Why Men don't Understand.

Kristen: My new boots came in the mail today!

Boy: Which new boots?

Kristen: Brown, suede.

Boy: Don't you have like five pairs of brown boots already?

Kristen: Six, I think.

Boy: You needed another?

Kristen: These ones go over my knees.

Boy: Why would you need boots that go over your knees?

Kristen: Sometimes my knees get cold.

Boy: But you wear tights.

Kristen: Not when it's warmer

Boy: Why would you wear boots when its warmer?

Kristen: Sometimes my knees feel fat.

Boy: Your knees aren't fat.

Kristen: Right, but sometimes they feel fat.

Boy: But you run like 7 miles a day.

Kristen: But I still get my period.

Boy: And that makes your knees feel fat?

Kristen: Well, yes.

Boy: I don't understand you.

And the humiliation goes to . . .

If the excess of sweeping gowns and molded smiles on magazine pages and entertainment news stations wasn’t enough to tip you off, let it be known: award season is upon us.

Golden Globes, Oscars, SAGs, Emmys, Grammys, Tonys . . . it’s enough to keep Sunday night television around and People Magazine in business for three months of the year.

And while the accolades for actors, actresses, producers, directors, musicians and designers pile up, I find myself regretful that the year’s more spell-binding, more dramatic, and, let’s be honest, more entertaining “performances” aren't receiving the necessary attention.

So, in an attempt to give credit where credit is due, I’d like to offer the following awards, for a full and – umm – compelling 2009.

Best Multiple-Cheater Award: Obviously, this one goes out to Tiger. Lucky for David Letterman, this hit the fan just before the close of the calendar year.

Most Tasteless Relationship: This one’s a toss-up between the Mel Gibson/Oksana-whoever affair and the John Gosselin-college co-ed match-up. The Gibson duo have iced the cake with a pregnancy, but John Gosselin continues to sport an earring and way too much Ed Hardy. Obviously John wins.

Biggest Hollywood Weenie: Chris Brown. In fact, I’m convinced that had she not been seated in a limo, Rhianna totally could have taken him.

Most delusion self-image: “I’m more of a modern Mother Teresa.” – Heidi Montag. This statement might have actually been a bigger mistake than her music video (which is now burned into my subconscious, thank you YouTube).

Worst Idea of the Year: Socialized healthcare. There. I said it.

Best Pro-Athlete Let-Down: Michael Phelps? Alex Rodriguez? No. David Beckham. Why is he STILL married?

Saddest Rejection: Do we award this for Madonna’s inability to adopt another child? Or for Tony Romo dropping Jessica on her birthday? We’ll call it a tie.

Most Vicious Insult: I don’t want to hand yet another one out to Jessica Simpson, but if even the President is mocking your mom jeans and excess “baggage,” something’s got to be amiss.

Most Consequential Resignation: Sarah Palin. Ummm… WHO is watching Russia NOW??

And with all due respect to the above recipients, Kanye West had the best public debacle of all time. OF ALL TIME.

Feel free to thank the academy.

New Year's Reso - YOU - sions

Before beginning, I must disclaim: I am irreparably flawed. And every January 1st arrives with the same hopeful motivation combined with the looming presence of gross inadequacy. So, in an attempt to make 2010 less disappointing for me, I am giving up my usual resolutions and making new ones – for you, in the hopes that 2010 will annoy me a little less.

• Stop looking for parking spots: Just stop. The first one you see is good enough and you could probably use the cardiovascular benefit of actually moving your own body around. My trips to Costco would be vastly improved if each lane in and out weren’t clogged by immobile Suburbans searching for a spot 100 yards closer to the door.

• Leave your cell phone in your car/purse/pocket when in a grocery store, movie theater, restaurant, or simply around the general public. Your one-sided, high-decibeled conversation is ruining my shopping/eating/watching/breathing experience.

• For the love of all that is holy, learn to drive a roundabout.

• Stop carrying your dog in your purse. This doesn’t inconvenience me, but tremendously annoys me.
  

• Please learn and retain the difference between “your” and “you’re.” Use this knowledge in your daily life.

• Stop making films (this is non-applicable if your name is not Cameron Diaz, Keanu Reeves or Miley Cyrus).

• Dispose of any and all personal items designed or endorsed by one Mr. Ed Hardy.

