Reason 90

Holidays on film. I did a little research and discovered only one movie that delves into the sacred holiday traditions of the Jewish people. That would be Adam Sandler's Eight Crazy Nights. Um, if I was a Jew I think I'd be a tad embarrassed right about now. Jason, as your dear friend, I would encourage you to finally write the Jewish holiday screenplay the world has been waiting for. Today happens to be Purim, a day that marks the Jews narrow escape from genocide at the hands of a kooky guy named Haman, who worked for the king. Apparently, Haman had a penchant for three-cornered hats, which would probably make me want to kill someone too. Luckily, Queen Esther was able to trick the king, and the Jewish folks living in Persia were saved. Where was Esther in the 1940's? Anyway, this is clearly a story that is ripe for film and, as one hilarious Jew, I think you're the perfect man for the job. If you really wanted to impress people you could even make it a musical, using updated rock versions of such classics as "Shoshanas Yaakov" and "Chag Purim." Just think of the soundtrack sales! If movies about Valentine's Day and Groundhog's Day can make their way onto the big screen, why not Purim? Start typing Jason. I think I smell an Oscar in your future.

Reason 89

I want my two dollars (and other quotes that I can seamlessly work into any conversation)! Once upon a time an incredible, underappreciated movie about a high school loner who skis the deadly K-12 to impress his obnoxious girlfriend was released for consumption by the American people. The response by said people was less than stellar. Thankfully, I, along with many other hip children of the 80's, discovered the brilliance that is Better Off Dead and have been weaving strange gems of dialogue into our social discourse ever since. It becomes apparent very quickly who the cool folks in a crowd are when you throw out "I think I froze the left half of my brain" or "I'm really sorry your mom blew up" and get immediate recognition, or even better, a different line in response. The characters are bizarre and lovable, the acting is inspired, the screenplay is comic gold, and the music is a true reflection of the 1980's sound. I mean, it was directed by a man named Savage, for Pete's sake. Does it get any cooler than that?! Be honest, Jason. Would you actually want to be friends with someone who wasn't a fan of Better Off Dead? I sure wouldn't. I say next time I'm in L.A. we get together for a viewing. I'll make French bread, French fries, French dressing...and to drink - Peru. I even promise to keep my testacles off you. How can you resist an offer like that?

Reason 88

Height. Looking at the two of us, some may deem us freakishly tall. These people are probably midgets. It's true that neither of us fall into the average height category - you tower over your colleagues at 6 foot 2 inches and I dwarf my puny students at an Amazonian 5 foot 10 inches - but I don't seem to notice how far my head is from the ground until someone points it out to me. I'm sure you have had perfectly pleasant people ask you to grab something off the highest shelf at the grocery store or hang a picture sans stepladder or, if you are my mother, change the kitchen calendar every month so she doesn't have to climb onto a chair and risk injuring her brittle bones. Generally, I don't mind doing these things because I know how these vertically challenged people must suffer in their day-to-day lives. What does bother me is knowing these shrimps are often looking up my nose as I try to convey some critical piece of information or staring down at a head of greasy hair when I should be feigning interest in someone's reenactment of their kitten's antics from the night before. Having people ask me if I played basketball in school or what the weather is like way up there gets old fast, but this is the cross we must bear, Jason. On the bright side, at least we'll never look awkward in pictures together - in regard to our height, anyway.

Reason 87

Real teachers. Congrats seem to be in order, Jason. I have received approximately one billion links to articles about Bad Teacher, the latest Cameron Diaz vehicle in which you will be playing a middle school P.E. teacher. Now, teachers have long been maligned on film, often looking completely incompetent or like fascist disciplinarians. Gym teachers, especially, seem to fit into two categories: the ruthless, butch lesbian or the overweight, creepy guy who struts around in teeny shorts, ogling the blossoming, young girls. I have been a teacher for almost five years and that doesn't line up with my experience at all. Sure, there have been days when the kids are totally out of control and threatening them within an inch of their lives is the only way to turn the situation around, but those days are pretty rare. There are four P.E. teachers at my school and nary a one comes close to the stereotypes people see on the big and little screens. Jason, I know you are a stickler for authenticity when it comes to the roles you play, so I would be more than happy to prep you on all the things middle school teachers deal with on a daily basis. All the awkward things that slip from the mouths of babes, the plethora of confusing educational acronyms, coma-inducing staff meetings, "helicopter" parents that challenge every point lost on their precious babies' assignments...the list of atrocities goes on and on. Heck, you could even spend a day or two shadowing me. I don't want to bruise your ego, but most of my students have no idea who you are since you don't play a vampire or werewolf on TV, so you'd be able to observe freely. My students certainly wouldn't care about being on their best behavior, so everything you see would be a true reflection of daily life for American tweenagers. Working at a middle school is almost like seeing a car accident - it's disturbing, but you can't seem to tear your eyes away from the wreckage. Honestly, Jason, how can you resist?

