2011 in Review (ish)

December 31, 2011

I’ve never done this questionnaire before, but RA posted her responses, and I thought I’d play along.

- – - – -

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Presented at three conferences (yay!) and sleep in the bathtub (boo! Long story. And no, I wasn't drunk.)

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? Hmm. Looking at these, I did ok. I made new friends/got closer with those I had already made, got a little better at cooking for one--I rotated meals a bit more frequently, at least, though Paul Newman's Supreme Pizza made a too-frequent appearance, maintained the 4.0 and kept the apartment cleanish. I guess I got better at complimenting myself and tried to be a good Auntie Hil and actually dated myself quite a bit. I did not, however, take a Facebook break or keep up with my journal (or even blog, really).

For 2012, some of those are still on the docket--cooking, cleaning, dating myself, grades. New ones? Hmm. 2012 is likely to be a pretty damn stressful year what with going through exams this spring, doing my proposal and IRB in the summer, and doing my dissertation research in the fall. There is at least one wacky adventure planned, though, which is something to look forward to.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Ohmyword, yes. This year, I welcomed Rowyn Fleissig, Jack Bradley and Ella Piro within five months of each other. It's an epidemic, I tell you.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Thankfully, no.

5. What countries did you visit?
Just various parts of the good ol' US of A: Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Texas, Virginia and Missouri. I did accidentally end up in Illinois, too. Whoops.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you didn’t have in 2011?
Hmm. A date? Sex? A winning lottery ticket? World peace? A teaching-only assistantship for the following school year? A really good eyebrow waxer in Columbus since I won't see my dear Hans until summer? The Phillies getting to the World Series?

7. What dates from 2011 will be etched upon your memory, and why?

August 11th will always be the date of my legal divorce. I'm ok with it, but it's still a little weird. My 3 conferences were pretty neat, and those dates are on my C.V.

8. What was your biggest achievement of this year?
I am pretty psyched that I got accepted to a big, international conference for March. I also seem to have some of my medical symptoms under control, thanks to a smart endocrinologist.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I didn't blog nearly as much as I would like and probably watched more tv than I should have. I didn't really aim to do much that was super huge or important, so I also didn't really fail. Isn't life safe that way? Blech. It's also boring. Let's fix that.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I had two small summer colds in June/July that were annoying, but not debilitating by any stretch of the imagination. I had some minor surgery a couple of weeks ago, too, but honestly, I remain one of the healthiest people I know (knock on wood).

11. What was the best thing you bought?
I bought a CrockPot, a hair straightener and some cute, bargain-priced clothes that all come in handy and help my team. I didn't buy anything remarkable that comes to mind. Oh wait--NKOTBSB tickets! That was so fun.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My mom made it out of surgery in August and recovered quickly, which was nice. My friends are always being fantastic, too.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Jerry Sandusky, the Kardashians, the GOP as a whole, the Eagles...

14. Where did most of your money go?
Bills. After that, conference travel (grad students don't get reimbursed nearly enough).

15. What did you get really excited about?

The Hunger Games trailer. Putting my dissertation committee together and seeing the light at the end of the (very stressful) tunnel. The Muppets.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
Ooh, good question. I've blogged about songs before, and I'm sure there is a ton from this past year that will take me back to 2011 for years to come. Honestly, I probably can't name just one. That's cheating on this question, I know.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Happier, thinner, poorer. Though the latter is such a relative term that it hardly matters.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Writing. Reading. Cooking. Teaching (with that assistantship I wish I'd had). Dancing. Outdoorsy stuff.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Torturing myself for less than stellar decision making? Spending time trying to control things beyond my control? Stressing out about things that end up being ok?

20. How will you spend Christmas?
I was with Kitty on Christmas and then saw my friend Claire's family for cookies. I have this uncanny ability to show up just as dessert is being served. Kitty and I keep it pretty low key--breakfast and just a few presents and then a yummy dinner.

21. Did you fall in love in 2011?
Not unless you count my celebrity crushes on Ryan Gosling and Rachel Maddow. (Jason Segel was already cemented as celeb #1.)

22. What was your favorite TV program?

Well, Rachel became part of my morning routine, but I still love How I Met Your Mother, The Big Bang Theory, The Daily Show, and The Colbert Report. I broke up with Glee.

