I Can't Be Tamed.

Where were you when you were 13? Who were you listening to on the radio? What show did you have to see on TV? Who did you try to emulate when you walked out of the mall?

Let's see... Well, I was in 7th grade. I was a Sonny & Cher fan. I loved Sheryl Crow and the Cranberries. I also owned a lot of showtunes. I generally watched shows like "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" and "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" My style of choice probably most closely represented anyone that was stuck in t-shirts and jeans. Maybe sort of "Freaks and Geeks" without my having ever watched the shows at the point.

I'm kind of scared when I think about most girls at this age today.

They've got this:


(Miley Cyrus)

And... umm... this:


(Taylor Momsen)

I have managed to position myself in this teen world by default thanks to my Disney Channel influenced way of life. I've seen many of these idols in concert: Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Jonas Brothers, Jordin Sparks, Taylor Swift... The list goes on. I watch "Wizards of Waverly Place," "JONAS LA," "Good Luck, Charlies," etc. But what continues to baffle me is why, when I go out of my house, I constantly spot girls that would rather look like Miley than, say, Selena Gomez.



They may wear their fun homemade t-shirts while running around the concert venues, but they pair them with shorts so short that would still be considered summer wear with five inches added to the hem. The worst thing is that they're accompanied by parents. I don't know about you, but there is no way I would've been allowed out of my house in such attire, let alone have been taken out looking like that while under the supposedly watchful eye of parental guidance. Though modesty has sort of been instilled in me, and I owned maybe own or two shirts that my mom asked me to change, but I could never imagine being part of the skin baring contest that comes along with having the word "teen" at the end of your age.

I'm aware that there is a Britney Spears for every generation. During the summer of 2004, my parents owned a business at the Jersey shore. During my time there, I worked with a guy that had recently graduated high school. Most of the time we worked together, our conversation revolved around the appalling nature of youngins that were spotted walking up and down the boardwalk in extremely short skirts and skimpy tops. He estimated the average age of these girls at 13, meaning plenty were younger. I am 100% certain that his negative comments were not purely for my benefit. Recently, a family friend spoke of not wanting to spend time on that very same boardwalk watching the teens and tweens shake it for the world to see.

I've always thought that there is an unfortunate double-edged sword that comes along with this subject. Whose job is it to make the decision? While in high school, I was very much a Britney and Christina fan. I made the choice to walk down the hallways of high school looking like the farthest thing from a Rolling Stone cover.

So, now I ask, where does the responsibility lie? Does this all mean that Miley needs to wear the Hannah wig forever and pull on jeans instead of the booty shorts (and where are HER parents? A different blog entirely.)? You'd think someone in her position should bare the weight of social responsibility, but the idea that she - and idols like her - be considered active and productive role models can't be required. Instead, it should simply be thought of as a good idea.

And, hey, is Taylor Momsen in your house holding you hostage? Does she flip magazine pages in front of your kid and supply her with the funds to dress just like Gossip Girl demands? How is it fair to place all the blame on those entertainers or performers that profit from the allowance dollars parents hand their children?

Though I'm not yet a parent, and I don't plan on being one for some time, I recognize that for every Mandy Moore there is a Lady Gaga, and for every Jonas Brother there is an Adam Lambert. They may not all wear purity rings and mouse ears. The next time you see something you don't like, flip the station, change the channel, or have a conversation. You may not be able to tame Miley, but let's hope more people have success teaching their children to tame themselves.

(Sidenote - my blogging site timed out during my first draft, freezing the save function. I did my best to recreate my own words of wisdom halfway through the entry, but it's hard to do that twice.)

"I'm wired a different way."

Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you.

The art of the hug.

How often are you given the opportunity to hug someone? Once a day? Every other week? Do you take the chance, or is it an awkward encounter you'd rather not experience?



Over the last few years, I've had a lot of new people in my life. I've also traveled back and forth from an old home to a new one, therefore reconnecting and visiting with so many people I've known in one capacity or another. In doing so, I've become very aware of the embrace of a hug - friendly, passionate, or otherwise.



Let's be honest - a hug may not hold a lot of value for some and pales in comparison to the kiss for many. But it is a step up from a handshake and miles away from a wave. I think my first experience with "hug shock," as I'll call it, came while living in Miami during my first year of college. I became friends with a group of guys native to the locale and its culture. The idea of hugging these guys I didn't know simply upon meeting was slightly jarring. Most of them topped it off with a peck on the cheek to boot. Uh, hello? Personal space? It took a while for the hug shock to wear off. I remember before introducing these same friends to a New Jersey friend, I felt compelled to warn her about the greeting. After receiving multiple hugs and kisses, she was taken by surprise.

