She's Crazy, He's a Liar...the book!

She's Crazy, He's a Liar...the book!


This book isn't about how to land a husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend. It's not about relationship "rules*" or "dos and don'ts." It's about learning how to spot your patterns, changing the unhealthy ones and for the ones you can't change..."owning your crazy."

Hopefully, through my personal, whacko dating stories, you can find the humor and a little comfort in the fact that we're all a bunch of silly, lying crazy-heads. And that's cool too. Plus there are some great illustrations from artist Cal Slayton!

*There are a few stupid rules for better kissing, etc. which the publisher wanted, but it's less of that and more concrete tips you can actually try: like how to successfully stalk exes, what to watch as a TV marathon when you're depressed, etc.

Oh and please, if you'd like to purchase this, buy it HERE and not in bookstores or elsewhere online. (The publishers went out of business - - hopefully not my fault - - and only here will you be helping a sister out. Do people still say that?) You'll get a PERSONALLY SIGNED COPY from me, plus it'll be TAX FREE, WITH NO SHIPPING/HANDLING CHARGES!


Sunday, April 27, 2014


Here's the thing about Donald Sterling. Well, a couple of things. First of all, kudos to the choice to name him after two prominent "Mad Men" characters, (even though Sterling isn't technically his given name.) 2) Of course the NBA needs to remove him from his "ownership" duties. He's filthy and vile (at least based on his musings) and this recent alleged outburst isn't the first time he has gotten caught with his hand in the racist cookie-jar.  He is not an appropriate leader for the NBA (or much of anything else) and it's time for him to go.

Something else to note: this is not just an issue for the NAACP and other African American watchdog groups. We ALL need to speak out and react to this: Jews, Latinos, Gay people, women…ALL OF US. Anyone who has, is or could be a target of hatred based on our ethnicity, race, religion, gender or sexual orientation. It is only when we have each other's backs that true change can come. When Mel Gibson had his first public meltdown (where he so eloquently targeted the Jews), it seemed only Jews cared. Then later, when he tacked on his "N-word" rant, did other groups get involved. And it seemed it was only in yet another rant, after he used the "F-word" with regard to homosexuals, that GLAAD reacted. Let's learn from this. Let's all react now together. Let's speak out, have a dialogue, talk to our respective communities about why Sterling's sick views are not good for humankind. Because if we don't speak out for each other, who will?

Down with Sterling…up with people!   

Thursday, March 6, 2014


(I used to have a column in the NOHO LA news. Here's one of them, unedited, because why not, right?)  

Waco, Texas was my prologue. No one ever wants to read those, as we’d so much rather jump to the first chapter, but sometimes they’re significant to the story. Mine was full of roller-skating parties, “Do Jews have horns?” and the best BBQ chicken in the South. It was lovely and slow and judgmental. The Texas air was thick and loyal and eerily still, as if someone just said to it, “Don’t move, you have a bee in your hair.” And believe me, it never moved.

As a kid, I was obnoxious and precocious and while my family was starting to show signs of its weak seams, we just bided our time until Chapter One. I clearly remember the haunted playroom where I'd play with my Barbies; (note: I always insisted they live in the New York style town-house over the ranch "dream-house," as I thought the latter was gaudy and dripping with "new money.") I will never forget the look on my Mother's face when she overheard me role-playing Barbie telling Ken, "I do not accept your marriage proposal, if you do not accept my dreams of writing novels in London." She exemplified her worry by buying me lipstick and sticker collections and early morning wake-up calls to watch Princess Diana throw her life away.

Despite her disapproval, ironically one sticker in particular was her attempt to teach me self-acceptance. It was a glittered rainbow with the phrase, "To Know Me is to Love Me." It never sat well with me and now, as an adult, I realize it doesn't quite hold true. I always seem to make great first impressions, but after say a few lunches or cocktails, I turn inside out and the grotesque neuroses that is supposed to stay hidden under layers of thick skin bounces to the surface like a floatie. I’m like a clock that someone had taken apart and forgotten to put back together, so that the wires and tiny nuts and bolts are always exposed. I can hide them for a little while, but not for long. To know me is to tolerate me would be more apropos.

