Reason 299

Geeky deals. I'm sure my friends would agree that when it comes to fashion, I am a veritable encyclopedia of style and knowledge...if the only entry in that encyclopedia was about wearing jeans and t-shirts every single day. That said, it should be no surprise to anyone that one of the first things I do each morning is check the daily offering at shirtwoot.com, a website that sells a different t-shirt 365 days of the year. The designs are often hilarious and geeky, a fabulous combination for folks like me, and contributed by artsy nerds who also worship at the Church of Woot. A few weeks ago the daily deal was a shirt emblazoned with the word "inconceivable" with each letter referencing a person or event from "The Princess Bride," which, as everyone knows, is the best movie ever filmed that includes Fred Savage, screeching eels, and a world-famous wrestler with a speech impediment. Without thinking twice I clicked the "I Want One" button and sent twelve bucks off onto the information superhighway. Last week my shirt arrived and, after doing a mortifying happy dance in front of the mailbox and tossing My Precious into the dryer to loosen a couple wrinkles, I proudly sported the latest addition to my wardrobe around town. Most people stared at the pictures in confusion, clearly not cool enough to have watched "The Princess Bride" at least fifteen times. My five year-old niece gave me a once over and asked "Um, what's on your cool shirt?" Since she's only five and hasn't had her mind blown open by six-fingered men and drunken Spaniards with incredible fencing skills, I filled her in. She blinked at me and went on eating her ice cream. I have a feeling, Jason, that you would understand my shirt the minute you saw it and that you would be so consumed with envy that you wouldn't be able to sleep for days. Of course, all of that pain could have been avoided if we were friends because any time Shirt Woot's daily deal referenced an iconic 80's movie or the Muppets or something equally awesome, I'd call you immediately and convince you to buy it. I know you'd be gracious enough to do the same for me. It still smarts that I missed my chance to buy a shirt with a giant donkey pinata on it that advertised El Guapo's Pinata Emporium. My debilitating pain could have been avoided, if only we were friends.

Reason 298

*I actually hand wrote most of this post over a month ago in my dinky dollar notebook, but I'm such a procrastinator that I'm only getting around to typing it up now. Sigh.

Great minds. When it comes to bestie duties I admit, Mr. Segel, to slacking off recently. I had every intention of seeing "Five Year Engagement" the weekend it opened, but life, as it often does, got in the way and I didn't get to view your glorious backside on the big screen until last week. Now that I have seen your hilarious take on the evolution of an adult relationship, my belief that you are secretly my brother from another mother has only been cemented even more snugly into my delusional psyche. You managed to co-write and produce a film that has my chocolate-smudged fingerprints all over it. Let's put on our CSI hats and examine the facts.

1. The engagement ring. Your character in the movie, Tom, proffers a gorgeous vintage ring to Violet (played marvelously by Emily Blunt) when he pops the question on a restaurant rooftop in San Francisco. Instead of purchasing a traditional diamond engagement ring Tom opts for one with a brilliant ruby surrounded by teeny diamonds glinting in a round setting. Since I was the one who proposed to my fiance (who will be my husband in 2 days - eeee!) I got to pick out my own engagement ring, and what was my eye (and heart) drawn to a midst all the snazzy bling at the jewelry store, but a spectacular silver ring with a sapphire set in a circle of teeny diamonds. Seriously, Jason, get out of my head!

2. Top Chef reference. I jumped on the Top Chef bandwagon a little late, but once I discovered the competitive cooking show there was no turning back. Since much of "Five Year Engagement" revolves around the culinary world it makes perfect sense that a character would utter the soul-crushing line made famous by Padma: Please pack up your knives and go. I'll have to start working that into my conversations. Do you think parents would have a fit if I curtly dismissed unruly students from class with that little gem?