Reason 86

Pleasant perrenials. Yes, it's cliche to say people should stop and smell the roses, but I admit to actually doing just that on a regular basis. If I'm out and about and happen to pass by a blooming rosebush, I do stop and take a whiff, if only to remind myself how lucky I am to be surrounded by such beauty. You may have heard that it rains a bit in Seattle, making our lives quite dreary for many months of the year. Fortunately, another result of all that precipitation is an abundance of gorgeous gardens come springtime. In general, I am a pretty laid back person, so I also stop to smell the roses in a metaphorical sense. I rarely stress out, taking things as they come and reminding myself I only have control over myself, not those negative Nellies who often seem to outnumber those glass-half-full folks. In fact, if I was a song I think I'd be "49th Street Bridge Song" by Simon & Garfunkel because most days I try "to make the mornin' last" and I just about always feel "groovy" (no psychotropic drugs needed).You seem pretty chill yourself, Jason, which makes for one more thing we have in common. On those rare occasions when one of us gets stressed out, we could talk the other person down from the ledge and lead them into a garden of roses. Go ahead and inhale, Jason. It's one of the only legal highs we have left.

Reason 85

Ancient pop culture artifacts. My middle school years were spent mooning over five young men from Boston known as New Kids on the Block. I slept on sheets plastered with their faces, had dolls molded in Jordan and Joe's likeness, and covered every square inch of my bedroom walls with pictures of those accented darlings. When my musical tastes started to mature and it was simply no longer acceptable to groove to "Step By Step," I scooped up all of my NKOTB paraphernalia and stowed in lovingly in my mother's basement. Jason, I'm sure you are thinking "how in the world does this benefit me?" Well, sir, let me tell you. The other day I was down in that very basement (thank goodness my mother has never moved) and stumbled across acres upon acres of old BOP magazine photos of the New Kids. What should happen to be on the backside of those glossy pictures? None other than a slew of various teen celebrities who dominated Hollywood in the late 80's, including your friend and costar Neil Patrick Harris. That's right, I have pictures of him in all of his adolescent glory, rocking some awesome high tops and what appears to be a special white suit usually reserved for professional racecar drivers. That outfit was clearly the tip of his big, gay iceberg. I have no use for these treasures, but I would be happy to pass them on to you so you can razz NPH incessantly, perhaps leaving them around the set so other actors, writers and crew members can bask in the glow of his pubescent fame. Rock on, Doogie. Rock on.

Reason 84

Social bravery. Or rather, my lack thereof. I have always thought of myself as an introvert. I most definitely prefer to stand on the sidelines, taking in the details of my surroundings, instead of jumping into the thick of things. Most of my friends would vehemently disagree, claiming I seem to fit right into almost any social situation and don't mind having all eyes on me. If they only knew how self-conscious I get when I am in the spotlight (quite contradictory to my Leo persona), worrying that everyone is judging my boring hair, less than stellar wardrobe and every banal word that comes out of my mouth. One particular social scene that gets the butterflies in my stomach churning is karaoke, which is a shame because I love to sing more than just about anything else in the whole world and I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. I have only sung karaoke in public twice in my 32 years and neither time was pretty. Perhaps it's because alcohol was nowhere to be found. Anyway, I know that you love karaoke, Jason, and I'm hoping once we become bosom buddies you will imbue me with some of your confidence and swagger so that I can get up in front of a bar full of strangers and belt out a few rockin' 80's classics. My ultimate karaoke wish is to sing "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" with someone, so you can imagine how shocked I was when you and your TV wife sung that on HIMYM. It was like the writer had somehow tapped into my secret shame and let it play out on primetime television. I bet you still remember all the words to that timeless duet, so singing by my side should be effortless. I do, however, call dibs on the Elton John part. It's better suited to my range. Everybody all together now: don't go breakin' my heart. I couldn't if I tried. Honey, if I get restless...