23. What was the best book you read?
Oh dear, I read a lot and am currently having literary amnesia. Fun Home was pretty fantastic. Not all of these are from 2011, of course, but if I read it, it's here.

24. What was your greatest musical discovery?

I know it's lame to say this, but I'm sort of "meh" about music. I was introduced to a podcast that keeps me entertained though.

25. What did you want and get?
Accepted to the conferences, this one professor to be on my committee (I was worried he'd say no), tall boots in a color other than black (grey), a couple close new friends, a couple decent haircuts...

26. What did you want and not get?
Hmm. A better price for our house? (I wouldn't have seen any of the money, but it would have been a happier ending.)

27. What was your favorite film of 2011?
I see so many movies that it's hard to keep track, honestly. Crazy, Stupid, Love was good enough to see twice in the theater, as was The Muppets. Tree of Life is highly recommended, too. But really, I saw a lot of good, pretty good, and really good movies. (And a bunch of crappy ones, but I rented those.) It's pretty much my favorite thing to do for fun (on a regular basis, at least; I also like going dancing, but I can't do that more than once every now and then).

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 32, went out for drinks and apps with girlfriends after class.

29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Seeing some of my best girlfriends more often. And obviously some political things. Idiots.

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept of 2011?
Straight jeans, solid tees and cardigans with long, dangly necklaces and a seasonal shoe variation (sandals/flats/tall boots). Winter means sweater dresses and leggings.

31. What kept you sane?
My girlfriends, Morris (though near Thanksgiving, he caused a lot of stress), lots of sleep, BodyAttack class, sitcom reruns, fantasizing about celebrities, Starbucks Awake tea, and M&Ms.

32. What political issue stirred you the most?
I have to pick one? HA! The federal ban/BS about gay marriage and the (idiotic and thankfully defeated) Tennessee Personhood amendment come the most immediately to mind; politics in general get me riled up, so I'm sure there's more.

33. Who did you miss?
My long-distance girlfriends.

34. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.

Life is a lovely mix of what actually happens and how you react to what happens. I knew this already, but it was reinforced.

35. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

Wow. That's hard and I can't think of anything. I will share a funny instead: a girlfriend and I were driving around yesterday and "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger came on the radio. I admitted that I used to think the lyric was "put me in a hospital for nerds and then they had to commit me." That is where I belong--committed in a hospital for nerds. The next 18 months are likely to be the cause of that...

Neil Gaiman, I do plan on some good madness for 2012.

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself."

I love you, (wo)man

Yesterday, my friend Kate and I were lounging around having a lazy day of movies, snacks and Chinese food. Knowing I was a bit under the weather, Kate brought a couple of DVDs over, and, because she's just that kind of friend, made sure to bring me two of my Hollywood boyfriends--Ryan Gosling and Jason Segel. Gosling's film, The United States of Leland (2004), was a somewhat disappointing indie flick despite the stellar cast. Segel's, however, something I've seen a ton of times, cracked us up and made up for the weirdness of the other. And it is precisely this kind of movie--the comedy you've seen so many times you can anticipate dialogue--that allows for that perfect blend of paying attention and zoning out to chat.

I Love You, Man is about a guy named Peter (played by another Hollywood cutie, Paul Rudd) who, for a variety of reasons, doesn't have a lot of male friends; this makes filling out his side of the bridal party for his upcoming wedding a little difficult, and he sets out on a mission to make at least one close guy friend. Aided by his gay brother (my SNL hearthrob, Andy Samberg), his fiance, and even his mom, he begins going on "man-dates." After several flubs, he meets Sydney Fife (my boyfriend Jason) and they begin this sort of whirlwind best friendship. This newly budding friendship follows a typical trajectory of a courtship--this movie is sort of a homoerotic romantic comedy, after all; they don't call it a "bromance" for nothing--which, naturally, involves a breakup and make up just in time for Peter's wedding. Aw.

