Not a Real Post

So I owe you guys a post, fine. Fine.

But, psst, this isn't going to be that interesting, it's just a rant. And has nothing to do with boys, Canadian or otherwise.

(I'm actually settling down quite nicely in that department though, and find myself 24% less psychotic than I was last week, which is a lovely development.) (He is still talking non-stop about visiting me, but instead of going all Boil-a-Bunny on him about "when, when, when!?!" I am merely ignoring it and just being like "I guess we'll just see aboot that when it actually happens, eh?") (Very proud of this development.) (Okay, onto the "real" post.)

I just have a quick thought:

Does this happen to anyone else? :

This year, I have been to the movies a woefully inadequate number of times. I think maybe three or four. I used to go to the movies once a week at least, no seriously. I LOVE MOVIES.

So this year has sucked for me for movies. None of my NH friends ever wants to go, or when they do want to go I have plans, or they have plans when I want to go, and I haven't managed to get to the theater to go alone enough because, again, plans, always plans (when did I get so goddamn busy, and why do I still feel so lonesome all the time?)....and anyway.

But whenever this happens, whenever I have this lag where I don't get to the theater, I think, "well I will just buy them or rent them or whatever when they come out."

And then after months pass and the movies are long gone from the theaters, I'll find myself in a video store with absolutely nothing to rent, or I'll just buy a three-in-one DVD crap set from Target of like, "Wimbledon" (seen it twice), "The Wedding Date" (constantly on HBO, seen it, and Debra Messing's scary protruding sternum, more times than I'm willing to admit), and fucking "The Perfect Man," a travesty of Hillary-Duff-Before-She-Got-So-Skinny proportions.

What is my problem?

Movies I Still Haven't Seen But Will Probably Forget About By the Time They Come On DVD:

All the stupid "threequels" (Shrek 3, Ocean's 13, Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean 3)

The Bourne Ultimatum (mmmm, Matt Damon, mmmm)

Superbad

300

Transformers

3:10 to Yuma (Okay so this one I still have plenty of time for, I'm just reminding myself)

Live Free or Die Hard

Fantastic Four

I could honestly go on and on. And yet 6 months from now when I'm finally signing up for Netflix or something I won't remember this. Hence? This blog post for reference.

Now I must get back to work.

Bleh-mmys

I was going to live-blog the Emmys.

But then my birthday party happened, and I was way too hungover all day today to do anything but remain where I've been since noon. Curled up under a blanket. I did order pizza though. Way to ruin my diet that I've been on for like 6 days.

(Buffalo wings too!)

(Good lord.)

Oh, and also on tonight?? Red Sox vs Yankees. And Pats vs Chargers. Jesus. Too much good TV all in one time slot. But I can't make fun of fashion and the Gayness of Ryan Seacrest while watching sports.

One note: Jeremy Piven just won, and looks like he rolled out of his bed (which he was probably sharing with three Brazilian hookers and a pound of coke) about 10 minutes ago. Take a shave, Piven, it's the EMMYS.

So? THEN What?

I'm a big fan of "He's Just Not that Into You" (HJNTIY). It's incredibly sensible, if a bit harsh on the dudes at times (I mean really, they're NEVER too busy to call? What if they get hit by a bus or something?). Regardless, I like the principle: if a guy's into you, it's obvious. If he's not? It's still obvious, you just have to read the signs right.

But honestly? It depresses me. Because according to this book, no guy is *ever* into me. No, seriously! So fine, it's easy to see when guys don't like me, but what exactly are we supposed to DO with that info? Aside from feel like ass?

You see my point.

Take the Canadian guy. He likes me, but probably not enough to put in the money and effort of starting something up long distance. And I don't even blame him, it would actually be really hard. But my knowing this based on my HJNTIY Evidence doesn't make me feel better about it.

It blows, because now I have to cut off contact with him.

I mean, because that's the test, right? That's what it says in the book. Suspect the object of your affection is just not that into you? Stop calling, and stop emailing. And see what happens. If he IS into you, he's going to call and see what's up, or at least email. And if not? You'll probably never hear from him again. See also: Paul Giamatti.

But the book doesn't have a chapter on how not to feel depressed afterwards. I hate nothing more than that "back to the drawing board" type feeling. Argh.

Oh well, you bitches have listened to me bitch about my love life long enough.

"Bitching about my love life" is the new "bitching about my weight!" It's good times all around.

Wow

This might be the greatest thing I've ever seen. It took me a minute to figure out this was a guy. Love his eye makeup!

