Makes you wonder what that guy did…

Dear Kate Gosselin,
You, my friend, have forced me to write this letter. I didn’t want it to come to this, but your constant crying and whining all over my television screen has left me no choice.

I don’t know any other way to say this other than to say it, so here goes: I. Don’t. Buy. It. You want us to see this “new” Kate and think that you’ve changed. That the screaming, degrading and demanding days are over. Sorry, Katie, no can do. This new Kate is nothing but an act. A ploy to get America to take your side. Newsflash: As much as we dislike you, we dislike Jon even more. Nothing annoys us more than a walking mid-midlife crisis, complete with Ed Hardy t-shirts, bad hair plugs and earrings. Not even you, Kate.

So, do us all a favor and drop the act. We miss the old Kate. The one we couldn’t stop watching and judging. And, for the love of God, stop telling us you’re broke and that you hate the paparazzi. We’re too smart for your reverse psychology, ’round here. You’re broke = you asking people to buy your books/watch your show. You hate the paparazzi = you fueling the paparazzi so they’ll take more photos of you/make you more famous so that you’ll sell more books and gain more viewers.

One last thing, and really, it’s a simple (but forceful) request. Get yourself a different hairstyle. It’s beginning to catch on, and I’m frightened.
Love,
M

Poor November. As I drove to work today, I saw Christmas decorations being put up by city workers downtown. Excuse me, but isn’t it a bit early for all that? If I were November, I’d be pretty ticked off.

It’s National Alzheimer’s Disease Awareness Month, and especially since my grandmother suffers from this disease, I’m asking you to join the cause – so we can create a world without Alzheimer’s.

November is also the month of Thanksgiving, of course, so I’m writing down one thing I am thankful for every day. I know, right? How very Oprah Winfrey of me. I’ll post my list on Thanksgiving day. Not because I think you care, but because it will make me do it.

I’m not all that creative today, so lucky for you, my friend Kristin sent me this link to “Awesomely Bad Engagement Photos.”

You’re welcome.

Age. It’s only a number, right? Wrong.

As someone who is clinging on to 29 by her fingernails, I can tell you that the number matters. I used to think 30 was old…and now, well, I changed my mind. It’s not “old” – it’s older. Than 21. Than 23. Than 25. And thankgoodness for that. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t go back to my early to mid-twenties even if I could. I was self-absorbed (yes, even more than I currently am) and self-conscious. I drank too much (you didn’t read that, mom). I was reckless and judgmental. I thought I knew it all.

Boy was I wrong. But, hey, that’s what your twenties are for. They’re for finding out what you want to be, who you want to be and where you want to go. By the end of them, like magic, you’ve figured a lot of stuff out. Not everything, mind you, just a few things. You also realize that all of a sudden, you’ve matured. Against your will, mostly, but matured nonetheless. How? For example, now I rarely see 11:30pm during the work week. I used to watch David Letterman every night. Now, I save money for “house” or “car” emergencies. I used to shop for clothes. A lot.

My latest theory is that your twenties are made up of categories. They are: 20-23, 24-26, 27-29. As long as you “hang out” with the people in your category, you don’t see much difference in the numbers. But, if you start hanging around people below the age category you’re in, and you are bound to experience The Age Gap.

The Age Gap occurs when you’re talking about something and someone younger than you doesn’t “get it.” (Otherwise known as an uncomfortable reminder that you’re the old one.) This weekend, for example, I was around some wonderful younger ladies who were discussing boy bands. I, naturally, talked about the two New Kids On The Block concerts I attended in elementary school. Them? Well, they talked about seeing the BackStreet Boys and 98 Degrees. Yikes – I was in college then. I recalled sneaking in my room (because my dad didn’t approve) and watching the original 90210 episodes. Them? They had only seen the re-runs on FX. That, my friends, is The Age Gap.

I decided I’ll be hanging out with older people this weekend. Like at a nursing home or something.

The following photos go along with my last post regarding Stephanie Pratt. Apparently, some of you have lives and don’t have time for The Hills/celebrity gossip websites. The horror!

After:

After:

Thoughts?

Stephanie Pratt. What the hell, y’all? My friend Lauren and I have been discussing this, and we decided it’s a nose job/supreme weight loss combo, but we still wonder…is it something else, too? She doesn’t even look like the same person. I can’t stop staring at her and thinking, “If you went under the knife, Stephie, why not go ahead and fix the ears, too?”

Why some women stay single for life. It’s because there are some creepy creepsters out there, folks. I know because I saw about 20 of them last night. We’re talking bad grooming and bad manners. If that is what you’re offering, universe, no thank you. I’ll be content with my dog and reality television. (Because my pup is well-groomed and polite, and I can turn Spencer Pratt “off” with the click of a button.)

This past weekend, I attended a wedding in Charleston. I tell you that so you’ll understand why I was in the vicinity of Charleston’s newspaper, The Post and Courier. Here’s an excerpt from the Weddings & Celebrations section, which I’m pretty sure the good lord wanted me to see:

Mr. and Mrs. _____ of Atlanta, GA, celebrated their 1st wedding anniversary with a romantic dinner at McCormick and Schmicks Seafood Restaurant in Atlanta.

Following dinner, the couple continued their quiet romantic evening at home, where they reflected on a great first year of marriage with soft R&B music, a bottle of wine, a steamy hot bubble bath, and enjoyed the top layer of their wedding cake.

Yes, yes, yes. It said that. In the NEWSPAPER! Inappropriate. Disgusting. Tacky.

I, of course, blame this on Mark Zuckerberg and the folks behind Twitter. We’ve become so accustomed to hearing every detail of people’s lives that we are now printing those ridiculous details in the newspaper. Show me the editor who allowed that. I’d like to give him or her a talking to.

A very wise (and non-existent in real life) woman once said:
“No matter who broke your heart or how long it takes to heal, you’ll never get through it without your friends.”
–Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City

*I’d like to add “and family” to that quote.