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Good Movies

The other day I heard that screenwriters are about to go on strike. I found this to be very shocking because the lack of good movies out recently suggested to me that they were already on strike. That’s right George Clooney, you may be smart and sexy, but you’re not immune to imawkward.com/blog’s scrutiny.

The last movie that made me laugh, cry, and develop a sincere appreciation for unorthodox music was Juno, and that came out in December – over three months ago! Juno had likeable actors, a heartwarming plot, and quick witted dialogue with sass reminiscent of this very blog. 😉 It was a great movie.

After Juno, I saw The Savages. The Savages was about watching a man die. I wanted to kill everyone involved in the movie, most of all, however, the screenwriters who helped make such a film possible. I was also surprised the Big Man Upstairs would allow the public release of such a human disaster.

Sitting around and blogging about how bad movies have been recently isn’t constructive, however. I need to help.

Movies should have plots, or story lines. An hour and a half snapshot into a man’s life akin to Death of a Salesman is no longer innovative and compelling. Been there, seen that, hated it then, don’t like it more now.

Before we watch a movie, I ask, “Does this one have a plot?” and my boyfriend likes to slyly reply, “You’ll see.” Rather than find his answer charming and exciting, I am often annoyed and make note to reply with “You’ll see” to some question he asks down the road.

Example:

Him: Does this meal have cucumbers in it? I’m allergic.

Me: *sly smile* You’ll see.

Additionally, plots should be delightful. I’ve gone ahead and done a quick assessment of popular conflicts that drive plots:

Infidelity – boring.

Unwanted pregnancy – humorous

Spelling – inspiring

Immigration – culturally eye-opening

Sports – whatever

Teenagers and serial killers – disconcerting

Based on my above brainstorm, I think it has just become shockingly clear what the public wants –

A heartwarming tale of an immigrant, spelling-bee finalist who becomes impregnated. After some witty, accent-filled dialogue, and culture related conflict, the mother will decide to keep the baby, even though it could hinder her spelling bee victory. Hugh Grant should make an appearance as a blubbering guidance counselor trying to learn more about the young woman’s culture, as it will give him a chance to step outside his box as a blubbering bachelor and a legitimate shot at an academy award.

There, I’ve done the hard part. Go on screenwriters – prove you’re still working.

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Getting Ready for the Big Game

I have just completed my picks for a 2008 NCAA bracket.

As you may not know, dear blog, I don’t really follow sports, so it would take a considerable amount of arm twisting to get this gal to take an active interest in a professional, physical team activity. It would take only the cleverest of tongues to convince me to participate in a gambling venture related to the movement of a leather ball. “Indoctrinaire extraordinaire” is how I would describe the verbal virtuoso who could talk me into caring about basketball.

Actually, this is how the conversation went:

Indoctrinaire Extraordinaire: Are you entering picks for a bracket? Everyone else is.

Me: Everyone, eh? Absolutely, I am.

Indoctrinaire: I didn’t know you were into basketball.

Me: What? It’s basketball season?

Indoctriniare: Haha, you’re so funny.

Me: Right. I’m such a kidder.

And so it was said, and so it was done – I have joined a NCAA bracket! 

I’m not entirely clear on how the teams are divided up – there’s an East, Midwest, South, and West division, so at first I thought, “I see, Northerner’s do not play basketball. They are too busy…playing hockey?” But then I saw Connecticut and Michigan were on there. However, they’re in the West and South divisions respectively, so my new conclusion is that the people in charge of the NCAA have limited access to maps with compass roses. Or they’re working on a grander scale. So they’re thinking, “Technically Connecticut is West of the United Kingdom, our blessed mother country – God save the Queen.”

Joining this basketball bracket has opened up all sorts of doors I didn’t know existed before. For example, now that I am heavily invested in my teams’s victories, I have social plans to watch these games almost every night! I have added phrases to my daily discourse that would have never been present before, such as, “Well, I can do that, as long as I’m home in time for the game.” It’s important to remain ambiguous about which game – that is key.

I will even be able to throw in sentiment because they’re college teams! I can say things like, “This one is kind of personal for me, because I almost went to that school,” even if I really mean, “I think I saw a booth for that school at a college fair once.”

“I have four facebook friends who went there” will transform into “I know a lot of people who went there, so the game tonight will be intense.”

In other news, blog, the weather has slightly warmed up, so I think I’m going to wear flip flops this evening. If anyone challenges how appropriate flip flops are for today’s temperature, I can say, “Look, I’m not going to be out long anyway, I have to be home in time for the game.”