Yet, after a while, there was something comfortable and sweet in that meeting or parting. More importantly, it was genuine and kind. Quickly, I built up a comfort level in the ways of the hug.



A couple years ago, I had a friend visit me in LA. Though we weren't anywhere near best friends, we had - at that point - known each other for a long time. When she hugged me to say goodbye, I got the feeling that she just didn't care. Have you ever hugged a person that attempts to keep six inches of space between you? It's like the 8th grade dance version of a hug. Germaphobe or not, it's entirely weird. There need not be love, romantic or platonic... simply the notion that you care about a person.

During my time in LA, I was obviously far away from my own family and welcomed into that of my sister-in-law (first time I'm saying that - AH!). It was so nice to have hugs from parents and grandparents that already offered me a place in their home when I was missing my own. I call hugs like theirs real hugs. No hug shock, no tape measure perfecting a distance, no boney arms strangely resting on your back. A real, honest to god hug is often much more important than you realize. For me, it offers support, and it feels like home.

So, after a weekend of wedding celebration, I'm left sitting here, once again analyzing my theory of hug shock. I hugged a lot of people and - surprisingly - shook fewer hands. Maybe it was something about the occasion or possibly it was that there was something so real and kind about this group of (mostly) California people. From the family I've known all my life to the couple's friends that I had just met, these hugs were real and honest... and felt like home. No hug shock to be found.

Maybe you're not a hugger. Don't bother. If you'd rather keep someone at arm's length, offer a handshake instead. A hug shouldn't be fleeting or obligated. You should care. And, if you don't, go nurse your hug shock somewhere else.

"Above all, I want these arms about you."

Lend me you ear, and I'll sing you a song. I will try not to sing out of key.

Ladies and gentlemen, my big brother is getting married. After just under a year of being engaged and over five years of a relationship, my 29 year-old brother will be walking down the aisle to marry Michelle. I can't believe it.

This entry is about Jared. :-)

I can easily say that Jared and I have always been close. Don't get me wrong; we had our moments. There was that time he chased me around the house with scissors and used the intercom to tell me he was Freddy Kruger and killed my brother. Or, there was that trip to Vegas when I wouldn't give him back his Ben Fold Five CD, so he pushed me into the wall. Who could forget his interest in WWF and the need to try the Undertaker's moves on me? I also remember how I thought it was funny to try to dig my nails into his arm when we were stuck in the back of the car heading to NY. Then there were the times that he was jamming with friends on guitar, and I begged to listen, forcing myself into a little corner of the room.

Yet, for every time we annoyed the crap out of each other, there were also moments of brilliance. Haha. I remember writing scripts with our neighborhood friends to film our own skits (we'll briefly forgive Jared for TAPING OVER ALL OF IT) or perform medleys in the family room. We were also very creative at coming up with games to play on our many road trips. For some reason, we decided that it was fun to play "hotel" and pretended to be working at registration desks, using our pillows as imaginary computers. To this day we have no idea why that was entertaining.

Jared and I are different in a lot of ways. He has an unfailing respect for art - music, film, fiction - and his highly formed opinions have always interested me, even if the specific subject matter is not my taste. He's Johnny Cash and John Williams. I'm Elvis Presley and Taylor Swift. He's Robin Hood (the Disney Version) and Ed Wood. I'm Lilo & Stitch and Almost Famous. But I think about how many times we have been able to share a common interest and how I'm never thinking about how I wish I could have a better relationship with my sibling. When Jared went with me to see the film version of Mamma Mia (it was my second viewing), I remember being so happy to hear him laugh at the same moments and find he actually enjoyed something I already loved so much. And years before, following a discussion of "Fraggle Rock," I talked about how great it would be if they made stuffed animals of the little characters called Doozers. The next day, my brother came home from work with something that had just arrived in stock - my very own Doozer. Over the years, we've seen countless Broadway shows together and have discussed strengths and weaknesses of each. Again, he's Sweeney Todd. I'm Hairspray. What we would be if not different and yet the same?

When I think about my brother, I'm reminded of some of the worst moments too. Those times only include when I've had to say goodbye. Leaving him before heading to Miami for school was terrible, and walking away in southern California (not once, but twice) was equally difficult. However, just knowing Jared is a phone call away makes me smile. It was Jared that took me in a large circle, driving around Los Angeles on my first weekend as a resident, and, in a couple of days, it will again be Jared that drives me around LA, this time visiting some of the places that I've missed sharing with him (yes, even when I drag him to Fred Segal). We'll recall inside jokes, that we have completely forgotten how they came to be, and we'll definitely be playing some Rock Band, hoping to get through another difficult track.

