Ever feel like a character in a Candace Bushnell novel?

Here's my Facebook status from yesterday: "Mandy is listening to the most recent Morning Becomes Eclectic, admiring her new Betsy Johnsons, and contemplating a class at UCLA Extension. She feels interesting." Seriously. I felt like I sounded like a character in "Sex and the City" or something. I think it was just using "her new Betsy Johnsons" that made me feel that way.

So yes. I have new shoes. The network which employs me just wrapped a movie involving high fashion and the development executive, upon discovering that I had size 7 1/2 feet, graciously gave me a pair of shoes from said movie. I have never in my life worn such ostentatious shoes. (I almost said that I had never owned such ostentatious shoes, but that's a falsehood. I did, for some time, own a pair of avocado green platform sandals, but I never did wear them out of the house because I couldn't find anything to coordinate them with.)

I may have to start buying more interesting shoes. As my roomie put it, these were quite the ice breaker. Everywhere I went yesterday, people were telling me how cute my shoes were. The bathroom. The hallway. CAA. Poquito Mas. And here I had gone along thinking that shoes were just something to cover my feet... But maybe I can meet Prince Charming and then write a Lifetime movie about how Betsy Johnson changed my life because Prince Charming noticed my shoes.

I also need to buy some in-soles, because hoo boy these things hurt like nobody's business. I was walking around like Malibu Barbie. Not only were they tall, but the balls of my feet were screaming at me. Yeah, I could have put on my more conservative Naturalizers, but naaaah. BEAUTY IS PAIN, RIGHT?

I did have a funny realization -- These shoes actually match a dress I owned at age six. It had a foofy skirt and red rick-rack and bright floral colors. When I played Eve in the church play, that's what I wore. Because that's totally what the real Eve wore and all.

Is NOTHING sacred?

A MacGyver movie?? SERIOUSLY?

No. Really.

SERIOUSLY??

It's Friday, I'm (not) in love.

Do you ever have those conversations that go the same way day after day after day?

Like, take for instance, the "Friday" conversation. I loathe this conversation, but it's unavoidable on a Friday. And, well, if I don't catch myself, I find myself becoming part of the problem.

INT. CENTURY CITY OFFICE BUILDING - ELEVATOR - DAY

Your typical busy morning. People rush into elevator cars with their STARBUCKS CUPS. Two of these people are JANE and JOHN, co-workers at the same company.

JOHN
Mornin'.

JANE
Hey John. How are you?

JOHN
Oh, doin' great. Have my Starbucks. It's Friday.

JANE
Yep, it's Friday.

JOHN
I'm so glad. Got any big plans for the weekend?

JANE
Nope. Just rest. This week was just...augh.

JOHN
Sounds like a plan.


Okay, see what I mean? That scene doesn't even have to take place in an elevator. It could be at the bathroom sink. (Anywhere else in the bathroom and it's uncomfortable.) It could be at the coffee machine. It could be at the odious Arrowhead water cooler. Friday, Friday, Friday.

Look, I enjoy my alarm-clock-free days as much as the next girl. Really. But we need to move beyond the Friday conversation. My goal is to never say "It's Friday" ever again. I don't know why it bugs, but it does.

But now I've noticed a new phenomenon in my not-quite-social life. I'm finding myself having the same conversations with clients on a day-to-day basis. For example:

ME: "(Executive's) office."
CLIENT: "Hi, Amanda. It's (Client)."
ME: "Hi (Client)!"
CLIENT: "How are you?"
ME: "I'm fine. How are you today?" (I intentionally tack a "today" on the end so as not to seem like a copy-cat.)
CLIENT: "I'm fine, too."
ME: "That's good!"
CLIENT: "Is (Executive) around?"
ME: "He's actually in a meeting. Can I have him give you a call back?"
CLIENT: "Yes, please."
ME: "I'll do that."
CLIENT: "Thanks, Amanda."
ME: "Thanks, (Client)."

Every. Time. We. Talk.

I need to mix this up a bit. Any ideas?

Fancy-pants Chinese Food

(This is totally a post with "Nay Nay Contraire" written all over it.)

At the moment, I am in Vegas completely living it up. It's 11:09 p.m. and I, 29, am sitting on my bed with the remains of my fancy-pants Chinese food on a plate near my feet. To my credit, I'm writing. BUT STILL. My mom and her (completely awesome) BFF went to see Donny and Marie Osmond at 7:30 p.m. It's a 90-minute show and I know they had backstage passes, but really. I hope my mom's not making out with Donny Osmond right now, even though it would fulfill a teenage fantasy of hers, I'm sure. And I'm going to stop right there before I (a) squick myself out or (b) incur the wrath of my mother.