3. Pickle peculiarity. Sure, I enjoy a dill pickle every once in awhile, but I certainly wouldn't consider myself to be an afficianado of the briny vegetable. My fiance, however, is another story. He is mildly obsessed with pickles and demands a jar of the bumpy green things live in the back corner of the fridge at all times. Heaven help us the day he needs a fix and the pickle jar is empty. Sometimes I think it would be easier if he mainlined pickle juice instead of wasting precious minutes actually chewing his food. So, you can imagine how tickled he was when the character who owns the small-town sandwich shop goes on a pickle rant in front of a customer, chastising her for choosing a type of pickle for her sammy that was clearly an abomination in the eyes of pickle-lovers everywhere.

4. Faking orgasm. Nora Ephron (R.I.P.) wrote what is probably the most famous film scene in history about women faking orgasm in her masterpiece "When Harry Met Sally", but it wasn't until you sat down to scribe "Five Year Engagement" that the world would glimpse the truth about men faking orgasms. In an awkwardly hilarious bedroom scene your character, Tom, is not particularly enamored with Violet, his fiance, despite the fact that his nether parts are doing the nasty dance with hers (oh, the things we do for the people we love). Their normal passion and playfulness has been replaced by a dreadful feeling of sex-as-drudgery and it is vividly clear to the audience that neither half of the charming couple is enjoying themselves. In order to get the whole sweaty mess over with Tom pretends to have an orgasm, jumps out of bed when he's "done" and ambles off to the bathroom, but not before disclosing his dirty little secret - it was all an act! After both cringing and guffawing through this scene I realized I had once had a conversation with my (other) best friend Steve about the possibility of a man successfully faking climax. It was an enlightening chat and I always thought it'd make great material for a romantic comedy. I guess I need a new plan now that you've stolen my thunder, Jason.

5. Walking the aisle. I hate to spoil the end of "Five Year Engagement" for all ten of my dedicated readers who missed out on such an endearing and authentic portrayal of 30-something love, but I can't, in good conscience, wrap up this post without mentioning Tom and Violet's walk down the aisle. After five extremely trying years, our lovebirds decide to have a semi-impromptu ceremony in a beautiful park. Tom picks a band from the two Violet have lined up, they both change into fancy duds behind sheets held up by family members, and then joyfully clasp hands and walk down a grassy aisle toward their future. Since I see myself as an independent gal who doesn't put much stake in wedding traditions I have chosen to forego the whole  "being given away by my father" thing and instead walk down the aisle, hand in hand, with the love of my life. I know Tom and Violet would approve of the offbeat wedding we've planned (and I bet you would too, Jason, if you had been wise enough to befriend me ages ago and snag an invite). Perhaps by the time you're ready to get hitched you will have come to your senses, and I will be grinning like an idiot as you vow to spend the rest of your life with a very lucky lady...after walking down the aisle together, of course.

Reason 297

Totally engaged. It has been said, especially of Hollywood wheeling and dealing, that timing is everything. Well, Mr. Segel, three weeks ago I sang my heart out in front of a bunch of strangers, gave a bumbling but charming speech, and then proposed marriage to my incredible boyfriend of ten months, Lewis. You can pick your jaw up off the floor now. He, of course, said yes, although it did take some encouragement to get him up on stage. Hmm, maybe that isn't a good sign. Won't dwell on that little detail. When my future fiance finally arrived at my side I slipped a swanky handmade LEGO ring halfway down his finger (the man has some meaty hands) and then made out with him a bit too gratuitously, considering my parents were in the audience. We noshed on some delicious cupcakes, retreated to our booth in the front row, and basked in the nauseating glow of love the rest of the evening. A bit later we got back on stage to perform "Life's a Happy Song", replete with Kermit headgear, the perfect end to a perfect proposal. You're probably wondering, Jason, how the aforementioned romantic shenanigans support my years-long quest to be your bestie. To that I say, isn't it obvious? You and the lovely Emily Blunt made a film last year called "The 5 Year Engagement" which opens nationwide in just a few weeks on April 27. Now, I'm not saying that I planned my brilliant proposal to coincide with the release of a romantic comedy about my BFF being engaged for a bazillion years, but it does seem a wee bit fishy. See how supportive I am of your career, Jason? Or are you being supportive of my pivotal life moments? I think my brain just exploded a little bit. Whichever the case may be, you can count on me to drop release date info into any conversation I have about my engagement from here on out. I'll promote the taffeta and tulle out of your movie, and I won't even expect you to mention my engagement at all the press conferences you're sure to slog through (although a congratulatory phone call or email wouldn't be frowned upon). I hope the film has a very long run...but I hope Lewis and I have a longer one. Cheers!

