Good god, woman! Pull yourself together!

I know I've been on a tear with the Britney Spears stuff lately, but bear with me. Today I was discussing Mrs. Federline's interest in breaking into film with a colleague. That led to a larger discussion about Brit's career progression, which led me to the Internet. Yes, I wasted a significant amount of time this afternoon reliving the glory days, when Brit was hot and we couldn't get enough of her.

I think we all need to be reminded of how appealing Britney once was. We know she's trashy and we've come to accept it, but when you compare today's trashiness with her former sparkle, it is simply shocking. I had grown numb to the trashiness, but now I'm hit again with the realization of just how far she's fallen. For your review I have assembled a small photo collage to illustrate this point.

Here are some samples of what we've been seeing from Brit in the past few months:





The first thing I will point out is that she doesn't look that bad if you compare her low points in the last year. It has been much worse. For instance:



Yes, she did appear in public looking like that. Comparitively, it does seem like Brit is cleaning herself up and on her way toward recovery.

However, let's revisit some key shots from Britney's heyday...







Britney was hot, y'all. I desperately want her to make a comeback.

Best in the land...

...the mighty Woodrow Wilson High. Throughout the league, opponents hear our battle cry: fight! fight! fight! Victory for you, each loyal Trojan brave and true. For green and white we'll fight! fight! fight! Our loyalty forever Wilson High!



Ahem. I've been singing the old fight song lyrics to myself all evening after receiving an announcement in the mail that my ten-year high school reunion will be held this August. I'm amazed they were able to track me down. How do these Classic Reunions Inc. people know where I live?

I'm not sure if I want to go or not. For me, it means flying back to Portland, which seems like a big outlay to hang with people I haven't seen in ten years. And to be honest, I'm not sure that I want to see people from high school (other than the ones I'm in touch with already). There's something nice about remembering everyone in their 17-year-old, not-fat-or-bald-or-alcoholic (at least not too alcoholic, yet) state. We all looked pretty good back then. Fresh faced. Full of potential.

I am also not immune to the freakiness about personal looks and achievements that reunions inspire. I am already envisioning being asked all those questions about my life (why haven't you met that special someone? when are you moving back to Portland?) that I don't want to talk about with people who I last spoke to when I was a cheerleader. Stuff like that is hard enough to discuss with my mom.

On the other hand, there are a couple of kids who I've lost touch with and have been wondering about. Portland is heavenly in the late summer, too. I also just found out that next year will be Woodrow Wilson High's 50th birthday -- maybe reason enough to show a little school spirit.

Hot Scots waiting are waiting for you!

Book your tickets now, ladies! I can just imagine the severely depressed marketing person who had the job of putting this site together. I'm certain it's been a very successful campaign. Be sure to check out the individual profiles.

The latest from AF

Before taking off for spring break AF sent me this quick update on his love life:

"First, there is an update on my casual relationship with K. It's over. One night after class, K and I walked to the parking lot and she asked, 'Can I talk to you in my car?' That is never good news. Although, I didn't really care, because I was not terribly interested in a relationship with K any longer. I can't handle a casual relationship where things are too casual. I work better with defined roles and expectations, and K did not seem ready to establish any of that.

The conversation was exactly what I expected: she didn't think we should see each other right now. Something about her ex-girlfriend writing her a letter and things now being confusing for her. Okay, I said. I understand. She emphasized that it was just a timing thing and gave me a kiss, so I wasn't too upset. Things happen, and then they stop happening. That's life.

On another front, Match.com is beginning to show returns on the investment (RB is not the only business-minded single out there). I've started trading emails with several women from the area. They seem normal, write correspondence well, and have generally interesting lives (educated, healthy, get outdoors, etc). It's strange to be so picky about the quality of email, but it's one of the few guideposts for such an endeavor. Anyhow, after I get back into town next week, the first real, in-person dates will begin. Updates to follow."

Oops

I'm a little upset that I posted two entries in a row about Britney Spears without realizing it.

Does anyone know what "skunking" is?

I am perplexed over this Us Weekly blurb about Britney Spears' upcoming guest appearance on Will & Grace:

"... but it turns out she's really a sex-crazed lesbian who likes 'skunking' with her girlfriends (if you don't know, don't ask)."

So what is it? Google searches have shed no light on this issue.

Is this a joke?

Because I really don't get it.

