An open letter...

Dear Eve Plumb,

What's up? Hey, just thought you'd like to know...I started a blog a couple months ago, and I thought it would be funny to call it "The New Jan Brady" because well, it's a new blog and stuff, and you know what? PEOPLE LOVE YOU.

It's true! I get AT LEAST ten Google searches a DAY from folks looking for you. Or Jan, anyway. You are a NATIONAL TREASURE, for godsakes!

I will let you know...the Google searches are pretty tame. Mostly just "Jan+Brady" or "Who+is+Jan+Brady?". I've been hoping for some more interesting ones**. But, still, girl you ROCK, even 30 years later. Go on with your bad self.

I'll work on trying to get someone to start a blog called "Marcia Marcia Marcia!" and we can see who gets the most hits. Kay?

Word, girl. WORD.
-Me

**Amy helps me come up with interesting Jan Google Searches (actually she came up with all of them, because I am lazy):

Jan Brady Naked
Brady Bunch Orgy
Jan Alice Marcia Lesbians
am i the new jan brady?
jan brady afro
die marcia marcia
jan brady spooge

It's a wonder I ever married.

Inspired by Amy's confessionals regarding old boyfriends, I will tell you an embarrassing story about me and my first boyfriend.

We met in first grade, but our love was not to blossom until third grade. And what I mean by blossom is, I'd get to wear his watch and jacket while he played football during recess. But that my friends was BIG to all the other little 8-year-old girlies. Yes, I was Brad's girlfriend. Brad isn't his real name, because good GOD I would die if he read this. Ever.

We also used to play house. He was the Dad, I was the Mom and really all we did was boss other kids around.

Life was good. Recess was fun!

Until that fateful day when Miranda (also not her real name) transferred to my school in fourth grade. Suddenly? He was spending time hanging out around Miranda and her god-awful poofy pigtails, and NOT playing football anymore.

Half-way through fourth grade, my family was to move and I was to change schools, and my little fragile heart was breaking because I had only gone to this ONE school in my whole four years of school and I would never make new friends. NEVER! And to never see Brad again? Devastating!

Scorned by Brad's new found love for Miranda, I was all weepy sitting at his desk on my last day at that school. CRYING OVER BROKEN HEART AT NINE YEARS OLD, people. Surely I would not grow up to be overdramatic.

And then I wrote "I love you" on his desk. ON his DESK. Like a fucking idiot.

I wouldn't see him again until HIGH SCHOOL. And here's how our fateful reunion went down.

I was walking to my English class on the first day, when I saw a group of people standing outside a classroom, waiting for it to open. Our school was all outdoor buildings, so I was walking along a row of trees. Trees that would fuck me over.

I could see Brad standing in the group, and my heart skipped a beat. BRAD! Shit, I haven't seen him for YEARS. Be cool, man. BE COOL. Just say Hi, but keep walking.

Or don't. TRIPPING IS GOOD TOO. JUST as I was passing by him, I turned to say Hi and didn't realize there was a step down to a little grass patch around one of the trees, and I fell promptly on my face. So he heard, "Hi Brad..." and then I was down. On the ground.

Of course he ran over to help me, and I think I said a bunch of swear words, thanked him for helping me, and then spent three years trying to avoid him.

Two days before graduation, I was at a party, and he came up and asked me if I had written 'I love you' on his desk back in fourth grade. I confessed that I had. Then he asked if I wanted to wear his jacket and watch while he did a beer bong.

Beauty Queen

I don't wear a lot of make-up. Most days? None! I'm fresh. I'm natural. I'm woman.

But when I DO wear make-up? Here's the torture I go through when it comes to whether or not I think I look fabulous.

Applying make-up in the master bathroom: All is well. I look stunning under the soft glow of the vanity lights. Good application! Not too much! Features? Enhanced. I am god damn radiant.