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Shift

Blog, I haven’t updated in a while, and it’s in large part because I spent the last couple of weeks preparing for the daylight savings shift. To prepare, I set all of my clocks forward by a couple of minutes every day. This way the shift was more gradual for me. So, yesterday, while other people were caught off guard, fatigued for having lost that hour, I was on the ball and ready to go. Tomorrow I will start setting my clocks back gradually. 

Anyway, you may have noticed that this site has been down for nearly a year. It’s sad – but true. There is hope, however, blog. There’s always hope. I’m thinking about adding a section called “Awkward Overheard.” It will be a series of conversations that meet the following two requirements:

-Awkward

-Overheard

So, if you overhear something awkward, please be sure to make note! You might be able to contribute to the section!

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Super! Bowl

After hours of nonstop toil over work, I’ve decided to take a minibreak, blog.

What shall I do during this minibreak, you ask? Well blog, first I will check the weather forecast.

Then, then blog I will reorganize paper on my desk.

After that, I will fill my cup of tea and sip it.

While sipping, I will review my email inbox to see if there are any correspondences I have absentmindedly neglected. When I am done following up on the correspondences I absentmindedly neglected, I will go in search of those correspondences I purposefully neglected.

Then blog, I will review my task list and draw huge check marks next to everything I have accomplished. After doing so, I will make a big production of tearing the task list out of my notepad, crumpling it up as noisily as possible, and throwing it into the trashcan. Then I’ll sigh a smugly satisfied sigh, and say loudly enough for those around me to hear, “Yup! Another greatly productive week! I have yet again outdone myself.”

In other news, blog, this weekend is the Superbowl. The Superbowl is a football game between two teams that have each beaten other teams. The Superbowl is a big deal because each member of the winning team gets a beautiful ring and the opportunity to declare to the country their upcoming plans to go to Disney World. If I were a presidential candidate, I would totally try to get in touch with the Patriot’s Tom Brady and pay him whatever he wanted to yell, “I’m going to vote for _______!” into the cameras. And as long as we’re on the subject of support, I think it’s no secret who imawkward.com will be supporting during the heated and controversial football season: The Patriots! The Patriots’s undefeated record speaks for itself, providing hope and inspiration to New England fans and football lovers everywhere. They’re a consolidating force, during a time where bipartisanship runs deep in the NFL, and Tom Brady brings experience and the promise of change for the better to the table. This decision was especially challenging for me to make, because I look great in red, white, and blue, and both Superbowl teams seem to have these as team colors.

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This Blog is The Real Thing

“The last time I freaked out, I just kept looking down. I st-st-stuttered when you asked me what I’m thinking ’bout. Felt like I couldn’t breathe. You asked what’s wrong with me. My best friend Leslie said, ‘Oh, she’s just being Miley.’ ”

-Miley Cyrus, artist extraordinaire with catchy lyrics that hold a magnifying glass up to my soul. Or just catchy lyrics and synthesizer dexterity. Either way, she’s good.

We are in exciting times, Blog. I watched most of a football game Sunday! It was almost as thrilling as that time I watched a baseball game in its entirety. That was especially impressive, because if there’s one sport I think moves slower than football, it’s baseball. Were you thinking I would say golf, blog? I don’t count golf as a sport. There, I said it – golf is not a sport. This blog is officially controversial. You know what that means? We’re going to be more popular now, Blog. Get ready for increased hits, scathing comments, and incensed readers. “Golf is not a sport” is just the kind of bold statement I needed to make long ago to put this blog out there – really set it apart from all the other media available.

While I’m out there, making statements, I’d like to throw in that coffee is NOT addictive, and right handed people are less attractive than left handed people. There we go. We were all thinking it, I was just brave enough to put it out there. Wikipedia editors, copy and paste this: “imawkward.com/blog is a real pioneer in forthright blogging. Controversial, cunning, and candid, the imawkard blog challenges the everyblog paradigm. A beacon of intellectual progress, the blog is a beautful orchid growing amidst a field of cliche roses.”

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Real Chutzpah

Forgive me blog, for I have sinned. It has been over 24 hours since my last entry.

My New Year’s resolution to lose five pounds has already been re-issued to my Resolution Committee for review. They will take into account my affinity for buffets, Brazilian steakhouses, and greasy foods. Additionally, they will take into account the adversity I face on a daily basis in my struggle against weight gain. I will submit to them the following experience.
Yesterday I was having dinner at Chutzpah, a New York style deli. After dinner, our waiter asked what we would like for dessert. I said, “One piece of your marzipan, please.”

“Well the pieces come really small, they’re sold by the pound,” he informed me.

“Okay that’s perfect. I only want a small piece.” I replied eagerly.