Reason 83

Film rights. As a reading teacher I dedicate my life to helping kids refine their reading comprehension skills and cultivate a love of the written word, so it should come as no surprise that I am an avid reader, mostly of young adult fiction. You may scoff at my literary choices, Jason, but books written for the aged 8-14 set are often much more interesting and innovative than the literary trash aimed at us old folks. These books also happen to make for great movies. Um, Harry Potter, anyone? As your friend I would almost feel obligated to alert you to teen classics that have been overlooked by Hollywood, so you could snatch up the rights and start banging out an equally classic screenplay. Five of the top ten grossing films of 2008 were aimed at kids, so not only is this area near and dear to my heart, it is also lucrative for all of those involved (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). A few titles ripe for the big screen: Maniac Magee and Star Girl by Jerry Spinelli (hell, almost anything by Spinelli is celluloid-worthy), the heart-pounding survival story Hatchet by Gary Paulsen, and Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan, a brilliant love story that takes place in an unbelievable world. Just promise me, Jason, that you won't break tween hearts everywhere by completely changing what is so great about these books. The new Lightning Thief movie is dreadful because all of the plot points and humor that make the book a page turner were left on the cutting room floor (if they were part of the script at all). Sure, the Twilight movies have made an obscene amount of cash, but they would have been so much more bearable to watch if they actually mirrored the novels. And don't even get me started on the travesty that is the film version of The Westing Game, one of my favorite middle school books of all time. I almost wept upon watching that DVD, and in front of my students no less! To paraphrase the mom from Freaky Friday, another highly enjoyable movie based on a book, I am trusting you to make good choices, Mr. Segel. Don't let this teacher down.

Reason 82

Boring awards shows. Tonight you are graciously presenting what appears to be a golden bird of some kind to a hard-working, Hollywood writer at the Writer's Guild of America awards show. I'm guessing you are attending this soiree sans date because, let's face it, there probably aren't a ton of awesome ladies sitting around L.A. on a Saturday night just wishing they could get gussied up to attend an industry event that isn't even televised. As your friend, Jason, I would be willing to sacrifice my uber-exciting Saturday night plans to entertain you during the show. We could commiserate over the fact that HIMYM wasn't nominated in any category (blasphemy!); I could wipe drool from the corner of your mouth as you ogle the sexy cast of True Blood at the next table over; we could exhaust the supply of jokes that can be made about the new show Hung; and most importantly, we could very loudly root for Sesame Street to pick up a statuette in the children's show category. It's not only this show I would be willing to attend with you, Jason. If you are ever invited to judge the World's Ugliest Dog Contest, stump contestants as a panelist at Miss Gay America, or measure the length of the entries in Germany's Beard Growing Competition, I will be there to support you, ruler in hand. You're on your own for the Oscars, though. Just thinking about strapping myself into a fancy gown and sucking in my gut for that long walk down the red carpet makes me tired. I don't know how Kate Winslet does it.

*Special Note*

Holy canoli, I just read that Captain EO is returning to Disneyland at the end of the month! Captain EO, people - be still my beating heart! Jason, let me know if you need someone to accompany you to a showing. I will fly down ASAP, stolen purple 3-D glasses from over ten years ago in tow. I won't even mind if you skulk around the park all day in a pair of sunglasses and that black beanie of yours to avoid fan encounters. Just email me. Seriously. I'll drop everything and jump on the next flight to L.A. (thank goodness for sick days).

Reason 81

Broadway musicals. The neon lights really are bright on Broadway and I just can't burn my retinas enough. Whether in Seattle, New York, or some podunk town in between, I love the musical theater experience. My wonderful father took me to my first show when I was eight or nine and, after seeing that little red-headed moppet dance around the stage with her bald sugar daddy, I was hooked. Jason, you have mentioned your love of musicals in a few interviews, so let me emphatically state I will go see shows with you any time, anywhere. Well, maybe not on a school night because if I stay out late I'll be a mess at work the next day. And maybe not outside of the greater Seattle area because I can't afford to just be buying plane tickets left and right, even for someone as fabulous as you. And probably not if the show has gotten terrible reviews because I have no interest in wasting my time or my money on no-talent hacks who stumble over uninspired lines. So, I guess if you happen to be in my town or I happen to be in your town and there is something playing that both critics and friends have raved about, then I would love to be your date for a night out at the theater. Just give me a call and we can experience that fabled "magic in the air" together.

