Project Runway for Dummies

Just so you know, I am completely obsessed with Project Runway. I'm not sure how or why it happened, but I love the show to the point that it is sick. Because of this, my husband has repeatedly told me just how low I am sinking into the non-academic world, has scoffed at my love, and has rolled his eyes at me more times than I can count. However, when push come to shove, and he actually watched about 15 minutes of an episode, he had to eat those words. Since our anniversary was Wednesday night, and we had many more things going on than I had previously thought (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more), I had TiVoed the episode. Imagine this scene last night, immediately following My Name is Earl and The Office (two other shows we both adore).

Matt: Well, I don't want to do any work, so maybe we could watch more TV.
Me: Oh, I don't know. I'm a little tired and you don't like my shows anyway.
Matt: Well, there's one I'd be willing to watch, you know, if you made me.
Me: (gaining interest, smiling brightly) Which one would that be? What Not to Wear?
Matt: I think you know which one. Don't look at me like that.
Me: You want to watch Project Runway, don't you?
Matt: Oh shut up. You did this to me. You made me watch it before, so now I'm kind of sort of into it, and I want to watch it.
Me: (loud obnoxious laughter)
Matt: You don't think I'm gay do you?

So this was a victory, for married women everywhere. Matt admitted he was wrong, we watched the show, we had a good time, and then he read intelligent things and I read Allure and the planets remained in alignment. However, there was a problem. Because Matt hasn't watched it since Day 1, he had all manner of questions, which totally distracted me from doing the war whoops that I wanted to do when Zulema got sent home. So, I am going to take the 6 remaining designers, and give any future Project Runway viewers the necessary info they need to be able to watch it without driving their viewing partner insane.

Santino: Santino is the stereotypical "big personality" of the reality show. In other words, he's a complete douchebag, who if he really acts like that in his real life, deserves to be pecked to death by pigeons. However, he is good entertainment. Having Santino on Project Runway is like having your alcoholic uncle at Thanksgiving dinner. Sure, it's uncomfortable, but if he was gone, you'd be eating nothing but dry turkey and wishing someone would stab you with a carving fork. But sadly, Santino's designs are absolute shit. He has been on the chopping block so many times, and the judges keep him around sheerly for entertainment factor. This man uses feathers. Feathers, my friend. But I'll say it now, and I'll say it again, all of Santino's crappy designs and whickety whack behavior is just a ploy to keep the American public from looking at the real problem: Santino is about two bias cuts away from a Billy Ray Cyrus mullett.

Nick: Nick is fabulouness wrapped up in a little ethnically-ambiguous ball (actually, I think he's Iranian or something, but it is rather ambiguous, because seriously, how many Iranian dudes do you know that can say they've designed a MyScene Barbie?). Nick rocks because he loves ice skating, fishtail hems, and uses the word "whickety whack" in conversation. You don't fuck with Nick. Zulema tried it, and she went the way of prairie skirts and acid wash jeans. In short, everything that you want in a designer, Nick can give you. I believe Nick is on everyone's list to make it to the final three.

Daniel: Originally was one of two Daniels, but with the demise of Daniel Franco, has emerged as a dyno-mite designer. This guy has really surprised me. I didn't have him picked to win anything at the beginning, but now he's slaying nearly every competition. He also has a bit of a dry wit that you gotta watch out for (fave Daniel quote: "It's a mutha-fuckin' walk off."). Lots of folks have Daniel picked to win it all. To tell you the truth, he has really blind-sided me, so I don't have a lot of thoughts on him. Let's just say, he's a good designer, he sometimes wears his hair in this strange high-ponytail like the one I wore in elementary school, and he is a Nick fan, so he can't be all bad. Watch out for this guy.

Andrae: If Santino is your drunk uncle, Andrae is your bipolar aunt who has been recently divorced. Andrae lost it in the beginning of the season and started crying on the runway when he was asked about his design. This, as you can imagine, did not bode well for him. Since then, he has designed some good pieces, especially that dress he designed in the last episode that was supposed to look like gutter water (pretentious, I know, but in fashion, like in grad school, pretentiousness actually counts for something). However, he's always going to be the crazy guy who cried in front of Michael Kors. To make matters worse, Andrae obviously worships at the First Internation Church of Ball Showing, and has the micro-shorts (which he often wears) to prove it. My prediction is that he will go down in a catastrophic explosion of tears and tulle, and America will just feel deliciously dirty because they had to see it.