Back to that prologue. When you’re reading a book, I find it often helps to page back to the intro, as every now and then, the author may shed some light on a character or two. I go home whenever I can to touch down from this California high and to see if I can piece together some of the holes in my story. Unfortunately, it tends to raise more questions than answers like, “Yeah, why aren't I married?” and “Where is my Serotonin?” and “Wait, acid wash jeans are ugly, right?” Instead of confirming who I was it, challenges who I’ve become.

In Los Angeles, we're shoved off into a quantum void of virtual photons, popping in and out of existence like non-union actors. It gets exhausting to live in a town where everyone's seemingly in an improv troupe with a ridiculous name like "Tom Cruise Control" or "Jack Black Swan." I go on dates and listen to men tell me random things about themselves without reciprocity: “I'm reading The Artist's Way,” “I’m an INFP personality type,” “I’m allergic to pecans,” "Charlie Sheen sponsors me in AA." I listen for awhile and then tune out, my mind wandering to strange places like how I might be able to crack my neck without him noticing. Lather, rinse, repeat. Groundhog Day is every day when it's always 72 degrees and you're dating narcissists.

And so twice a year, I go to Texas to get some answers. I’ve had quite a lot of alone time on this last trip home and may have come up with a few. Here goes: I’m not married because I get bored way too easily and I would rather have a fucking fabulous rendezvous with someone who can use his hands to touch me or play a heartbreaking piano tune than ever settle for mediocrity. My Serotonin didn’t have much of a fighting chance, what with inheriting my Mom and Dad’s dramatic and sad genes, respectively. And yes, acid wash jeans are very, very ugly.

Maybe the key is to move past the prologue and start looking at that epilogue. I love those National Geographic articles about say, mummies, where scientists come up with some crazy-ass back-stories for their discoveries. It seems pretty far-fetched that they can tell just by observing a Neanderthal’s bones, that he "wore fuschia” or “hated his brother.” I hope that in ten thousand years, when they unravel my perfectly preserved body, they’ll make me sound fabulous. “See, you can tell by the shape of the feet that THIS Homosapien was an excellent dancer. In fact, it looked like she died doing a Fosse-styled 'kick-ball-change.' See how her ankle is disjointed here?”  

But as for the present chapter, my surreal California life and its literal shaky ground and transient people still intrigues me. Folks here have survived the “big one” and the heat-waves and the bad drivers and their scars show it with leathery skin and month-to-month leases. But my life here has been all about sound: microphones and radio transmissions and car alarms. The speed of sound has become too slow for me and sometimes I feel ready for light again. But for now, I'll keep writing in the dark. And when I need to refer to my lead character, that page is only 1400 miles away.  



Tuesday, December 17, 2013


Sometimes I kind of go against the grain. And sometimes I completely go against the grain, which seems to be the case for this Ben Stiller-directed adaptation of James Thurber's short-story and the subsequent 1940s film which starred Danny Kaye. A movie about a guy going through a mid-life crisis who wishes he could shake up his life? I'm in. Have that guy jump into a helicopter while David Bowie's "Major Tom" digs itself into the best kind of ear-worm? I'm double in. Throw in Kristen Wiig, a stellar soundtrack, Patton Oswalt and Shirley MacClaine and it's a triple. I absolutely loved this movie and so I implore you to give it a chance, despite those "other" critics. Remember, most movie reviewers hated Lawrence of Arabia (RIP Peter O'Toole) and look how wrong they were there. What I just said is possibly a lie, but you get my point. A.

There is a sweetness to this movie (about a 14 year old boy figuring out his place in the world) that I haven't seen since the original Meatballs. And while there's technically no "Run, Rudy, run" moment, Sam Rockwell gives a layered performance, oscillating between a stunted Peter Pan and a wise, hilarious guru. Steve Carell plays against type as the "prick" and Toni Collette, as usual, is sweet and heartbreaking. A.