Reason 80

Family. From what I can glean during your interviews you get along swimmingly with your family. Sure your mother is now scarred for life after you failed to tell her you'd be appearing sans clothes in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but she still picks up the phone when you call at two in the morning to cry about your best friend moving out, so she can't be holding too big of a grudge. Your giant extended family in Boston showed up for the opening of I Love You, Man and your little sister didn't run screaming from the theater when she saw your willy projected onto a giant movie screen. I think I'd develop PTSD if I saw my brother naked, so I don't know how she held it together. I, too, am close with my family, despite how semi-dysfunctional we can be. I mean, when I was ten years old my father left my mother and married our Spanish exchange student a few years later. If that doesn't qualify for an episode of Jerry Springer I don't know what does. I love my family so much, in fact, that yesterday I let my dad take me out to lunch and grill me about why my best friend and I aren't madly in love, my current perspective on middle school awkwardness, and my fascination with a certain young actor named Jason. After lunch I zipped over to my mom's (she and my dad only live three blocks from one another - more weirdness), where I spent a few hours dancing around the kitchen with a bag on my head singing nonsense songs, downing raspberry lemon drops, munching on Cheetos and kicking her ass at various board games, including Mystery Date. Who else would indulge that kind of behavior other than one's own family? I wouldn't trade my parents and older brother for anything and I have a feeling you feel the same way about your clan. See? One more thing we have in common.

*After sharing this post with my mother she claims our family is not dysfunctional. She prefers the term interesting. Clearly, one of us is in denial.

Reason 79

Amusing status updates. Now, I know what you're thinking Jason. Everyone believes their Facebook status updates are hilarious, or at least worthy of being read and commented on. Well, except maybe those people who always post about going to the gym, running mindless errands or cleaning the house. Seriously, do they realize they are clogging up valuable news feed space with that crap? I guesstimate that my updates will get a chuckle out of you at least 75% of the time. Hmm, now that I think about it you're really funny and spend most of your day working with really funny people, so maybe it would be closer to 50% of the time. On a scale of 1 to 10 just how side-splitting are Jonah Hill's updates?! Oh, the pressure! Little beads of sweat are popping out on my upper lip just thinking about it and my heart is racing like a hooker's on her first "date". Ok, deep breath in through the nose...out through the mouth. That's better. Maybe it would be more convincing if I shared some of those updates with you. Let's see, I've written about the joys of eating cake over the kitchen sink while standing in your underwear, smuggling a broken bra out of my classroom so the janitor wouldn't think I was stripping at school, threatening to stab a student in the throat with his own pencil...wow, I sound like a total nutcase. Well, even if my status updates are more frightening than amusing, at least I can promise to never post about my current rank in MafiaWars or the tasty creme brulee I just whipped up in Cafe World. Not even my worst enemy deserves that.

Reason 78

BUST magazine. Since 1993 Debbie Stoller and a gaggle of super cool chicks have been cranking out an amazing magazine that appeals to women who are interested in more than the latest celebrity plastic surgery debacle, eleven sex tips to really please your man, and recipes for delicious no-fat desserts that taste like sawdust but won't increase the size of your ass (thank God!). Basically, the kind of women I like to hang out with and I imagine, Jason, the kind of lady you are down with as well. Every year BUST puts out a "Men We Love" issue and I am shocked you haven't graced the cover yet. Past cover darlings include Elijah Wood, Beck and those two zany New Zealanders, Jemaine and Bret, who make up Flight of the Conchords. Yes, these men are talented, attractive and creative, but I would argue that you are just as fabulous. You always speak of your female costars with the highest level of respect and the women you write into your screenplays are authentic, interesting and just as flawed as the men you write about. Clearly, you love and appreciate women, which makes you a perfect candidate for BUST cover boy. So, my dear friend, I will start my campaign today to get you into the next Men We Love issue. Dear readers, feel free to contact Ms. Stoller and sing the praises of Jason as well. Perhaps coverage in a respectable periodical will make the pictures of Segel and Lohan canoodling at several Hollywood clubs a distant memory. I still throw up a little in my mouth when I think of that. Sigh.

BUST's home page

I couldn't resist - here's "Business Time"

Reason 77

Customer service. I worked in retail for almost ten years and during that time I encountered some customers who were real doozies. I had to deal with rude, clueless, and demanding folks who lived in my little town, all the while enduring the pain of knowing I could never be rude, clueless or demanding right back for fear of losing a job I genuinely loved. One particularly lovely customer that still stands out in my mind over seven years later decided the picture on the outside of the box that showed all the contents inside the box just wasn't satisfying enough. No, she had to tear that box open and see the merchandise for herself, despite my repeated assurance that the picture did in fact represent what was packaged inside. When I couldn't dissuade her from tearing open her third box I gently told her I would be happy to cut the box with a knife so that I could tape it back up if she decided not to purchase the goods. She looked at me like I was the idiot and said "What is your problem? Are you obsessed with tape or something?" That woman is still alive today because I wasn't standing within slicing distance. She did end up buying a box or two of goodies and she payed with a check, which meant I had access to her home address. I admit that sending her a giant box filled with tape did cross my mind, but I'm just not that petty (or, perhaps brave). So, Jason, I promise that when we go out into the world together I will never embarrass you by being rude to the lovely person behind the counter. I will patiently wait my turn, accept the store's return policy as written, and refrain from rolling my eyes if the customer service representative is, in fact, a complete idiot. It is simply the right thing to do...and you never know when one of those representatives will lose their shit and cut you.

