Ask Farrah!

So, there are like, seven of you still reading this, but for YOU- I have a very exciting message.
We're going to tv.
And by "tv," I mean, "YouTube."
And by "we," I mean, "You and I!" For realzies!!!

Since there's been a great reaction to our discussions on dating, relationships and the playlists we make for them, I'm starting an advice channel on YouTube. It will have daily clips of advice on things that will make your life better, your socializing less stupid and have the usual random fun-ness you've come to expect.
Episodes will have a guest cohost from YouTube (so send me your favourite YouTube stars clips and we'll track them down!)  YOU are very much a part of this! Since it's an advice channel, I'll need YOUR input on what topics you want discussed, what situations you're in where you'd like feedback and who you'd like to see more of on YouTube!
The new website: AskFarrah.com
That will link you to the blog, the channel and my email!
Can't wait to hear from you!
-Farrah.

X-Manboy.

So I've been watching a lot of "The X-Files" lately (thank you, Netflix!) and I think I finally get it. The ongoing sexual tension implied between Agents Scully and Mulder always mystified me...I never understood why audiences wanted them to hook up so badly.She always seemed so cold and he was cute but bland. (Please forgive me. I was clearly still in the age of innocence when it was originally on.) But now...Ker-POW! Sexual tension: Noted!

So why didn't they ever hook up? Two reasonably attractive people who clearly prefer being with one another under any circumstance (even ditching dates at the flimsiest opportunities to work together), regularly expressing their concern for one another but yet never actually expressing interest? Wow. THAT doesn't sound at all familiar. (Please read in sarcasm font.)When Mulder refers to Scully as "a beautiful woman," it surprised me. And when Scully laughs off Mulder's attempts to be charming, I'm no longer puzzled. He's described often as a genius, brilliant, ambitious, passionate and what's not necessary to state is that he's hot, funny and likes to smolder.

 So why doesn't Scully tap that when he's so frequently okay with implying he'd be interested? It's because Mulder is the ultimate manboy. While he may be ahead in his career and intensely focused on his work, he glibly makes common manboy blunders that keep him from being in the "it's possible" category. He makes light over the amount of "videos" (read: porn) being in his work vcr or passing it on to his basement-dwelling misfit friends, The Lone Gunmen. He flirts shamelessly with random women that give even a hint of promise as one-night stands, often in front of Scully, at times, putting her on hold (literally) in order to talk with said random woman while Scully is doing research on his behalf on her nights at home. Alone. Eating ice cream and washing her dog (War of the Coprohages. Season 3, Episode 12). Even in his most desperate need for her brilliant help and assistance, while she's in the middle of bending over backward to assist his current quest, he stops to make passes at women he knows will be meaningless. sigh. What an idiot.

What keeps the undercurrent of romantic possibility is Scully's reasonable acknowledgment that he's not looking for anything romantically meaningful in their professional relationship. Scully recognizes Mulder's clear lack of appreciation for her devotion to his cause. And she's not falling for his game. While their mutual connection is clear on the deeper levels of intellectual understanding, mutual admiration and genuine concern for one another's well-being, she's not about to chase after a man who's not busy chasing her. Therefore, he's happy to continue flattering her, allowing her to hold the reins of their partnership while neither expects to take him seriously. It's the epitome of masculine drive; Mulder proves that men can pursue what they want (in this case, aliens and unexplained phenomenon) when only given the slightest hint of a possibility, that's all he needs to go all-out to get what he wants. As great as they could be as a team, romantically speaking, because he continues to play in the puddles of immaturity and getting all kinds of dirty rather than flat out pursuing a woman he so clearly cares for. Which, let's face it, really is laughable.

GLEEking Out.

Jimmy Fallon, a musical number, Glee, costume changes AND an awards show?!?

The gay man inside of me is freaking out.

Talking Out Loud.

Sometimes having a blog to discuss relationship anecdotes isn't enough. Sometimes you have to talk out loud and with other people about it. Especially with other people who are funny.
So I'm doing it.
I'm starting my own show.
And I want YOUR help.
Send me your dating predicaments, relationship conundrums, questions on social propriety, the best songs to break up to, why shoulder pads are being found in fashion or how the hell there's a "SAW VII" in theaters this year. In short, it is a talk show with the sassy, bold, flippant voice (and face!) you've been reading right here. I'll be inviting celebrity guests to co-host and offer advice alongside me, and since this will be on my YouTube channel, I'm specifically seeking YouTube stars. Start finding your favourite YouTube celebrities now and I'll be glad to invite them on to answer your most entertaining questions!

First things first:
I need a name.
Please vote for (or suggest in the Opinions section) your favourite title for my show.

Remember, if you have a great title for a talk show that offers real advice through humor, entertainment news and YouTube stars, please post your suggestions in the comments below! I need a name before the end of the week, so totally pass this survey along and forward it to friends- you know I love Opinions!

I'm Your Most Popular Virgin!

I've been on planes all my life, but never flown Virgin...and while I've traveled all over the world, I've never been to Toronto. Looks like I finally have no reason to save myself for either; the time is now. Virgin Airlines is seeking a new ambassador, a "Provocateur," to represent their new Toronto destination. Please vote for my video here and repost the link in your facebook/twitter/gchat, etc. So far, I have an honest shot at winning this- and what a great job it will be!

My marketing strategy is this:
Create events experiencing all Toronto has to offer for "first-timers" in the community. Toronto is a destination city, after all! The new connections for Toronto are Los Angeles and San Francisco (two of my native lands!), so naturally, we'll be inspiring travel to and from these cities and Toronto to experience yet MORE of what we've never done before! I'll have one year to come up with as many events and experiences as possible for these cities and hopefully it will inspire our worlds to come together a little more often- through Virgin!

There IS No Competition in LadyLand!