Oh Alexander Payne. Thank you for letting me spend two hours relaxing in your strange and quiet world. The previews make this look like the worst NYU student film ever. (Side note: I once sent in a headshot to audition for a USC student film where I was simply supposed to utter the words "chicken" over and over again. And I didn't get the part. And I was actually sad about that. And that student film director today? James Cameron.) The good news is the previews don't do this film justice. This might just be Bruce Dern's Oscar year as a crotchety, old man who simply wants a new truck and will go to great lengths to get it. Will Forte (whom I normally love) was an odd choice, but somehow it all came together. A. (And an A++ for A Chicken in Paradise, the most poignant student film of all time.)    

Very few writer/directors can make neuroses so absolutely beautiful. This is one of Woody Allen's best in 20 years and if Cate Blanchett doesn't get a "Best Actress" nomination, I'll eat my hat. Then I'll spit my hat out and eat it again. (I've learned this behavior from my dog.) If you'd have told me a few years ago that Andrew Dice Clay could hold his own in an Allen film, I'd have punched you. Now I've seen it with my own eyes, (and have also enrolled in some anger management courses.)

The greatest little movie you've never heard of. If I described the plot as it really is - a young couple navigate the wonders and complexities of working at a home for at-risk teenagers - you might tune out. But if I describe the plot as some magical elves team up with some tinier elf-like thingies to fight a cray cray dragon, perhaps you'll tune in? Let's break this down: A) I just said "cray-cray," like it's the year 2000 whatever. B) Dragons really are crazy, if you stop and think about it. C) Short Term 12 is so well written, directed and acted, it's a shame I muddied up this blurb with dragon-talk. Keep your eyes peeled for Brie Larson. She's excellent in the movie's leading role. A.

I mean. (Sigh.) It's just. (Gasp.) It's like….(Holy Wow.)  If watching a lot of unlikable people do cocaine off of prostitutes is not your thing, you should probably stay away. Luckily it's my thing. I mean, not the coke/prostitute part, although I guess never say never. This movie, based on  Jordan Belfort's autobiography,  is one wallop of a flick, (I'd say if I were reviewing for the Dallas Morning News in 1976.) It's Scorsese at his Scorsese-est and for me as an uber fan, that's a good thing. And can we talk about Leo DiCaprio for a minute? CAN WE TALK ABOUT LEO DICAPRIO? There's a scene where he tries to get into a Lamborghini while on Quaaludes that seems to go on for 45 glorious minutes and that's just the tip of the iceberg, (Titanic reference intended.) The supporting cast including Jonah Hill, Matthew McConaughey and a wonderfully understated Kyle Chandler round out this over-the-top and frankly magnificent frat-boy festival of debauchery. It's three hours long, but the original director's cut had a running time of 79 hours! (When asked for comment, a Paramount spokesman said "Please get out of my office.") A -    

Dame Judy Dench! (Said shaking fist at sky.) Is there anything she can't do? Funnily enough, as great as she is in this role as an older woman on the hunt for the son she put up for adoption, it's really Steve Coogan who steals the show. This is a heartwarming (and sometimes even true!) story of friendship and closure. Yes there are moments of manipulation, but when it works, who cares?  A -

Captain Phillips (Tom Hanks and pirates, arrrrgh!), Gravity, (George Clooney and a jet pack, arrrrrgh!), American Hustle (Bradley Cooper with a perm that makes him look like the tiny baby of Daryl Hall and John Oates, if they could produce a tiny baby!), Frozen (I now love talking snowmen!), Enough Said (Tony Soprano and Elaine finally fall in love!), Her (Come on now, it's Spike Jonze directing Joaquin Phoenix!), Fruitvale Station (Straightforward and tragic, like most of my break-ups), The World's End (A comedy that acts like it's about robot-zombies, but really is about something much darker!) and Anchorman 2 (It's Ron Burgundy, y'all!) 