Reason 76

Love. I have worn my heart on my sleeve for as long as I can remember, despite the fact that the people I ache for usually tear that heart off and stomp all over it. I've grown a wee more discreet about my feelings over the years, but honesty seems to be at the core of who I am, which means I will always let someone know how I feel. This is especially true for my friends, who are often on the receiving end of "I love you." Ironically, I didn't hear those three little words much from my parents growing up, although I knew that they both thought I was the bee's knees, and even now, as an adult, I have a hard time telling my parents that I love them. I guess it's lucky for you then, Jason, that you are not my parent because once we're friends I won't hesitate to tell you how much I adore you. The music of James Taylor has inspired me for years and I have always believed in his wisdom that "everything will work out fine" if you just "shower the people you love with love." It seems simple, but that hopped up heroine addict was really onto something. So, dear readers, this Valentine's Day try to ignore the commercialism of the holiday, the overpriced chocolates and the nauseatingly happy couples strolling down the street, and simply let the people in your life know that you love them. And to you, Jason, I say thanks for bringing joy into my life. I really do love you, man.

Reason 75

Children's music. Anyone who has ever spent a significant time with small children knows music aimed at the under-five set can be painful to listen to. Often times the musicians seem to think children can't appreciate interesting tunes, singing uninspired lyrics and playing the same tired melodies from thirty years ago. Barney, anyone? Thankfully, there is a pretty hip kids' music scene burgeoning in Seattle. Leading the way is Recess Monkey, a rockin' band made up of three Seattle-area elementary teachers and a funky stuffed monkey named Mayor Monkey. These guys write hilarious ditties about convincing one's parents to buy a pet, an octopus that tells knock-knock jokes, and a farm that grows marshmallows. The lyrics are clever and the beats are funky, so both parents and tots can get their grooves on without wanting to jam blunt objects into their ears. Jason, I know you have an older brother, so I'm guessing you may have a niece or nephew. If so, you should definitely treat him or her to some quality music from this trio. If you aren't lucky enough to be an uncle, I happen to have two amazing nieces at my disposal and we would be more than happy to drag you to a Recess Monkey show. Usually adults aren't let in the door without a kid or two in tow, so I abuse my auntie role any time I want to rock out to some fun and funny music. I promise you'll have a great time and, as a bonus, no one at these shows will pester you for an autograph since toddlers generally have no concept of celebrity (thank god).

Recess Monkey home page

Reason 74

Our bodies. Jason, you seem to be known by most Americans as the actor who happily flaunts his junk on screen. Skimpy underwear and a well-placed towel are your respective wardrobes of choice in Freaks & Geeks and Undeclared, and in Knocked Up you stand around outside after an earthquake completely naked with just your hands lovingly placed over your twig and berries. Of course, your most well-known nude scene is from Forgetting Sarah Marshall, where you gleefully perform the East-West, your penis swaying back and forth while a disturbed Kristen Bell looks on. I'm going to go out on a limb here, Jason, and aver that you don't mind being naked. Someone who parades around in little to no clothing in front of an entire cast and crew must be tipping the scales of self love pretty heavily in the right direction. Now, as far as I know I have never been filmed while naked and I am not about to volunteer to do so. I do, however, love my body and am not embarrassed by my Buddha belly, ashamed of my thunder thighs or worried about my head-to-toe curves. I am a strong Amazon women who won't think twice about squashing haters like little bugs under foot. So, Mr. Segel, when we finally get around to hanging out we can bask in the glow of our healthy body images and not think twice about letting our stomachs rest comfortably on our waistbands. Just please keep your clothes on.

