She is something all together different, never just an ordinary girl.

People have been telling me for some time now that I look like Lauren Graham. AKA Lorelei, the mom from Gilmore Girls. I even watched a few episodes, and I don't see it. She's smokin' hot, y'all. Apparently it's in the mannerisms, but as I can't really hear and see myself, it's all lost on me.

Well. Was all lost on me. Until Lorelei hit Broadway in Guys and Dolls and this publicity photo hit subway tunnels:

I mean, I guess there is a SLIGHT resemblance. Just can't put my finger on what, exactly.

Hmmmmmm.

This is tricky.

A little help here, please?

There's something, alright.

Oh well. I give up. If you figure it out, let me know.


Oh wait! I've got it! It's the nose! Right???


Awesome. Glad I figured that one out.

(This completely self-indulgent post brought to you by the face that I am FINALLY seeing Guys and Dolls this week and am sosososososososososososososoSOOOOOOOO excited about it.)

Lost and insecure. You found me.

I have exactly 7 drafts sitting unloved under my "Edit Posts" tab. So, while I realize I totally and without question have been sucking wind in the department of actually hitting "Publish Post" - I mean, I tried. Right?

Nothing just seemed good enough for you.

One was yet another tourist rant. Two were "I'm not gonna rant about the commercial pressure and sexist tendencies of Valentine's day" rants. Two were attempted "this is what I did in North Carolina" updates. One was a completely whiney attempt to not be whiney. And one was attempting to figure out why I have become completely engrossed in The Bachelor. (But now I know the answer to that one. Well. Answers. 1) I've become a total sap the longer I stay single and B) American Idol hadn't kicked into Hollywood Week yet.)

Oh, and I fully intended to write one about how much I love my MacBook, but never got around to it. How's that for irony? I couldn't drag myself to the computer I love to tell you all about how much I love it.

I also thought about writing an entry about socks. Sidebar: Filene's Basement in Union Square really is the Holy Land of Socks. Seriously. A whole quarter of a floor dedicated to socks, hose, and tights.

I think the main reason I'm not writing is because I don't like facing what I don't have to report. Many in my life are blessed with fantastic happenings - someone is pregnant. Someone is moving to Italy. Someone is getting married in Hawaii. Someone is buying a new house. Jobs are shifting and relationships are evolving and I'm like well...today I went to work, came home, carried on a long conversation with my cat, watched some bad tv, and went to bed. It's all so very Bridget Jones, right down to the solo dancing to Chaka Khan and red wine overdosing. But minus Colin Firth. Mmmmmmm, Colin.

In truth, I'd rather be married and pregnant than where I am right now. Oh, snap. There, I said what every self-assured closer-to-30-than-20 successful and capable woman is NEVER supposed to be admit.

And nobody really digs a woe is me kind of entry, so I just chose to be quiet instead of whiney.

All that being said, I have taken the past day and a half to be still and quiet and allow myself to be sick and pathetic. Now that I've driven myself to stir crazy, I am going to do a little cleaning and a little cooking and rejoin the human race. If you're bored, then you're boring.