Things That Might Not, in Retrospect, Be Normal

True story: Last winter I went on a holiday vacation to the ski house of some friends. There were about seven of us there for several days, a mix of couples and not, and a good blend of people who'd met before and who hadn't. And it was really fun, and after I got back, I marveled at the fact that there wasn't that one person who everyone found annoying, because there always is in any group, right?

But then I realized that if I didn't think any particular person was loathsome, that must mean that I was the person everyone hated. So I got REALLY MAD at all my friends and the jerks in the house. How dare they all look down on me and make fun of me every time I leave the room?! I'm way awesome and don't deserve to be thought of that way I was just trying to have a good time you're not so much better than me either you know. I don't have to sit here and listen to you patronize me. What effers.

I think this might be a symptom of a mental disorder, but you know what I call that mental disorder? Reality, people.

My Complete and Unabridged Thoughts on SATC

1. Carrie is not cute.

2. I am definitely a Miranda, like, for sure. Even though my job is Carrielike, my tolerance for talking about the s-word is Charlottian, and my appreciation for young blond men is Samanthaish, SO WHAT.
Obvs I'm a Miranda. And that is 100% awesome with me. But you know what is not? The sad, sinking realization that it means I'm going to wind up with a Steve: A short, sensitive, "I'm trying here!" guy with a nasally voice who I hate SO MUCH that I won't even let him live with me after I have his stupid kid. Gee dee it all.

BLECK.

Oh, and in case your browser doesn't support these photos, let me do a quick sketch for you.

Miranda ----------------> :) :( <------------ Steve

Seasons' Greetings

Great news! The trend regarding correspondence from my mother continues unabated
Here we've got an Easter greeting, not just one but TWO birthday cards (one from her, one from her cats, don't be stupid), and then one "hello."

But you know who else has gotten in on my fun? My hilarious two "best friends." Although they live in different cities on different ends of the country and did not consult about this, they both sent me birthday cards from the exact same line. Same card, different cat, right down to the inside greeting—and total coincidence (no, really). Thanks, smart alecks! Who's laughing now? Oh right, EVERYONE.

Two Types of People Who Freak Me Out

Just for your files:

1. Ladies with long torsos. They look like snakes to me. I wonder how it is possible that they can have the same number of backbones as I do. I think that each vertebra must be the size of a coffee cup. I can't stop staring.

2. People who don't move their arms when they walk. Sounds random but TRY IT and you will know exactly who I mean. Why do they walk that way and what are they trying to hide?!?!?

Dear Date,

I suppose if I had to list my top three concerns with your comment, "I have a pair of purple Pumas. I mean, no one has purple Pumas," said concerns would be these:

a) You are bragging about fashion sense vs. demonstrating it.

b) I have two different pairs of purple Pumas, rendering your boast impotent.

c) You are a straight man with no corresponding team or gang affiliation talking about purple shoes.

Thank you for your time.

For Gentleman—The Truth About Your Quirky Date Idea

Something about my awesomitude inspires men go above and beyond and really try to impress me with their fun, unexpected, outside-of-the-box date ideas. What that boils down to is that four of the last five guys I've dated have asked me to go bowling. Real friggin original, fellas.

And just FYI, knowing that you think of me as "quirky" is about as complimentary as telling a girl she has a "great personality" or a "pretty face." When will they invent an emoticon for flipping the bird? Cuz it goes right here.

Though maybe they only ask me this because I wear the outfit in the picture to the right.

Happy Handsome Birthday

Dear Dwayne The Rock Johnson,

Happy birthday today! I know we haven't really been in touch ever since you un-friended me on MySpace. Maybe it's because Disney closed the account when they got done promoting The Game Plan. Is that it, The Rock? Maybe.

But I also realize that maybe it's because you were afraid of how close we'd gotten. It's true that we have an unbelievable amount in common—you're scared of spiders, I'm scared of roaches; you are tall, I am tall; we both regularly eat entire cheese pizzas. we both have tattoos. It's fate, really. And I suppose with your separation so fresh in your past, you may be wary of the idea that you could love again so quickly.

Anyway, I want you to know that I wish you the best. Maybe for this birthday I'll go stand by myself and stare creepily at the wax figurine of you in front of Madame Tussauds in Times Square. And I have a very special gift for you, so I guess I'll just hang on to it until we meet. (Hint: It's my virginity!)

Your friend,
Love,
The Imaginary Nurse