Reason 73

Beef curry. Oh, how my mouth waters just typing those beautiful words. In college I had an incredible housemate name Mika. Once in awhile, when the other housemates and I were on our best behavior, she would take pity on our growling stomachs and whip up a giant pan of beef curry stew that we ladled over rice. Back then I was an even pickier eater than I am now, and Mika was gracious enough to load the curry with tender pieces of beef and leave out most of the gross veggies. Nowadays I make the same curry without any help from Mika (which is good since she lives in California) and it is almost as delicious as what she used to dish out so many years ago. My taste buds have even evolved and now I happily toss peppers, snow peas, potatoes and sprouts into the mix. Jason, I would be honored to cook up a vat of mouth-watering, spicy, rich and creamy beef curry for you at either your place or mine. I won't even judge you for going back for seconds...or sixths.

Reason 72

Skype. What an incredible invention this Skype is, bringing friends and family members together across the miles and encouraging couples the world over to get their voyeuristic freak on. I'm not suggesting we video conference in our underwear, Jason. Rather, if you ever need someone to run lines with I'd be more than happy to answer my laptop's incoming call. I actually have quite a bit of acting experience. In kindergarten I played a section of a caterpillar; in middle school I was Bagheera in The Jungle Book; and in high school I shined in my most beloved role to date - Professor Harold Hill in The Music Man. You may snicker, but I looked pretty dapper in my dad's suit and my rendition of "Seventy-Six Trombones" is still ringing through that auditorium. 

Reason 71

The democratic process. I don't know what's going on in L.A. today, but up north there are elections going on about extremely important political issues like making it illegal to have a lawn more than a foot high. When I turned 18 I didn't get revved up about purchasing lottery tickets or cigarettes legaly; no, I was pumped about registering to vote. Yee haw, bring on the democracy! I have voted in every single election since then, no matter how seemingly unimportant the issues on the ballot. Jason, would you honestly want to be friends with someone who doesn't vote? I should hope not.

Reason 70

Attractive women. Rumor has it one can find a plethora of attractive, albeit artificially enhanced, woman roaming the streets of Los Angeles every hour of the day and night. Years ago I made peace with the idea that I will never be one of those women who make men's eyes bulge out of their heads while accompanied by an "a-ooga" sound. I will never stop traffic, except perhaps by tripping while crossing the street, and no one will write epic love poems about my beauty. This self-acceptance allows me to hold my own in a room full of gorgeous ladies, dazzling those around me with my intelligence, honesty and charm instead of flawless skin, big boobs and a waist that disappears when I turn sideways. So, Jason, go ahead and point out attractive women when we are hanging out. I will never scold you for ogling the lovely ladies that walk by us. Hell, I may even point out a few and encourage you to chat them up. Just don't expect me to wipe up your drool. Even a dedicated wingman has to draw the line somewhere.

Reason 69

Lip balm. Those who have ever spent time in the great Pacific Northwest know that the harsh weather can really do a number on your lips. Thank goodness some hippie guy named Burt invented the best lip balm known to man (or woman) and then mass-produced it, sending it to high-end grocery stores and boutiques across the country to save our kissers. For years I have slipped that precious tube of Burt's Bees peppermint lip balm into my left pocket and marched confidently out into the world knowing chapped lips would not interfere with my day-to-day activities or make me feel self conscious about kissing every adorable man, woman or child who crossed my path. That is until today. My dog decided she needed a remedy for her dry lips and promptly snatched my tube of Burt's Bees off the bathroom counter when I wasn't looking. I found the once-perfect cyclinder on the floor, covered in teeth marks, the cap carelessly tossed aside. Now the outer layer of skin on my lips is starting to curl like parchment being set on fire, and I am ashamed to show my face to the world. What I am getting at, Jason, is as soon as I get a new tube I will happily offer up my Burt's Bees to you any time you are in desperate need of some soothing peppermint salve. Please use your finger to apply the balm, though. I have seen where those fabulous lips have been and I am not about to get Herpes Simplex 1 from sharing my lip balm with you. Blech. I mean, there are just some sacrifices I am not willing to make for my friends.

Reason 68

Volunteerism. My mother is a strong believer in helping out the community, and since I am practically a carbon copy of my mom, it seems I have ended up with the volunteer gene. In high school I frequently served dinner at a local men's shelter; in college I organized fundraisers; after college I worked with Americorps NCCC; and recently I have given my oh-so-precious time to a local organization called Seattle Works. Why, just today I spent a few hours at a local food bank with some colleagues, sorting donations into giant bins. We moved a little over 17,000 pounds of food in under two hours, which will help more than 3,000 local families. There is just no better feeling in the world than being a martyr and using my generous heart to make others feel petty and useless. From what I have read, you don't hesitate to throw your time and name behind non-profits either. Recently you made out with Russell Brand to raise money for Haiti (not sure why people would pay to see that, but what do I know about Hollywood?), and last year you chatted up a toy drive and cancer screenings for women in various interviews. I would also bet dollars to doughnuts that you give large sums of money to charities. If you don't you better jump on that because really, no one needs all the cash that sitcom actors make. It's kind of obscene. Perhaps once we are friends, Jason, we can volunteer together at some place worthy of our combined awesomeness. I'll start putting the word out that we're available.