I'm looking forward to standing next to him as he gets married. I'll be the Best (Wo)man for the best friend I could ever have. It's true you can't pick your relatives, but I'm damn glad he has been there for me.




"All I need is my buddy."

All the women who're independent...

Forgive me, but I've been having a Carrie Bradshaw/Bridget Jones couple of days. This means rhetorical questions and blasting smug marrieds in favor of the proud singletons.

I wonder if it is ever completely acceptable to be that lone person, the single one that has no steady mate, live-in love, or legal spouse. Even those two very characteristically single women Carrie and Bridget were on an endless quest for some unconditional love that would come from a person in place of a pair of fancy shoes or a leather-bound journal. Endless TV shows, movies, and novels showcase the same journey. So, what happens to those of us in the real world that constantly find ourselves the one missing a half at group dinners or get-togethers? Are we expected to find friends to accompany us? Or do we simply give in to the fact that we're the extra wheel, the lone ranger?

Think about the one and only Mary Richards, as portrayed by Mary Tyler Moore. When (the fictional) Mary began her journey as we knew it on TV, she was dealing with a broken engagement and trying her best to move on, into her own life, sans significant other. As luck would have it, Mary found herself befriended by another singleton, Rhoda Morgenstern. Both women, successful and happy (eh, Rhoda, not always), managed to somehow find their careers ultimately more important than the men they dated... though Rhoda eventually married on her own show, the character did get divorced. Both women were not without their trips and falls through romance, but over the course of both show runs, they managed to gain more in life that, though it could not take the place of a partner in crime, became enough to satisfy them personally.

Why don't we see more of them? Is it entirely impossible for most people to accept that life minus Mr. Big or Mark Darcy can be worthwhile? With every column and book published, Carrie became increasingly more envious of the lives of smug marrieds. I guess all the Manolos in her closet would never be enough of a measure of success.

And here's another take on the issue... Carrie desperately wanted to be married (NOTE - I have not seen the second movie, so keep that in mind). Is a relationship not validated if both people are without rings? Think about the forms you fill out in a medical office. Check one: Married, Single. Well, if you aren't married, but you don't consider yourself single, there is a dilemma. Does anyone check single and then add a little blurb that says, "We've been living together for five years, and he hasn't proposed, but we are very much together. I sure as hell hope he doesn't say he's single"? I highly doubt it. So then if you're not single and you're not married... where do you fall? Ah, nowhere land. Join us singletons.



Simply put, there shouldn't be a stigma, but there is. If you're a strong, single woman, you're probably considered a bitch. If you're with someone that hasn't given you a diamond, you're probably thought a fool. Next time you worry about your status, or your event guest, or your loneliness, channel Mary Richards and not Bridget Jones. Life isn't about the person next to you on the couch, even though having someone there is nice. And, do yourself a favor, don't curse the one who's got the title. There's a very good chance that Carrie was once a Rhoda.

"The rock I'm rockin' I bought it. 'Cause I depend on me."

All the counselors hate the waiters. And the lake has alligators.

With my blogging buddy Eric (http://ericmathew.blogspot.com/) off at his old overnight camp for the week, I started thinking about my own time at camp. Though two of my very favorite movies - Indian Summer & Camp Nowhere - revolve entirely around the world of the true camp experience, I have to say I hated it. Even thought "Salute Your Shorts" has always been highly entertaining, I was not a fan of being away from home for anywhere from 3-6 weeks.

My first summer away from home was in 1992. I was eight. You think my parents wanted to get rid of me? Well, at least I wasn't five like my dad was when he spent his first summer at Camp Mayfair. My parents sent my brother and I to Camp Saginaw in the mountains of Pennsylvania. It was, as most, a typically Jewish overnight camp with many kids from the Philadelphia suburbs. There were Friday night services and forced athletic activities. Not exactly my thing, even at eight years old. I remember the horror of swimming in the lake and my utter disappointment at my mom for making me let my recently pierced ears close up just because I would be away from home. I can still picture the bunk and the bathroom. Oh god, a nightmare. Color War was the camp Olympics, and I remember singing some form of "La Cucaracha" to represent our fight song as Spain. For that summer, and the following one, there wasn't too much I really enjoyed about being away from home. For my brother, who was 11 and 12 at the time, there was a lot of trouble. The camp didn't exactly take care of the problems in the upper bunks, and, after two years at Saginaw, we moved on.



Our parents did a lot of research on camps. We often received brochures and videos from various places. This time, there were a few different camps they explored in upstate New York. Because my brother and I were both very into performing arts and music, it seemed going in a different direction was the answer. Again, I hated going, but knowing my brother was around made the summers a little easier. This time, we were bound for French Woods Festival of the Performing Arts in Hancock, NY. What's funny to me now is that the video we were sent featured an Entertainment Tonight clip about the camp. Who would've thought?

