Jason says "read this blog!"
Just when I'm about to sign the DNR papers for this blog something comes along and inspires me to write another post. One of these days Jason Segel will come to his senses and beg me to befriend him. I just hope he isn't waiting to see the 365th reason. It may take years.



365 Reasons Why...An Explanation

Well, hello there (said in a very sexy voice). You're looking quite lovely today. Welcome to my blog. Feel free to take off your shoes and get comfortable, maybe leave a comment or two. This started out as kind of a funny thing to do after I blew a phone conversation with Jason, but I've found I really enjoy writing every day and researching new and interesting things about my future BFF. In January I met Jason at a comedy club and the few words we shared only reinforced my belief that he and I would get along famously. As a dear friend of mine recently said, "why wouldn't he want to be friends with you - you're awesome!" Perhaps the 365 reasons in this blog may just convince Jason of what I already know to be true: separately, our awesomeness is great; combined, it may be enough to take over the world. If you want to be one of my esteemed followers, simply click on the 'follow' button toward the bottom of the page. Come on, you know you want to.



Sunday, June 15, 2014

Reason 309

Home visits. My husband and I went to Disneyland last week and decided to squeeze a morning of LA exploration in between days at the happiest place on Earth. We strolled along the Santa Monica pier, held our noses as we explored the La Brea Tar Pits, gorged ourselves at the oldest farmer's market in the city, and swung by Jim Henson Studios for a photo op in front of the gate (which, let's admit, was probably the most exciting thing we did that day). It turns out that Chateau Marmont is a mere few blocks from Kermit's home and since I know you live within stumbling distance of the famous hotel, Jason, I thought it only appropriate to swing by for a quick visit. Well, it turns out it's awfully difficult to find someone's house without the actual address. The Internet was no help at all, only generating images of you exiting a door while holding dry cleaning or some such nonsense and pics that were posted before you purchased your house, which provide absolutely no kind of neighborhood context clues. Harumph. It would be so much easier on me (and my ridiculously patient husband who indulges my every whim) if I had my best friend's home address. Not only vould we have had a lovely visit, Jason, but we could have invited you to join us at Disneyland the next day. Who would pass up such a glorious opportunity?! I don't plan on being in the LA area any time soon (because, honestly, what Seattleite purposefully spends time outside in 85-degree weather), but the next time I'm heading your way, Mr. Segel, I will expect an invite.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Reason 308

Vanity. I am not what most people would consider to be a vain person. Looking gorgeous has never been a priority and I admit to being flummoxed by the billions of dollars women spend each year on make-up, hair care, weight loss products, and plastic surgery. Even on my wedding day, when I was photographed incessantly, all I put on my face (other than a big dopey grin) was some mascara, eye shadow and lip gloss. This isn't because I am a natural beauty who dazzles everyone she meets with just a wink and a smile. Nope, I would just rather put my time, energy and money towards other things, like reading the latest YA masterpiece, perfecting my chocolate chip cookie recipe, and singing ridiculous impromptu songs to my dog until he runs away in fear. Even at the height of teenage insecurity, when my face looked like the bumpy, reddish surface of an alien planet and my hair would have made Paul Mitchell drop dead in horror, I happily directed the spotlight to me, going as far as playing Tuba Ruba in front of strangers at parties (here's a link to the commercial, Jason, in case you aren't familiar with this, um, incredible game from the 80's: click here to have mind blown). Scary, isn't it? And to think I wrapped plastic tubes around my body and writhed around like a drunken fish out of water in front of other human beings. Like I said, vanity isn't really my thing, which will probably come in handy when I'm hanging out with my future bestie with some testes, one Mr. Jason Segel, and we are tailed by soulless paparazzi. I will have no problem looking like an idiot on camera in an attempt to keep those stalkers from snapping less than flattering pictures of you scratching your bum or picking your teeth or...whatever it is you do when you think no one is looking. The one thing I will ask for in return, though, is your willingness to have a couple of photos taken of the two of us together. You see, the one picture I own of me with you, my dear friend, was taken several years ago when I weighed about 25 pounds more than I currently do and, while my heart is filled with joy every time I glance at it in the frame with The Great Muppet Caper album cover you signed for me, I look rather puffy and tired. Besides, you're looking much healthier these days too, so it only seems right to have a more accurate representation of our fabulous selves hanging in my TV room. We can enjoy one moment of vanity, I guess, and then promptly return to acting like fools, no matter who happens to be watching.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Reason 307