Reason 67

Defensive driving. I don't want to toot my own horn (yeah, that totally deserves an eye roll), but I am an excellent driver, just like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. As a side note I, too, detest K-Mart. Jason, you will never have to fear for your life while riding shotgun with me. Yes, occasionally I may drive with my knees or clumsily search for a song on my iPod, but I have never gotten in an accident or received a speeding ticket. Have I been pulled over? Sure. But still no ticket; I'm that awesome. I do admit to backing into a car in the parking lot of my high school on the very first day I drove my first car, but I was only going 5 mph and the other driver, an uptight mom who cared more about her new BMW than her own children, totally deserved it. I promise to keep my eyes on the road when your strapped in beside me and, if you're lucky, I'll even let you choose our tunes.

Reason 66

Your Vespa. For years I have wanted to zip around town on a sporty Vespa, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze on my face and fantasizing about being a gorgeous Italian woman on a weekend getaway. No matter that I am fairly klutzy, pretty far from gorgeous, and of sturdy Dutch-German stock. That's why it's a fantasy, my dear. Anyway, thank goodness your main form of transport is a beautiful, black Vespa, so I can take full advantage of the generosity you show your friends and cruise around L.A. with my arms wrapped around your waist. Maybe we can even ride in the city's Pride parade now that you've broadcast your love for skinny, British men who don't wash their hair often enough. Just make sure you have a fairly large helmet available; my noggin' is ginormous.

a brief clip of Jason on his Vespa - amazing what people will film!

Reason 65

Gayness. I have long been a supporter of gay everything and don't mind a bit if you want to explore your sexuality with other dudes, as you did the other night at a fundraiser with Russel Brand. You have also felt the soft lusciousness of Neil Patrick Harris's lips on several occasions, which I wouldn't mind doing either, even though he adamantly plays for the other team. Jason, I know you have claimed time and time again that you lust after the ladies, but I will accept you with open arms if you ever want to switch sides, or even if you want to become one of those wishy washy people who keeps all of their options open. I admit to being one of those people, so we can commiserate together and complain about how there don't seem to be any interesting, funny and intelligent single people of either the male or female persuasion out there. Fly your rainbow flag proudly, Jason! Just promise you won't buy assless leather chaps any time soon and start parading around West Hollywood. A boy has to have some standards.

Reason 64

The universe. When I set out on my roadtrip to San Francisco last week I had visions of the two of us sitting in a hotel room together watching The Muppets Take Manhattan, trying to outdo one another with our extensive 80's movie trivia, and maybe enjoying a cheesy tourist moment on a cable car. Realistically, I would've been overjoyed just to share the same air space with you. Little did I know the universe was working in mysterious ways to bring us together. I should have known the stars were aligned in my favor when I set my iPod to shuffle and the 2nd song that came on, out of about 1000, was the Dracula musical finale from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I had just loaded it onto my iPod the night before. That's right - cue creepy music. What other songs streamed joyously from my car's speakers in that first hour? The theme song to The Muppet Show, "Movin' Right Along" from the original Muppet Movie, and "Dracula's Lament," your own masterpiece. It was a Jason Segel musical extravaganza! Cut to Saturday night where I am standing in line outside Cobb's Comedy Club, desperately hoping to snag a standby ticket for the sold out 8 o'clock show. Who should saunter up the street and pass right by little ol' me? That's right - you, Jason. You were running late, but still stopped to take a picture with me (so gracious). If you hadn't been running late and if I had been able to purchase a ticket ahead of time, our paths never would have crossed. Just wait - it gets better. I did buy a ticket for that show from someone who couldn't use theirs. After the show, which blew my expectations out of the water, I ran back to my car to grab the Great Muppet Caper LP I wanted to give you. When I got back to the club I joined a line of people waiting to get in that snaked all the way around the block. If I hadn't been at that exact spot in line I wouldn't have been seated at a table in the back by the bar and you wouldn't have walked right by me on your way to and from said dispensary of alcohol. You stopped and chatted with me, telling me I was the sweetest ever for trying to pawn the LP off on you, but you already owned a copy. After the show I waited outside the club, hoping you would come out to chat with your adoring fans, but after 15 minutes I gave up. A block away from the club I spotted you across the street, fending off a woman who apparently wanted to have her way with you. The light changed and we started walking toward one another. I held out a pen and the album and you scrawled your name in the corner. Clearly, it was destiny for us to meet three times that night. It may sound a little crazy, but I truly believe the universe is telling us something. We better listen, Jason. It isn't prudent to piss the universe off.