Over the years, French Woods was home to plenty of notable alumni including Jon Favreau, Adam Levine (Maroon5), Zooey Deschanel, and David Blaine. None of this information - had I known who these people were then - could have made my experience any more enjoyable. I was 100% that kid that wrote letters home stating things like, "I hate this place. Come get me. I don't like anyone." Though I made friends with kids in the bunk, I dreaded visiting day because it only meant my parents would leave me there all over again. My homesickness was such that I couldn't wait in those lines to speak to my parents once phone calls were allowed. My brother was given a list of things I wanted him to tell them, and that was it. My communication with anyone was left to letters and the occasional care package.

For three weeks one summer and six weeks the following two summers, I spent most of my time rehearsing for various musicals - Nightmare Before Christmas, Redhead, Starting Here Starting Now (worst crap I've ever heard in my life) - and sitting by a pottery wheel. I ended up with weird craft items like needlepoint pillows, woodcarving names, and leather bracelets I stamped. Though I took my swim test every year, I couldn't bring myself to swim in the lake and usually spent swim activity time sitting on the grassy hill. I rarely went to canteen at night to get junk food and instead chose to return to the bunk and take the longest shower possible while no one was around. Luckily the theatre kids' version of Color War was something called SING, a vocal competition, and the camp had activities like Rock Band concerts and circus performances. While it all sounds fun and completely entertaining to me now, I never ever wanted to go back there by choice.

After three summers are French Woods, I was to return for a six week session all by myself when my brother decided not to go. Figuring I'd rather stay home for the summer heading into 8th grade, I was no longer an overnight camper. When I went to see a bunch of my friends perform in Summer Theatre's "Schoolhouse Rock," the 1998 summer was already decided... And then came Godspell. Oh, the memories.

I often vow to my mom that I will never send my kids away to camp. When you think about it, I went to camp and hated it. I went to school in Miami and moved back. I moved to Los Angeles and returned after a while. I guess it really is true that home will be where the heart is. And where my heart is, is where my parents are.

"Camp is very entertaining, and they say we'll have some run if it stops raining."

Here I am. Signed, sealed, delivered. I'm yours.

Two days ago my friend was telling me about his trouble with a hacked Facebook account. In a message he posted on his profile before deactivating, he encouraged his friends to contact him in other ways and even stated the possibility of going "old school" and writing an actual letter. Since he mentioned it, I've been thinking about the lost art of letter writing. E-mails not included.

Like most people, I have always enjoyed getting what so many of us now call snail mail. Letters delivered by post that arrive in that box at the end of the driveway (apartment lobby, free-standing box on a property) bring with them a sense of excitement. Nowadays it seems that the only things that arrive that way are bills and junk that gets thrown into the trash. And unfortunately most event invitations have been transformed into Facebook events or e-vites. The day I see a wedding invitation in my inbox I think I'll cry. So why is it that people have stopped communicating almost completely through such a time-honored means?

With so many things, there is the need for instant gratification. When I worked at a desk job, I almost never even needed to pick up the phone. Inter-office communicating was so fast through e-mail that sometimes it was just easier to avoid actually speaking to a person. I wonder if students in elementary school are still taught the process of actually handwriting or typing a physical letter that requires a stamp to be delivered. I remember pen pal programs with other schools. The teachers would collect all the letters from one class and send them off. A few weeks later, we would all receive a response. Do kids have e-mail pen pals now? How uneventful. We were also taught how to write business letters. Kids would pick a product or a company and draft a letter of complaint or congrats to be sent to a place like Nabisco or Proctor and Gamble. Usually the answer came in some form of coupon, maybe for things like dish soap, things a fifth grader didn't need. But still, the idea of waiting for that return letter in the mailbox made it so much more exciting.

I miss letters. I miss getting real mail so much so that a few years ago when I was part of a fan network for a group that shall remain nameless (no, not Jonas Brothers), someone organized a pen pal system, and I exchanged addresses with fellow fans. The object was to physically mail letters and receive ones in return, simple. It was fun to get to know someone that I had something in common with through what is now considered an archaic form of communication. Writing the perfect letter takes skill and patience. There's no unsend option, and there's no retract a message form. Maybe that's the problem for people. Once it's out there, the process is completely irreversible. No backspace, no delete, no immediate apology. You've said it. It's done.