He replied, “One piece is not enough, you’ll want two.”

I replied, smiling angrily, like a crazy person, “No I think one will be good.”

“One is very small,” he held his index finger and thumb close together to explain what small meant. “You’ll want two.”

I could not believe this was happening. I wasn’t up for negotiating!

“Haha, no that size looks perfect, I’ll just have one.” I repeated, laughing, but clearly not amused.

“I’ll put you down for two.” What chutzpah he had!

“No, you’re not my mom. You can’t tell me what I want,” I thought defiantly.

But, “No, I really just want one,” is what I pleaded.

“Ohhhkay,” he said, like my mother does when she thinks I’m making a mistake. I felt so bizarre. The waiter was like a 20 year old male who could have easily been on a football team. He looked nothing like my mother, but he was still trying to overfeed me against my wishes.

And then, to make matters worse, the cake was totally delicious and I _did_ want another piece. However I have some self respect, so when he smugly told me,

“You want another one, don’t you?”

I smugly smiled and responded, through a full mouth, “No, thith waths perfect.” I kept my dignity, blog.

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If the Shirt Fits

I was reviewing Princeton’s graduate admissions page and saw this clever quip on the side:

Melville. A little heterodox in the matter of clean linen. Said Hawthorne.

-David Markron

I laughed and laughed when I read that. “Nothing like a good ‘ol Hawthorne joke to get me through the day,” is what I always say. Hahahahaha! Good one!

Once, I bought a school t-shirt in the Princeton gift shop, thinking I would apply there. The shirt fit me perfectly, so I knew the school would be a perfect fit for me too. In fact, I was right about to craft a beautiful application essay titled, “If the Shirt Fits,” about why I belong at Princeton. However, before going to the effort of actually writing the thing, I decided to check out the site, maybe pick a graduate school subject for which to apply*. That’s when I found the hilarious quotation above!

*Princeton Dean of Admissions, did you like my sentence? I _almost_ ended it with: “pick a subject to apply for,” but then I remembered it is poor grammar to end a sentence with a preposition, so I restructured the end of the sentence. Impeccable grammar is just one of the myriad fortes I offer your school. I am also a stellar typist, see yesterday’s entry.

Additionally, I have fantastic school spirit. For example, I own a Princeton t-shirt. If accepted into your fine learning establishment, I would wear the t-shirt.

I am also the President and CEO of imawkward.com, a progressive, nonprofit company.

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I Type So Fast

Few things impress me more than how fast I type. Blog, I type so fast. I just received an email, read it, and then responded super quickly because 1. I knew the answer 2. I type really fast. My fingers just flew across my keyboard and words, my words, appeared.

Sometimes when I’m typing I think, “Look at me go! I’m typing so fast!”

There are many things I’m a jerk about, blog, and typing is totally one of them. When I see people staring at the keyboard trying to find a letter, I make it a point to gape, rudely.

Just the other day, my boyfriend’s mom was telling me about how good her son is at typing. I nodded as though I was impressed, but really, I was relieved. I can’t be seen dating a slow typist. What would people think? Seriously. It would be humiliating. How would I even go about explaining the slow typing to people? I wouldn’t. Instead, I would insist on typing all of his correspondences _for_ him if we were in public. “What’s that honey? You want to try out this laptop in the store by typing things in to the search engine? Here. Let me type it for you. I insist. Step away from the keyboard.” Then I would crack my knuckles and procede to wow anyone nearby with my keyboard dexterity.

In other news, yesterday my wacky “aunt” called and reminded my dad that robots are going to take over the world in 2028. She backed up this theory by recounting a vivid dream she had one night in 2003.

Obviously, I do not believe she is actually my aunt. At the least she is certainly not related by blood.

Also, I do not believe robots are going to suddenly take over the world in 2028. I do suspect they are going to actively undermine my personal social progress, and they have already begun.

I will share my evidence by recounting a horrible occurrance from just yesterday. I sent a text message. It was a great text message, naturally, because I wrote it.

Here is what I wrote:

Haha! Funny picture 🙂 It’s very festive and really brings out the holiday spirit! I pretty sure he’s going to kill you though. Seriously, I’m talking murder. (JK).

Do you see the (JK) blog? It stands for Just Kidding. That is KEY. It means I can say anything I want, and it will be totally harmless as long as it is concluded with a: “JK.”

And here is the message I got back, from my cell phone provider:

Messages sent to non-VZW customers with graphics/tones/formatting and/or 160+ characters are sent as plain text with only the first 160 characters.

This means they cut out my “JK.” So now, rather than send a funny message, I have sent some sort of bizarre death message.