Dear Britney

You sucked the other night. You should really wear better clothes, and practice your routines while WEARING those 5 inch boots. Oh, and if it were me making a "comeback," I'd have insisted on a bigger, badder production, wtf was up with the 10 dancers and teensy tiny stage? Sheesh. Also, next time start with a nice medley of your older, awesomer work. That being said:

YOU'RE NOT FUCKING FAT.

Jesus CHRIST what is wrong with the world. I'd reckon there are millions of girls besides myself who'd probably sacrifice a couple of digits to have this body. So give it a fucking REST, people. This is why little girls grow up with thighs smaller around than my goddamn wrists.

I Should Get Me One of These

According to Jezebel, Harrod's of London hired a cobra to "guard" a pair of $120,000 sandals.

Someone explain why these shoes are so sweet in the first place, but I can't help but admire the slickness of this move--plus, that cobra? Actually kinda cute. I should get my own shoe snake.

"G'head, come and tryyyy to steal this shoe! I dare ya," he seems to say...

The FuManchShoes 100th Post Semi-Spectacular Excellence Post for Being Excellent

Alternative title for this post - Dump what out, exactly? (I'll explain later)

Ah, the 100th entry. For my 100th entry on my very first blog in the stone ages of 2001, I did a cheesy 80s sitcom retrospective, where I took a contrived "event of significance" (buying my first car) as an excuse to reflect, just without the awesome "blurry screen of implied flashback."

Instead, how about we just give some updates on my current life, eh? Considering, as my friend Sara bitches to me constantly, I haven't updated since "August 20th! August, 20, Fu...wtf!"

We'll work backwards from right now, I like that gimmick.

Right now: Eating chicken soup and taking in "Desperado" on TNT, which isn't as good when so heavily edited, but still holds up. Is there anything Steve Buscemi makes an appearance in that *isn't* awesome? Sidebar: Just saw a commercial for the "Vagisil Home Screening Kit," which featured a woman talking about her burning cooch and wondering how she could possibly know whether she had an infection. Ummmm....Why would anyone with a burning cooch go out and buy some home swabbing kit to see if they had a yeasty? I mean, good god woman! It's called a gyno. Look into it. Can you imagine being the store clerk that has to check that one out at the register. I'd probably pop a blood vessel trying not to laugh. Me = Mature.

Last night: Out on the town in Manch Vegas as usual, managed to spend seventy effing dollars, which explains why we ended up walking home. It's only a mile, but I defy you to undertake such a crusade. In high heels. With skeevy Manch types asking you "where's the party?" and honking at you from their drunkenly careening automobiles. Then there's the creepy dudes hanging out on the porch, who asked us to "dump 'em out." "Umm, dump what out?" "Your titties, what did you think!?" Ooooh, dear.

Tuesday Night: My biiiirthday, my b-b-b-b-b-irrrrthday! Man, 28 years on the planet. You'd think I'd have more to show for it than a pile of wicked nice shoes and potential liver damage.

Last Weekend: In DC, where I dared to ask the question, "can a person who was up until 5 in the morning the previous night make it through a dainty bridal shower tea party with zero alcohol and live to tell about it?" The answer, sadly, a resounding "Oh, hell no." Have you ever had massive detox shakes while attempting to tell a story about the bride and groom for every peanut M&M in your hand? Yeah. Good times!

August: Busy month of birthday parties, road trips, beach outings, nights on the town, way, waaay, waaaaay too much alcohol, and jsut general shenanigans and good times.

SO, yeah. That's about it.

Oh, you probably need the Obligatory Update on My Love Life.

ManchGuy: He looked a little like Paul Giamatti, he was nice enough, but definitely gave off "just not that into me" red flags left and right. So I cut him loose, and he didn't put up much of a fight about it. Eat it, Paul Giamatti.

Oh, Canada: The Canadian Guy. Well....god only knows. He is allegedly coming to visit in October. We still email back and forth with a frenzy generally reserved for more physical activities. You know, like ping pong. Or beer pong, for that matter. Regardless, to put on my "dorky chick hat" for a couple seconds, "I rilly rilly rilly rilly rilly rilly like him." But I guess we're just still on "wait and see" status. And don't even get me started on how terrified I am that he's going to get off the plane, take one look at my fat ass and be like "Um, wow, how much did I drink the night met again? Oh, man." and then just leave. The paranoia fatties subject ourselves to is surreal. It's not like he doesn't have access to two dozen different photos of me on Facebook and stuff, and it's not like he's Tom Brady himself, and yet, I sit here and stew about it.

Speaking of Tom Brady, are we ready for some football?!? Mmmmm.....