Silly? Yes, a bit. But it's also a pretty accurate portrayal of that very strange position we all find ourselves in sometimes--making a new friend. The focus of this movie, is, of course, male friendship, but Kate and I agreed that the overall idea certainly applies to the terror of making new girlfriends, too. In fact, with the exception of the fight/breakup that Peter and Sydney go through, this is exactly what happened to me last year when I first moved to Columbus.

Only one other person began my teeny-tiny graduate program full-time last fall. There were a couple of women who were full-time but ahead of us credit wise, and there were also a couple of girls who started part-time. However, only BP and I were enrolled full-time and at the same point in our academic career. Because of this, we were in several classes together and slowly began to get to know each other by default. And...it was a lot like dating. We both admit now how nervous we were; we didn't want to appear too eager--what if she doesn't like me?--but also secretly were hoping we would get along and become besties. We even talk about the start to our friendship like couples tell the story of how they met: retracing those first, tentative attempts to reach out, our first outings, and finally, that moment that cemented how "we knew."

It began with meeting for tea with the two women significantly ahead of us in the program. We wanted to get the inside scoop on professors and classes and also get a better sense of how to navigate the program as a whole. Later, our small program had a gathering at a professor's house to start the new academic term, and I drove her home. I picked out her email address from a group mailing that had gone around and nervously hit "send" for that first electronic reach-out. We exchanged phone numbers and started to text occasionally. I invited her to an 80s dance party that a meet-up group was hosting. She invited me out to dinner with her and her boyfriend so I could meet him, too. We started alternating who brought tea to our 4:30 classes, and then began carpooling, too, rotating who drove and who paid for Starbucks. That fateful moment when our friendship was cemented came during class one day, when her red cowboy boot got stuck on her foot and she asked me to help yank it off so she could adjust her sock. I mean--how can you not be friends with someone after you help pull off a problematic shoe?

After that, we were sort of inseparable. Her boyfriend lives here, and I have a long-time guy friend who is also local, but we both value female friendships and were committed to making it work. (I guess you could say we were going steady?) We began texting and emailing pretty regularly, assuming we'd be partners for class projects, doing dinner or tea on the weekends. We got to know each other and, despite having very little overlap in that Venn diagram of past experience or "things in common," we get along famously. We had our first sleepover on New Year's Eve and have had a couple since. I got her mail while she was on vacation, she drove me to school one day that I needed a ride. We talk and vent about pretty much everything, from boys and romantic quandaries, school stress, family dynamics, and career aspirations, to bad haircuts, shopping successes, celebrity crushes and how Diet Coke is pretty much our drug of choice. I can safely say she's one of my best friends, and I know the reverse is true, too.

Which is why it didn't seem strange to us that in the spring, after having a couple of classes with this feisty redhead Kate, we sort of decided as a unit that we wanted to be better friends with her. We plotted our first move, braced ourselves for rejection, and were giddy when she said yes to coming out for drinks and apps for my birthday in April. The process of making a new friend began again, but this time, it seemed easier. The texting and emailing, the invites for dinner or tea, the going out dancing, etc. were less nerve-wracking because we had done this successfully before. It wasn't long until Kate became part of our family, too. We certainly hang out with other people a lot of the time, but the three of us have become a pretty solid trio. I don't think a day goes by that I'm not in communication with one or both of them. We keep each other sane, somehow. (They deserve nothing short of a medal for this.)

Female friendship is one of the things that makes my world go 'round, and I've always had a close knit group--high school, college, study abroad, grad school take 1, work--but moving to a new city at 31 made the process pretty daunting. Making new girlfriends is like dating without the flirting and sex--you would think that would make it less frightening, somehow, right? Nope. It's way, way harder. Maybe it's because girls are stereotypically catty and snobby and cliquey? Or maybe it's because if something doesn't work out with a new potential romantic partner, you can chalk it up to bad chemistry or poor timing, wallow in some chocolate and retail therapy, and call it a day. If someone doesn't want to be your friend? Ouch. It is me.

It might not be fodder for an Apatow-esque raunchy comedy, and so far there hasn't been a breakup to add to the plotline, but the writers of I Love You, Man got a few things right.

(Ok, so neither BP nor Kate is Jason Segel.)

A Diamond in the Rough

I am a pain in the ass to shop with.