My awesome ringtone. A few weeks ago I finally fulfilled a long standing dream and made The Muppet Show theme song my ringtone. Now anytime someone calls, whether they be friend or foe, I do a happy dance around the kitchen, the gym (which can be dangerous on a treadmill), the grocery store - you get the picture. In fact, sometimes I purposefully let the call go to voicemail because I am so entranced by the fabulous ditty. What more proof do you need that our friendship is written in the stars, Jason? You certainly shouldn't need, say, 364 other reasons. I even promise to pick up my phone when you call...although probably not until the last 5 seconds or so. Not even someone as considerate as I am can be expected to turn off that brilliant tuba intro!

Monday, November 11, 2013

Reason 306 (kind of)

Before you get all freaked out, Jason, and call LA's finest, let me be clear: I'm not actually watching your house. In fact, after today's events, I'd say you're the one who's stalking me and I'm kind of ok with that. As much as I adore you I've been fairly overwhelmed lately with work, the adoption process, social engagements, general adult responsibilities, and planning a kick-ass, post-Christmas trip to Disneyland for the whole darn family, so please forgive me for not giving you even a tiny fraction of my attention. Sure, I laugh at your lame fish-with-no-eyes joke every time I see the ad for this season of HIMYM (can CBS edit together a new clip already?!) and once in awhile a friend mentions reading some juicy tidbit about my future BFF in a trashy magazine, but in general, Mr. Segel, you haven't been a blip on my radar. That is until today. It all started when, like a much funnier and smoother-skinned Freddy Krueger, you interrupted my REM cycle, dazzling me in Dreamland with your charm and boyish good looks. I'm not sure what actually happened in the dream, other than we hung out like old friends - well, old friends who also like to make out - but it must have been pretty excellent because when my husband woke me up I scolded him for cutting our time together short. Around lunchtime I stopped by Nordstrom Rack to buy some new unmentionables (called such because the word "panties" shouldn't be mentioned by a single living soul, I'm sure) and when I texted my hubby about my purchase he replied with some nonsense about you modeling the sexy underpants. Now, normally I wouldn't think much about you making an "appearance" twice in one day, but then while I was driving around town this afternoon my iPod shuffled up not one, but TWO different songs sung by the one and only Jason Segel. Considering I have just under 1,000 songs loaded onto my iPod and only 3 of them are performed by you, Jason, I had to conclude the universe is telling me something (and that my mp3 player has a weakness for Muppet-themed tunes). So, here I sit, pounding away at my keyboard, thinking lovely thoughts about someone 1,135 miles away whom I don't really know, but wish I did. Whatever you are doing at the moment, Jason, I hope you feel fulfilled and truly happy. As corny as it sounds, there are people in the world who think you are the bee's knees, despite only meeting you for a brief, drunken second in San Francisco so many moons ago. I hope that one of these days we can enjoy a sober tete-a-tete and that I can adore you in person.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Reason 305

Sage advice. Sure, I've only been on this planet for 36 years, but in that time, Jason, I have accrued an endless amount of wisdom (mostly based on ridiculous circumstances) and, as your best friend in training, I am willing to publicly share that wisdom if it means you'll be saved from making even one of the mistakes that I have made. So, listen closely (and try not to laugh too hard) as I cover a few "learning opportunities" from the past few years.

- I'm not sure if you're a runner, Jason, but if you ever feel compelled to lace up a pair of Nikes, pull on a pair of yoga pants, and run around the neighborhood, remember this: don't wear a pair of sexy panties under those curve-hugging pants. About 5 blocks away from your house you will come to the painful realization that sexy underwear generally doesn't offer full coverage of one's derriere. For the rest of your run you will think up ways to discreetly dislodge that small strip of black cotton from between your cheeks until you become so frazzled that you stop running completely and give actual consideration to crouching behind a tree so you can go commando. Not a good time.