Chloe: I am soundly on the Chloe boat, mostly because this girl can design. She's all about clean lines and geometry and shit like that. Chloe doesn't really go out of the box much, which could hurt her a bit, but I still have her pegged to be one of the final three. The only problem with Chloe is that she is not a total whack-job, so she is not really that interesting. She seems like someone you would actually know in real life, and maybe meet at Starbucks ever once in a while to have a mocha and read Vogue and say flattering (never snarky) things about the clothing. Chloe is awesome, and I love her stuff-she could probably go to work for Banana Republic right now-but I do worry that she is not flamboyant enough to work in the industry that employs a walking baked potato, Donatella Versace.

Cara: Don't get too attached to Cara, because that bitch is going to be gone soon. She hasn't won one challenge, and seems to just be around because she's not bad enough to drop straight out. This one is also a crier, except her tears are not interesting, just pathetic. You want to slap Cara, not in a she-stole-my-man-Dynasty-way, but in a for-fucks-sake-get-it-together-way.

So that's it. Tune in next week. That's a direct order. If I can turn Matt, I can turn you.

Eight Years of Luvin'

Sooooo...things are actually going a bit better in Southern Comforted Land. I am inactively pursuing a new job, meaning I am keeping this one while I try to decide what to pursue next. I am giving serious thought to doing one of the quick and dirty teacher credentialing things that I have seen around, and taking a job in Oakland where teachers are needed incredibly, incredibly bad. Perhaps it is bad, but I really want to have a job where I am giving something back...and making more money than I currently make ain't half bad either.

Speaking of spending too much money on things that one shouldn't really spend that much money on...everyone in the world needs to go out and buy Kiehl's products. On my shopping day last Saturday, I bought a bunch of the facial skin stuff, in that whole "Who the fuck cares? It's just money!" spirit. Now, mind you, I don't think I have ever used something on my face that couldn't be purchased at your friendly neighborhood Target. But this stuff is seriously worth the extra dough. My skin looks AMAZING. I have even had comments on it, which is still kind of weird if you think about it, and I have only used the stuff for 3 days. Seriously.

Today is mine and Matt's eight year anniversary (obviously not of marriage, but of the day when he first asked me out), which is kind of unnerving, but exciting none the less. Given that we now have a bigger, better wedding anniversary, we are not doing anything much--I am just fixing tenderloin steaks with gorgonzola for dinner, and donning some new lingerie I also bought when I was out and about last Saturday. Sadly, Matt is taking a difficult theory class on Thursday's, so most of his night will have to be spent preparing for that. 'Tis ok, however. Project Runway will be coming on, and honey, there ain't nothin' better than a night of steak, lovin', and watching people with severe emotional problems craft clothing for a pregnant German woman.

I had the intense joy of talking to Katie the other day, as she heard "Welcome to the Jungle" on the radio, and had to give me a call. It's times like these that make me realize how much I miss VA and working with people under the age of 40. Ho hum. It was great talking to her, however, and kept me from doing dishes for over 30 minutes!

By the way, if anyone reading this needs a job, email me, and I'll set you up with a full-time dish washing job. I hate doing dishes, and if you'll do it for $2 an hour, you're hired.

Have a good un, my blueberry dumplings!

The Ins and Outs of a Quarter Life Crisis

I am now 23 years old. It has been 10 years since I was 13. This, to me, is strange.

When I was 13, I thought I had everything figured out. I felt almost certain that when I was 23, I would be living in New York City, and spending my time writing a novel and dating various rock and roll infused men. I would wear loads of black and be intense and be fashionably bohemian. And as soon as I wasn't happy with it, I would just leave it all, and run off to somewhere else.

In the ten years since, I have learned that that is not wholly possible. You can't make a living writing novels and wearing black, and rent money does not fall out of the sky. So you have to work. And rock and roll guys are poor and kind of smell, so you should try to be with someone who has some sort of future that doesn't involve the smell of Jack Daniels or the threat of emulating Ozzy.