What could I do to rectify the situation? Send a follow-up text message that said, “He won’t really kill you. I was kidding.” ? No, that would take me too much time, and it would look suspicious. So I let it go. My friend probably thinks he’s going to die now, and that’s my cell phone provider’s (technology’s) fault. When he gets over his fear of being killed and realizes I was – JK – he will hate me, and I will be down one friend.

So as you can see, the robots have already set on their destructive path. I’m not even JK*.

*(JK)
See how that works?

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Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

It’s a new year, blog, and a new year means a new me. Every year, I re-invent myself. It makes for interesting family reunions, work conversations and relationship conflicts. Last year I swapped genders.* This year, maybe I’ll use blue ink pens instead of black ink pens.** There’s really no telling what kind of whimsical change I’ll embrace next.***

*I didn’t really swap genders.

**Or not. I don’t like blue ink pens. Never have. I find them repulsive.

***Yeah, actually I’m not going to change. I don’t really ever reinvent myself. I’m awesome as is. This entire first paragraph is actually a huge lie. I was low on material. I’m sorry blog. I”ll never do it again.****

****Lie.

Blog! I’ve been staring at spreadsheets all morning. I’ve been highlighting different fields to signify different things, and now I have a colorful spreadsheet, but I have plum forgotten what the colors signify. What makes this an even greater tragedy is that I didn’t even choose aesthetically pleasing colors! The spreadsheet looks hideous. I’m very disappointed with what I’ve done here. How am I supposed to explain this to my boss!?

“Hi boss, here is a spreadsheet in which I have seemingly randomly highlighted some of the boxes. It took me four hours. No labels or anything! Just colors, boss. Just colors – and lots of them! As you can see, I used the whole color palette available in Excel!”

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It's Almost Christmas!

Pssst. Hi blog, what’s up? What’s new with you? How come you never write me? It’s always me talking about my day. You don’t bring much to the table, do you? You’re just a platform.

When I was little, I used to think my stuffed animals were alive and had personalities of their own – they just weren’t allowed to let me know. I know I wasn’t alone. That’s why all kids like stuffed animals – we think they’re alive. Otherwise we’d play with soft hairballs.

“Uh, thinking toys are really alive is creepy,” you say.

“Uh, playing with hairballs is creepy,” I counter.

In other news blog, my trip to the mall yesterday was highly successful. It was quick, I found the things I needed, and I discovered a new store. There was some drama in the new store. I had picked out the article of clothing I wanted to purchase, and the retailer asked me, “Would you like some socks? We have a special – three for ten dollars.”

I began to say, “No thank you, I won’t be duped into…” and then I stopped and raised my eyebrows, “Did you say socks?” As the proud owner of many, many socks, I’ve recently decided that having plain white cotton socks isn’t sufficent. I should have them in different colors and sizes. I’ve noticed that on days where I wear argyle socks or colorful knee socks, I am more smug and confident. So, I’ve begun exploring different types of socks. Socks are tricky however, because it is imperative that they be comfortable.

“Yes, socks” she said, and pointed me towards the socks. So over I went, to the sock section, and picked out three pairs after careful review. I returned to the counter, only to find that my cashier wasn’t there. Instead, by the counter, stood a woman I presume was her manager because she was holding a clipboard authoritatively and was wearing a headset.

I really enjoy it when people in clothing stores wear headsets, because when I am asking for a sweater in a size small, I like that the salesperson can whisper into his earpiece to tell another person, persumably waiting in the back next to all the small sweaters, to bring me a small immediately. This is a marked step up from the past, when I would ask for a size, and the salesperson would start going through the same pile I had just searched through for my size. I’m often tempted to say, “Sir, I’m not asking for your help because I can’t read, I’m asking for your help because the size is not here. You must summon your man in the back.”

Anyway, the manager starts talking into her headset, presumably to my cashier lady, while I’m standing there, looking around, ready to buy. “Have you gone on your break? It’s not your break time.” During all of this, I decide the socks would be itchy, and I put them back. The cashier returned, realizing that in her time away I had changed my mind. The manager smirked, as if to say, “It’s your fault this customer changed her mind about the socks.” I stared at her confused, as if to say, “What is your problem? _You_ could have rung me up. Plus I really didn’t want those socks.”

Quite the drama!

Tomorrow is a corporate holiday event, and I’m quite nervous. I don’t know what to wear, really, and what to say, and what to drink and eat. Surely many of my co-workers will be looking to me to see how to act, so I’m under a lot of pressure providing that kind of unspoken guidance.

In other news, dear blog, my reign as Time’s Person of the Year is over. The crown has been passed on to Vladimir Putin.

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