Check out these key lines:

"This dedication honors Britney for the rarity of her choice and bravery of her decision."

Decision to get knocked up by K-Fed? I guess it is brave, in a sense.

"Natural aspects of Spears' pregnancy, like lactiferous breasts and protruding naval, compliment a posterior view that depicts widened hips for birthing and reveals the crowning of baby Sean's head."

That may be the most disgusting thing I've read in weeks. Oh, and here's my favorite line out of the whole thing:

"The monument also acknowledges the pop-diva's pin-up past by showing Spears seductively posed on all fours atop a bearskin rug with back arched, pelvis thrust upward, as she clutches the bear's ears with 'water-retentive' hands."

WTF?!

Jake shot of the week

Adam Morrison is a weenie

Who lays on the floor and cries on national TV? It's certainly very poor sportsmanship. And get a haircut! And shave that business on your upper lip. Ugh.

Yes, I actually did watch the game. Nadia made me.

Deceptively smooth. Daringly bold.

I've had a lot of conversations about Tuaca lately. A lot. No one seems to know what the stuff really is, though.

I took it upon myself to do a little research and discovered that Tuaca is an Italian brandy-based liqueur, flavored with vanilla, citrus, almond, coconut, and cocoa. Webtender.com says, "during the golden age of Renaissance Italy, legend has it that Lorenzo De Medici created an exquisite amber liqueur that became a favorite among 16th century Italian nobility. However, It was not until 1938 that Tuscan brothers-in-law Geatano Tuoni and Giorgio Canepa re-discovered the centuries old recipe -- made it even more desirable -- and named it Tuaca.... Exactly how Tuaca is made remains in the hills of Tuscany with Tuoni and Canepa -- it is their 500-year-old secret."

You can't go wrong with a shot of Tuaca (highly recommended), but I think I might try a Tuaca and Diet Coke when I am next out boozing. Or perhaps a Tuaca Sour?

Go ahead, comment

... you know you want to.

Keeping with the dating theme, I'm also going to try and encourage you guys to comment more with this interactive post (inspired by Brit's spilling and Lib's teeth).

What is the worst date you've ever been on? Or, if easier to answer, what's the weirdest/most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you when hanging out with someone new?

Your words of wisdom

For some reason, you people refuse to use the comments function of this blog (why doesn't Turd have this problem?). I've received approximately 73 email responses to my post about my dating anxiety. I thought I would share some of the most amusing and thoughtful bits of advice:

"The nervousness is scary, but in a way kind of cool, especially if you can tell that the other person is a little nervous, too. It means you both care."

"Just take a bunch of Xanax before each date. Sure, you'll end up drooling on yourself in public, but at least you don't remember how nervous you were. Hopefully she/he will be on a bunch of Xanax too. You'd already have something to talk about!"

"I think you're over-thinking things. Especially when it comes to worrying about all the possible personal issues that might come up during a date. A pit stain or two isn't going to make or break things. Trust me, I know."

"If you can't find things to talk about with a person on a date I'd say that's a pretty good sign that you're not all that compatible, anyway."

This is my personal favorite:

"I don't think you should force yourself to try and do things because you think you should be doing them. Let things happen naturally. After a while you'll probably realize the error of your ways and come running back to me."

If this makes me an agist, so be it

I hate that they always have an "elderly couple" team on The Amazing Race. I can't stand the old people teams. The old people can never do anything right and they make stupid comments. In fact, they're totally annoying. If they put more old people on next season, I swear I won't watch.

RB stands in for AF

AF still hasn't sent me an update about his Match.com adventures, so today I will share some of my own thoughts on the wild world of dating to fill in. Dad, you may not want to read this one. Jeff, that goes for you, too.

I've now been single for about four months. I've come to really treasure my freedom, but I'm also becoming accustomed to it. Once you truly accept the fact that you can go out dancing and carousing until three in the morning on any given night, there is far less motivation to actually do it on any given night. Yep, I'd say that I'm comfortably settling into singlehood.