And it is sad that that is not wholly possible, because I still want to do nothing but write, and working really really sucks, let me tell you. I think it will get better once we get rid of some dead weight around here, but still. I don't know what to do. I could try and find a new job, but the fact I have only been here for two months would probably look pretty shitty for me. Plus, it is my understanding that there is no perfect job, that they all pretty much suck.

I just want to hide in a hole and hope the world changes by the time I emerge.

I am not someone who I would have proud of at age 13. I have let the retrieval of "things" get in the way of what I really want to do. That, and it seems that I do not even know how to do the thing that I really want to do. I don't know whether to sign up for grad school, or just try to sit on my ass and write or what. I am clueless.

Plus, there are lots of other things that I would like to try, but that I am afraid would end up crappy as well. I have thought about teaching. I want to do something that means I am helping someone. I don't know.

So, anyway, the moral of the story is, I am sad and I don't know what to do with my life.

On the plus side of things, I had a good birthday, and got to eat French food. So that's a plus.

Have a good un!

A Craigslist Post

I just posted this to the rants and raves on Craigslist, and thought I would humor myself by posting it here. Since I am in an introspective, shitty mood, I will probably be posting more later.
-Morgan

Dear Class of 2006,
So, it looks like you’re entering your last semester before graduation/hoping that the Honor Council doesn’t go through with it, because you are not taking accounting again/drunker than you have ever been. Congratulations on that. Commencement (or drunkeness) is a wonderful thing, and soon you will be wrapped up in the time-honored traditions that go along with it It is a wonderful time for you, a time when the whole world seems to be in bloom, and you are the coquettish nymph with his/her pick of any of the flowers that surround you. Enjoy it while you can.
I am here, as a proud member of the Class of 2005, to tell you that the real world sucks. Yeah, I know you’re thinking, “Sure it does, Miami was the last great season.” Of course it was, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about working, and living, but mostly working. That sucks. Allow me to explain why.
Remember high school? If you are like me, it was a time that was full of drama, when people were stupid and concerned their lives with stupid things, and you felt so above it all, but you couldn’t do anything about it because you had to go to high school. Remember how whiny and bitchy everyone was, and how important they all thought they were? Remember the backstabbing and backbiting and going behind people’s back to rat them out about stuff they may or may not have done? Remember how you thought that the second that you stepped foot on a college campus that that was all over? Well, I hate to tell you, but it’s not. Work is just like high school except without the sex, miniskirts and football. In fact, work is worse because now people are pushing 50 and pissed off that their life is a big ole heap of shit, and they take it out on you.
I know about half of you are sitting there saying, “Oh, no, I will not have that problem. I will not work in a huge, soulless corporation like that portrayed on the wonderful movie Office Space. I will work for a small nonprofit where people’s hearts are in the right place and they can work together with peace and love.” To this I respond first by saying that this is the kind of ideological bullshit that you should get over now before you enter the real world, and second, by stating that I work for a small nonprofit where people’s hearts are supposed to be in the right place but instead reside somewhere near the third ring of Hell.
The other half of you are sitting there saying, “Oh, no, I will not have that problem. I will work for someone intelligent who got their MBA from Harvard and watches British comedy and reads T.S. Eliot.” To this, I respond first by laughing openly in your face and second by stating that the smart people are usually those who a) don’t get started in this rat race in the first place, b) are at the lower levels of the business and spend their days writing angry rants on Craigslist or c) are jailed for random acts of disobedience and outright violence against their employers. Chances are you will be employed by a person (or group of people) who cannot spell the word “vertical,” cannot form full sentences, and recently got a good amount of money for their soul from a dude named Beezlebub.
So congratulations on your upcoming graduation! If you choose to go into this career world of ours, you can expect to be surrounded by ignorant liars for the rest of your life!
Or, if you want to be truly happy, become a sheep farmer in New Zealand or go to grad school or find a job doing something that you love so much that you won’t be able to be brought down by an angry crew of asshats. Don’t settle for anything less, because you won’t be able to take it.
And if you don’t follow my advice, be sure you’re the one writing the angry rant to the Class of 2007.

