff, but suddenly he was showing me personal stuff.  His grandfather’s Bible that he had with him during WWII, for instance.  It was an amazing thing to see, but at this point I realized that I would probably have to make my exit soon so as not to encourage my curse of having guys tell me uber personal stuff right away.  However, he actually chose to shift to the standard “your eyes are beautiful” date move.  I thanked him –awkwardly of course, because I never learned how to graciously take a compliment.  I was out-awkwarded though, when he asked me to “look into the light”, because he claimed that my eyes had changed colors over the course of the evening.  He then proceeded to stare at my eyes like this . . .

for a very long time.  It was at least a full minute, which is forever when someone is staring at your retinas.  Peering.  Invasively observing.  You get the idea.

It was not too long later when he began to talk about how I would like his church . . .

Oh, did I just make you feel uncomfortable?  If so, you can probably understand how I felt.  It reminded me a lot of the first 30 seconds of this Jim Gaffigan clip.  I don’t care if he wanted to tell me about his church where people drink wine and pet bunnies all day.  I didn’t really ask for a church recommendation.  Here is a snippet of the conversation to give you an idea of how he went from a 6 to an 11 on the crazy scale in a matter of a couple minutes.

Him: It’s a great place.  Hundreds of people go.

Me: Oh, so it’s a megachurch?

Him: Well, not really . . . I mean, I guess it would be considered that.  It’s got a coffee shop in the place and everything, but my favorite thing about the place is the music.  They’ve got a really great rock band.  They really help get the message across.  And they’re not really preachy.

Me: Well, that’s good.  I hate it when churches get political.

Him: Yeah, they don’t push you.  Well, they suggest things, and tell you to take time to think about them, but they don’t MAKE you.

Me: I see.

The next day he sent me the link to the church in an e-mail.  So glad your grandpa fought for freedom so you could be here to push your politically-motivated church on me, dude.  Not to mention that you have pushed my bad date stories to the “ad nauseum” point.

So considering the intense peeping of my peepers, and the fact that I dislike poorly-written Christian rock music more than any other genre, I made the VERY difficult decision to never talk to this guy again.  You want to know the real dealbreaker, though?  It was his last name.  I shouldn’t type it here, but it’s a combination of the last two words of the phrase, “Yo mamma’s a ho.”  Yes, I wish I was kidding too.  But sadly, when it comes to my dating stories, I rarely find the need to insert extra jokes.