There is a disturbing phenomenon going on in the Public Dating World. You've been there before; you're going to dinner, holding hands, snuggling around town, finding excuses to whisper in each other's ear...and it's nice. Nice to be around someone you find attractive and who clearly enjoys holding you as much as you letting them. When this happens for me, I'm not always immediately sold on whether or not we're compatible beyond any of the above, but there is a certain delight in being open to finding out if there's anything more to it. But recently, I had the oddest experience of getting third-wheeled...by my ladyfriends! Everywhere we went, women aggressively flirted, fussed and fawned over my companion...when I was right beside him! At one point, a girl actually followed us and then sat in-between us- during church! I was stunned at the lack of civility and blatantly assertive behavior by women I considered to be friends.

Make no mistake; I didn't feel I had claim on the guy who was taking me out and who was continually by my side with his arm(s) around me everywhere we went. But I did feel like his outward actions made some sort of statement to the public world...perhaps not what we were defined as, but that we most certainly had something going on. While I didn't expect either of us to be exclusive, I was certainly not prepared for the lack of civility that occurred day after day when we were amongst "friends."

I hear women complain all the time that they hate feeling like they need to "compete" for attention from men. That women universally dislike being or feeling catty or threatened by other women. Even though no one enjoys this experience, somehow, it continues to be perpetuated. I've considered myself unusually lucky in being surrounded by women I know I can trust and who support me; but this latest experience threw me for a loop. Suddenly having women friends interrupt as I was planning a date with someone, being bumped out of my own conversation and ending up a third wheel...it was all very strange. At one point, deep in conversation with a man I was connecting with, a "friend" interrupted (citing a great desire to catch up with me); I gently informed her that I was in the middle of a discussion and I'd love to find her in a few minutes to catch up as well. She glibly acknowledged interrupting and then continued to stand between us until I walked away (since it was not actually ME she had wanted to "catch up" with).
It was like being on "The Bachelor." And nearly just as awful.

Here's the thing, ladies.
There is no such thing as another woman being your competition.
No. Such. Thing.

You may think you need to make yourself known to a man. You may fear you need to draw attention to yourself in order to be noticed. You may feel that the presence of another woman intrinsically draws attention away from you. I'm here to tell you; she does not. And here's why:
Men know what they want.
I'm not saying they're always smooth. I'm not saying they always approach relationships in an ideal way. I'm not saying men are graceful, suave or that their plans are always executed well (or in a timely fashion). I am simply saying that men know when they want to approach a woman and when they do not. And no amount of thrusting yourself in their face is going to affect their intrinsic interest in knowing you as a person. Sure, you'll get his attention momentarily. Sure, you'll get maybe five minutes of face time. He'll also be looking over your shoulder at every other person who walks by and you'll be pissed. Then, you'll spend the next four days creating excuses for his cagey behaviour. And when he still doesn't call, you'll start saying derogatory things about his character and doubting his masculinity before your girlfriends, amongst other such stereotypically petty slanders. (Sorry, boys. It's true. This is how the social aftershock works.)

The problem is not that he doesn't have the courage to ask you out. The problem is not that he disrespects you or that he's mistreated or mislead you. The problem is that you forced yourself into the path of a man who would have otherwise not pursued you. And then, as he continues on his natural orbit of not noticing you, you are disappointed in having an expectation borne of your own efforts alone. You have worked yourself into a frenzy and wasted time and energy over someone who would have never gone out of his way for you to begin with.

On the other hand, there are men who will go out of their way to know you. I'm not saying they're the men you want going out of their way for you, but I am saying that they do exist. You know this is true because you know you have been approached by them before. We have all been pursued at some point or another, and while we cannot always choose who puts forth the effort, we can know with absolute confidence the difference between a relationship that is created because a man is interested enough to pursue something with you versus a relationship forced because you're continually creating reasons to interact with a man who otherwise has not put forth any personal effort to forge a connection with you.

The reality is that no amount of YOU putting yourself in front of another woman is going to make you automatically more attractive/interesting/"better" than her. Nor does it mean you are not attractive/interesting or someone else's "better." While men may find the attention flattering, all you are doing is feeding an ego; his. And, ultimately, feeding someone else's ego when it's unwarranted and he's done nothing to demand your attention or respect simply leaves you going out of your way for someone who otherwise would have not taken notice of you. And really, who wants someone like that in their life anyway?

So here's the lesson, ladies. We are not the enemy. We are not in competition. If anything, we are your best ally. Every one of us can name (easily!) five men we respect, admire and appreciate- but aren't interested in dating. Ever think that you could help a sister out and send him in the direction of one of your lady-friends who may be able to return an affection for him? It's more likely to happen than him sending you one of his bro's, that's for sure. What about introducing your girlfriend to someone at a party that you've met who's attractive...but you're not interested? How much do you think BOTH of them will appreciate the introduction and attention? The reality is that attraction exists; we gravitate toward certain people for a reason. Forcing a relationship by jumping your natural gravitational pull is less likely to create a new solar system than it is to place undue strain and pressure around your surrounding atmosphere.

So please. Don't hit on my boyfriend. If you're the one he's interested in, I'm sure he'll find a way to call you.

Ponies, Husbands and Other Fun Wishes.

When someone says, "I really want to get married," it sounds a lot to me like when I say, "I really want a pony."
OF COURSE I want a pony!
I have wanted a pony my entire LIFE!
I know the colour, the pattrern, the name of my pony...I have dreamt of this magnificent creature since the time I was five years old. I WANT THAT PONY.
And then I think, "Farrah, if you REALLY wanted that pony so bad...you'd get it."
And I say, "Self. You outsmart me again."
It's true. If I really wanted that pony right now, I'd get it. I'd take out a loan. I'd buy it. I'd find a way. I could rent. Borrow. I could even volunteer at a stable. There are a number of ways I could have my pony...but I have yet to do so. Because, you see, the truth is, I DO want that pony...when I want something to play with. To dream about. To fawn over. To pamper. To love. So really...how much do I really want that pony? And how much of wanting it is really just what I like to tell myself when I have too much time on my hands?

When I hear people say, "I really want to get married!" I believe them. It's not the sincerity of the dream; it's the reality of the desire. If I say, "I really want to get married," I stop and think, "Am I really doing everything to show that this is the desire of my heart? Or is it simply a desire (...now and then...) in my heart?" If this were truly my desire, I believe I'd be doing more. Just like getting myself that pony.

