Wherein you learn that I go for the nerd...

Dearest readers, I learned a few important things tonight that I feel need to be shared post haste on the interwebs.

A) NEVER under any circumstances, no matter how tired one might be are, should anyone drink a large Diet Coke during a James Bond movie. You will spend the entirety of said flick doing your best not to pee just a little every time a gun shot goes off. And if you haven't been to a Bond film recently, let me clue you in: that happens a whole darn lot. (Maybe this is more specific to me as the caffeine made me a touch jumpy as well).

2) Daniel Craig has the ability to make just about anything look hot. I'm not even exaggerating (which I will now admit that I am prone to do in most cases). Whether he's trying to live the life of a drunken beach bum or is walking into a mob run casino in a perfectly tailored tux to seduce a... erm, lady of the night, the man does it with class and sheer perfection. It's why he's my favorite Bond (SHHH! Don't tell Sean Connery. He held the top spot until just recently).

III) Even when the above mentioned perfection is clamoring for my attention, I will still go for the nerd.

Allow me to explain for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of feasting your eyes on Mr. Craig's baby blues in the most recent installation of the International Man of Mystery's story; you finally get to meet Q, who has morphed into the perfect blend of hipster and tech nerd. And I think that I might be a little bit in love with him. (Hint: Hold the little).

I loved everything from his heavy framed glasses (I have a similar pair in the bathroom at home) to his messy hair to his cardigans to his skinny tie. I thoroughly enjoyed his snarky banter with Bond and the fact that he's wicked smart. While Bond maybe hot... oh let's be honest, we're all friends here: there's no maybe about it. Bond is smokin'.  So, while Bond is hot in every sense of the word, Q is wonderfully quirky and just dorky enough to appeal to a total nerd girl like me. Don't misunderstand me: nerd does not mean lack of social skills or an extreme dislike of sports. I have learned through painful trial and error (read: loads of awkward blind dates) that I couldn't ever spend a ridiculous amount of time around a guy who hates sports. It's just not a thing in my world (speaking of: GO UTES! Way to finally win a game. Now back to our regularly scheduled ranting). But I most definitely appreciate a nerd. And that, my darling readers, is what Q is. Total and complete geek chic.

Why, may I ask you, do men like this only exist in fictional worlds?

Yup, I'm THAT girl...

The above statement could apply to a myriad of things. Today these include but are not limited to:

-The girl who started a new job

-The girl who watched about 80 episodes of Friends this weekend during the Nick @ Nite marathon (Team Chandler, all the way)

-The girl who's little sister gave the most incredible farewell talk yesterday

-The girl who met the REAL Luna Lovegood tonight at IHOP in Centerville (you think I'm exaggerating? Not this time).

-The girl that most definitely did not sleep long enough this weekend

-The girl who made stellar cinnamon rolls for her little sister's farewell breakfast (I'm seriously fantastic. You should bribe me to make them sometime. If you're a cute boy, you just have to smile pretty and ask me out and I'll make them)

None of these things are actually what I was thinking about when I wrote the title of this post. 

Let me set the stage. 

Tonight Sara the Theatre Fairy, the Fantastic Charisse, and I made the trek up to Centerville to see "Little Women". A night of theatre combined with hanging out with two of my favorite people? Thank you, Monday. I'll take that. Anyway, back to the point. As with any show, there were some fairly attractive young gentlemen whom I was given the pleasurable task of watching on stage for a few hours. You wanna know what else didn't hurt? They were required to sing. I KNOW. Do you see that puddle on the floor at Centerpoint? Yeah. That's me. I'm writing this using a combination of telepathy and a sonic screwdriver that I borrowed from The Doctor. (Partially because I bawled my eyes out when Beth died. We all forgot tissues and I've never been more grateful for the fact that I wore a black long sleeved t-shirt). Pretty boys who sing? Yes, please. Another benefit of having completely awesomely, fantastical friends? They know EVERYONE. Including darling boys who's voices make my head involuntarily to one side. After the show, we're very casually hanging out in the lobby, just far enough away from the cast so as not to appear creepy (coughSuperfancough) but close enough so that said cute boys could see my big deal friends. That's what happens when you're short and not a theatre person. No one sees you. This is why you have tall friends. Anyway, I'm rambling again. You're reading this and wondering when I'm going to get to the point, aren't you? As well you should be. The point is this: I'm still THAT girl. The one who has a hard time putting together completely sentences when there's a moderately attractive guy around. What happened is this: Fantastic Charisse brings Super Cute Guy  over to talk to our completely awesome little group and instead of answering the question asked me by another friend ("Where do you work?") with the appropriate answer ("The grad admissions office at the business school at the U") it came out more like "Blergity blah mah shshshshshsh" and Sara the Theatre Fairy had to save me by providing the actual answer. She assures me that I didn't sound that ridiculous, but she wasn't in my head and it was all pretty much mush. Mostly because I could hear Fantastic Charisse whispering things about me to Super Cute Boy ("She works for the U business school and she's getting ready to start her masters in history") while he's kinda trying to break into the conversation. So yes. I'm still that girl who is twelve on the inside and can't form a coherent thought around anyone who has all the cookies.