Love,
A Disillusioned Member of the Class of 2005

Of Exercising, Soreness, and Evil Mothers

So. As I am the kind of person who tries to keep her promises and ummm, resolutions, I went out and bought a workout tape. I also have a membership at the Y, but it rains a lot in winter here, and I just knew that my lazy ass was going to use the rain as an excuse not to exercise. Since it rained this weekend, I have been doing the tape. And let me just say this: I am out of shape, but I am nowhere near the most out of shape person in the world. I can run and jump and whatever. I do not weight 200 lbs. This should be easy, right? Wrong.

I am so sore this morning that I can hardly move. My body just hurts in places that I didn't know that it could hurt. Even laying down hurts. Oh, dear Lord, it sucks. I want to cry. Just sit down and cry. And eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

But I can't even do that. I can't have any sugar (or sugar substitute) for 10 days. Which doesn't sound too bad, but it's about to kill me. I can't even eat fruit. Oh dear lord, but it sucks.

So I call my lovely mother, who tells me "Well, the best thing you can do is exercise more. Stretching will take the soreness out." To which I say a lot of things that no one should really say to their mother. My mom just laughs. Laughs. She, a woman who goes to the gym everyday, and even uses the proximity to a gym as an influential part of the house-buying process, laughs.

But I avow to suffer through. I will stretch and move and do whatever. Because when Matt and I go to SoCal this summer for our vacation, I want to be hot. Hotter than hot. Smoldering. So pass me those 11 almonds that I get for a snack today. I'll make do.

By the way, my birthday is in two days. And that rocks. Plus, my sweet husband has decided that in lieu of buying me a gift, he is just giving me free reign on the Amex to go to San Francisco for the day and buy my own presents. I couldn't be happier. With any luck, by that day I should be able to walk without grimacing.

Yeah, I know. I haven't written in a long ass time. I've really been meaning to. Seriously. I've just been busy. Really busy. In fact, just yesterday did the final relative vacate my house and leave me and Matt to our own California lonesome.

So what happened while I was gone? Well, there was Christmas, and that rocked because it was our first Christmas in CA and my mom came out and we went shopping A LOT and my mom bought me some kick ass shoes and a bunch of stuff from Williams and Sonoma. And Matt and I did a lot of fun things, mostly having to do with the scads of new books we got and old episodes of Iron Chef, which sounds strange, but really it wasn't. And then there was work, which generally sucked because of a whole lot of things. And I got the flu, which also sucked, and took me out of commission for a very, very long time.

Oh, and I think I saw Billie Joe Armstrong at Target on Christmas Eve.

But I'm back now, and work still sucks. It's weird because I really wanted a job like this for a long time, but it is so mind numbingly boring that sometimes I want to go back to selling coffee where at least I could see people and know that I made somebody's day perhaps a teensy bit better. Here, I just sit and type and spend time on the internet and try to look busy and hope that someone comes in and asks a question so I can talk their ear off for about 15 minutes and have some human connection. It sucks. And really, I'm not getting paid that much, at least not enough to justify being bored all day long. So there's that.

But anyway, I made a New Year's Resolution to lose weight, which is what I have resolved at New Year's for the past 3 years and haven't done yet. But this time, I mean it. Two reasons: 1) My mom (who is a professor at JMU) checked her "Rate My Professor" profile and found that she has been voted "Hot" by two seperate people, and so I figure, if my mom is hot, its doubly disheartening if I'm not and 2) We got a Victoria's Secret swim suit catalog in the mail yesterday, and well...that says enough about that. So I have gotten a membership to the YMCA and have bought that book "French Women Don't Get Fat" and am trying to diet and exercise and all of those things. It's really not that bad. My dear husband thinks that it is funny and even went so far as to say, "You're not fat. I mean, you don't have to use a crane as a form of transport." That, my friends, is the caring, loving man of my dreams.

Also, I resolved to read more, and am trying my best at that.

I guess I should have resolved to update my blog more. Hmmm.

Well, I should go. It is 12:00 and I am going to eat my piddly little salad that I brought to munch on. Have a good un, my skinny little dears.