Eternal questions for a spotless mind

Hi there, my long-lost blog readers! How are you? I'm fine. You're looking well.

Ok, let's be honest... I don't know if anyone will actually read this. If roles were reversed I would have taken this blog off my Google reader long ago. But this story is too odd not to share, especially since it's a follow up to this post from last year. Go ahead, read it. Then come back here.

To recap: this guy I went to camp with randomly contacted me on Match last year, not realizing we had known each other 15 years prior. I reminded him who I was, and he eventually did remember, but it wasn't immediate on his part and it was an ego-bruiser on mine. We went out for drinks, and I didn't feel a connection, and texted him so the following week, saying that I'd still like to be friends. His text back replied, "That's okay, I have enough friends. LOL." Bitter, party of one? That's fine. Point taken.

So can you guess whom I might have received a Facebook friend request from tonight? That's right - the guy who said he had enough friends. All I ever really wanted was to be Facebook friends with him, maybe get together a few times a year with other friends, stay in contact since there are so few camp friends I actually am still in touch with. So I accepted his request, wondering if I'd ever hear from him directly, or if curiosity just got the better of him and he'd silently stalk my photos for months to come. Very quickly, I had my answer - a message from him in my inbox. I think I gasped audibly.

Will he apologize, I wondered. Sheepishly make a joke? I tentatively opened the message, which, to my surprise, read: "Congrats on making it to LA as well! How long have you been out here?" Which apparently means... he totally forgot. So, can you help reconcile this in my brain?

A year ago, I had to remind him that we had been friends in camp. Understandable, I guess, since boys don't always remember friendships the way girls do, and that had been 15 years - and many hairstyles - prior. But now, after seeing him less than a year ago, he forgets THAT DATE, but remembers me from 15 years ago. The me I had to remind him about.

And now, how do I answer this email? "Hi! I moved here in 2005, just like I told you last year when we went on that date that you apparently don't remember. How are you?" I feel bad bringing up the date, because I'm guessing it's going to mean reminding him of what happened afterward, but I don't know how I can honestly answer him without mentioning that, um, hey, I saw you a year ago and we discussed this at length. How can he NOT remember?

The truth is, I always felt bad about the way I handled things. It all took place over text, which I wasn't used to at the time, and I could have phrased things better. But the fact that he was so bitter and tantrum-y about it also makes me kind of embarrassed for him. I don't want to have to remind him that that's how he reacted. Can I maybe rewrite history here? Tell a different story about our date and hope that his amnesia doesn't one day clear up?

The whole thing kind of weirds me out and makes me wonder if something is wrong with him. Part of the reason I didn't like him last year was that he seemed a little sad, or disconnected, or like that something was a little bit off. His childish text response kind of reinforced to me that he might not be emotionally secure. I'm glad he's not pining over my rejection in any way, but the fact that he doesn't even remember it seems a bit, I don't know, just WEIRD. Even if he doesn't remember what happened after the date, how does he not remember going on it? It's like that entire night, and our entire conversation never happened. Which wouldn't even be that odd if we hadn't had a history together, but we do, and he clearly remembers that now, so... I don't know, I am at a total loss.

Any thoughts? Suggestions for how to handle? Ideas for how I might rewrite our date story with a happier ending?

Why I'm still single, part [insert high number here]

I was standing in line at Starbucks this morning, counting my change to see if I had the exact 50 cents or if I needed to hand over an extra dollar. It was early, and dark in the store, and my non-caffeinated brain couldn't tell the difference between the dimes and pennies, nickels or quarters.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man in front of me staring, so I looked up.

"Are you short?" he asked. I had been self-conscious about the cropped pants I had put on that day, since I probably should have shaved my legs and my new gold heels were only bringing attention to my calves, so I immediately thought he was referring to my height or the length of my slacks. It was something my father might have said, trying to be funny: "Are your pants too short?" I cringed and got annoyed in the span of a second.

"Excuse me?" I asked. Surely I had heard him wrong. Why would this stranger be commenting on my clothes?

"Are you short" he repeated. Still thinking he was commenting on my appearance, I gave him a grimace, and a slightly nasty "I'm sorry, what?" I can be such a teenager sometimes.

Then I realized he meant short on change. "I thought you were short on change," he said. "I would have offered to put it on my credit card." Oh. He was cute, for a 40-something, with a Jonas-brothers haircut. I was mortified.

"I thought you were referring to my height!" I apologized, embarrassed. And, since I suddenly realized that would have made no sense - why would a man standing next to me have to ask me about my height? - I then went on to explain, "I was self-conscious about my pants! I thought you were telling me my clothes didn't fit!" Clearly TMI. Stop talking, Lori.

If I was insecure, he was more so, apologizing even more profusely: "I'm so sorry you took it that way!" He was. He was embarrassed. And so was I. Telling him I was embarrassed about my outfit. Which was cute, by the way. Need-to-be-shaven legs, aside. We fumbled like in a stupid movie and I high-tailed it out of there before he could look at my legs and wonder what on earth I had to be insecure about.