So before you let out that lonely thought of, "I just really want to be married!" ask yourself:
Have you asked out your own dates?
Have you gone online?
Have you looked outside your own faith?
Have you asked to be set up by friends?
Are you willing to go outside your own comfort zone, put down your pride, accept different expectations and fully pursue the desire of your heart? Or are you simply whimsically repeating a phrase you've known to be true since your childhood?

I'm not suggesting that the statement, "I want to get married," is insincere. (My desire for a pony is very real as well!) I know relationships require TWO hearts to be prepared and open to one another; and that does take time and it may also take kissing a number of frogs to get there. All I'm suggesting is that we not throw around the desire of our hearts as though it is a mere wish or whim or something that we dream of simply to fulfill our own romantic fantasies. That when we speak the desire of our hearts, we speak it with the intent toward action. That when we finally utter the words, "I want to get married," we do so with a sacredness in which we are prepared to do whatever it takes, to pursue at all costs and are prepared for the consequences of caring for, loving, providing and nourishing an eternal relationship.

Because the other part about having a pony is that you'd better be prepared to shovel a whole lot of someone else's shit.

Jane Austen's Fight Club

Sooo...we're kinda famous now. First it was Mashable, then TIME, Glamour and CBS news. Every time I open my mailbox, there's another article about our little video. It's like Christmas! Now we're in The Huffington Post and NPR and I figure it's about time I posted it, too.
The video posted to YouTube only last Friday, and in a week it has nearly a million views. We filmed it thinking it would be fun to send to our friends, but weren't expecting it to be picked up outside of that- and certainly not to this degree! It's been funny to read the responses and ultra-serious reactions to something so clearly meant as a parody. Through all of this, not one actual contributor to Jane Austen's Fight Club has responded- which makes the rumors of who we are and why we did it all the more hilarious.

It's beautiful how well Chuck Palahniuk's lines translated into Jane Austen's heroines bursting to live fully from out of a repressed society which would tell women they were merely decorative property to be passed from their father's to their husband's estates. Tyler Durden's speech in "Fight Club" was perfectly suited for these women as a reminder of their true identity, "You’re not how much money you’ve got in the bank.  You’re not your job.  You’re not your family, and you’re not who you tell yourself.  You’re not your name.  You’re not your problems.  You’re not your age.  You are not your hopes.  You are the strongest and the smartest men who have ever lived." Can't you just hear Lizzie Bennett or Fanny Price reminding her desperate household of sisters of their true identity? "You are not how much money that is in our estate. You're not your father's name. You're not the name you marry. You're not your petticoats or your cottage or the latest fashions from Paris. You're strong and smart and you may live as you choose."
The comedy of manners has always eluded me. How these heroines survived swishing their hoop skirts though a mine field of polite propriety by wit alone never connected with me. I've always been more of a Bronte fan, myself. Give me a man ripping his shirt off and howling at the moon in the moors and going mad with elaborate plots for vengeance any day.

It's Gonna Be a Great Day.

All drug commercials should be like this.

Are Appearances Really THAT Deceiving?

You shouldn't judge a book by it's cover...
But what if that cover is in a too-tight, Ed Hardy-style thermal with large turquoise jewelery that says, "I'm a man, but I think this nod to Native American accessories makes me artistic." Does this mean you should maybe not be willing to give him a chance? If someone's exterior message says, "I'm a dirtbag" because I wear too much hair gel and spray tan and use pick up lines like, "You must work out a lot...I do, too," does that mean that the interior isn't worth getting to know?

When women have the compulsion to show too much cleavage or paint on faces born at the MAC counter or even if they dress like they fell out of their grandmother's closet, this doesn't seem to stand in the way of my reaching out to them or getting to know the interior. So why the double standard with the outward appearance of man? Are appearances really deceiving, or are those book covers there to simply tell us what's lurking just beneath the surface? I just loathe the idea of saying, "if only you changed (name superfluous item for makeover)." Is the mere noting of shallow thoughts equivocal to actually being shallow? It seems almost like a reversed prejudice- that it would be wrong to judge someone who's cover reads, "shy, awkward and dorky" but absolutely acceptable to shun the cover that reads, "self-involved, superficial dirtbag."
I'm just wondering, because if I'm gonna overcome my prejudices it's probably about time I call him back by now... But acceptance can be a slippery slope; because then there's the fear that THIS isn't far behind...

Taking This Show on The Road.

It's my Plan B, and maybe it should move up to Plan A. If it does, it will look something like this:

Everything about this is so very, very right.

Two Bad Ideas Make One-

Two people.
One I never want to see.

One I never thought I'd see again.

One song.
Apparently they are collaborating and he just can't get enough Ga-Ga.
But the world is full of bad ideas; maybe I'm just being close-minded. Maybe not everything Lady Gaga is such a bad idea...You tell me.

The Interception.

One time I heard Steve Young (some football guy) speak. Well- I guess I've heard him speak an inordinate amount for being completely uninterested in football. In any case, ONE of these times, as I floated in and out of consciousness during his endless football stories (not even analogies- just stories!), he talked about this awful day of playing and then suddenly he thought he had it all together and then, "Wham! Interception." I alerted with a start and applauded. My friend turned to me and said, "No, Farrah. An interception is a BAD thing." Man. Not only was this a hella crappy story about a crap day, but that term, "interception," didn't make any sense as a negative whatsoever. If you throw a ball and someone catches it, that sounds like a GOOD thing to me. But now, over ten years later, I think I'm beginning to understand.

I've become accustomed to considering other women my ally. The assumption comes automatically- I like women and I value sisterhood; with that, there's an intrinsic trust I hold to other women- deserved or not, I assume we are on friendly terms and on the same side- the same team, if you will. But now I realize, some women may not necessarily play for the other team, but they can go rogue and play for themselves.