Take a peek in the mirror while visiting the front bathroom during the day because it's closer to my office, and really why should I trek all the way to the master bath?: What. The. Fuck. Am I trying out for the circus today? Please let it be the yellow-y tinge of the lighting in here. Otherwise? Cutting will be my new hobby.

Applying lipstick at the entry hall mirror on my way out the door: Okay, that's better. I am beautiful again. Look at how the sun streaks through my long luscious curls? Skin, so freaking supple. I would make out with me. And yes, I would French.

One last peek in the car rearview mirror before hopping out to meeting: Jesus H. Christ. I could go fishing in my pores! How does hair sprout from THERE? UHHH AHHHH I can't make this meeting.

How does this happen? Trickery!

Fears for Tears

People have told me that I have a natural way of putting people at ease, and a "gift" for handling all types of personalities/situations with grace and that I seem to always know what to say.

Those people are liars.

While I usually save my ass from any sort of confrontation or uncomfortableness or tension with some sort of joke or a "hey you look NICE!", I honestly don't see where people think I have a talent or whatever for this.

Yes, I've smoothed over many a situation or a pissed off person, but mainly it's because I am a people-pleaser and can't stand to see anyone upset. And I'm pretty good at reading between the lines to see what the person REALLY wants or needs when they're upset.

But you know where I get LOST? When people CRY. Me, totally lost. I usually just cry with them while my stomach is in huge knots and I'm scrambling to think of something to make the them STOP.

I met a client for coffee this morning, and I knew she was already on shaky ground because she's going through a lot right now, but I had no idea she would cry. So when she did? I BURSTED OUT INTO TEARS WITH HER. Real professional.

I can't stand that feeling. When you really want to help, you want the perfect thing to say, and there's nothing. Nothing but blowing your nose into a Starbucks napkin.

My point? You need a good crying partner? CALL ME. 1-800-ME-CRY4U. Operators are standing by.

Seinfeld. It's in my BRAIN.

I have recently discovered that a small percentage of my vocabulary/thoughts/reactions come from Seinfeld. For Seinfeld is the only show in which I have seen every single episode multiple times, and yet I still laugh as if I'm seeing it for the first time.

Here are some examples of how I incorporate Seinfeld-isms into my daily life. And how very sad and lame that makes me:

I call everyone "schmoopie". "No you're my schmoopie!"

When I'm about to regale my friends with what I think is an amazing story, I like to start off with "the sea was angry that day, my friends".

If someone trips, flubs, or does anything remotely awkward in front of me I say, "that's a shame."

"Serenity now!" is my current cell phone text greeting.

When someone tells a story and I'm about to tell one about someone else but want to keep their identity private, I'll start with "You know my friend Bob Sacamento?" This also works with "Crazy Joe Devola".

Because I only know ONE person named Ken, I like to leave messages on his voicemail in a mouthful-whimper like Kramer calling out to the Kenny Rogers Roaster when the orange neon sign gets shut off: "Kenny...?" If I knew more Ken's, I'd do it more often.

Always always use Seinfeld-sanctioned nicknames: "Re-gifter, Close Talker, Low Talker, High Talker".

When someone says "I'm sorry", I always want to come back with, "You can stuff your sorries in a sack, mister."

I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to change my voicemail to me singing the following to the tune of Greatest American Hero: "Believe it or not...Jan isn't at home...where could I be???"

And it goes on and on. That show was truly brilliant. And six years later, I have yet to see anything come even remotely close to it.

Nuthin, but then somethin'

Yeah, I've got NUTHIN' today. Why? Because I spent all morning writing new episodes of The Bold & The Bloglicious. You totally read it, right? Yeah well today we wrote FOUR episodes. And we outright cracked ourselves up.

Because Amy? She cracks my shit up in a big way. And the best part? We never tell each other WHERE we're taking the story. We just do it, no planning, just fly-by-the-seat-of-our-proper-asses. FUN!