I decided to separate the documentaries from the other films this year, as there are so many of them worth mentioning.

Two married aging Japanese artists living in New York. That's what you need to know. And if you're a talented woman who has ever struggled with a less-talented male ego, this will get you in the gut. (I'm of course not saying all women are more talented than men, just that some men don't recognize it when we are. That was a clunky sentence. I'm too lazy to fix it, but for some reason, I'm not too lazy to stop typing this thought.)

Often, I don't like digging into other people's dysfunctional families because obviously I have my own with whom to contend. (That's such a false statement. I watch 58 hours of Bravo every week and the only reason is for the schadenfreude) So Sarah Polley's investigative peek inside the secrets and rumors of her own family is really quite intriguing. I never anticipated where it was going, which was a nice departure from many typical, modern-day documentaries. A -  

Not only will you not be a fan of SeaWorld (and other animal-themed parks) after seeing this, you'll actively want to protest them. I don't say this often and I don't care if this makes me a tree-hugging, hippie-esq, crunchy-granola whale-saver…this movie changed my life. (I do draw the line at wearing patchouli, however.) I not only felt emotions I never thought I had toward sea creatures, I learned so much along the way. This is something everyone should see. A.

56 UP
There's not much to say about this film, but if you're a fan of Michael Apted's "Up" series, I strongly recommend it. It's a bit on the long side, but watching people just be people through the years, without scripts or an agenda is truly lovely. I especially loved catching up with Neil, for whom I have the softest spot in my heart. 

Friday, September 20, 2013

Some 2013 Top Ten Teasers

And here we are in 2013. One of my New Year's resolutions was to take less than a year to post my movie reviews. (Another was to slow-down on the stalking of Ricky "Rick" Schroder. K, one more was to stop throwing various items at my television when Tony Romo throws an interception. We all have goals and dreams.)  So while this here isn't a Top Ten of the year (it's only September) here are three movies that have stood out for me so far:

Blue Jasmine: A -
Very few writer/directors can make neuroses so absolutely beautiful. This is one of Woody Allen's best in 20 years and if Cate Blanchett doesn't get a "Best Actress" nomination, I'll eat my hat. Then I'll spit my hat out and eat it again. (I've learned this behavior from my dog.) If you'd have told me a few years ago that Andrew Dice Clay could hold his own in an Allen film, I'd have punched you. Now I've seen it with my own eyes, (and have also enrolled in some anger management courses.)

The World's End A-
Yes, I'm an Anglophile and yes I have a particular affinity for Martin Freeman*. (*From the original "Office" not "The Hobbit.") But bias aside, this latest installment from the Edgar Wright/Simon Pegg/Nick Frost gang is my favorite yet. It's not only funny, it's got a backbone. If one were to lift the veil of the light, English zombie/robot comedy-romp gauze, they'd see the story of a man fighting addiction and an inability to grow up. It's lovely and weird and I loved it.

Cutie and the Boxer A-
Two married aging Japanese artists living in New York. That's what you need to know. And if you're a talented woman who has ever struggled with a less-talented male ego, this will get you in the gut. (I'm of course not saying all women are more talented than men, just that some men don't recognize it when we are. That was a clunky sentence. I'm too lazy to fix it, but for some reason, I'm not too lazy to stop typing this thought.)

Oh and note: if you're a fan of Michael Apted's "Up" series, I strongly recommend "56 Up." I especially loved catching up with Neil, for whom I have the softest spot in my heart.  