First, I'm thrifty. Even when I got paid a rather decent amount of money, I have a really, really hard time spending money on most things (as I've written about before, so I won't go into it much here). But I noticed yesterday that I tend to like something, look at the price, and then decide that something is wrong with it or it isn't worth the listed amount and put it back.

Second, there's a lot of stuff I don't like/can't wear. I don't like small floral prints, animal prints, ruffles, bows, things that tie, jazzy MC Escher looking prints, (most prints, actually, though I do like large florals, stripes, and some polka dots) or colors like olive green, beige and lavender. That's good, because I can't wear those colors, just like I can't wear any other shade of green, all yellows, pure white, or cool-toned purples and blues. I tend to shy away from red because I feel that it brings out the I-just-came-in-from-the-cold red nose I seem to have at all times. I also can't wear a lot of necklines or cuts on top because my barely-A cup size makes it impossible. I don't like blue with denim or purple with black. (And I own a lot of denim and black--who doesn't?)

Third, I have a hard time finding things that fit. Now, I realize this could be a problem compounded by the above money issues and large number of things that I dismiss out of the gate. Shirts are usually too big, even the XS, and end up making me look like a box with no shape. I know that a belt is a girl's best friend, but enough already. The only jeans that seem to fit are from the Levi's "Curve ID" line, because otherwise they gap in the waist if they fit in the thigh or look painted on if they fit in the waist. Dresses are hard, because my top and bottom aren't exactly the same size, and I don't have the wherewithal (or money) to hunt down a tailor right now. I don't really do the blazer/jacket look anyway, but jackets tend to pull across the shoulders or jab me in the armpits. Because I'm so small and petite (yeah, yeah, an obnoxious problem to have), I get lost in things that have a lot of fabric. I am also very sensitive to changes in temperature (thanks, thyroid!), so I'm usually either freezing or sweating in my clothes.

So I have a hard time finding things that I love. Off hand, I can think of maybe ten things I currently own that I absolutely adore: a grey one-shoulder dress, my straight leg jeans, a sleeveless white ruffled shirt (ok, I know I said I can't wear pure white, but I always wear a necklace), and black pencil skirt come to mind, along with three pairs of shoes. I have a fashion magazine addiction, admittedly, but I'm not ever going to be a slave to trends and find most of them ridiculous, anyway; but, like, am I really supposed to get excited about tees and cardigans? I see things on other people and try to emulate their look to no avail, or see cute things and either have them be too expensive or ill-fitting. Since I can't walk around naked, I end up just making do and hope that I at least don't have to spend too much in the process.

Which is why I am beyond excited to have found a new store.

My friend Kate told me about this place called MJR Sales. It's a warehouse for the parent company that owns Victoria's Secret, The Limited, Lane Bryant, and some other brand I've never heard of. It's a little hard to get to, since it's tucked in the back of a corporate park that involves driving through no fewer than two round-a-bouts, but worth it. It's very bare bones--cement flooring, industrial lights, no salespeople to help, and dressing rooms that have curtains instead of doors. Outlets tend to have past-seasons goods, or the factory versions of the current styles, and this place does, too, though with a larger selection and fewer guarantees. I found a wool skirt I would have killed for, and the only sizes they had were 8 and 14. I tried on a great embellished tank I liked, but all three XS had damage of some kind. As the one saleslady remarked to me when I told her it was my first time there, "you have to kiss a lot of frogs." Pucker up.

But there are far more upsides, at least for me. First, the prices are Too Die For. I didn't see one thing over $20 except the wool winter coats. Second, the main part is organized first by item--pants, skirts, short sleeve tops, long sleeve/sweaters, dresses--then by size, then by color. So for green/yellow/cool-toned challenged me, I can just skip that entire portion of the rack. You're only allowed 6 items in the dressing "room" at a time, but they have a nifty system set up so you can switch stuff out without having to travel. I tend to dislike unctuous salespeople, so their absence is actually pleasant. In addition, they have shoes, bags, accessories, jewelry and undergarments/lingerie from Vicki's. (They also have clothes from Vicki's, like in the catalog but that generally isn't available in their stores.) If you're handy with a sewing needle, the damages rack will also be fantastic; I'm not, but some of the things had such negligible problems--a teeny, tiny hole in the back--that it wouldn't bother me anyway, just like the surface gash at the back of my old refrigerator purchased at the scratch-and-dent appliance store.

