Can’t get next to you.

Romeo had Juliet.

Sonny had Cher.

Gay men have Celine Dion.

I need a muse.

Please fill out the below application:

1. Name

2, Social Security #

3. List relevant experience in the field of standing still for two or more hours while I gaze at your form and ponder it’s inherit beauty:

4. List any past crimes that may or may not have been crimes of passion, lust or vengeance:

5. Please tell me what you adore about me, like most artistic people I have tragically low self esteem and need constant reassurance from everyone that is close to me:

6. Are you willing to grow your hair very long (I am told many muses have long hair):

Please send all resumes and cover letters to girlwithoutashootingstar@gmail.com.

Serious inquiries only.

All things Italian

I’ve taken to drinking Sangiovese and eating cheese made in the Italian alps over sun-dried tomatoes and crostini in an effort to properly evoke and italian “ambiance.”

Bella is my name right now. But I’m the only one who refers to myself as such.

I’ve planned out my itinerary, the airline I want to take (Air Italia), as well as perfectly envisioned myself in a full-skirted dress with buttons ascending down the front straight out of a Rosselini movie. I’m half way there.

In my mind, anyway.

Pretty, docile and not-so-complicated

Somehow, maybe because I tried, or maybe because I was terribly bored, I’ve read about three reviews for that new Patrick Dempsey movie, “Made of Honor.” I really need to buy a book, I know, but I just can’t resist checking up on the occasional chick flick.

I have a soft spot for romance, as most of you can tell.

So, I guess this movie is really formulaic–a splash of millionaire playboy dating dumb blonds here, a dab of his best friend being the only quality woman he’s ever met (and a brunette!), a smidgeon of him not entirely coming to terms with the fact that he’s completely in love her with, about an hour and a half in the oven and-voila! You’ve got a really bland romantic comedy that plays on just about every played-out stereotype you could possibly imagine.

I heart Hollywood.

What I also heart, is this whole worn-out notion that these “I love the only quality woman I’ve ever met” men and women best-friend snooze fests prey on. As we all know, every well-to-do, attractive man between the ages of 25 and 40 has only ever met one intelligent, kind and attractive in a down-to-earth-could-take-her home-to-meet-mom kind of way. I mean really, only about 2.5% of all women are actually like that. The rest of us are just overly tanned, overly primped bimbettes who are only good for a roll in the hay now and again. Obviously, I was single for six years because I’m so very dumb and men just don’t find me very interesting.

Unfortunately, men aren’t much better according to Hollywood. Apparently you all preen about, oblivious to all but your most superficial emotions for, oh, twenty or thirty years, and then suddenly realize how dead you are inside. But it’s always too late for the male-bonehead.

I wonder. Could it possibly be…that maybe…men don’t settle on the “right” woman right away, not because there are so few bright, interesting and cultured women out there, but because there are so many? Perhaps men actually look for this? And it’s not always enough reason to date someone simply because they have good vocabulary? Why settle for one articulate, well-traveled, educated gal when many of you probably know at least 20 of them? Perhaps, maybe, some kind of actual “connection” is necessary? And perhaps the time should be right as well? Hey, I’m just a girl, I don’t know, but I’m throwing it out there.

I’m really not going to participate in this whole “you’re single because you’re ugly/dumb/crazy” thing that “the pretty people of California” attempt to force-feed me. Oh could I have a side of self-loathing too? Thanks! Let’s face it, sometimes the right men/women aren’t around to fall head over heels in love with, but there can still be plenty of great people/relationships in your life. Just because you have a fling, doesn’t mean you’re void of substance.

Oh, and, I’ve never met anyone over the age of 18 who was in love with their best friend. Seriously. You’re friends for a reason. Most people know that.

Even girls.

Ladies and gentlemen, the future of de-evolution is upon us.

Remember the talking Barbie doll that had everyone up in arms in the mid-90s because she said, “Math is hard.”

This makes her look like Marie Curie.

Apparently. this “Miss Bimbo” –a game that comes equipped with character building challenges, such as “your Miss Bimbo goes on a crash diet, and won’t settle for anything less than 132 lbs” and “with daddy’s money go shopping, but don’t let him find out!”–is all the rage in the UK amongst girls aged 9-16.

While I’ve never thought very highly of Americans, and assumed that digital exercises in shallow and unenlightened thinking could only come from us, I have always expected a much more sophisticated brand of online training from the fathers of modern-day Imperialism.

Why can’t they just teach us us how to take over a third world country, exploit its resources and kill its indigenous peoples like in the good old days?

KT’s urban dictionary: Entry one.

Luv*

*Cute aphorism for liking someone or wanting to get on their good side. Usually used on IM, cell phones and facebook/myspace/friendster posts. Not, as commonly thought, synonymous with a sickening, unhealthy obsession (love) which is usually only used while in bed.

How’s kitty?

ME: She’s a big fat cat now!

Josh: Oh really, did you tell her food is not a substitute for love?

ME: I did. But then she started smoking.

Josh: You’ve got a troublemaker there.

ME: I know. She’s all bite and no bark.  She doesn’t threaten. She just destroys.

Josh: Wow. Wonder where she go that from.

Type.

Another thing I should’ve never done to my facebook account was to leave my college pictures up. Not. A. Good. Idea.

People I work with don’t need to see me give the Death Metal sign.

If only men found me as attractive as women do.

If I had a dollar for every time a drunk female friend or acquaintance has referred to me as a “hot tamale” or a “beautiful woman” I’d be a rich chick.  Unfortunately, if I had a dollar for every time a male acquaintance has referred to me as one of the above, I’d have just about enough money to get on the bus.  One way.

This can hardly be fair.

messaging

In my phone I can create specialized “quick” stock messages from which to send to people when I don’t have the time and/or the inclination to type a unique message.

Most people create stock messages that say “be right there” or “I can’t wait to see you.”

-i’m 2 cool 4 capitalization and full wrds

-You’re a scum bag.

-Don’t you care about anyone but yourself?

-Do you really want to do that?

-You are crazy.

And, my personal favorite…

-I’m really drunk. Like 4 rlz.

Love katie-style.

“Do you talk about your boyfriend on your site?” one of my friends asked me the other day.

“Not specifics, I suppose. Not stuff I wouldn’t, you know, tell to a large a table of people I didn’t really know. Nothing more than surface aspects of our relationship.” I said.

“Oh,” she inquired, “so you’ve never blogged about how you guys met?”

“Um. no.” I said hesitantly. “we really didn’t meet in the most romantic way.”

“How did you guys meet?” she asked.

“Well we met at work. And for most of the eight months that I initially knew him I assumed he regarded me as inconsequential at best, and at worst, a nuisance to his existence.”

“A nuisance?” she said.

“Oh you know, he was super quiet around me and he’s like indie-hip guy. So I always imagined him with this inner-dialogue, saying something to himself like, ‘god. she is sooo irritating. she doesn’t even know who [fill in obscure indie-rock band] is. 20-something scatter-brains are such a waste of space.’ In, possibly, a detached French accent.”

She looked at her feet. “So, what you’re saying, is that it wasn’t love at first site.”

“Not exactly. But then I got drunk one night and asked him to make out with me,” I said.

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”