Recently I had an interesting string of conversations with a respected male friend about the pettiness of women. The leap women will take in calling one another "bitches," "ho's" and "sluts." I'm going to stop here and offer some recommended reading.

They were well interpreted for entertainment value in Tina Fey's comedy, "Mean Girls," but you probably already knew that. While there's much discussion we could have at this point, I'm going to focus this post on only one moment: The Interception.

Recently at a party, I noticed a guy shadowing me around a bit. Eventually I worked up the nerve to turn around and introduce myself and as we were beginning to hit it off, another girl, a stranger, walked directly in-between us and suggested I talk to another man.
I only wish I were making this up.
Here's the real conversation:

Me: O, yes! So you must be the guy (my girl friend) was telling me about! Is this your house?

He: No- I don't live here, but yeah! I was inviting-

tall girl walks between us and interjects-

She: This is where (some other dude) lives.

Me: (slightly startled) O...um...

She: You should go talk to him. He's that Asian guy over there. Good looking. Single.

Me: (uncomfortable laugh with a friendly nudge) Aren't we all?

She did NOT reciprocate the gesture OR find me funny. OR move from her stance between us. So I turned and left.

In any case, while I was in the middle of a conversation with someone who was clearly also in the middle of a conversation with me as well, this particular girl found it totally appropriate to physically step in-between us and literally tell me to go and talk to someone else. Perhaps it was my weak point to have turned and left, or perhaps it was his to not call her out. I am hesitant to pass judgment on either of our etiquette in response, considering we were at a party and had only been talking for several minutes. And that's what's even stranger to me; it was only a conversation. It was simply being friendly and doing what normal social behaviour would dictate: make an introduction, find mutual connections, explore a social connection- all basic interactions one should expect at a social event. I generally like to explain conversation like throwing a ball. You are responsible to throw first- the faster you can throw to your partner, the less you have to think about yourself- you are focusing on getting the ball into your partner's hands. Doing this helps to relieve yourself of the pressure of thinking of what to say next- as soon as you release that ball and hand it off to your partner, the ball is in their court and you are free to enjoy listening to their response until they choose to either 1) throw the ball back or 2) hold onto and dominate the ball for themselves 3) drop your ball and walk off the court. What startles me is how common a third party feels comfortable in walking in and taking the ball with them as they go. An interception. A negative interception!

I'm not sure of a solution to this kind of play, but perhaps this experience can be a call to greater awareness for all of us. Interceptions do happen. They are intentional. If it happens to you, supersede smoothly it by refocusing on the partner you came to play ball with. And if you're the one intercepting, I'll tell you now; you're rude. And yeah- I'll probably call you a bitch. And you'll totally deserve it.

Dear Elizabeth Hasselbeck:

Shut the hell up.
Please.
Just. Stop. Talking.
Apparently the plastic "representative" of a conservative, white-bread mom demographic from "The View" thought it would be funny to "joke" about a sexual predator who spied on a Dancing with the Stars contestant in her hotel room, saying that if only he had waited a few weeks, he would've seen the same thing "without the jail time."
O, tee-hee-hee, Miss Priss! You are funny. SO DAMN FUNNY. Because isn't it hilarious when women are stalked by perverts and sent death threats? Isn't that just so f*ing HILARIOUS?!? Frankly, I'm a little shocked that someone IN the entertainment industry doesn't know that- just like the ridiculous outfits used in ice-skating, it is the standard for ballroom dance costumes to be flashy, revealing and bright. As a friend from the world reknown BYU Ballroom Dance Company once explained to me, the more attention you can get from your costume, the more likely the judges are to notice you and watch you rather than your opponents. The men's costumes are much the same. A lot of skin. A lot of sequins. It's pretty standard.
This explanation is coming from a student at one of the most conservative schools in America. If that 19 year old BYU student can understand the pageantry and performance of ballroom dance and a paid television personality can't?!?

Furthermore, AS a public persona, Elizabeth Hasselbeck, you should know a few things about survivors of sexual abuse. It's not their fault. I'll say it again, to make sure this gets through your bleached out thick-ass, self-righteous head: IT'S NOT THEIR FAULT. When someone is abused, raped, stalked, preyed upon- it is is not because they were out after dark; it is not because they were wearing a skirt; it was not because they chose to get undressed in their hotel room; it is because the perpetrator is sick. The perpetrator is one who chose to prey upon, exploit and abuse another human being. That criminal commits these acts because there is an underlying disrespect for human life which allows for selfish acts that hurt others. By assuming that abuse is linked to, say, what a woman is wearing (on a televised dance show, by the way) not only perpetuates the myth that a woman would have any control over a sex-criminal's actions and therefore, she must've been asking for it, but it sends an equally harmful message to others: if you do everything right, these bad things won't happen to you.
Take just one minute to think about how damaging and inaccurate that message is.

I'm disgusted by the blatant display of ignorance you've chosen to show us, Elizabeth Hasselbeck. I'm shocked at the crude manner in which you find humor at someone else's humiliation and fear. And I'm horrified that you actually think that by wearing a dress with "all this fabric" somehow makes you better, safer or more deserving of respect and boundaries than any other woman.

You're an idiot.
Please refrain from speaking.
Thanks.

Rom-Com.

Cute, spunky thirty-something works in floral shop, surrounded by other people's romance, but with no one of her own!
My life is a romantic comedy.I started my morning with this video.
I've been asked to attend the LA and surrounding bridal events to do "research." I've also been asked to go "under-cover" as a bride to investigate wedding-related services (per my employer). They even have a cubic zirconia picked out for me and a fake bio to share. FOR MY JOB. And no, I am not an investigative reporter.