• Stop trying to sneak explosives onto planes. I already have to get to the airport early enough, thank you.

• Extricate the phrase “we need to talk” from your repertoire (you know who you are).

• Emotionally accept that holding hands is the most you and your significant should do to show your affection in public. Ever.
  

• Hold doors, tip waiters, say thank you, stop for pedestrians, smile, and cease any and all general douchebaggery.

Happy 2010.

Woods for Peace

I’m coming forward.

No, I’m not number 14. That being said, I do have a few words to say bout Tiger.

He’s the greatest golfer of our time, to state the trite and obvious. But in the light of the current debacle of angry women, drug accusations, lost endorsements and missed tournaments, it may seem like there are few left in Tiger’s corner (er, den?).

Don’t lose hope, Tiger, a few of us are still rooting for you. Just this morning, the associated press named Woods the ‘Athlete of the Decade,’ scandal and all.

Well, I’d like to take that a step further. I’m nominating Tiger for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Let me explain. This isn’t simply a reaction to this years’ selection and the fact that recipients no longer have to actually create peace, but a testament of Tiger’s concrete determination to make and keep harmony in the lives of those… connected… with him.

If we study the chronology (which I will sum-up for any readers without access to trashy entertainment mags), we see that Ty kept his debauchery quiet for at least 31-months. THIRTY-ONE MONTHS. Now, in my mind, anyone who can keep 13 morally-casual-and-self-motivated women satisfied, silent and secret for nearly three years might have what it takes to qualify for sainthood.

Not to mention that Tiger’s a protector (insert jungle metaphor here). While travelling the world as its most prominent athlete, endorsing products and role-modeling as husband and father, he still found the time to consider other people – protecting the reputations of the defenseless and lowly: doctors, porn stars, celebutantes, and wives who beat the hell out of Escalades with golf clubs.

So let’s not just give him another chance. Let’s give peace a chance – just like Ty would.

Once Bitten. . . All a Lie.

Let’s take a minute and talk about Twilight (you knew we couldn’t go on avoiding this). Unless you’re living under a rock (or beyond a 1,000 mile radius of Forks, Washington), you’ve seen the gaggles of preteen-slash-full-grown-women dressed in their gothic best and swooning over one Edward Cullen.

I’ll be the first to admit: the guy’s got some magnetism. That whole brooding-intellectual-too-complicated-for-you-and-filled-with-passion-he-can’t-even-express-but-kinda-wanst-to-so-he’ll-simply-set-his-chiseled-face-to-a-lust-inducing-scowl really works for him.

I have, in fact, heard many a giggly woman exclaim, “Edward is, like, the perfect man!”

Well let’s back up for just a second here, ladies. Sure, he’s the quintessential tall, pale and handsome hero. He smells like warm vanilla and his skin sparkles like the treasures of Cortez. But insert Eddie into the real-world life in which we live?

Loser.

No, beyond that. Loser, loner, and serious (and I stress SERIOUS) creeper.

Let’s start out with what we know. He’s 107 and still scamming on high school chicks. Now, I’ve dated my share of men that just couldn’t grow up, but even I haven’t experienced the depth of this kind of immaturity.

Beyond that, perhaps Bella should have taken adequate precaution when she started hangin’ with a guy who has a history of serious violence. Now, I don’t know where you stand, but I tend to draw a line at homicide (unless he’s a professional athlete).

Let’s move on to the creep factor. The last time a guy let me know that he stayed awake to watch me sleep, I suppressed the urge to vomit and ended any romantic ties right then and there. And he didn’t even sneak into my room to do it.

And for those of you who find this behavior romantic, perhaps we should further analyze what romance Eddie really offers. Hopefully we too can someday experience a man with so much love that he acts aloof, withdrawn, angry, cynical, and keeps mentioning the urge he has to kill us.

Let’s not forget his tendency for abandonment. The guy just can’t be counted on. Save your life one minute, leave you to the wolves (ahem, literally) the next. Hot, cold, in, out – Ed’s dependability factor is about as promising as Colin Farrell’s on St. Patrick’s Day.

So let’s just cool it off, ladies, and maybe give your guy a kiss on the cheek and thank him for being a little less like Edward Cullen.

* the author would like to clarify that the above commentary is directed toward a literary character, and in no way quashes her intensely passionate feelings for Robert Patterson.