Reason 296

Public humiliation. Despite being a bit fanatical about music I opted out of watching last night’s Grammy awards so I could correct piles of homework while enjoying the sweat and tears of fat people on NBC who are battling it out for a cash prize, confetti falling from the ceiling, and a body that appears overly tanned and a bit too gaunt for my taste. God, how I adore reality TV. I did, however, catch a handful of performances as well as one brief acceptance speech by that cheeky lady from across the pond who has worked everyone into a thither with her melodic album chronicling the heartbreak caused by a man who did her wrong (and, let’s be honest, the man was most likely British and suffered from poor dental hygiene, so she’s better off). No, I’m not talking about Susan Boyle, although I bet she’s cheeky in her own right. Your ubiquitous co-star, Mr. Neil Patrick Harris, presented a humble Adele with the award for Song of the Year and, while she was the picture of class in a chic black dress as she sailed up the stairs to the stage, the moment was shattered when she faced the audience and started chomping away on a piece of gum. Gum! Poor Adele looked like a cow who’d been slipped a plug of chocolate-flavored cud, masticating away, her face contorting in ecstasy as she savored her moment in the spotlight. You can bet your sweet bippy, Jason, that if you are ever nominated for any kind of award, whether it be for Best Chest Hair in a Summer Teen Comedy or the GD Nobel Prize, I will discreetly remind you to spit out your gum, even if that means into my very own hand, before you run screaming up to the podium to nab your statue and do a joyous end zone dance. As much as I adore Adele’s soaring voice and feel akin to her because we are both members of the Chubby Lady Club, I can’t get past her very public gum faux pas, and I would hate to think that one day some fan of yours would be scarred for life because of a similar debacle that could have been prevented if only you and I were friends, Jason Segel. Sheesh.

Reason 295

Missed opportunities. I know I've mentioned it before, but Seattleites are crazy about movies, most likely because it's dark and wet here a significant portion of the year and we'd much rather cozy up to a loved one in a dim theater than spend time in the elements, encouraging moss to grow in our nooks and crannies. It turns out there's also a plethora of Muppets fans (not pinatas) in the Emerald City, as indicated by the Jim Henson retrospective the Seattle International Film Festival organization held throughout the month of November. The Muppet trifecta of films (the original, The Great Muppet Caper and Muppets Take Manhattan, for those who need to brush up on their fuzzy puppet studies) was screened a couple times, there was a Labyrinth quote-along with sock puppetry shenanigans in the lobby, several collections of Henson shorts were rolled - basically, it was heaven for geeks like us, Jason, who never outgrew their love of Kermit and the gang. Alas, I am pained to admit I didn't soak up any of Henson's cinematic glory because I didn't have a die-hard friend to accompany me. Sure, my loving boyfriend offered to sit through Muppets Take Manhattan, my personal favorite, but humming along to "Together Again" while he rolled his eyes at me just isn't my cup of tea. My brother tried to get me to take my nieces to a showing of something, anything, just so he'd have some peace and quiet, but juggling the needs of an easily distracted 5 year old and an almost-3 year old who wants to touch everything and everyone isn't my idea of a fun Saturday afternoon; at least not if we're out in public. So, when all is said and done, I missed out on a few little slices of childlike giddiness all because you haven't taken it upon yourself to drop me an email or stalk me on Facebook or send a carrier pigeon my way. Think of all the other amazing things we'd enjoy together if only you'd worship at the Temple of Sarah. Sigh. Friends or not, Jason Segel, if SIFF screens a bunch of guilty pleasure 80's flicks like Teen Witch and The Monster Squad some weekend you can bet your sweet bippy that I'll be at the box office when it opens. Some opportunities simply can't be squandered.