We were going to grab some dinner when she returned, but when it got to be 10:19 and my mother's phone was still off, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Every time I've stayed at New York New York prior to this, I've been intrigued by Chin Chin. I've eaten at the Chin Chin in Los Angeles, but never the one in the hotel. This afternoon, the mom and I split a Chinese chicken salad... And I just went back for some orange chicken. Now, the salad was perfectly lovely. It was the size of a toddler's head and easily split between two people. And when you take into consideration the extra amount of time it takes to eat shredded lettuce with chopsticks, it worked perfectly. The orange chicken? Ehhhh.

Perhaps I'm spoiled by the abundance of cheap Chinese food outlets in my neck of the woods (Yang Chow, I am looking at YOU, even if you're not really cheap), but this kind of...sucks. If I'm gonna pay $14.50 plus $1.50 for steamed rice plus tax and gratuity, don't make it mostly undercooked onions and bell peppers. For $14.50, I best be getting a container full of non-Weight-Watchers-approved morsels of battered goodness. Really lame, Chin Chin. REALLY LAME.

ALSO? Your to-go chopsticks are sucky and puny!

At least my fortune cookie had a good fortune. Apparently my fondest dream is going to come true this year. This is a higher-priced fortune cookie, so I'm presuming a higher-priced soothsayer. And you get what you pay for, right?

Orange chicken excluded.

QUESTION OF THE DAY: Creepy? Or No?

And before you answer, you should know that those birds are FAKE. Giant. Fake. Birds. On a Billboard.

For the record, yes, the first time I saw this thing, I thought they were real.

It's funny because it's TRUE.

This makes me laugh out loud. Really loud.

Chick Lit Cliche # 483208: Weight Loss

What's more of a chick-lit cliche than weight loss? Well, okay, probably a lot of things, but weight loss is a pretty big one. Good in Bed? The Cinderella Pact? (Both great books, by the way.) To catch you up, I got pretty big in college, to the point of some kind family members asking if I would go to Weight Watchers if they paid for it. Ironically, this proposition was made at a Mexican food restaurant as I was downing a large chile relleno. But, in the end, I joined. And though I was a slow starter, I started losing weight. I was really bad about going to meetings -- I just didn't really enjoy myself. But I remember stepping on the scale one day to discover that I'd lost fifteen pounds without realizing it. I was hooked at that point. I had started Weight Watchers at 175 pounds and eventually got down to 129 pounds a year later. And, not to sound full of myself or anything, but damn I was hot. Here's a bit of a comparison:

This is me in 2000. I'm not sure exactly how much I weighed, but I'm going to guess this was right around 180 pounds. Then again, this was also before my breast reduction surgery, so I looked heavier than I really was. Nevertheless, I never want to look like this again.



These next two pictures are from my sister Stephanie's wedding in January 2003. I'm on the far left in the first picture, and just to the left of the bride in the second.













And now, here I am at what I consider my "hottest ever." See, once I lost all that weight, a metaphorical weight was lifted, too. I moved to Los Angeles during the initial stages of Weight Watchers, but I have to say that losing that weight worked in my favor. I came out of my shell. I actually felt pretty, and for the first time in my adult life, entertained the thought that other people might think that, too. It was an incredibly exciting time.



Since that victorious moment of discovering that I had broken the 130-pound barrier in 2004, I've managed to slowly put on 25 pounds. It has killed me. I'm finding myself reverting back to the person I was when I weighed 170+. You can bet that I very rarely even think that other people think I'm pretty or hot. And I hate shopping -- though that shouldn't be surprising. When I was dropping a size every time I stepped in a dressing room, it was fun. Now, it's going the other way and it has to stop.

It will.

A little over a month ago, people in my office decided to do our own Biggest Loser competition. I have lost a few pounds, but it's not nearly what I wanted to do. I've just taken up running about two weeks ago (and enjoying it!) and today decided to really and truly go back on WW. (I say "really and truly" because I've said it in the past and that's lasted all of two days.) Money is a bit tight at the moment, so my WW is primarly self-regulated. I have the point books and calculator and, as much as I loathe it, will be food journaling.

I have a Texas wedding to go to next month. My own thirtieth birthday in April. An East Coast bar mitzvah in May. Do I think I'll be where I want to be even by May? No, but even a little bit will help. And, who knows, maybe I'll surprise myself.