Today, I maintain the fact that the actual letter appearing in someone's pile of mail is far more effective than a quickly typed message. After a poor flying experience with Southwest Airlines, my brother and I both wrote complaint letters. With my apparent skill, I received a phone call and $400 in flight vouchers. Recently, I crafted a letter to Cunard Cruiselines following my parents' disappointing trip. They were given $1000 in on board credit. I promise you, it is not the same when you simply send off an e-mail.

In the drawer of my desk, I still have a letter my friend Ari sent to me (on 'N Sync stationery) back in high school. Even though we saw each other almost every day and spent that summer officially stuck in her house or mine, the random letter made me smile. Guaranteed, if it had been sent in any other way, I wouldn't still have it, and it wouldn't have meant as much.

All this being said, I would love to start the letter writing process and find some sort of pen pal somewhere. As long as no one sends me chain letters. I always hated those things...

"Ooo-eee, babe, you set my soul on fire. Now I know you're my heart's only desire."

Now I gotta cut loose. Footloose.

This morning, I signed on to Twitter, and I was met with words that mark the end of an era. At the end of the new season of "Entertainment Tonight" (its 30th), host Mary Hart will leave the show. As host of the number one entertainment news magazine, Hart, for me, remains one of the very few credible people in this area of journalism. In her absence, ET will seriously be missing a television icon. A celebrity in her own right, Hart leaves the show with a gaping hole.



For 2 and 1/2 years, I was an employee of ET and The Insider. My time spent with both productions is something I think about and smile. Joey Fatone. Jeremy Piven. Jonas Brothers. As with any job come the daily gripes, but I can honestly say, working there was a dream come true, and I ultimately made the changes I saw necessary for myself. I guess it does sound silly to say this job was a dream one because, for most of my friends and former colleagues, it's common knowledge that I grew extremely tired of my day-to-day work, and the only light I began to see was working with interns. In addition, my dreams never included petty cash and timecards. That being said, I do believe it's hard to realize some of your dreams are coming true until after the experience has passed.

When I was 13, I was vacationing in Los Angeles with my family. We discovered that the Sunday night of our stay was also the night the Hollywood Foreign Press Association would be holding the annual Golden Globe Awards at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. Not knowing what to expect, my parents and I made our way over to the venue and joined some fans on the top of a two-level parking structure at the entrance to the red carpet. Back in 1997 the event was a lot smaller than it is today. There weren't huge grandstands for fans, and the media attention was much less. Still, it was a Hollywood award show, and it was fascinating. I remember using a hotel notepad to remember all the people I saw. I can still see Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman holding hands and Madonna with Carlos Leon, just months after having her daughter.

My parents did their research, and the following year - and many after, we became red carpet spectators. The Golden Globes always fall around my birthday, and I still smile thinking about the trips to Melrose to pick out a new pair of Doc Marten boots. Over the years, I collected numerous photos and autographs. Some of my favorites being Angelina Jolie, Johnny Depp, and Elijah Wood (oh, now that's a story...). However one memory in particular became a guiding force and what I thought was a very far off dream. With my family, I walked around the Paramount lot on a tour of the only major studio with its facilities still located in Hollywood. I remember the stories of Lucille Ball and the parking lot/water tank. I visited the ET set. This was 1998.

At the time, I had a friend whose dad worked in publicity for Paramount. When I visited her at her mom's Dreamworks office, she gave me a press kit for A Very Brady Sequel. At that moment, I decided I was going to work in movie publicity for Paramount and would drive through those famed gates every day.

Year after year of Golden Globe going and moving up through high school and college, I solidified my desire to be an entertainment publicist. Not only would I be working at Paramount, I told myself, one day I would be working on the red carpet. In January 2006, I spent the day prior to the Golden Globes in the Beverly Hilton with my parents. Before I left to start my final semester of college I told them that the following year I would be working there.

I spent my last summer at home waiting tables and saving money for the "Emily Goes to California Fund." As luck would have it, my parents, who were on a cruise, found themselves seated next to ET executive producer Linda Bell Blue. Sparing you all the details, I can simply say that the rest is history. Suddenly, I walked past that park named for Lucille Ball every day, and I would pass by the sky backdrop and water tank whenever we felt like taking a walk. I remember standing on ET's Paramount soundstage watching a clip that was going to be used to the Broadcasting and Cable Hall of Fame. The brief video included so many red carpet years that I was a part of in a very different way. It was really corny, but I was totally welling up with tears. Mary Hart wasn't just walking down the carpet, she was standing right in front of me. And in January of 2007, I was on the Golden Globe red carpet but on the press side this time.