Reason 294

Musical genius. Ok, I may not be a prodigy like Beethoven or some dancing 3 year-old on YouTube, but I do have a pretty good ear and my familiarity with popular music, especially from the 60’s-80’s, teeters on the edge of ridiculousness. Last night I was reminded of why this seemingly useless skill may come in handy one day (other than at those parties when I am motivated to kick complete ass at Cranium and musical Catch Phrase). My boyfriend and I, after watching the classic Steve Guttenberg/Ally Sheedy movie Short Circuit last week, decided our lives would not be complete until we’d spent 90 minutes of our Sunday evening viewing the sequel, aptly named Short Circuit 2. Yep, movie producers were pretty creative back in the day. Anyhoo, the scene from that little cinematic gem that always stood out to me is when Fisher Stevens and Michael McKean are trapped in the freezer at a Chinese restaurant and manage to communicate with the leading lady’s answering machine through a series of keypad beeps strung together to resemble ditties from the 50’s and 60’s. They start with “Help Me Rhonda” to alert the heroine that they are in danger of losing appendages to frostbite, and then tap into America’s “directional songbook” with tunes likes “Broadway” and “Dock of the Bay” (go to Broadway and then drive toward the Hudson docks, obviously). The first time I watched this sequence I thought it was brilliant and twenty+ years later my opinion hasn’t changed much. Yes, I know I am easily impressed. An hour after watching Johnny 5 gain US citizenship, I drifted off to dreamland with visions of you, Jason, kidnapped by nefarious, Muppet-hating villains with only an old-fashioned telephone keypad at your disposal so you could tap out a musical Morse code into my voicemail box. Being the musical genius that I am I would immediately recognize the opening strains of “Help!” by the Beatles and race off to rescue you before those evildoers forced you to watch as they tore off Kermit’s fuzzy limbs. See, it pays to be my friend, Mr. Segel, if only it means you’ll sleep soundly each night, confident that I’ll accurately interpret the chorus of “Build Me Up, Buttercup” as “I’m trapped at the nearest nursery. Save me!” Just don’t send “Witch Doctor” over the telephone lines; “ooh eeh ooh ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang” would have me completely flummoxed.

Reason 293

Wildlife Safety. In the last month or so I've read several news stories about not-so-smart humans having disastrous encounters with our ursine brethren. I'm not sure why Yogi and his clan have suddenly become hungry for human flesh (perhaps it has something to do with people destroying their beautiful, tree-filled habitats), but I'm fairly confident, Jason, that if you and I ever frolicked through a meadow in bear country, we would be just fine. How can I be so certain? Well, for one thing I'm intelligent enough not to leave delectable morsels next to my car/tent/bicycle or slather my luscious body with honey (heaven forbid Winnie the Pooh track me down and lick me from head to toe). I was a Girl Scout once upon a time, so I know to hang food from tree branches (or extremely tall older brothers), out of reach from a grizzly's razor-sharp claws. Also, armed with the knowledge that mosquitoes aren't partial to my blood, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't taste good to a bear either. He would probably take a chunk out of my meaty thigh, spit my flesh out in distaste, and amble off in the opposite direction, warning his friends not to bother with the gamy, two-legged creature hanging out with every bear's favorite movie star. This past July I spent a week in Whistler, B.C., where I encountered twelve adorable brown bears, one of them from about 50 feet away during a morning jog. None of them seemed the least bit interested in me...much to my disappointment. Lastly, I grew up watching old Disney live-action films like The Parent Trap, and if those precocious twins taught me anything it's that bears simply detest the sound of two sticks banging together (especially when created by a gold digging, sour-faced socialite who would clearly make a frightful stepmother). All in all I think it's pretty clear you have no reason to fear a bear attack once we're friends. Unfortunately, Jason, I can't say the same if we're hanging out in Seattle's gay neighborhood and a different kind of bear catches your scent. You're on your own for that one.