I came home with two dresses, two sweaters, tights and earrings for $58. The one sweater was originally priced $60 itself! It's the perfect kind of place to stock up on basics; I'm not spending a ton of money on cotton tees, plain cardigans, or simple silver jewelry. I tried on a whole bunch of stuff that didn't work, of course, but that's going to happen anywhere, and I was smart enough to wear an easy on/off outfit and sandals (and ate a good snack prior to departure). I was bummed about that one skirt and the pair of Anne Klein peep-toe slingback heels that fit but had one broken strap, but I really like what I walked away with.

Much to my mother's chagrin, everything ended up being grey or black, but, like, one thing at a time.

"Outside of a dog"

"a book is a man’s best friend. Inside a dog, it’s too dark to read.” (Ba dum bum.)

This witty one-liner is generally attributed to the late comedian Groucho Marx, and, punch line aside, he may have been on to something.

In a recent issue of the journal Psychological Science, a team of researchers found that readers can feel a “true sense of belonging” to the people in fiction. The novels used for this study in particular were Harry Potter (yay) and Twilight (ugh), and after just thirty minutes of being absorbed in the plot, subjects reported feeling the same positive effects as they did after spending time with actual people. One of the authors of the study is quick to point out that reading should not be a replacement for living, breathing people with whom one can have a relationship, but that some of that need to feel like we belong to something can be achieved with books.

Well, yeah.

I know that not everyone is a voracious reader, or, perhaps more fairly, not everyone is a voracious reader of fiction. (I would argue that narrative nonfiction, like memoirs, would probably garner the same results, but I think it’s safe to say that analytical/informational nonfiction probably doesn’t.) But my closest friends and I are big readers, even if our taste differs. And anyone who has ever been swept up in a book can relate to that feeling of wanting to be immersed in the storyworld, wishing a character were your friend/mother/husband, even pet. (The canine narrator, Enzo, of The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein might be one of the most wonderful dogs in fiction. Ever.*)

Maybe we would give a character advice—yes, make him breakfast tomorrow, Molly! Maybe we’d like to just hang out—the Weasley twins would be an exhausting amount of fun, as would Tiny Cooper. We might want to date a character—Nick Carraway seems nice; Mr. Darcy is generally popular—be their adoptive daughter (the Boatwright sisters), go on their adventures (Lyra), etc. There are so many characters I would love to have in my classroom as a student—Delly, Holling Hoodhood, maybe even Holden—and I would of course have loved to gone to Hogwarts. (I mean, seriously.) I don’t want to get into the Arena during the Hunger Games, but hanging with Jace, Clary and Simon at the Institute? Yes, please.

Even if the characters are pathetic, heinous or wacko—I’m about a tenth of the way through Infinite Jest and, quite frankly, I don’t want to be friends with any of them, yet—if the author has done his/her job well, it should take a moment for me to re-register myself in place and time after placing that bookmark. I should put the book down, get up from my couch/pool chair/bed and have to actively remember that I live alone with my cat who, despite my desperate wishes, does not talk back to me. I should be able to take mindless sips of my chai latte and be deaf to the buzz of my local bookstore or coffee shop. I should almost miss my bus stop. When I find those books that suck me in, I don’t feel alone or lonely. I feel like I just spent some quality time with people that matter to me.

Of course, TV shows can do this, too. (Movies, well, less so, because the total amount of time required is far less than a series, but still, not impossible, obviously. Weren’t there cases of depression recorded after Avatar came out and people were so sad Pandora wasn’t real?) I’ve developed actual crushes on tv characters—McGee from NCIS, Dr. Reid from Criminal Minds—and felt distraught after a summer of intense serial DVD watching—Gilmore Girls circa 2003, Freaks and Geeks earlier this summer—ended.