Thursday, December 20, 2012

2012 Top 6 Movies

Why not a top 10, you may ask? Because as evidenced by the lack of posts here, I am lazy. And I'm not quite finished watching all of my screeners. I'll be sure to add the rest in later, right after I put all those old electronics (Sony Disc-men, a Sega Genesis) up on eBay. (Seriously, I've been saying I would do that for years.) By the way, anyone want to buy an old Sega Genesis? I'll throw in a 1994 Madden if you're itching to see the Cowboys in their heyday. For now, please enjoy these 2012 film picks…

Silver Linings Playbook: Bipolar disorder has never been sexier…or funnier. Director David O. Russell has done it again; dug deep into darkness and pulled out a common thread amongst those who aren't perfect…in other words, all of us. This is funny and raw, with elements of a classic 60s love story mixed with a little bit of Gene Kelly where you'd least expect it, with just a dash of mental instability. Bradley Cooper filled in nicely for D.O.R.'s usual muse, (Mark Wahlberg) and Jennifer Lawrence is inspiring. A.

Argo: ...and to think, we all thought Matt Damon was the smart one. Ben Affleck has once again shown off his directorial skills with this clever, informative and oddly witty story of Hollywood heroism during the Iran hostage crisis. (That’s right, I said "Hollywood heroism": believe it.) Not sure Affleck needed to star in this; (didn't quite buy him as "Tony Lopez") but the pacing, writing and supporting actors, especially Alan Arkin and John Goodman, were so good, it didn't matter. A

Frankenweenie: My love of Tim Burton has waned over the years, so I went into this cynically. Boy, was I pleasantly surprised. This animated, black and white film is the story of a dachshund mix who's brought back to life Frankenstein-style due to the sheer determination and love from a young boy and it brought tears to my eyes on more than one occasion. I laughed, I cried, it was better than Cats. (It was Dogs!) A.

Beasts of the Southern Wild: This might sound cheesy, but this was literally a poem in cinematic form. The perspective of a young girl in Louisiana during Katrina reminds us that even during enormous macro-disasters, one's will and point-of-view remains myopically micro-focused. In other words, it doesn't matter what the earth brings…it matters what's going on inside your own heart. If that has to be labeled cheese, it's Gouda. (Good-a.) I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. A.

The Master: Sometimes I'm not sure if it's my preconceived love of P.T. Anderson that makes me adore his movies or if he really is a genius. Here's what I do know: Philip Seymour Hoffman is flawless and to a slightly lesser extent, so is Joaquin Phoenix. Based not-so-loosely on L. Ron Hubbard and his church which will not be named, this is eerie and chilling and oh-so-very good. It's missing something I can't quite put my finger on, but it still works. A-

A Royal Affair: Based on the true story of a nutty Danish king, a depressed queen and a brilliant German doctor influenced by the French Enlightenment movement, this incredible story has passion, lust, and humor for characters with tragic repercussions. In Danish, with English sub-titles, I never wanted to take my eyes away from the screen. A-

The last four best-picture picks are TBD and I'll put them up when I've screened everything. But so far, some contenders are: "Flight", "Hello, I Must Be Going" and (don't yell at me) "The Hunger Games." Stay tuned.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

And Now for Some Movies...

I usually post my movie review stuff on, but I figured, hey, it's Christmas..

Based on this year's top ten movie list, I've been accused of either having no heart (due to my elimination of "Hugo" and "War Horse") or being a big old softie girl (due to literally every choice on my list.) Well let me set your minds at ease: I am a girl. I am not a softie. "Hugo" is actually very loosely based on Hugo Chavez (false statement) and the War Horse purposely kills like eight people. Now are you judging?

So without further adieu, here's my list of favorite movies for 2011.

Top Ten, 2011

The Trip A+
I loved this Steve Coogan road-trip dramady across Northern England, not just because I'm an Anglophile or because there's a Joy Division song in it. I loved it because what other movie has dueling Michael Caine impressions? Riddle me that!

Beginners A+
This is one of those films that was somewhat killed by its own PR campaign. It was marketed as a quirky rom-com (with a feisty dog!) when in fact, it was a quiet, thoughtful movie about relationships, (father/son, man/woman, man/man.) Ewan McGregor is perfectly cast and okay yes, there's a really adorable dog involved.