Feel free to read Parts 22-25 on the side bar. IN ORDER, please.

I will add one thing. Last night I was watching Extreme Makeover for the first time ever. And let me tell you people, while 2 out of 3 transformations were pretty impressive, the producers of that show are DAMN MEAN!

I mean, here's some things they said, and I'm paraphrasing a bit because I don't remember exact lines (hello, WINE!):

About Kim:
"Let's get rid of that ugly third nipple!"
"Once her teeth are fixed, maybe now she'll have a life."

About Regiina, and this one floored me.
"Fortunately, her children were blessed with good looks." THAT my friends, is an exact quote. And the "fortunately"? Dripping with condescending-ness.

Okay, it's great that they are helping these people. I'm all for boosting their self-esteem. But to make them feel more like shit before their surgeries? Please.

If it were me? And I was feeling all good about my new look, but then I saw the shit they said about me during taping, I'd be doing some serious ass kicking.

I'm just saying.

Okay, now I must go to Costco, land of 800 rolls of toilet paper for $2!

Connecting people while asleep.

My phone rang at 8:30 this morning, and it was a client of mine desperate to unload some play off tickets for today. She was going to GIVE them to me. In a very foggy state (I'm not even sure if I spoke English, as I was sleeping the sleep of the dead at the time of the call), I had to graciously decline as I already had brunch plans and a serious workload to tackle this afternoon.

And then I told her I could get her full value for someone to take the tickets off her hands. Sitting up in bed, I made three calls, and had them sold in 10 minutes. I connected the parties, and went promptly back to sleep.

When I woke up, I thought I had dreamed it all.

But then there were flowers on my doorstep with a note of thanks. She had been happy just to give them to someone, but was glad to have made her money back.

Maybe I do my best work when sawing z's?

This and That

I'm going to take the lazy way of writing an entry and do some snippets. Who doesn't love a good snippet? Oh YEAH. Like THAT. SNIPPET!

1. Today I go sign my tax papers. When my accountant faxed them over to review, I shed baby crocodile tears because I made LESS this year. Why? Because I am LAZY, which will NOT BE THE CASE this year. Damn shiny objects always distracting me.

2. Did anyone see the Good Times sketch on SNL last weekend? Keenan in the pink pant suit "Yes, I'm Florida Evans"...and his "Damn...damn...DAMN" (with shaky hand) FLOORED ME. I've already burned it on to DVD for 5 people. That was good stuff right there. You know what made me shed more baby crocodile tears? The fact that teenagers who may have been watching that, didn't realize it was a SPOOF of a television show. They probably thought SNL made up the whole thing. I'm so damn old.

3. Want to irritate the SNOT out of me? Tell me this: "I can't come to the meeting because my husband can't BABYSIT my son." Um, hello? It's not called "babysitting", it's called RAISING YOUR DAMN CHILD. And how sad is it that she said "my son" instead of "our son"? AHHHHHH.

4. Tomorrow night I am taking dinner to a former client of mine who is watching her husband slowly pass away. How fucking awful is that?

5. Tonight I am having EIGHT people over to watch the Apprentice finale. I have never been so excited to watch something that I would actually throw a damn party for. It's gonna be good, though.

6. Haiku Smackdown Goodness is over at Rude Cactus. I so love that we're doing it to pictures now. And how these guys find such great pictures is beyond me. The power of the internet, people.

7. Yesterday I got a letter from my six-year-old niece who is living in Japan. She dictates it to her Mom. These letters are GEMS, I tell you. When she grows up I'm going to put them into a book for her. In yesterday's she says: "If Eden (her sister) gets potty trained, we're going to get a puppy. I tell her to go go go, and I sit with her to yell if she won't. I didn't get a puppy when I learned."

Busy bee.

SO many things going on. Work, work, WORK. Also, almost everyone I know is going through some sort of crisis/dilemma/weird situation, and I'm doing my best to help out where I can. It's craziness, I tell you.