If all else fails, at least I'm entertaining.

And they say I can't act.   

Tellin' it like it is...

Here's the thing:

girls aren't as complicated as guys seem to think we are. 

For the most part, we just want life to be like a good Taylor Swift song or the end of a John Hughes movie. It's not that difficult. What it comes down to is this: we don't want to have to do all the work. I mean, please. We're already required to do our hair, put on makeup, smell good, and walk in heels without falling over. Most of us are even willing to be sparkling and witty as well as watching approved sporting events with you (no WWE wrestling for this girl though I'll happily sit through a Red Sox game or any college football game). For the deserving, I'd even be willing to make a sandwich. Hell, if I really like you, I'll make you dinner.

And what do we ask in return for all of this? A date. Not a lifetime commitment. Just a simple date. How is this concept so difficult to grasp? What? You're not sure if a girl likes you? ASK HER OUT. You don't know if you can hold a conversation with her for an entire date? ASK HER ON A WALK. You're poor? Let me tell you this: she doesn't care if you spend tons of money. Most girls just want to be asked out by a nice guy who will open their door for them when they get in the car.

 It's some sort of insane stereotype that girls automatically jump from a simple date to forever. Yeah, our minds work a mile a minute but we're not planning out eternity and we most definitely wait until at least the third date to pick out names for our kids (if you didn't catch the massive sarcasm there, you're in trouble). It's just part of our process.

Sometimes, things just don't work out. Sometimes you don't click. Sometimes you like her and she doesn't like you. Or vice versa. But how in heaven's name will you ever know if you don't go on a date?! Also? For the record? Hanging out does NOT count as a date. If you need clarification, ask your parents. Mine frequently remind me what a date is supposed to contain.

End rant.

Wherein you join me in the realization that David Tennant is the perfect man...

If you don't know who I'm talking about then feel free to remove my blog from your reader right now. We can never be friends. This is harsh? I don't even care. David Tennant. Oh David Tennant. You'd know him if you saw him. Oh you want to see him now? I'm happy to oblige.

Are you breathing normally again? I look at these pictures on a fairly regular basis (one of them might be the current background on my phone and the others are most definitely in my screen saver), so I'm fairly used to seeing his perfection, though I'm not immune to his charm. Not only does he have an incredibly darling Scottish accent, but he makes a brown pinstripe suit and Chuck Taylors look hotter than most men could ever hope to (excepting Zachary Levi, of course). How can you not love someone who, at the age of three, told his parents that he wanted to become an actor so he could play Doctor Who? Who, after playing the Doctor to perfection for three seasons, went on to play Hamlet with the Royal Shakespeare Company and who (be still my heart) played Berowne in Love's Labour's Lost with the same company? Did you happen to know that Berowne's love letter to Rosaline is one of my very most favorite quotes? That's right. Chalk up a few more points for yourself, Mr. Tennant. 

He made nerdy glasses cool before hipsters did and frequently says things like, "Wibbly wobbly timey wimey" and "Brilliant!", taught me to properly pronounce the name of the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius and uses a sonic screwdriver. He can travel forward, backward, sideways... let's be honest, pretty much anyway in time and to top it all off, he has absolutely fantastic hair as well as having brown eyes and dimples. Perhaps you recognize the Fantastic Mr. Tennant from the Harry Potter films? Particularly... Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire?  Why yes! He's Barty Crouch, Jr.! Personally, I think that he should have played Remus Lupin. A) Because Remus is supposed to be good looking and hi, he's lovely. 2) Remus has a much larger role, which equals more screen time for my darling David.  III) Aside from his good looks and his sheer awesomeness, he's a fantastic actor and could have pulled off the part perfectly. If he didn't scare the bejeezes out of you as Barty, then you're a nut. 