The Artist A+
Based on this, I hope silent movies replace 3D as the future of film. These actors (most of them French) do more with their facial expressions than most can do using everything, (I'm talking to you, Scarlett "Flat Affect" Johansson.) An homage to the silent days of film, plus a little 40s-era Gene Kelly thrown in for good measure. I'm getting giddy just writing about it. (Please note: I might have just switched bodies with Rex Reed.)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close A
I'm still crying and I saw this a week ago. Eric Roth (who wrote the screenplay) has this way of making you think that your two hours spent with him unlocks some sort of existential key to everything. Sure, it's manipulative, but so were most of my boyfriends and that didn't stop me. Tom Hanks seems a little miscast, but everything else fits as tightly as Roth's screenplays always seem to. Still…crying…

Moneyball A
Look, those who know me know I'm strictly a football-chick. (You can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't make Romo win in December. Wait, what?) But baseball will do, especially when you mix in writer Aaron Sorkin and "Capote" director Bennett Miller. Plus, Brad Pitt doesn't hurt matters. It's exactly what it needed to be: smart.

Bridesmaids A-
With the exception of one scene in a wedding dress shop (which may have scarred me for life) this was clever, absurd and just an all around great time. Written by women, for women. (I used to be a copywriter for a tampon company.)

The Muppets A-
What I'm about to say may upset some of you. As a kid, I enjoyed the Muppets (but keep in mind, I also had a crush on Charles Grodin, true story!) But then there were a couple of decades where I did not like them at all. Fozzy's awful stand-up paralleled the hell I was going through while watching comics at open mic nights. I flip-flopped on wanting to strangle Miss Piggy or sprinkle her on my Cobb salad, (She's lucky I don't eat bacon.) But then Jason Segal came along and restored my faith in this magical Jim Henson creation. And the songs! "Flight of the Conchords" Bret McKenzie wrote some of the catchiest tunes ever and the classics (e.g., "The Rainbow Connection") are simply heart-wrenching.

Tabloid B+
A fascinating documentary from Errol Morris about a woman you've probably never heard of…and that's what makes it work. You've got your standard kidnapping, sex-games and dog cloning (you know, the basics) and it will keep you on your toes (or on the edge of your seat, your choice) till the end.

Being Elmo: A Puppeteer's Journey B+
We’re back to Jim Henson. Frankly, I never asked myself, "Who is the puppeteer behind Elmo?" but I'm glad this movie came along to tell me. Kevin Clash does for puppets (and Muppets) what Steve Wiebe did for Donkey Kong. (Check out "King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters" if you don't know what that means.)

Midnight in Paris B+
Sharp, quaint and the casting of Owen Wilson in the "Woody" role was a good call. If nothing else, check this out to see Corey Stoll as Ernest Hemingway.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011


Well it's now a year after my book tour and I've decided it might be a good time to re-visit this blog. (It was either that or continue watching Hoarders and frankly, even my television needs a break.) The entry below is from a column I once wrote for the NoHo Los Angeles News. Some of it found its way into the book and even another blog entry from months ago. This was it in its entirety and like most things I exemplifies my insanity. Enjoy!

I am de-volving and I’d like to prove it to you.

I’ll start by sharing a “poem” I wrote in the 8th Grade. Mind you, it was the 80s and I was inspired by shoulder pads, Yaz, a guy we'll call "Vance" and clearly Pink Floyd lyrics. Here goes: “The bloody tears of a clown slide from my smile. Too many eyes, blue, green, brown, middle child stands aside and looks upon a frown." (Quick aside: I was not a middle child.) "Let us say goodbye to the silver worms of reality and welcome our reward…death.” Now as you can no doubt see, I was a well-adjusted, healthy middle-schooler. And while I never read that poem out loud to "Vance," I did sing Depeche Mode’s “Somebody” directly to him at the talent show…in front of 900 kids…while wearing an Angora sweater inspired by Howard Jones from the “What is Love” video.