I recently thought to myself that I should start going out on some dates. I mean dates in the traditional sense. In my mind, a date is supposed to work this way: meet guy, guy asks you for phone number, guy calls and asks you out on date, you get all gussied up (maybe buying a new top for the occasion, definitely putting on some lip gloss at the very least), go on said date, behave yourself (witty conversation, two-drink limit, maintain a lady-like demeanor), go home afterwards, and maybe go out with guy again if you had fun. There are obviously some variations on that mix, but when I think of going on dates, I am thinking of them specifically in contrast to the much easier things that often stand in for dating -- including activities like renting a DVD with your guy "friend," meeting up to "study," or just repeatedly getting drunk and making out.*

I figure I should go out on some dates, because that is what single girls are supposed to do. I need to rack up some good dating stories now, so I have them to tell my daughters about when they're young women (my mom's personal favorite is about an overly aggressive marine). Plus, if I collect enough crazy dating adventures, I can use them as material for a new chick lit novel with a pink cover and blonde cartoon girl in pumps on the cover.

The problem is that when faced with the prospect of going on a real date, tend to I freeze up. It is somewhat terrifying. What am I supposed to wear? What if I can't think of anything to talk about? What if he's boring? What if I spill? What if I sweat so much that I get pit stains?! Maybe I'm just shy, but renting a DVD and sitting on the couch with someone you already know and are reasonably comfortable with seems so easy and fun when compared to a relatively formal meal with a stranger. Perhaps my social anxiety disorder is flaring up again, but geez dating makes me nervous.

*I am not saying I do or have done any of these things. I'm just saying that in modern times they frequently occur in place of more traditional dates. It's a fact of life.

Daily dose of cuteness

Clare sent more pictures of Jack today:




He's such a cutie.




Look at that dimple!




The chubby cheeks kill me. As does the stern expression.




Ross is pretty cute, too. Though obviously confused about who gets that pacifier. Hah!

Eight inches

Last week, during a brief period of stressed out lonliness, I decided to regrow my grow-your-own boyfriend. I thought he might be able to lend some comfort. Besides, he looked a little pathetic lying there on the window sill next to Anita's grow-your-own-boyfriend, all shriveled up.

Unexpectedly, my boyfriend grew a lot more this time around. I'd say he's eight inches, at least. Double the size of last time! Check out the photos below, with the watering can and amaryllis pot for scale.

Original results (grown on Valentine's Day):




The new, bigger, better boyfriends:




I'm not sure what to attribute the added size to. Maybe he's just putting on the nesting weight that people tend to gain after they get into a serious relationship? If I grow him again next week, will he get even bigger? How many times will I have to throw him in water to get him up over six feet?

I'm out

Iowa was my second pick and they lost this morning. They should have won! I can't believe how sincerely upset I am over being out of a sports pool. I don't want it to be over, yet!

It's so sad... sniffle.

OMG!

When I first heard about Nick Lachey hooking up with Kristin Cavallari I literally gasped and screamed. Last week's Us Weekly reported that though they spent two nights together in his room at the W, there was nothing going on. Her reps said "she didn't get naked" (yeah, who doesn't say that after shacking up with a married man at the W?) and his friends said he wasn't into it and wasn't calling her anymore.

But now, Nadia tells me that she just saw this week's edition of Us Weekly (below) and they're on the cover together! Our copy was supposed to arrive this afternoon and didn't (damn you, postman!). The suspense is killing me. The Superficial reported that they're still going out on dates. I don't know what to think until Us Weekly tells me.

But, she's 19! NINETEEN.





I have already been reminded by several of you (a solidly male several of you) that 19 is legal, so I will also point out that the divorce hasn't happened yet. He's still married. AND SHE'S NINETEEN.

Where is my magazine?! This is killing me.

Consumed by March Madness!

I need help: the friend who was serving as my sounding board for my picks for the survival pool is now in the pool himself, and can no longer be trusted. What team should I pick for the second round? The team has to for sure win its game, but not go much further. Suggestions?

For those of you who are sick of Jake

I've gotten a couple of complaints about all the photos of Jake from the gentlemen, so I'm posting this one to balance it out a little:




I like to please you all, and at this point, even I have a thing for Scarlett. I also think this picture is kinda cool because she's all gussied up for an event, but it's so close up that you can see her scar from her eyebrow piercing and also that little thing in her ear that most actresses wouldn't include in their red carpet attire. Makes her more real somehow.

I'm going to see Match Point this weekend. I think I'm the only person left who hasn't seen it.

Would it kill me to slap on some lipstick?

Why is it that you always bump into people when you're late, flustered, and looking your most scraggly and run down? For some reason it doesn't bother me to look tired and crappy in front of people I see everyday, but running into someone I've fallen out of touch with when I have spent exactly 2.5 minutes preparing to leave the apartment is the worst.

