Reason 303

Rebellious behavior. As I strolled around the neighborhood this morning with my dog I thought to myself "Other than that whole masturbating in public thing, I am just like Peewee Herman right now." You probably wouldn't guess it by looking at me, Jason, but I can be pretty wild sometimes. In high school some of my friends and I ran around my school's soccer field topless (in complete darkness so no one spotted a single nip, but still, we were wild, WILD I say!) and just the other day I left work at 2:58, two minutes before teachers are contractually allowed to leave for the day. Well, this morning I decided to crank up the rebelliousness a notch and roam the streets of my sleepy neighborhood sans bra. That's right, I was out in public without mammary support and didn't care who noticed. Sadly, I don't think anyone noticed since we only saw one other person and he was concentrating on breathing regularly so he wouldn't collapse while running up a monster hill. Still, I felt like quite the daredevil with my girls jiggling about under two layers of clothing, and I daresay I'd go bra-free again if a dear friend (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) encouraged me to slip into my sexy little rebel pants. Heck, maybe I'd even "forget" to put underwear on under those pants! Nope, that's pushing things a little too far. A chubby girl going commando can only lead to chafing and nobody wants that.  B-cup and bra-less, though? Count me in.

Reason 302

Guinea Pigs. One of the best things about getting a pedicure is access to trashy celebrity-centric magazines that I normally don't read because I am too cheap to shell out $3-4 to find out that a Kardashian has gained weight or poor Lindsay is back in rehab. Sure, having a woman lovingly shave dead skin off the bottom of my feet is swell and a deep tissue calf massage feels sublime after a long week of schooling children, but neither of these activities is complete without a little Hollywood dirt. Yesterday I was reading one such rag and came across a brief bit of news about you, Jason Segel, my future BFF. Turns out you have come up with an idea for a YA book series about kids overcoming their fears and are shopping it around town. I don't know a ton about book publishing, but you should probably peddle your wares in NYC since the LA publishing world doesn't extend much beyond maps of star's homes. Anyhoo, I'm sure I have mentioned, Jason, that five days a week I teach darling 6th graders about the awesomeness that is reading, attempting to sway them to devour certain titles so that their humdrum lives will finally have purpose and meaning. I am quite the fan of humorous action series, which is apparently what you are attempting to write, and that genre of fiction is deeply loved my most of my students. If you ever need to bounce an idea off of some potential fans or get feedback about a chapter or two, I will happily offer up some classroom time and force my children to submit to a read-aloud. It's the least I can do for such a good friend.

Reason 301

The wall. When I was a volunteer with Americorps my teammates and I were forced to participate in some hokey team-building activities at an off-season summer camp in the middle of New Hampshire. One of the exercises required us to help each other up a 9-foot wall using nothing more than our arms and legs. Now, I have never been a small woman and I also happen to be a tad fearful of heights that aren't enclosed, so attempting to scramble up a completely vertical wall while people I'd known for a month or two were pushing on my butt and yanking on my arms was not my idea of a good time. After five minutes of listening to my teammates grunt and groan and me falling to the ground several times, I threw up my arms in frustration and called it quits. I did not give a shit about getting to the top of that wall. Fast forward more than ten years to last night when I ran into a wall even bigger than the one that defeated me on the other side of the country. My husband and I found out a few months ago that, after more than a year of trying to get knocked up, I would never be able to conceive naturally because my Fallopian tubes were scarred beyond repair and would have to be removed. That meant our only hope of having a baby biologically was via IVF. We're about a week away from egg retrieval, which means I have been shooting a variety of hormones into my belly for over a week now, as well as getting ultrasounds and blood draws done frequently. Last night I hit the IVF wall and, boy, did it hurt. The thought of intentionally jabbing a needle into my belly fat for several more days is practically paralyzing and the hormones make me want to lay in bed all day feeling sorry for myself and stuffing pastries into my gaping maw. Several tear-stained and snot-filled tissues from last night's pity party are in the garbage can next to my bed and I imagine there will be more joining them after tonight's fiesta. All in all, it's been a magnificent last twelve hours. So, what does this all have to do with you, Jason? Well, in some circles you're known as a pretty hilarious guy, and if we were friends I'm sure I could count on you to call me up and regale me with ludicrous tales from your Hollywood life, which would distract me from all those needles, medications, bills, and the fact that the lovely folks at the fertility clinic are more familiar with my cootch than my dear husband. You could help me over that wall, Mr. Segel, and put a smile on my face while doing so. And if you ever find yourself standing in front of a wall that's a little too tall for you to climb, I'd be right there, pushing on your butt and cheering you on.

Reason 300

Psychic connection. A few days ago I woke up with a dopey grin on my face as I attempted to cling to the last wisps of a delightful dream I had about my clandestine BFF. That's right, Jason, you and I were traipsing around Disneyland, enjoying all of the rides and over-priced souvenir shops, with nary a pesky fan interrupting our perfect blue-sky-and-sunshine day with requests for pictures or autographs. To be honest I was quite surprised that my subconscious was conjuring you up. It isn't that my cerebral cortex doesn't adore you, Jason, whether it is light outside or not, but rather that my brain has been occupied with other things the last few months, like planning a wedding, writing oodles of thank you cards, starting back to work, and berating my uterus for being too old and crotchety to properly house a fetus. Oh, the joys of being 35. Anyway, as lovely as my dream was it was all but forgotten by the time I arrived at work where 75 tweens were waiting with bated breath for my lesson on reading disabilities (I killed it, by the way). It wasn't until the next evening when my dear friend Tamara posted an article on my Facebook page that I realized why my subconscious had been acting up. It turns out that you had flown into my great city with your current squeeze, the very talented Michelle Williams (I totally approve), the very day that I dreamed about you. Shock and awe! The only conclusion I could draw after hearing such news was that we have some kind of psychic connection, especially since your first order of business in Seattle was to stop by Cupcake Royale, which is hands my favorite cupcake place in the area. I hope you enjoyed a Triple Threat for me. Since you are such a magnanimous guy you posed for a photo with two of the employees and that picture made its way to the blogosphere where Tamara happened upon it and immediately alerted me of your presence ( Jason with the lovely cupcake crew). I am thrilled that you finally made your way north to the Emerald City since the first time we chatted you admitted to never having been here, but I do admit to being a tad perturbed that you didn't track me down after the strong case I have built for our friendship. Lucky for you I forgive fairly easily. Much like an elephant, however, I rarely forget, so next time you're in Seattle I fully expect you to invite me out for a cupcake or I may be forced to find a new bosom to buddy up to. Consider yourself warned, Jason Segel.

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!