But I like that this study focused on books. As an only child, I spent many, many, many hours reading when I was younger. Sure, I was a totally dorky kid with a 10 inch black and white tv who lived on a dead end street with exactly one other kid my age, but I enjoyed reading, even then. Like most kids, I tried my hardest to push back my bedtime, and could often read until “late” in the evening if my worn-out-from-working-and-raising-a-kid-alone mom fell asleep on the couch. One year when I was ten or so, I got through the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series; those books were huge! And I read all of them! In two months! I would often sit in the car until I finished the latest installment of The BabySitters Club that I picked up at the library one mile up the road, and I once very narrowly avoided a horribly embarrassing encounter with aforementioned kid my own age when, in the dead of summer in our non air conditioned house, I was reading in my undies on the couch and he, uncharacteristically, biked up to our front porch instead of parking in the driveway and knocking on that door. Yipes.

I’m not such a bibliophile that I think books will alleviate all of my loneliness—then or now—nor am I delusional enough to believe characters are actual people that I can talk to or be around, even though I would almost always start novel discussions in my classroom with “let’s talk about our friend, [insert character’s name here].” And I admit that I am a bit of an over-feeler (not to be confused with an over-taster, which I also am guilty of being); I avoid some books because of the content (The Underneath), have stopped reading others because I was afraid of what would happen to a person or animal (Room and The Story of Edgar Sawtelle), and have been known to shamelessly cry in public or to talk aloud to the pages of my text. I get wrapped up in some stories at the expense of bathing, eating or, much to the above researcher’s chagrin, being around actual people. But as a single person with limited funds, it’s nice to know that a room full of friends awaits me at my public library.

Hey, it’s nice to feel popular.

*They’re making this into a movie to be released sometime in 2012. I’m dubious how this will be achieved since it’s focalized through a dog and that means they’ll likely alter it so completely the spirit of the story will be destroyed. I look forward to being proven wrong.

I wonder where I get it from...

Below is an essay of sorts written by my great-grandmother, Susan Brewster Wheelock, circa sometime around 1930ish. It's not dated like many of her other writings my mom found, but the biographical details mentioned it in set the date at least after my great-aunt was born, and likely a bit after, though my mom can't recall our family history well enough to place it any more precisely. Susan, or "Graud," as my mother and aunt called her--somewhat unflattering, though I called my grandmother "Gaga", and I'm not sure which is worse--graduated magna cum laude from Smith College in the 1920s and was "smart as a whip" as Gaga liked to say. While I have the body type and mannerisms of my mom, I have often been told I look more like Graud than any other family member; we have a very similar profile with our oddly acquired button nose, fair skin and dark, curly hair. Our personalities are (were?) quite alike as well, I'm told, as are our "brains." (Smart as a whip? Me? I guess I do okay.) Anyway, the following essay or diary entry, typed verbatim from the original--now on delicate yellowed paper with faded ink--indicates that we probably would have gotten along had we had the chance to know one another.

"Give Me Another Title"

My pride is reduced to smoldering embers when I am forced to write "housewife" on a legal document. I know I am a housewife and ever shall be, but it shrivels my soul. I want to break my back and ruin my hands in the attainment of beauty. I want to tire my brain over something beside the planning of three menus a day multiplied by three-hundred and sixty-five ad infinitum. The pseudonym "housewife" for a widow with two children and a dog is ridiculous and insipid. The eternal ordering of food to fill those gaping mouths, the fighting of dust and disorder, the stern desire to whip my children into a better mold that I have patterned, the necessity of a calm and judicial mind in the face of the countless exigencies of the day depresses me. Rather than read a delightful book, I dust. Rather than practice my adored Schubert, the spinach awaits my pleasure, the vacuum cleaner ties itself into electrical knots, the groceries are late, agents ring the bell, the Delineator desires my subscription. I have become engrossed in "Broome Stages"-the potatoes burn. My brain slowly atrophies in a seething mass of dust and spiders while a symphony plays to the clatter of dishes. I am and ever shall be a housewife, but that speck of dust will not get me down.

'A' for Average

On Savage Love podcast #239, a guy called in with a relationship problem (um, this is the general point of the podcast). His conundrum was that he's a relatively attractive guy, dating a relatively attractive girl and having a relatively great time of it. What's the problem, you ask? Well, he was worried that his girlfriend--whom he loves, finds funny and smart and all of that--isn't hot enough. She's cute and pretty, but not hot.

You know what, buddy? Screw you.