This morning on BART, I ran into a guy who I used to have a fat, high school-style crush on. That, of course, meant that I was wearing I wrinkled shirt I picked up off the floor, no make up, and had not brushed my hair. I had showered and put on deodorant, so maybe I scored some points there.

Someday I will learn my lesson about always looking your best, blah, blah, blah. Grandpa used to admonish me for wearing baggy, ripped up jeans (college). He said I should dress up and wear skirts because he thought it would get me preferential treatment. Sounds horrible, but there's probably some truth to it. Grandpa wasn't exactly a feminist, I guess, but he knew his stuff.

AF does Match.com

Just because I said I'd never do it, doesn't mean I can't get vicarious thrills out of one of my friends doing it. Here is AF's first report on Match.com:

"I am the 3,454,910th person to join Match.com. I am also the 3,454,910th person to say, 'I can't believe I'm doing this. Really, I'm not this desperate.' But, much worse decisions have been made with a credit card in hand while drunk.

RB convinced me to open a free profile about a month ago, but I didn't pay it much attention afterwards. But last week I get an email notification. Someone had emailed me. Of course I got curious, paid the membership fee, joined, and subsequently read an email from a old friend: 'Ha- funny to see u hear. Good luck hunting.' That may be the most expensive email ever. 

Now that I'm a paying member and all, this last weekend I fixed up my profile so as to make it snazzy. Then I decided to search for and email a prospective mate. I found one that was cute and seemed especially interesting. Writing such an email is difficult, however. My first approach is as follows (and in no specific order): short, inquisitive, a little funny, and that's it.

Now I'm waiting for a response from my first internet crush. I hope she writes back. What has struck me as strange with this Match.com site is that I can see when she is online. And she was online this afternoon. So I know she saw my email. Which is strange information to possess. This all seems very weird. 

P.S. Things with K are iffy."

Just because...

I've been in a bad mood all day and this made me feel a little bit better.





I borrowed it from Pink is the New Blog. It's from an Out Magazine photo shoot.

I also found a great deal of amusment in this collection of photos. Jake, I really think you should call me.

I am becoming a dude

I blame b-school: I joined a March Madness pool today. I know nothing about basketball, probably have never watched a full game (though I do think the term "dribbling" is hilarious), and here I am... in a pool. Maybe it'll be good for me. Maybe I'll learn something. I might develop a fondness for sports. If I win I can go buy myself something sparkly and pink. With ruffles.

It's a "survivor" pool, so basically I have to pick one team a day and as long as the team that I pick wins its game, I'm still in. Last person standing wins the pool. Once I pick a team I can't use that team again, so it seems like the strategy to go with is not to use up all the super good teams early on.

I have yet to make my first selection. Any advice?

Side note on AF

A few of you have mentioned that you think AF is me, cleverly disguised. AF is not me. I would never do Match.com.

An overdue update from AF

He sent me this weeks ago, but it never made it to the blog:

"No date last weekend, but K did come over Sunday night to watch a movie. So, it was kind of a date, I guess. Nothing exciting. We're still chatting over email a lot during classes, but there's nothing serious going on. I get the feeling that we're just kind of tiding each other over while we rebound from previous relationships. That is fine, but not particularly inspiring. However, I'm not going to complain so long as I keep getting to make out with someone.

I have decided Match.com is cheesy, although maybe I should try it. It's not easy to meet girls in a setting where I can ask them out. School is currently off limits, and the grocery store does not seem to be working out. When I go out running and see cute girls, they're usually running too, often in a different direction. Maybe Match.com wouldn't be so bad?"

WTF?

Another mystery that has developed in my absence: What's with Turd Ferguson's sudden rise to stardom? Twenty-five comments for basically saying that dinner is good? What the hell has happened?

Where am I?

I have surfaced (somewhat dazed) from a cruel term of corporate finance and quantitative decision making, to an unfamiliar world. It seems I haven't been to the gym, paid bills, or talked to anyone in months. There's a new life form growing in the grout in our shower. Britney Spears is pregnant again! Someone should have told me!

The worst realization is that now, even though I have the time, I have nothing to blog about, since no one really wants to know about net present value, portfolio valuation, or futures. Ugh. B-school is so unsexy.