With Hart gone, I can only wonder what will happen to the program. A genuinely kind person who would hold open doors or greet anyone that passed her by, she is a true star, with caliber greater than some of those she has interviewed over the years. Unlike many of her competitors, she doesn't produce an air of believing she is just as great or greater than the person of whom she asks questions. There's no need to pretend she's best friends with Harrison Ford or Julia Roberts because when you're Mary Hart, people respect you. Many speculate that "The Insider" host Lara Spencer will get the gig, but as a current Washington Post article states, Hart is simply irreplaceable. While I'm not so secretly hoping that ET brings Jann Carl back, I can't even imagine Spencer in the position. She just can't compare.

This truly marks the end of a television era. Let's hope they bring John Tesh for the goodbye. :-)

"I get this feeling that time's just holding me down."
A very special video for you today. A Mary Hart classic.

I Wanna Love You Forever

And they lived happily ever after...

If you watch ABC's version of the search for true - television - love, you already know by now that Ali Fedotowsky picked Roberto Martinez to be the last man kneeling with a gorgeous Neil Lane sparkler. As I wrote previously, though many speculated the season finale would conclude with Ali standing alone, she did in fact choose the guy that I picked from the very first night they met.

It was in those two hours that Ali introduced both upstanding men to her family. While her father felt that Roberto was the better pick, Ali's mom, brother, and sister all sided with me in their admiration for Chris. I can't say I wasn't completely heartbroken for Chris when Ali decided to let him go at the start of what was to be their final date. When she entered his beautiful suite in Bora Bora, Ali spoke a mile a minute, clearly signifying her nervous desire to send him home. I truly think that over the course of this season, the bachelorette redeemed herself and proved to be a genuinely nice person with a good heart. Her previous stabs at Vienna maybe only signified a competitive spirit and the need to win. Through her own process, Ali became likable, minus that horrifying laugh, and I found myself pulling for her.

So what happens now? Is it possible that the road to love can be this easy? Picture yourself the one person in a room of 25 admirers all told they are in this place to vie for your affections. Undoubtedly the circumstance becomes intoxicating, and you're likely to discover that at least one person there has feelings for you. But are they there just to win? In truth, it's a competition, and the goal - at every rose ceremony - is to be given the go-ahead to the next round. Can it be real at all? While former bachelorette Trista Sutter has been married to her pick for the final rose since 2003, most of these supposedly real TV romances have faltered. What seems to be all happiness and romance after that last episode can quickly fall prey to gossip magazines and red carpet photographs.

Now, the American public waits. Will the engagement ring be returned to the production? Or will Ali and Roberto walk down the aisle with millions watching?

And what happens to my poor Chris? Ah, Chris...

"You set my soul at ease. Chase darkness out of view."
1. Remember when Jessica Simpson could really sing?
2. Take a look at a young Ashlee Simpson.

Today I Met The Boy I'm Gonna Marry.

I watch "The Bachelorette." I wish I didn't, but I do. Over the last couple of seasons, it's sort of become a snowball, forcing me to watch Bachelor after Bachelorette on a quest for television true love. I didn't watch all of DeAnna's season, but I knew of Jason (and mistakenly liked him). I ended up watching his season of "The Bachelor," and, although I was a huge Melissa fan, I grew to really like Jillian. Of course, I then needed to see this Canadian's search for THE ONE. Well, enter Jake. A man of great honor, flying on the wings of love to that perfect woman.



I spent that horrible season rooting for Tenley though I didn't completely discount Vienna. If you follow pop culture at all, you know how well that turned out. Initially, I found something really sweet about Ali, the San Francisco resident and Massachusetts native who, at 25, wisely chose her career over a man. Yet along the way, Ali began to show her true colors, and those vibrant hues involved throwing Vienna under the bus. But with the season required "Women Tell All" special, Ali offered an apology and explained that she didn't know how horribly blunt she had been until she actually watched herself. Clearly, Ali was not taught, as I was, to think before speaking. A little ABC image rehab, and I was a guaranteed viewer for the next round of the show. I waited to watch Ali join a long list of people unsuccessful at attempting to find a life of love and happiness before millions of viewers. Not all of them have been as lucky as Trista. In fact, if you look at his road to marriage with Molly, Jason wasn't so roadblock free either.

I write this entry on the final night of Ali's go at hooking the perfect man into proposing with an ABC supplied diamond, secured from one of the most sought after Hollywood jewelers (of late, I do believe that honor has gone to Neil Lane). This season has been full of drama and - GASP - heartbreak, leaving our girl-next-door wondering whether or not anyone can ever love her back. Exit Justin "Rated R," and Frank, and that creepy guy Casey that sang to her (REPEATEDLY). Enter two guys that TV makes seem like perfect catches.

Let's begin with Roberto.