Of course, you have to be attracted to your partner. This guy is--she's cute and pretty, he says. And yes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we all have types. And yes, beauty is culturally determined to some degree. And yes, some people are what I call "objectively hot"--Johnny Depp isn't my type (nor is Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt or Ryan Reynolds), but I can appreciate on an purely aesthetic basis that these men are attractive. But this guy is upset that his funny, smart, nice, cute, pretty girlfriend isn't one of those hot girls that get gawked at by other men or approached by modeling agencies.

Get over yourself.

I will allow that being super model hot might have a few drawbacks: people are probably intimidated by you. Men might not approach you, for fear that you are a) out of their league b) a bitch or c) both. There are stereotypes that hot girls are mean and/or dumb, and maybe people can't get past your looks to take the rest of you seriously. But, um, my sympathies end there.

Most of us walking around on this earth are some shade of average. I don't mean this as an insult; it's a statistical fact. (This, of course, is not about how women tend to low rate themselves no matter what.) The albeit complicated notion of hotness means that there are some super hot people, some just generally attractive people, and some not so attractive people. (Again, taking all of the aforementioned--culture, type, etc.--into account. I get that.) But this guy seems to think that those of us in the "average" category--those of us who are "just" cute and/or pretty aren't good enough for his admittedly average self.

Listen up, jackass.

Let me tell you a secret about all of us who rate low on your "hot" continuum. Unless something horrid befell us later in life, we've probably known our entire lives that we're not in that miniscule segment of the population that is qualified to grace the pages of a magazine. Once I got out of the awkward middle and high school stages, I recognized that with a decent haircut, a little makeup, etc. that I could be cute or pretty, but I'll never be hot. I have moments of feeling or looking more hot than other times, but I'm not hot-hot. The end.

But, I'll let you in on a secret: because I knew that boys would never give me much more than a second glance based solely on my looks, I had to develop this little thing we like to call a personality. I am the first person to admit I'm not movie star gorgeous, but I am smart, kind, generous, caring and easy to talk to. I'm no comedian, but I have moments of being quite funny, and, perhaps more importantly, have a decent sense of other's humor. I have a variety of interests, am an avid reader, keep up with politics, current events, sports, and pop culture. I'm a good friend, a loving daughter and a nurturing partner. I don't like cooking for me, but I'll do it for you (and enjoy it). I'm independent--I won't drag you to the mall to go shoe shopping and can handle going to the movies alone. I'm currently broke, but I'm financially responsible--I've paid every single bill on time and in full for my entire life. I root for the underdog. I'm punctual, remember names, faces and birthdays, buy gifts for no reason, dance while I clean and sing in the car. I hardly ever get sick, adore animals, give good advice and let people into my lane on the highway. For my age, I'm relatively well-traveled. And, despite having just written an entire paragraph that sounds like a profile for Match.com, I'm generally quite humble and self-deprecating and freely admit my faults.

I'm not saying that "hot" girls can't be or aren't these things. I'm sure lots of them are, just like I'm sure lots of "average" or "ugly" girls are mean, bitchy, self-involved, stingy, clingy or stupid.

But, just as Dan told you, Caller, beauty fades. We're all going to get wrinkly and feel the effects of gravity. We'll all go grey, probably gain weight, get crow's feet. We might suffer health issues that involve surgery and leave scars. I, like most women in our 30s, already have cellulite and it isn't going to improve as I age. My mom, who looks absolutely fantastic for her sixty-six years and is supremely active, has parts that sag,wiggle and droop; I will, too. Sure, we could get liposuction, breast implants, collagen implants, face lifts, Botox and monthly root touch-ups. But generally speaking, the only real pieces of us that will still be the same when we're retired are the parts you don't look at. When I'm old, I'll still hold the door open for people, spend hours trying to rescue a sick kitten, thank the bus driver when I exit, send my friends homemade cards and leave little notes for my wrinkly boyfriend to find under his daily glass of prune juice.

Average sounds pretty good to me.

Aural Intensity

They say that scent is the sense most strongly related to memory. Hmm, I don't know. I have a decent sense of smell--I can sniff out a boxwood tree from a mile away because they're so putrid and vile--but I have never once gotten a whiff of something, pleasant or otherwise, and been mentally transported back to some other time and place.