- If you purchase delightful smelling peppermint body lotion you may want to think carefully about where you apply it. I would avoid, say, any sensitive areas of the body. I obviously have no idea if your lady pillows are as responsive to menthol as mine are, but let's just say it isn't fun feeling like someone has set your boobs on fire.

- Based on conversations I've had with my husband I think it is safe to assume that men don't experience the same loss of bladder control that women do as they age. One day you're turning cartwheels in the front yard, not a care in the world, and the next day you laugh a little too hard at a friend's idiotic joke only to realize you have peed your pants a bit. If, however, you know exactly what I am talking about, Jason, perhaps you'll find an experience I endured a few years back beneficial. It was the end of the school year and the 6th grade team decided it would be great fun for our students to skip class for an hour and play games in the gym. Yay for exercise and all that. One of the stations consisted of two long jump ropes turned by smiling students who were more than willing to help a teacher embarrass herself by encouraging her to show off all of the jaw-dropping jump rope tricks she learned as a wee child. Well, it only took a couple of jumps before I became more concerned about showing off how quickly I could get pee to soak through to my pants. In mid-jump and without one word of explanation I ran off to the staff bathroom to assess the damage. Luckily, my jeans were only mildly damp in the crotch region, although certainly too wet for me to casually saunter back into the gym. Those eagle-eyed tweens would be onto my fashion faux pas in a second. So, I spent the next 15 minutes or so locked in that bathroom, frantically alternating between rubbing my jeans with paper towels and blowing on them. Not my finest moment as an educator.

- This last bit of advice doesn't need much explanation. Let's just say it isn't wise (or romantic) to share certain information with your lover while riding him like a cowgirl in reverse. Specifically, to let him know that the new frozen yogurt shop across the street finally opened...and that the crappy pizza place was finally closing. There's no recovering from such a blunder (although putting your clothes back on and grabbing a cup of delicious fro-yo doesn't hurt).

I think I'll stop there, Jason, even though I've only skimmed the top of my pool of embarrassment. Hopefully my tales of awkwardness and discomfort will save you from making similar humiliating missteps in the future.  If only I could have saved you from signing on to a few of the movies you've made. Sigh.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Reason 304

Personal cheerleader. Being one of those lucky people who was born and raised in the Seattle area, I have long been an advocate of reducing, reusing and recycling, which means I have a plethora of reusable grocery bags living in the trunk of my car. Plastic bags at checkout? Don't make me laugh. One of my favorite totes has pictures of various Muppets plastered all over it. Yes, it's totally fabulous, but it's also a great conversation starter. Practically every cashier who is lucky enough to lay hands on it breaks into a huge grin and comments on how much they love the Muppets. In fact, I just jogged over to the Safeway across the street and witnessed this very behavior. When I copped to being a bit of a Henson fanatic the clerk nodded exuberantly and started chattering away about the most recent movie, which my BFF (that's you, Jason, if the last 303 reasons didn't clue you in) happened to cowrite and star in. Being the most excellent friend that I am I praised you thoroughly, lauding your work in "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and sharing that I had met you briefly in San Francisco and that you were just as funny and gracious as I had hoped. Of course, both times we interacted you were bombed out of your mind and not even sure how a pen worked, which isn't the best tidbit to share when defending the awesomeness of someone (unless I'm defending you to a barbaric fraternity member who frequents pimps & hos parties and thinks women's liberation is about going braless). It would be nice to have a few more appropriate stories in my back pocket to whip out whenever a cashier, or anyone for that matter, starts gushing about Jason Segel to his very own bestie. That's why it's imperitive we hang out more frequently...or really at all. I can only cheer you on from the sidelines for so long. Eventually I'll realize that cheering for you is great and all, but being on your team is a lot more satisfying. Take note frat boys, that's what women's lib is all about.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

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.