Reason 63

Designated driver/walker. So, in the last post I mentioned you were a bit tipsy after Saturday's second show. I was being kind. Jason, you were so drunk when I saw you on the street that I was worried you may fall over if you walked more than a block. Unfortunately for you, I was so hopped up on happiness at having met you THREE times that night that it wasn't until I was 2 blocks away that I realized you may have needed someone to walk you back to your hotel. Perhaps if I had been an R.A. in college I would have been more on top of things. Well, I tossed and turned all night, partly from excitement and partly from genuine concern about your well-being. I desperately hope that some skanky groupie didn't take advantage of your inebriated state, lead you back to her place, and convince you to leave something other than your heart in San Francisco. The moral of the story is this, Jason: if you plan on getting wasted while in an unfamiliar city, please make sure you have someone waiting in the wings to walk or drive you home. Preferably that someone will be me, but I won't be too picky when it comes to your safety.

Reason 62

Sir and ma'am. After Bring the Rock on Saturday, where you told a cringe-worthy story about sing-speaking the entire lyrics of "Ain't to Proud to Beg" to your ex-girlfriend in a vain attempt to win her back, I bumped into you on the street and got you to sign my The Great Muppet Caper LP. You were, um, a tad tipsy shall we say, and didn't understand that the pen could not write because it was still capped. Being the well-mannered woman that I am, I uncapped the pen, turned the LP over so it was facing the right way, and in a joking manner said something like "there you go, sir." Your reaction? "Ugh, do not call me sir." I thought this was absolutely perfect because I abhor it when people call me ma'am. I am not an old lady and shant be treated like one, damn it! When customer service people refer to me as ma'am I actually chastise them. Recently a clerk at the grocery store called me 'miss' and I almost swooned with joy. I thanked him profusely for not using that other term and he just looked at me with a mix of pity and annoyance. Oh, well. Not everyone understands us, Jason.

Reason 61

The sexy parts. On Saturday you perfomed with a gaggle of other funny folks, reading excerpts of celebrity autobiographies. I use the term 'celebrity' very loosely. First up was your own selection from David Cassidy's opus that detailed his mixed emotions about sleeping with costar Susan Dey. Afterall, she was like a sister to him and sleeping with your sister is, in most cultures, just really gross. Next you had a small, but pivotal, part as an actor whom Loni Anderson had an affair with while married to Burt Reynolds. The third piece was your interpretation of Tommy Lee's words, all of which had to do with sex. As a side note, I thought you were reading from Tommy Lee Jones's autobiography and was so confused as to why he would be writing about threesomes and sex while driving. I mean, he's old. The last book you read from was written by the Jonas brothers. It's no surprise that there were absolutely no references to sex in that one. Overall, though, there seemed to be a theme and, I must admit, I approve wholeheartedly. Why else would someone read a celebrity autobiography if not for the salacious bits? Keep that in mind when you write your life story, Jason. When it comes down to it, all we want is some smut...and maybe a stiff drink or two.

Reason 60

Fashion advice. Oh, Jason, where to begin? I was fotunate enough to see you perform twice on Saturday as part of Sketchfest and, while you were hilariously fantastic, I must admit I was distracted by your "outfit". Let's start at the bottom. Those shoes have got to go, my friend. They look more like slippers that belong on an Italian version of Hugh Hefner than on a dapper man like yourself. The jeans were fine, so hang onto those. The button-down shirt under your coat? Fine as well. But, oh that coat. It looks like the unfortunate offspring of a trenchcoat and a blazer. At least keep it unbuttoned if you do wear it so it doesn't look like your about to pull a Hulk and bust out of it. I'd hate to make you angry. The black ski hat? Not really appropriate for the indoors. It's not like it was chilly in that theater. And the fashion faux pas do not stop there. During a recorded HIYMY interview I noticed you wearing white socks with black dress shoes and a suit. It was almost like a three car pile-up that I couldn't tear my eyes away from. All of this may sound harsh, but you are a good lookin' guy, Jason, and I just want you to look your best. Feel free to call me if you need a stylist...especially before your next red carpet event. I shudder to think what may happen without me.