This is why I should not be allowed to have conversations before coffee.

Thank you

Hi, Everyone. I just wanted to write a quick note to say thank you for continuing to be interested in this blog, even as I admittedly write less interesting things. I'm hoping that, at some point, the inspiration will come back. Blogging has been one of the single best things I have done over the last five years, and you guys are undoubtedly the best thing to have come out of it. It means a lot that you all are sticking around.
Love, Lori

Seasons change

Wow. So, as if cued by Daylight Savings Time, the seasons here seemed to have changed overnight. It's been in the 80's the last few days, and 60's -70's at night. I went from turning the heat on on Saturday to contemplating taking my fan out of storage on Monday. My pale feet have been liberated from socks and tights and thrust back into spring and summer shoes, invoking painful, but not unwelcome, blisters. I could get used to this.

As much as you know I love the warm weather, I'm actually not thrilled it's here. Time just seems to be moving so fast these days. I guess I say that every year, but usually by the time the seasons change, I'm dying for summer to come, and now, well, I guess I'm just dreading turning another year older. Not that that's happening tomorrow. It's just out there.

Sally: I'm gonna be forty.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it's there. It's just sitting there, like some big dead end.

Of course, we still have a few more months of cold and gray and gloom before I turn another year older and it officially turns into beach season. I just wish I could slow things down a bit.

As things are, it was five years ago Thursday that I picked up and moved to LA. Five years. And that seems to be about the average amount of time it takes for a once-hit TV show to officially jump the shark. Which is why I think it's a good time to admit to you all that I think I'm officially out steam for this blog.

I'm all about being official around here.

Part of it is simply that I'm out of material (same home, same job, same social status), and part of it is that I'm over the urge to write. Over the last five years, material hasn't always been plentiful, but I've always found inspiration, always had a voice editorializing in my head, imaging how the most obscure or arcane scenarios could be storied in print. Now, even when I have good material - celebrity sightings, dating warfare - it's a struggle to string together interesting sentences. I just think I need a break.

I'm going to leave this up for the next few days, so people can read this, and then set the blog on Private, with the intention of writing at best, once a week, but more likely, monthly or even less often. I don't expect many of you to keep up. But if you'd like to, please send me your email address and I'll add you to the list of private recipients so you will be notified and have one less thing to check everyday. I love that my friends and family check in, unprompted, to see how I'm doing, and I'm not entirely ready to lose this channel of communication.

To all of you who have kept up, and chimed in over the years - thank you. You have made this experience so unbelievably rewarding. I can't currently imagine my life without Lori MacBlogger, but right now I just don't feel like I am doing her justice.

And with that, I guess this is all I have left to say:

Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

I know I've been slacking on the blog, but you didn't think I'd let Corey Haim's death go unaccounted for, did you?

This here is what's left of my VHS library - carried with me across the country and through numerous apartments in New York - even though I haven't had a VCR on which to play them for at least seven years.

Lucas, as denoted by that decrepit piece of masking tape marked with my 12-year-old penmanship, was one of my favorite movies growing up. I had recorded this off one of the movie's many airings on HBO, and watched it all. the. time. throughout my teens. It had a great cast: my girl crush Kerri Green, Brat Packer Charlie Sheen, a barely-adolescent Winona Ryder, an already-balding Jeremy Piven, Courtney Thorne Smith, and the guy who would go on to play Jason Bateman's best friend on The Hogan Family. I never saw License to Drive until sometime last year, and never saw The Lost Boys at all, but this movie was enough to permanently enamor me to the fairer Corey.

While we're rifling through my drawers, let me tell you about the other components in this technology time capsule:

1. Today's Summer Hair: Did I ever mention I was on The Today Show? Getting a makeover? One of the perks of working in beauty PR is that anytime any of us got a segment or a story for one of our clients, we would need "models" to shoot. I've been in the New York Times getting my hair colored, in Harper's Bazaar getting facial injections, and this time, they needed curly haired girls for a segment on managing summer hair. Since everyone else in our agency was getting Japanese straightened at the time, I thought I was a sure thing; however the client didn't think I was pretty enough to represent him on TV. Awesome! Regardless, he didn't have a budget to pay for real models and I had already been approved by the producer, so I got to have my moment on national TV and a VHS tape that I watched exactly never, since I think I had already moved on to a DVD player by that point.

2. Class of '94 Video Yearbook. Pretty self-explanatory. I'm sure we thought we were so cutting edge, filming a video yearbook in addition to our printed one. Calling Donna and David... we were so West Beverly High. I don't think I've seen this since probably Thanksgiving break of my freshman year of college, but I would LOVE to see it again. And then probably burn it.