THIS IS MY REAL LIFE, PEOPLE. Forget that I'm not actually in a relationship; as far as the dates I've been on recently, I haven't even told you the part about my marathon date with the guy who turned out to be kind of anti-Semetic. Yeah. You can't make this stuff up. And everywhere I look they've got another billboard of diva/hottie/megastar Julia Roberts/Jennifer Lopez/Cameron Diaz looking sad, alone and cloaking their desperation for matrimony with a high-powered, executive career.
Gag.
The next time I see J-Lo looking sad and alone with a tray of tv dinners, all the profanity in my heart is going to come spewing right on out. No holds barred. Just because she's on screen might make her an actress, but it doesn't make her a GOOD actress and it certainly doesn't make her acting good enough to pull off 30-something, alone and sad about it. And no, I'm not buying that she's adorable because she bumbles around like an idiot (really? What high-powered executive- male OR female- is THAT socially/neurologically deficient?!?) O wait...I get it- it's supposed to make those glamazons more "relatable" and "endearing." I'm not buying it. Now, Renee Zellweger 52lbs overweight with splotchy skin in "Bridget Jones"? Sure. Sandra Bullock in sweats and no makeup for the entire run of "While You Were Sleeping"? Okay. Drew Barrymore looking homely and continuing to BE homely even AFTER her popularity makeover in "Never Been Kissed"? SOLD. Those performances WORK because these women owned up to their character's deficits and REVELED in them. Which is why we fall in love with them and perhaps explains how, in an alternate universe of movieland, their leading men see through their exterior plainness and into what makes them shine. Let's look past the message that they are single and alone BECAUSE they are dowdy...because (clearly), this is not always the case.

Every time I have to share one of my true-life stories with friends, Caroline reminds me that my life really IS exactly like a romantic comedy (cliche's and all)- they just haven't cast my leading man yet. But if it requires that he break off his five year engagement to go flitting after my lost mitten when I live in Los Angeles, so help me!, I will probably hit him upside the head and tell him to go back to the woman he's already committed half a decade to. I really would prefer that my happiness not be dependent upon wrecking someone else's home (another disgusting crux of most Rom-Coms). At least my conscious can be clear and I'll be just fine eating this frozen pizza on my own beside my imaginary cat, thank you.

Brownie Slut.

I'm KINDA shocked when I meet someone (especially a BYU alum) who is not familiar with the term, "Brownie Slut." These Brownie Sluts were so prevalent in my college years that I swore off baking the entire time there, just to ensure I was not confused with one. You've seen them; those girls who peddle baked goods, usually door-to-door, in order to meet and introduce themselves to local boys. The rationale (if you can call it such) is that, by providing a sweet treat, she too, would get a treat and be invited on a magical date to the temple or to 7 Peaks or something equally romantic and eventually be married by next semester. Being a Brownie Slut is like the gateway drug to being a pharmaceutical rep; provide treats and you will be remembered and revered. And hopefully position you well to marry a doctor! Totally clever plan, riiight?
Barf.
While I have no objections to brownies proper, it is in the intent of the act which I find disheartening.

And now I must address the Sluts themselves:
Ladies- at what point did it seem like prostituting your skills out to men who have done NOTHING for you, seem like a good idea? Does it occur to you that maybe a man might value you more if you let HIM do something to get YOUR attention? So close your cupboards, ladies.*

*See? It's not just me. It's DOCTRINE now.

Dear Prime Time Television-

Dear American Idol,
The other night you caught up with me and reminded me exactly why I avoided you for so many years. You are still the most BORING THING ON TELEVISION. Taking mediocre singers with an imposed semblance of style to karaoke songs too boring for my grandmother to listen to? Not since the introduction of Britney Spears has the music industry manufactured such shame and exploited America's children for a cheap form of under-talented, fluffed up amusement.
I'm sorry, but you are a poor excuse for entertainment. There is nothing groundbreaking about your programming and virtually no creativity involved in puppetering insecure teenagers to re-hash pop songs. I've seen more originality and inspired performances in a dive karaoke bar. In fact, the one honest voice is the show's producer, Simon Cowell, and every tidbit of constructive criticism he offers up is boo'd by the audience, whom I can only assume is comprised of a roomful of ignorant, brain-numbingly ignorant teens from some white-bread, cookie-cutter suburb. How is it always such a shock that a judge, of all people, would make suggestions on how to improve a performance?!? Not only is that the primary function of a judge, but- for crying out loud! In the entertainment industry, one would be LUCKY to get feedback after an audition! You don't TALK BACK to your director- the person who is there to coach you to becoming a performer someone would actually want to watch. That little stage you're on isn't so we can simply sit around you, clap enthusiastically and groom your ego with undue praise- last time I looked, I'm not your mother; you should be working to prove you deserve to even BE there.

What I find most disturbing about the concept of American Idol is that these teens, these children, are meant to be molded into "idols." Our immortal icons of music are such because they possessed a charisma, a style, an inherent sense of self-expression that draws us in and demands to be heard. But during the course of the program, most of these potential "idols" don't play or even write their own music...I'm at a loss as to understanding what- if anything- an "American Idol" actually contributes to American music.
While I don't watch and hardly follow this show, due to it's crushingly disappointing standards cited above, I must admit a fear goes through me when I see the less-experienced sensations prostituted in their final episodes. On occasion, an actual personality is shown as a finalist- as for whether their music is any good, rarely do we hear more than a one-hit wonder from the "winner" of this twice-weekly broadcast fiasco. In fact, most the others are tossed by the wayside, used as disposable fodder for back-up vocals during their brilliant marketing plan to construct a sad gasp for extending the fantasy through a publicity streak "tour." I'm fully aware I'm overthinking this situation, but...honestly! The frightening reality of this show is that these kids are completely under-deserving, under-qualified and unprepared for true stardom. They spend weeks showboating and doing as their told, barely above hyjacking a lip-synched version of another star's hit, only to be exposed as a used up pawn in a ratings scheme. It's like setting off short-lived poppers expecting dynamite and occasionally resulting with a 15 minutes of fame sparkler.
Good enough? Perhaps. Idol? Let's not speak so strongly.

They're the newest thing-

Just because you're busy, doesn't mean you can't look sharp! Please, ladies..."Put your best self out there," with PajamaJeans! Comfortable as sweats, but those metal rivets make them look like expensive, European designer jeans!!! I mean, WOW.
Just know, dear reader, I want these as much as you wanted a Snuggie last December. THAT MUCH.