I know. He's pretty much the perfect man. Why do you think I've been taking my sweet time watching series two, three and four of Doctor Who?! I'm going to have a panic attack when he regenerates into Matt Smith. 

Send chocolate, I'm going to need it. 

Date a Girl Who Reads...

I found (and stole it) this on the wild and wily ways of a brunette bomb shell because let's be honest: Meg is brilliant and this is lovely.

Date a Girl Who Reads

by Rosemarie Urquico

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve. 

Find a girl who reads. You'll know that she does because she'll always have an unread book in her bag. She's the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand bookshop? That's the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She's the girl reading while waiting at that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peak in her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she's kind of engrossed already. Lost in the world of the author's making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. Ask if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that when she says she understood James Joyce's Ulysses she's just trying to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It's easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality, but by God, she's going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to an end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea, and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She'll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because, for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or at a rock concert. Or very casually the next time she's sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn't burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk in the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you're better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes. 

If I didn't know it was impossible...

I'd think I was pregnant. Don't you even laugh at me. I'm serious. And this is why: this afternoon I was vacuuming my room and watching How I Met Your Mother (the perfect combination in my humble opinion) in preparation for a movie night with my cute friend Robyn. I was mostly focused on the whole vacuuming thing, but I looked up just as Lily was eating a pretzel. That's when it hit me: an absolutely insatiable desire, no, not desire, NEED for a pretzel. I was pretty sure that I was going to go completely batty if I didn't get a nice salty, crunchy pretzel in my mouth stat. Let me put this into better perspective for you: if Zachary Levi had shown up on my front step wearing a baseball cap, I still would have passed him over for the pretzel. Unless he was holding a bag of pretzels. Then all would have been good. (Insert swoony face here). Anyway, back to my story. Of course, I didn't have any in my house. There's practically no food in my house right now, especially because my refrigerator broke last weekend (another story for another post). Also, I don't usually get insatiable desires for pretzels, of all things. I won't lie to you. I don't think that I've purchased a bag of pretzels...ever. We always had them in the pantry growing up, but as an adult, they're not the first thing I reach for. Do you see my confusion? Praise the heavens, there is a Smith's not 20 seconds from my house. One little trip across the street was all it took for me to obtain my greatest desire. I proceeded to munch on pretzels instead of eating dinner (don't judge. I'm a grown up. I can do that).

Should this concern me?

Do ya'll remember this post? It's pretty entertaining, if I do say so myself. If you haven't read it, you should.  My want ad for a boyfriend? Wow, it sounds utterly pathetic when I write it that way. Don't judge me, please. I write about stuff like this because, let's be honest, it's great fodder for a blog and I get more comments when I do. I know. You now can see that I'm a shallow comment whore. I'm sure you'll get over this shock. Also, I'm a single, Mormon girl over the age of 16. It's bound to come up and I've accepted that. Most of the time. I still have my days, which I suppose is understandable. Anyway, the whole point of this post is that I found something else to add to my want ad: Someone who is willing to constantly build/put together bookshelves for the constant flow of new books that seem to find their way into my life. It's one addiction that I'm not willing to give up. 

If you're happy and you know it... (day 10)

Sigh. Baseball cap + brown eyes = happy Mal

A Few Things I'll Never Understand...(The Catch-All Edition)

Why it's the high maintenance girls that always seem to have a boyfriend. I was talking with a friend last night and we decided that this is absolutely ludicrous. Trust me, buddy, when you're old it won't matter if she could walk in 4 inch heels. You will, however, appreciate a wife who is willing to watch football games with you. Just sayin'.

Twilight. Granted, I read it when I came home from my mission and subsequently went through my addiction phase, but that time has long passed. If I hear one more person compare Stephanie Myer to J.K. Rowling (or heaven forbid, Jane Austen) I'm going to throw up all over them.

The inability of some people to use Google.  On a regular basis, people call my office and ask me stupid questions. Typically, I can find an easy, simple answer for said questions by using the miracle of Google. If they would do the same thing, then they could save themselves a conversation with a sarcastic secretary.