3. Alice in Bodyland. My fourth grade play. This tape dates all the way back to 1986 (!!!) when video cameras were still a real novelty, and it was a big deal that the play was not only filmed, but ran on our local cable station. It was a small cable station - the one that normally played only our soccer games or announced school closings - but it was a huge thrill, at 10 years old, to see yourself on TV. I think the tape had some issues the last time I watched it - many many many moons ago. While I might want to burn my video yearbook, I'd like to bronze this tape, or at least have copies made on DVD, Blu Ray, You Tube, etc. It might be mortifying but it's absolutely brilliant.

4. And, finally, The Wizard of Oz. I think my dad got me this one year for Christmas. (Thanks, Dad!) Knowing how much I loved that movie, he also bought me the DVD years later. (Thanks, again!)

I also still have Aladdin on tape, but the plastic case was too large for the drawer.

Why do I keep these so long, when I don't even have the technology to play them? Sentiment, I suppose. A reminder of my childhood. Memories, like Corey Haim, John Hughes, Andrew "Boner" Koenig, that I'm not quite ready to let go.

Sat on our barstools like bookends

This was the third weekend in a row in which I had an old friend come to visit, and as such, was the third weekend I found myself playing tour guide. Tom was one of my good friends in college, and one of the first people I knew to move from school to NYC. I wrote, years ago, how he stayed on my aunt's couch those first few days, and he always remained part of my New York social circle.

Tom came out partly for work and part for pleasure, so we made plans to have lunch on Sunday. I woke up early to a sun-filled morning and figured - since lunch would likely include drinks - it would be a good idea to squeeze in some exercise. I'm never much of a morning runner, so thought a brisk hour walk would suffice. Until I got outside, and the gorgeously clear day and sweet-smelling air filled my lungs, and I don't know what came over me, but I just got the urge to run.

"I just felt like running." - Forrest Gump

I ran to the top of the hill on my regular route, where, on a clear day, you can see the beach to one side and the Hollywood sign to the other. Sunday, not only could I see the Hollywood sign, but I could see the majestic snow-capped mountains behind it, 100 miles away. It was nothing short of breathtaking. I tried taking photos with my iPhone, but the effect looked much farther away. In that case, then, I decided, I should keep running east, towards Beverly Hills, West Hollywood if I had to, in an effort to get a decent shot of the sight. This was the best I could do:

And it really does not do my view justice.

Anyway, I ran out past the border of Beverly Hills before I decided to turn around and head back. I walked/ran home, feeling alive and enthused and so unbelievably blessed about my life.

Since it was such a nice day, I suggested we head down to Venice Beach, have lunch by the Pier, and take in the crazies on the boardwalk. It was great catching up, and Tom was a competitive player in my favorite game of making every possible geographical reference to the original 90210. "This is where cokehead Colin lived." "There's where Kelly's rehab-roommate-stalker hid her suitcase when she was on the streets." "Why yes, Pasadena is the home of the Rose Bowl where Donna competed on the Royal Court and learned her mother got pregnant out of wedlock." We're both watching reruns every Saturday morning. The day could not get any better.

1997


2010

Why yes, those are crows feet by my eyes and gray hairs on my head. I much prefer the ponytails.

All in all, it was a fantastic day. Fortunately for me, I have one more week of Old Friend Fun in store. My college and NYC friend Heather is flying west this weekend, and we'll be hanging out with Cara in San Diego. Four weeks, four good friends. No complaints over here.

A gift

After a gray, rainy day, and sitting in rush hour traffic for an hour and a half, there are few things better than coming home to a care package tucked neatly under the doormat at your front door. Especially if the care package is a totally unexpected and unnecessary surprise from a good friend, and included three things that you specifically said you loved, wanted, or needed.

First, loved: Graham crackers. We were in the car one day, and Julia asked me to list my top five favorite foods. I couldn't. You may have noticed, but I'm not an enthusiastic eater. I don't really like a lot of foods, let alone "bad" foods that most people would list as their favorites. But graham crackers are the one snack over which anyone who knew me in my early 20's could attest that I have little control. I rarely buy them anymore for that reason, but once in a while will indulge myself with a box that will usually be gone in a few sittings.

For the record, I listed coffee and wine as two of my other favorite foods. I don't think I was able to come up with a four and five. Cheese, maybe, if I had thought of it. Yogurt? I'm really lame.

Wanted: a phone charger for my car. Would be nice not to worry about a low/dead battery in case of an accident. It looks like the charger will also work with my iPod as well, which is a nice bonus.

Needed: a new rubber case for my iPhone. Mine was torn along one side which, while still usable, compromised the safety of my phone, should I ever drop it. Which you know I do. I actually almost bought a new case at Target last week, but none of them were the right model, color, or price, so I passed. How cool is it for one to literally appear at my fingertips, in the exact color I wanted?

And how cool is it that Julia took note of and remembered all that? In this day and age, I feel like so few people really listen. Everyone skims and nods their head and takes back bits of the bigger picture, but details get forgotten if they were ever even absorbed to begin with. I do it, too. We're all so busy and distracted and not entirely engaged. This was such a welcome reminder of how good friendships can be.