A Boombox Can Change the World:

Hence, why I take a boombox with me wherever I may go...

The other day I turned on my favourite oldie's station and was met with hits from the 80's...THE 80's!?! Oldies is a genre- motown is as progressive as it gets. If I want David Bowie, I'll listen to the 80's/90's Alt-Rock station. But just 'coz it's 30 years old, doesn't make it an "oldie." That kinda hurts my feelings.

Maybe my skin is too smooth...

"You're a Very Attractive Waste of Time."

...Kind of like this blog.

Did I mention that a man backed his car into me AS I WAS WAITING in the parking lot? Parked? And then even when I was backing away from him, since he was CLEARLY not paying attention? And somehow STILL, he managed to hit me?!? (If anyone watched last night's Modern Family, you'll love this.)


sigh.
I DO so love little kittens.

Sara Jessica Parker and Me:

I couldn't have said it better myself, Orson Scott Card.

His article on how LDS men could learn a lot from Sex & the City.

O wait...
I think I might have!

PB&J

I'm not particularly fond of peanut butter. Criminal, right? But as much as I'd like to appreciate it, I just enjoy the jelly more. There is so much variety and scope to the types of jelly you can use on a PB&J. For a long time I didn't think I liked PB&J, but then I figured out that it was because my mom always just shoved a giant glob of jelly onto a piece of bread with a glob of peanut butter smeared on it, so by the time I got to school, it was just a giant blob of peanut butter dripping in jelly with crust.
ick.
As an adult, I have learned that the proper ratio of peanut butter to jelly is KEY in a sandwich. Further is the cross-cutting of the sandwich, which adds to the appeal. You'll not that a diagonally cut PB&J is much more appealing than a sandwich cut in half. Furthermore, teacake cut PB&J (cut diagonally into quarters) is even more appetizing and your everyday lunch has now become an unexpected, delightful little treat.

In relationships, let's be honest, I like the jelly. Lots of it. I could have snuggle time for hours and not mind one bit. But relationships require more than the jelly. The peanut butter is what turns toast into a sandwich. And as much as I may dislike peanut butter, it is what turns a side snack into a meal. As I've discussed situations with male friends (and a few women admit to this as well), as much as they enjoy the making out part, they can only do it so long before they simply get bored or don't know what else to do with the person. And no matter how much they may like their date, they can't subsist on the jelly alone. Good as it is, it requires something heavier, something thicker, to hold the bread together. It requires peanut butter. Something that kind of sticks to the roof of your mouth, maybe gets in your teeth and makes you want to brush and floss afterward. But it sticks in your gut and you don't feel like you've spoiled your stomach later and you feel like you've done something good for yourself and enjoyed what you put into your system.

What I'm saying is, there's something to be said for planned activities. There's something to be said for intellectual dialogue. There's something to be said for broadening and deepening the connection you share with the person you're with beyond simply the glob of jelly. And if you do it right- by cutting on the diagonal- even the stuff that's not your favourite is still kind of nice to look forward to the feeling you'll get after it's all been digested.

G, Love.

I love you, G.Love.
But you call me in the middle of the night for action and I might not pick up the phone.

A Good Man is Hard to Find?

Who says a good man is hard to find? I propose that it is simply where you're looking...and what you're looking for...

Dear Farrah, 

Your readers might remember me as Molly. June of 2009, my grandmother decided to try and help me find a man who was the "right age."...Don Osmond Jr. Ha.. 

Well, I'd like to go ahead and share with you a story of how I've turned into that girl. This last week, I went to lunch with a group of consultants for my work. One of the consultants seemed to pay particular attention to me - I was definitely feeling vibes. It was a nice little ego boost. So nice in fact, that I thought to myself, "I remember what it's like to be flirted with, and (boy-that-i've-had-a-crush-on-for-3-months) does not flirt with me, I'm done with that crush." 

Maybe I Facebook stalked said consultant last night and maybe he has a boyfriend.That's right. I have no idea what vibes even are. Apparently ATTENTION = VIBES in my book???

Therefore, I would like to withdraw my candidacy for being single, a woman, or being allowed in the dating scene.

Maybe Grandma was onto something, 

Molly

Looking For Love.

"Life is a playground, and I'm looking for someone to play with."

Me, too, creepy child-stalker guy. Me, too.

Romance Us!

Major contest on Blogg!

The floral shop I work for is offering a Valentine's bouquet to the most romantic story we get! Our favourite stories will be posted throughout the month as inspiration and the best one will actually get a call to deliver flowers to the heart of your choice in the LA area (if you don't know anyone, you can have them sent to me- I like getting flowers, too!) Go to TheWoodsLA.blogspot.com to send us your best story!

24/7

Dear Chloe,
You are getting really skinny this season. But that does not make you any cuter. Just remember: anorexia does not pay.
We still think you are funny, though.
Stick to your strengths.












PS-
Jack,
Thank you for wearing those Harry Potter glasses. Your producers are really determined to flesh out this whole, "I'm a grandpa and vulnerable now" version of Kiefer. We're totally not buying it, but we are humoring your efforts.

Twin Beds = Celibate Men

It's not just true on "I Love Lucy." If a man is sharing a room and sleeping in a twin bed, one things is for certain: That guy is not getting laid.
Katie and I were talking the other night about men and twin beds, and she said, "There are only 3 times when a man should be sleeping in a twin bed and sharing a room. When he's a little boy, when he's on a mission, and when he's in college. But that is it. There is no reason for a man to be 30 and in a twin bed, still sharing a room." To which I proceeded to illustrate that two best friends (men), used to work for the same company, share the same room, and slept in...BUNK BEDS. I won't even get into the matching company cars and sync'd Milli Vanilli soundtracks. In any case, raised eyebrows at work aside, neither one got married until AFTER they'd moved away from each other and got queens. They're now married with kids and definately not gay.
Now, I recognize that (due to a little something called "morality"), NONE of us are getting any. However, the point is, that until you get out on your own, little soldier, and get a bed big enough for the both of us; no self-respecting woman is going to bed with a man who still lives like a boy.