Back, Jack

And now I have 3200 things to do today. Hosting an Easter party for the boy's home tomorrow. Must find 72 plastic eggs and BOY THINGS to put in them. They'd like Barbie stickers, right?

Gone-alicious

I'm going on a trip, and won't be back until late Thursday night. Be good and keep up with the haps of the peeps in my "People who are NOT Marcia" link list.

Peace out!

Big head

Yesterday a bizarre and embarrassing thing happened to me.

I was having a meeting with a client in a restaurant. On our way out, I passed a table in which a lady had a baby on her lap that was cuter than shit. I stopped to smile at the baby.

"Hi baby!" I cooed.

Baby just gave me a blank stare.

"You are the cutest thing ever!" I exclaimed.

Baby stared harder.

"Can you smile for me?" I asked, as if she were some sort of trick show baby.

HARD baby stare.

"Fine, be that way!" I joked, before smiling at the mother and turning to walk away.

JUST as I was turning to walk away, one of my reading EYEGLASS LENSES POPPED OUT AND HIT THE FLOOR! No, JUMPED from my face, is more like it.

All I heard was a huge POP and then something hit the floor HARD.

"Wha...?"

"I think one of your eyeglass lenses just popped out," said the mother of the baby.

"What??!" I turned to look at her with my glasses still on my face, missing one lense.

My client rushed ahead of me and picked up the lense. "It's not broken!"

"My what?"

"Check your glasses, Jan," my client is now speaking to me like I'm three.

I remove them from my face and look at the sides and see that they are broken on one side where the lense should be, and in my nervousness I immediately exclaimed that I'm missing a screw! Help me find the SCREW! (I totally felt all Daryl Hannah in Steel Magnolias, "Nobody mooooove, nobody moooooove!")

For about five minutes I had my client ("don't worry I won't bill you for this time!"), the mother of the Stare Off Award Winning Baby, the mother's friend and two wait staff on the floor looking for my screw, while I just stood there and said, "This has never happened before!" over and over again.

And then I looked at my glasses again. "Oh. The screw's still in there!"

I think I heard groans, but I'm not sure.

My client grabbed my glasses and spent another five minutes popping the lense back in and screwing them all back in place. "You're TOTALLY getting a discount now!" I joked.

I then made several jokes about how my head was obviously too big to hold my glasses and they spontaneously blew up from the pressure. It was only a matter of time, really. I don't think she thought that was too funny.

Later, driving back, I thought it had to be the baby. She was staring at me so damn hard she broke my lens. She's all, "Oh you don't like it that I won't smile? How about THIS stupid bitch?"

Nah, it was probably my big head.

I've only got two things this morning:

1. A superhero fixed my wireless internet connection.
I've only been wireless for a few months, but the entire time I thought it was just a crock of shit because I was being cut off CONSTANTLY. I go get a glass of water and come back to my lap top? DISCONNECTED. I sneeze? DISCONNECTED. We figured it was interference with the cordless phone channels, as it almost always dropped when receiving or making calls. Then we realized it was even when my NEIGHBORS were receiving or making calls. It was enough to drive me apeshit. THEN superhero realized we could set the channel for the wireless connection waaay down the dial. And voila! I am never disconnected again. Until the cable company reads this and tells everyone to link to our damn channel. NICE.

2. America is STUPID.
I don't normally get riled up by reality television, but I've been hooked on American Idol since I watched the trainwreck known as the auditions. Last night, however, I was yelling at my television. Who the hell puts LATOYA LONDON, JENNIFER HUDSON, and AMY ADAMS into the lower three...but KEEPS John "I'll croon and cry if you look at me wrong" Stevens, John Peter "I have no talent but I can be cutesy" Lewis, and CAMILLE "I look like I am in pain and wondering what I'm doing on stage" Don't Know Her Last Name and Don't Care. What. WHAT?

Obviously I need more coffee.