Pretty hot, right? Well, I'm smart, because I picked Roberto the very first night, even before Ali bestowed upon him the honorable First Impression Rose. Around Roberto, Ali seemed like a nervous high school girl, and it was obvious that she was completely interested in knowing him beyond the five minutes of chatting we see on TV. Fast-forward to the appearance in The Lion King in NYC and their date in Portugal, and now Roberto is one of two left standing. The former baseball player and very, very good-looking insurance salesman (blah), would easily be my pick for Ali's heart. Do not mistake me. He would not be MY pick.

Moving on to Chris. Oh, Chris...



I'd be lying if I said I picked him from the start. I did like him from the beginning, but it was my mom that immediately decided Chris was a contender. Over the course of group dates and one on one dates, I picked Chris for myself! Who could deny this guy? Completely a family man, and devoted to his mother that recently passed. Though Ali has claimed that her relationship with Chris was slow to develop, maybe he's a guy that's a little bit more normal and doesn't fall in love with a girl right away, just because the situation demands it. I have determined that Chris is perfect. But he's not perfect for Ali.

So, how does it end? A lot has been written about the fact that it's likely Ali did not make anyone feel obligated to propose to her at the end on some beautiful island. And if you look back over her heart to hearts with host Chris Harrison, it seems to make perfect sense that maybe after all the heartbreak, Ali just isn't ready to believe someone will commit fully to her. However, that being said, I think Roberto and Ali would make a good pair. Chris is ready to settle down right now, and Ali, well, she's still looking to have some fun. Did anyone else notice how tipsy she got in Iceland? The nervous laughter turned into drunken laughter...

Only about 30 minutes until it airs. To be continued...

"He smiled at me and the music started playing, here comes the bride when he walked through the door."
(Pardon the Disney video. I wasn't able to find footage of Darlene Love singing one of my all-time favorite songs.)

I gotta go back, back, back to school again.

Today, my friends, is a two-blog day.

After all the wedding business this morning, I took a trip to the mall. Suddenly, I was jealous that there will no longer be Back to School Shopping for me. You'd think this would have hit me earlier considering the fact that I've been out of college for four years and out of high school even longer, obviously. It's slightly scary to think about the fact that I went shopping for freshman year of high school in 1998. Um, how has it been that long? Where are the lockers? And the bookbags/backpacks? When did I last have a Trapper-Keeper?

For some reason, today, I decided that knowing I will never be shopping for those "impress your classmates" outfits until they are for my own children sort of upset me. Though I was never that kid who had a grandparent that gave her a dollar amount and took her into a mall, nor was I one of those Cherry Hill girls that walked out with armloads of jeans from Smith Bros, I do remember my mom taking my brother and me for a few new things, especially an outfit for the first day. A couple of weeks ago I was looking through old photo albums, and I was completely mortified by the things I thought were cool enough for that first day on the bus. Thankfully there are no first day photos from high school. I think we stopped that trend with sixth grade. However, cool or not, it was something I did every year. It is something kids all over the country do about this time. Now, they pick the skinniest jeans (both the girls and the boys, scandalous), the trendiest top, and the newest footwear. Don't you remember boys getting the newest Air Jordans or those weird sneakers with the pumps on them? What the hell was the point of that anyway?



Back to school shopping is sort of a rite of passage. You go from elementary school to middle school. Middle school to high school, and so on... For those that prolong the schooling experience, this yearly activity goes on and on. For the lucky ones that are teachers, something about Back to School Shopping still seems acceptable. New dresses. New shoes. New sweaters. Darn, I missed my calling. The one opportunity in life to excuse dropping a load of cash on all sorts of new wardrobe items. Why didn't someone include this memo when we took career tests in high school? Maybe I would have checked something more along the lines of educator instead of communications. Although, that test told me I'd be in advertising. Hmm... For most, you reach adulthood and the work world knowing that your parents will most likely never take you into the mall just to let you impress your friends. Be honest, we all know that's what it was really about.

Instead of walking into Abercrombie (and getting a headache from the cologne) or Gap with a blatant excuse for new duds, many - if not most - of us resort to buying new things as needed. We find a few seasonal staples, and we resign ourselves to spending money on things like rent, groceries, phone bills, etc. If you happen to work in a casual environment, like I did for a few years, new clothes are excused as work attire. If you're an office type, you get a new pair of slacks or a sensible pair of flats to go with last season's ensemble. Or, if you're like me and you work in a place with a uniform (white shirt, white apron, shitty jeans, non-skid shoes), you simply forget buying anything at all. Or, if you do, at least you know it will last a while because it will barely be worn.