Conclusion: If you are a man and are still sleeping in a twin bed and sharing a room, the chances of you getting a woman in there are about as good as Ricky Ricardo's. And that guy was already married.

Don't Cry.

Dear Jake,

I'll always love you and you are always perfect to me.

Even though you're single and super-buff now, I probably won't see "Prince of Persia" and that Jesus haircut has got to go.

LOST?

If you need a refresher of LOST in less than the 2 hour recap of last season's episode, I think the 5 Seasons in 5 Minutes version is pretty effective.
O, Jack. How I've missed you so.

Table for Two.

So I've been looking into working as a representative for an elderly care facility and they have a lot of tender, touching articles related to senior care. Don't worry- I'm not gonna make you cry, but I AM going to draw some correlations between senior health and the healthcare of a single person. Turns out, socializing at meals is GOOD for seniors- and I suggest that it's good for US, too. (Yaaay, for positive socializing to create healthy habits. Science probably eats a protein bar by himself in the basement.) Anyway, this article provides suggestions for how to better care for the nutritional needs of your senior. I think it sounds like a great idea for EVERYONE- senior or not. We make better choices when we have others around to hold us accountable and to inspire us to take our time and enjoy our food, as opposed to simply grabbing whatever's faster, easier and closest to the tv.
So go ahead and make a lunch date. Invite a friend or two for dinner. Share your food. Take some time to reconnect and talk over a real meal instead of hovering over the sink and eating that leftover cake from Saturday night's wedding. (Maybe I take some of my own advice sometimes, OKAY?!?) And what better excuse is there for a simple date than meeting up during the work week to have sandwiches outside together?
And, if you're asking, I'm totally down for eating whatever you're cooking. Seriously. Call me.

OMG- The Movie

Did anyone see this last fall? In recognizing so many of these cultures and places, I'm immediately interested- add in a discussion on how people come to know God and understand Him in their lives, I'm absolutely fascinated in hearing more. If you want to get together some Sunday soon and watch this, I would love...

When we were in Africa travelling on our little minibus to church one Sunday, we noticed that all the familiar locals were out in their best dress. For an area where most only had one shirt to their name, to see the difference on Sunday- that no matter how humble the circumstances, there was a marked difference in appearance that morning. Some were going to the large cathedral behind a gate, many were simply circled beneath a tree, holding hands and singing a prayer. But almost everyone we saw on the street was heading to worship. One of our teachers remarked, "It's interesting that, in a place where people have nothing, everyone believes in God. And in America, where we have more than what we need, so many doubt that God even exists." How much do we need faith and how much of faith comes from need? It appears that this film may make a point of that as well; did God create man or did man create God? It's an interesting discussion, at the least.

And apparently, Hugh Jackman is in it, if that helps...

Singleness: Hazardeous to Your Health

Now I've heard this argument attested to by my sworn enemy, Science, before. He is relentless in proving that being single is hazardous to one's health- particularly a woman's health. I had to re-read this article just to be certain it wasn't published 30 years ago in a weak attempt to oppress and demean women. But, no! It's from January of this year- 2010. Herein, Science "proves" that single people take more sick days and particularly single women suffer more injuries in a year than those who are married. What my loathed nemesis, Science, is trying to "prove," is that we'd all be healthier if we were married (particularly women). Clearly this study doesn't get out much. My much more logical assessment of the statistics suggest that single people as a whole are likely just using their "sick" days as "play" days.

A (single) friend commented, "I can't think of the last time I took a sick day and was actually sick." As a general, most single people are accrueing those sick days for amazing adventure vacations and random days for irresponsiblity. Those who are divorced in the article are likely dealing with children, family emergencies and tending to business/errands that require personal time. As for the widowed, there are far more women likely to outlive their husbands, so the "scientific" deduction that widowed men fare better, I would respond, "there are probably 4 women taking care of that man and each one of those women outlived their own spouse to begin with!" (Eat THAT, Science.)

As for these single, female journalists who maybe "protest too much" to this Stephan Mason, PhD, maybe they're percieved that way because, as ANY of us (male or female) can attest, somehow, our marital status (or lack thereof) seems to be a HUGE issue to non-involved parties as a topic of discussion or debate. (see: family reunions, holidays, dinner parties, church, basically anywhere people who are married and over 30 mill around.) I almost never encounter this question in the workplace, as it has no effect on my efficiency, productivity, competency or sense of humor and adeptness within social situations. Perhaps this is why so many single people are able to focus on their careers without distraction or obligation external of their own chosen social events. Perhaps that busyness is why we are not dating as much and have chosen to stay single until we meet someone as fulfilling as our work results. Surprisingly enough, Science has turned a blind eye into inquiring WHY there would be such a result.

O, Science. You lazy bastard. No wonder why you're still single.

Destiny.

You do not have to be your mother
Unless she is who you want to be.
You do not have to be your mother's mother, or your mother's mother's mother, or even your grandmother's mother on your father's side. You may inherit their chins or their hips or their eyes, but you are not destined to become the women who came before you, you are not destined to live their lives.
So if you inherit something, inherit their strength.
If you inherit something, inherit their resilience.
Because the only person you are destined to become is the person YOU DECIDE to be.
-Nike.

So I've been cleaning out those areas where you just shove papers that don't belong anywhere and I've come across some real gems. This is a Nike ad I found in high school that I liked so much, I framed it and carted it around me everywhere I went. It's only the last couple of years I put it in a "quotes I love so much I can't let them go" box. May it inspire you as it inspires me.

Why I smell like poo-

This morning I watched the sun rise over the Ghats in Varanasi. A holy man filled my hands marigolds, walked me down to the river and had me chant with him as he broke up the petals and spread them through my palms. He blessed me with a good boyfriend who would be a good husband and that I would have a good son. (I didn't even ask! Mostly I was hoping he would bless me with a job, but I guess I'll take either.) Then he sprinkled my hair with water from the river. Which is where everyone in the city bathes. And does their laundry. And dumps their sewage. And burns their dead bodies. I gave him 100 rupees anyway.

