(this is annie)

The NOU story

Unless I am the one giving a party, I don't do so well at big events. I know how to be witty and charming and so forth, but it just takes so much out of me that I like to conserve my energy. And by "conserve my energy," I mean "shamelessly stuff my mouth with hors d'oeuvres."

I do like to make chit-chat with the catering staff, though, mostly because so many people at swanky events treat them like they're robotic servers. It makes me cringe, particularly because I often assume that catering workers do that job for the flexibility, which in turn makes me think they've got cool artistic endeavors going on otherwise.

So a few weekends ago, I was at an event in Los Angeles. There were go-go dancers, and there was also a tall, gangly catering staffer as well. He and I exchanged sympathetic looks: You'd probably like to be elsewhere, right? Were I younger, I would have been nervous around him because I'd have thought he was dreamy. But I'm at least five years older than him, so I had no interest in awkward flirtation. Thus, I was able to talk with him like a normal person.


He had wildly curly black hair and the catering staff's uniform of black skinny trousers and a black button-front shirt and a black skinny tie. Total mid-90s DC style.

He came by with tall, skinny shot glasses brimming with cucumber soup. I dislike cucumbers, so I passed, but I did ask him: "Do you ever get that you look like Ian Svenonius?"

Blank-eyed blinking in response. "What?" he asked. "I can't hear you."


the fake ian svenonius

He leaned over to get closer, but in doing so, he tipped all of the cucumber soup directly onto my chest. As it turns out, cucumber soup looks like vomit. So not only did he have no clue who Ian Svenonius was, I wound up looking like Lady Upchuck for the rest of the night. Another successful social event!


The Long Run

I was Googling Nation of Ulysses (long story, will tell soon) and this guy came up on Youtube:

He reminded me of my favorite scene in Pretty In Pink, in which the Duckman dances to Otis Redding. Turns out that our dancer, Mike Long, has spent the last year making one of these dance videos every single day. I spent far too long browsing his videos (the Fall! Stone Roses!) and now I am seriously envious of his moves.

Also, he is vegan and his website talks about him being antiracist and antihomophobic, so of course I think we'd be best buddies. I tend to project like that.


When I was about 10, I was a painfully awkward-looking child, and blissfully unaware of it. Instead, I thought that I was merely waiting for someone — someone important — to "discover" me. I believed in my future fame so much that when the Barbizon modeling school held an informational seminar in Kalamazoo, I somehow convinced my parents to take me. Shockingly, my mousy hair and leporine teeth did not lead to fame and fortune.

Twenty years later, my childhood prophecy has been fulfilled. In Beverly Hills, of all places. I was with a group of about 15 women on a beauty tour; we'd stopped at Anastasia Beverly Hills. Anastasia is a Romanian woman who has built a multimillion-dollar business based on her ability to shape eyebrows. She works on Oprah, Jennifer Lopez, Buffy, yada yada. Anyway, after greeting us, Anastasia chose one of us to be her demonstration model. And since I apparently had the fullest and thickest (most unkempt?) eyebrows, this is what happened:

Finally! Discovered! My inner gawky girl feels vindicated.


Lately I'm beginning to wonder if there's something wrong with my lack of interest in marriage. Many of my friends are happily married or engaged, and tonight I found out that a friendly acquaintance has just been married for the second time. I have known him through his first marriage, his divorce, and now I know him as a married man again. Of course I wish him and his bride the best, but some strange part of me wonders if I'm lagging developmentally. Shouldn't I be dreaming of the white dress and honeymoon? Instead, the main appeal of my own hypothetical wedding is the copious amount of expensive cake I'll be able to shove into my mouth.

Don't get me wrong; I'm genuinely happy for my married friends, and I get happy/weepy at their weddings. But when I think about being married myself, I become anxious. I imagine that when you are married, you are not allowed to eat cereal for dinner, or to walk around pantsless in a nonsexual way, or to take off for a solo vacation, or to sleep alone. I like doing all of these things. Maybe my opinion will change over time, but I have been dating for about 15 years and have yet to worry about becoming an old maid.

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    it's anniet at gmail.


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