Today I truly longed for any reason at all to say I needed some of the new clothes. And yesterday, in Staples, I wanted to buy a planner and notebooks just for the hell of it! What the hell do I need that for? Ah, right, I don't.

Anyone want to go back to school with me?

"You won't find me 'til the clock strikes three. I'm gonna be there 'til then."

I love you. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do...

Summer is wedding time. And now, at the age of 26, it seems the fever of people all around getting engaged, married, and, gulp, even having children gets closer and closer, bringing the realization of one's single life all the more present. Today, with the news of Chelsea Clinton's marriage - to a nice Jewish boy, mind you - I felt inspired to write about the prospect of getting married and the idea of knowing it's far off into the future.

I have a great group of friends. The number of those I'm extremely close with is small and perfectly so. Maybe that explains why this week I only just received my second invite to a friend's wedding (I must add, this invitation is absolutely the coolest thing I have ever seen... Words can't do it justice). And I'll be off to LA for my brother's wedding in just a few weeks. However, multiply my close circle of friends by the world of Facebook, and it seems as though I have been part of a number of weddings. I can't lie, and I'm sure you can't either, that you have not so secretly looked at wedding photos belonging to every person that is a social network friend. Even if you don't know the person getting married. If a friend (or acquaintance) even so much as attended one of these glorious affairs, you've seen the photos. One of my best friends and I have a terrible habit of sitting down at the computer and going through recent wedding photos we've each seen on the almighty stalking tool. We've dissected flower choice, hair style, venue quality, and - of course - dress decision.

"Why would anyone wear that? Or why would anyone even make that?!"

"It's pretty, but I don't think it does anything for her."

"Wow. That is incredible."

Every girl does it. I think it's the idea of living vicariously through someone else's occasion. And, for those of us, that don't have rings on our fingers - engagement or band - it's sort of a lesson of what to do and what not to do.

*Don't use brown anything.*



*Do pick dresses that look good on every girl.*


(NOTE: I do not know these people and have not-so-subtley hid their identities. I simply respect the bride's choice in dresses.)

Thanks to all those people that put up unprotected wedding photos, you almost don't need to buy bridal magazines.

Beyond Facebook, there is the beauty of wedding programs on TV. While being home sick from work, I have not only become completely obsessed by the aforementioned cake shows. I cannot turn off a wedding show. Unless of course it's "Bridezillas" because the idea that men would marry these women makes me sort of sick, and I'm horrified by the embarrassing nature of the program. However, give me "My Fair Wedding," "Girl Meets Gown," or "Say Yes to the Dress," and I'm in some serious trouble. "Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta"? Even bigger problem. I love watching the whole process of putting a wedding together, especially when it involves the KING of weddings, David Tutera, taking a Party City designed affair and turning it into an event worthy of the princess every bride claims she wants to be (me? Not so much... I'd like to look like a I'm going to a 1950s prom).

The industry of getting married is completely infectious. And I sit here writing this with no ring on my left hand. I actually will not even wear a ring on that hand because a friend's grandmother once told her it was bad luck. That day, I put the ring I wear everyday - and bought for myself - on my right hand. I'm not even superstitious, but I couldn't help it.

I have a few friends that are either engaged (YAY, SARA!) or pretty close to being in that position within the next couple of years. Me? Eh, nowhere near it. But that doesn't mean I can't fantasize about what it will be like for me. Hello??? That is what these reality shows are for... and now there's an entire network for it, Wedding Central. Those of you that know me, wouldn't even need to read this to know what my plans are for that big day somewhere off in the future. I've sat at my computer looking at vintage wedding dresses that look like they came right out of the prom scene in Back to the Future - Lorraine would be proud. I've also recently started telling my mom to not be surprised if my dress ends up being dyed in an ombre hot pink reminiscent of the one and only Gwen Stefani.



I mean, it is pretty perfect, and the lucky girl got to wear it twice - once in London, and once in Los Angeles (both times to Gavin, obviously).

And location? Well, that's easy. Though I've said that if I had all the money in the world to plan this fantasy wedding, it would be happening at Rosecliff in Newport, Rhode Island... The Gatsby Mansion, the truth is, nothing - and I do mean NOTHING, not even a resistant groom - could keep me from getting married at Walt Disney World. When I was in high school, we had to plan and budget a wedding as part of a health class project, and I sent away for all the Disney info. Yeah, well, that idea hasn't changed, though the specifics vary. Gazebo on the Boardwalk? Wedding Pavilion looking out at Cinderella's Castle? Just walking straight into the park, dressed and all? Eventually that will get figured out. They're just details, right?

Oh, and I'll find the guy too. Again, just a minor detail. :-)

"So come on let's try it. I love you, can't deny it."