Utah weather. Can it just be sunny, for heaven's sake? (Note: I said sunny. Not hot. I hate hot weather with a burning passion [ha ha ha...get it? Burning passion? I crack myself up.] I just want it to be sunny.)

People who refuse to look up big words. It's no secret that I absolutely adore big words. What I don't understand is when I use properly them in my daily life, why people refuse to look up their meaning and instead, insist on mocking me for their lack of vocabulary. Really, people? Have we returned to 4th grade? Or maybe you never left. How unfortunate.

My complete and utter obsession with Facebook. It's really not that exciting or entertaining, yet I am constantly playing around on it. 

Why I absolutely abhor certain words. Romantic (gag), ointment (puke) and couple (shudder) being some of them. My old roommate and dear friend Chels hates the words us and cuddle. I used to chase her around the apartment yelling them. I kinda miss doing that.

The way in which completely nonsensical things make me nervous. Like being set up on a date (actually I have an answer for that one and if you beg hard enough, I'll tell you the stories), or failing all of my classes. I'm a reasonably intelligent person, there is no way that I will completely fail all of my classes; yet it is one of the things that concerns me. I'm crazy, it's alright. I'm already aware of it.

The Analogy of the Jeans...

So you all know my deep and abiding love for the Gap, right? This is a requirement to be my friend, so it's a good thing I told you about it. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I went and bought a new pair of jeans there and I adore them. I'm a jeans person all the way, so working in an office where I'm only allowed to wear jeans on Fridays is difficult for me. (I promise that all of this has a point and ties into my title. Just wait. It's coming.) Gap has my perfect jeans, which is hard to do because I'm short, a little curvy and picky.com about the way my jeans fit. 


Totally unrelated to the way jeans fit, but related to this post is the fact that one of my best friends, KMJ, just started dating someone. She and I are practically joined at the hip and thus this development in HER love life has lead the majority of the people that we both know to suggest that I also need a significant other of the male persuasion. Even her boyfriend, nice person that he is, suggested that we just find me a lover boy so that all of us can hang out together.


This is where all of the rambling will merge together. While talking to KMJ this morning, I suggested that finding a boyfriend was not like buying a pair of jeans at the Gap. I can always find jeans at Gap. Always. But when it comes to a boyfriend,  I can't just walk in to the store, pick out a nice looking young gentleman with just the right hair color and durability. I also cannot take the potential purchase into a room where he can be tested out (I was going to say tried on, but that sounded a little too...well you get the idea) to be sure he's what I want. Also missing from this experience is the part where I get to put the lovely purchase into my Gap bag and take it home to wear (or as I did with my last pair of Gap jeans, run into American Eagle, where I pretend to try on a shirt whilst actually taking off my ill fitting AE jeans and sliding into my lovely new Gap jeans). Because, unlike purchasing a pair of jean (which are an inanimate object), a boyfriend is an actual person with the ability to make decisions. KMJ suggested that I should start a boyfriend store, but that online dating is already kind of like that. I vehemently protested that online dating was like online shopping: slightly unsatisfying because you never know if the item actually fits AND there's something magical about walking into the store its self.  Just the smell of Gap calms me down. (Ditto with Nordstrom). Additionally, there's something satisfying about walking around all day and finally finding exactly what you were looking for. In any case, just like online shopping, online dating is incredibly slightly awkward and unpredictable. Much better to actually visit the store in person to try on 'jeans'.


 I'm thinking that this boyfriend store could make me some big bucks... Any boys want to be sold at the store? 

Spontaneous Dento-Hydro Plosion and other such nonesense....

Tonight I had one of the most significant experiences of my young life. For the first time ever, I watched "The Office". I was an Office neophyte before 8:30, Tuesday May 20th and boy am I glad that someone brought me out of that dark stage of my life. I feel like a light has come on, well, more of a desk lamp. Or one of those ugly florescent lights that they use overhead to save energy in office buildings.Okay, enough dramatics. I now LOVE The Office. I'm in love with Jim, just like everyone said I would be. He's so cute! And I just love his floppy hair. I'm pretty sure that I now need to put my little sister's alarm clock in Jello or at least her favorite pen or something. I want to get a "World's Greatest Boss" mug for my store director, Josh and encase it in Jello as well or maybe just make dessert jokes all the time. I also have a strong desire to shred things while people are making important calls...wow. This show really has changed my life. Let's just hope it hasn't had any effect on my race or my health plan.