Obviously, I had to leave that school system shortly after and luckily was accepted to the performing arts high school wherein I became a mime, but we’ll come back to that. Now years later, I am no different. I mean, the “bloody tears of clowns are not still sliding from my smile:” that would be ridiculous. And technically, I’m not still obsessed with miming. But I am still an adolescent and I don’t know what to do about it. I see adult friends around me with problems that derive from real grown up issues, like mortgage payments and kids having the flu. But I’m so stuck in my childhood that my fears are the same fears I had in 5th grade. Most of them stem from playing games like Pitfall and Adventure on my Atari, so I literally stay up nights worrying about alligators and quicksand and dragons and bats stealing my sword.

And that’s weird, right?

I’m struggling with what it means to be a 30-something. Oh by the way, I recently was so spaced out that as I was pondering this very subject I thought, “There should be a TV show called 30-Something. I should pitch that.” Yes, I’ll pitch that, right after I write my treatment f or M.A.S.H. But there are things I know that aren’t typical for a woman my age. For example, I still watch the Real World/Road Rules Challenge and I don’t mean casually. I don’t mean, like oh it’s 11:00pm and there’s nothing on, so I guess I’ll watch this old thing on MTV. I mean I set my Tivo, but don’t really have to because I always make it a point to be home at 10:00 on Wednesdays. I get nervous when the team I’m rooting for is losing and my heart races when CT or Johnny Bananas look like they’re about to take someone out. Now most of you probably don’t know of whom I speak…because you’re not 15.

Speaking of being 15, let's go back to my mime days. Being in the high school mime-troupe was a big honor at Arts Magnet High. You had to audition by writing a short, obviously silent play-let in which you had to show off your “space-work.” I wrote mine about “peer pressure and saying no to drugs.” Now in order to have the honor of a mime troupe, we did have to give up football at my school, which in Texas is a nightmare. I think because I never to got to show off my school spirit, except obviously at mime-offs, I have what some might call a juvenile love of the Dallas Cowboys. It’s like I’m still in ninth grade, rooting for that quarterback I never knew. I wear my team colors, I cry when they lose, I get wasted at the after-parties and by that I mean, I drink alone in my kitchen.

The point is, I feel there has been no evolution for me. It was so much easier in the good old days because we had John Hughes to tell us who we were. We could fit so neatly into one of his clich├ęd categories: the jock, the brain, the princess, the basket case, the richie or Duckie. But somehow I’ve gotten stuck in defining the world around me this way. I’m still begging the question, “What about prom, Blane? What about prom?” What’s sad is even Jon Cryer has moved on (quite successfully) but I just can’t. In fact, because of John Hughes, I can see that my life is so off-balance. I don’t have any Blanes around me, but I have at least 100 Duckies. That’s too many and that could be my problem.

All of this gets even worse when I go home to Texas. My friends from high school are all now either divorced or married with three kids. (There seemingly is no in-between.) And when I go to visit them and their children and their grown up lives, I feel like I’m perceived as the “wacky” spinster aunt-like character. I might as well just wear a purple cape. I was there not long ago, hanging with my friend Annie and her three year old son, Dylan. Annie told him “Cecily lives in L.A.” Dylan threw a Spaghettio at me. “Dylan, don’t do that. Cecily is a big writer in L.A.” Dylan then asked “Do you have babies?” “No, but I live in LA” I said back to him, defensively. He didn’t seem impressed and I know this because he then threw his Barney doll on the floor and started crying. (To be fair, that’s how most of my relationships have ended in Los Angeles, but I digress.)

I recall my parents seeming a bit worried about that 8th grade poem, but like most parents who have rebellious, silly teenagers, they always claim “Oh they’ll grow out of it.” Well…TA DA! Maybe I’m just not cut out for adult issues. Maybe I’ll always just be that Cowboys-obsessed mime who won’t settle for anything less than a Jake Ryan.