Later, on the steps of the Ghats, Krista was approached by a man offering a head massage for 50 rupees (about $1). You should know something about Krista. She is a connoisseur of massage. She's also a complete sucker for any sort of massage offered. ANYTHING. Just ask her. She'll prove it. There were other tourists being given massages on the steps and it looked ...interesting. At the least, it would be worth 50 rupees. She agreed to his price and went for moral support (to take pictures). The old man walked us over to a small dugout type of apartment room with a curtain hanging in front. He kept proffering the massage and we got increasingly disturbed by his insistance. At this point, he has a buddy, who keeps prodding me along as well, even though I've insisted I've just been sprinkled in holy water and don't want my hair touched. (True story. See above.) We see several men leave the curtained room, adjusting their loincloths as they go...shadier and stranger yet. But the wall outside is painted "woman massage for woman," so we figure, "what harm can there be?" We walk up the little steps and inside are two small floormats and a chair. That took up the entire cubbyhole room. From there it turned into my little friend saying he just wanted to hold my hand and try for just a minute (and you know how I love a good handrub...) into being face down on a sheet that had probably not been washed in years and had a slight smell of poo. It was probably the best massage I'd had in months.

You know how they say, "Always change your underwear, because you never know when you'll get hit by a bus"? At this point, a bus is the least of my worries. A tuk-tuk, a motorcycle, a bike, a cow...we've either already been hit by or had near misses of all these. I just hope when they find me, I don't smell like poo.

I Love You, Nepal.

There is so much I was prepared to tell you, but it's been so hard to find a computer the last few days in India and now that I've found one, the keyboard barely works at all! I will save it for later. The short story is:
I was blessed by a monk in Kathmandu and then invited to worship in a temple in the hills of Nagrakot and I have been made a family member and official cook of the Eco-Home Lodge (apparently, in Nepal, I can cook fairly well!) and am probably allergic to Delhi. And yes, the Taj Mahal is TOTALLY everything you ever thought it could ever be. There is no possible way to oversell.

If anyone wants to go to Nepal for a trek, I'm all in.

Children of Nepal

One of my favourite things so far has been all the Nepalanese children. There we are, marveling at these huge golden and stone stupas and giant painted Buddhas and grand palace steps with golden busts, and little children in school uniforms are running up and down them, waving notebooks and laughing. At one of the temples, I gave a few of the children some candy. We took pictures together and they would giggle at seeing themselves in the camera. They each wanted their own turn, a moment to stand in front of the camera beside an ancient stone Buddha, their school uniforms crinkling at the collar. Then the boys run off wearing their superhero backpacks, holding hands, neckties swinging. The girls have ponytails with giant red or white bows on either side of their smiling faces. One of them offers me a flower. Her name is Salina.

Dear Bachelorette Girls:

Here's $5.
Go buy yourself some dignity.
Please.
Sincerely,
-f.

On a magic carpet ride...

I have a tradition of writing down exactly what's happening around me as it occurs. While it's only a slice in time, it always rushes back the sounds and smells (usually unpleasant ones) of that moment. I would travelblog about it, so not to overload anyone with a mass message, but I forgot my password (big surprise). I hope you enjoy the next few minutes of last night with me. If you were here, you'd be laughing, too. Especially after 36 hours without sleep.

Thanks.

xoxo,

-Farrah.

November 15.2009

If I told you what was going on right now, it would sound like a bad cliche. Forget the 16 hour plane ride sandwiched between two individuals with pungent body odor and forget the child in front of us, screaming and vomiting (poor thing); it is 2:40am and we're in the airport terminals guest hall. It feels like the bus depot in Falmouth where I used to wait for my grandmother to pick me up when I would visit, except this place has an ice cream vendor and a "food village." (That's the name of our little food court.) The theme song from Aladdin plays in flutes over the speakers. The timing is unbelievable. I've heard it play 3 times since we landed 5 hours ago. Kristina is slumped over, bent at the waist stretched out impossibly over her own legs. It's 2:40, which means I got almost 3 hours of sleep. Not bad for a plastic seat with metal armrests. Can't sleep in my own bed, but give me a random depot on a smelly street and I pass out like a kid after midnight. My head keeps bumping into someone's turban because our seats are back-to-back. He doesn't seem to mind, as I keep inadvertently swatting at the thing brushing up against my hair, his clatter of conversation continuing at full pace. Even with earplugs in, I can hear him perfectly, if not for the foreign tongue.

The flute continues, "A whole new world...a dazzling place a never knew..."

We leave for Nepal in 2 hours and I wish lightning would strike twice and I could get another 2 hour nap. I'll probably just paint my toenails instead. Kristina wakes up and we give each other a bleary eyed smile.

"I'm so glad you're here," I say.

"Me, too." She smiles.

"...because I can go to the bathroom and just leave my stuff!" I finish. We start giggling.

"It's 3 o'clock." She laughs. "That means in an hour and a half we can go downstairs and be the first ones in line!" She means for our 3 hour pre-boarding requirement to Nepal.

"You know what else you should write?" She suggests, "When you asked that guy to give you a printout of your flight reservation- and then you hear the dot-matrix printer going off in the back." We're hysterical with tired laughter, at this point. I raise my hand and my eyes get wide, "uh...don't worry about the return flight. It's cool...it's cool..." Bringing out my iPod at this point would seem an affront, but, in my head, above the honking of 3 am traffic, I hear Regina Specktor play on, "And the history books forgot about us, and the Bible didn't mention us..."

My friend, Celeste (one of the Australian girls Alyson and I tromped around with in Guatemala) saw my plans on facebook. She is still in Nepal and wants me to swing by Kathmandu so she can say, "hi." Of course. Of course I will have to drop in! The Australians have the most unbelievable lives. I remember writing her months ago, voting yes on her decision to visit India on what now must be a two+ year stint of travel. I can't believe she's still here. I can't believe I have dinner plans with a friend in Kathmandu!

Unreal.