For me, this proverbial trip down memory lane comes with music. When I hear certain songs, I am instantly brought back to a time and place from the days of yore. (At 32, am I allowed to call something 'yore'? I wonder.) I used to chaperone dances at GV, and the DJ would invariably play some "old school" songs to break up the monotony of the current hip-hop and top 40. When those songs came on, I would, without fail, turn to a colleague standing next to me on Grind Patrol and say "this song came out when I was [insert age or grade here]!" The next Monday in class, I might tease my seniors about grinding to music that they played at my middle school dances. (Ok, so I wasn't actually allowed to go to middle school dances, but they don't know that.) Although I probably wouldn't bat a thousand, I can with some degree of certainty tell you what year and maybe season a song came out if I have an emotional tie to it like that.

Of course, a lot of these songs (some of which are not good songs, mind you) for one reason or another, remind me of guys I dated. I can't hear "Shoop" without thinking of High School Boyfriend 1, who bought me Salt N Pepa's album Very Necessary and a bottle of Clinique's Sunflowers perfume as a little present that he gave me in the parking lot of my high school one day when he came to surprise me after school. HSBF2 and I used to play guitar and sing, and one of our favorites was "Give a Little Bit" by Supertramp. "Mo' Money" was a popular song my freshman year of college, and I remember spending Friday nights at Sig Ep dance parties with CBF1 and our friends; I can also remember-sadly-where I was when the Backstreet Boys' video to "Larger Than Life" debuted on MTV, because he and I were sitting in the Hard Rock Cafe in Tel Aviv. CBF2 sang in the coed a cappella group and had "Be With You" as his solo, and my senior year, my a cappella solo was Alanis Morrisette's "You Already Won Me Over," which I sang to my then-boyfriend, CBF3. Several months later, he came to visit me in California, and when I picked him up from the airport and turned on the car, it was playing on the radio. RWBF1 made me this fantastic mixed CD as a gift, and songs like "Bonnie and Clyde" by Jay-Z and "Born Too Late" by a little indie band from Pittsburgh take me back to my first year of teaching and living on my own in Philly, dating a guy across the bridge in NJ. Nickelback's pathetic-attempt-at-satire "Rock Star" always makes me smile, because STBEH and I used to sing it in the car; there's a line about quesadillas, and getting takeout from Chipotle was never the same.

Lest you think me nothing but boy crazy, not every song-memory I have is romantically linked. PDiddy's remix of Sting's "I'll be Watching You" brings me back to the summer after I graduated high school, driving around town with Brittany; "California Love" by the late Tupac is a favorite for me and Kristen, because nearly every time we'd have an impromptu sleepover in her basement, we'd fall asleep watching MTV and wake up to that video playing at some ridiculous hour of the night. Back in 7th grade, Kristi and I taped--yes, taped--"Jump Around" from the radio and painstakingly did the play-pause-play-pause game in order to write down the lyrics so we could learn them all. (Seriously, tapes?) My volleyball team made several warm-up mixes that we played before games, and countless songs remind me of the nerves I felt before every match, coupled with the absolute joy of getting to know 20+ kids in that capacity. I even remember which Christina Aquilera song one of my Philly kids choreographed for their dance show, and how shocked--I mean, cartoon eyeballs bugging out of my head shocked--I was when one of my favorite female students got on stage as a dead-ringer for the pop star.

Music ties us to a time and place, even if sometimes it's seemingly meaningless (can you hear "What is Love?" without doing the head nod? Doubt it.) Books may allow us to escape into another world, but music brings us back to portions of our own worlds. At this very moment, I'm on the couch, snuggling with my favorite pup, watching a VH1 90s one-hit-wonder retrospective, reliving all of the memories--painful, joyful or otherwise--from middle school, high school and parts of college. And it never stops--years from now, I'll look back on this time in my life, and think fondly about the significance of "Bust Your Windows" and "Sunday Kind of Love." There are songs that don't exist yet that will make me think of people I haven't met yet.

Nietzsche said that without music, life would be a mistake. I say, all of our mistakes come with music.

And for some, the mistake is the music. But enough about Vanilla Ice.