I really do like yoga, though.

I'm really sucking at blogging, you guys.  I was so jazzed for my blogiversary and have been wanting to post something entertaining, but the fact of the matter is that I've just been the opposite of entertaining.  Also, I've been slacking.  Which is not an excuse, just a statement of fact.  A statement of fact that I am *using* as an excuse.

Also, J.R. just moved across the country away from me for this amazing job opportunity, so I'm excited about her but also kind of cranky because I miss her because she helps make me feel normal when I say things like "the commitment center in my brain is broken," and she'll smile in a way that is not at all condescending, but more like, "dude, me too.  Wanna get sushi and drink?"  Because that's how we do it here in California.  Then we talk about yoga and granola and the best places to surf.  Gnarly, bro.

Kidding.  Don't worry, rest-of-the-country.  I'd punch myself in the face if that's how it really was.

Though I did have a discussion about yoga this morning.  Damn it.

Love yourself some Natalie Dee.

Attention: Paid.

Oh Blog, I have been neglecting you. I won't bother with excuses, we're both too grown up for that.

New York is tantalizingly and terrifyingly close. J.R. is in New York, doing something fabulous at her company's NY office and chasing the Jets around. Maybe she'll meet and fall in love with a football player, or at least worthy fan. She's so incredible, though, I have a hard time imagining anyone worthy.

Last year at this time, I felt a huge pull in that direction. This year, I feel like Los Angeles knows my resolve and is reaching to keep me here. Tentative career opportunities in the works, writing potential, and (sigh of reluctance) possibly a new crush. The Bestie nicknamed him SHG for me. You don't need to know what that means yet. I'm actually kind of afraid to jinx it and end up with the body pillow, which you also don't need to understand yet. I will tell you that I'm overwhelmingly intimidated by how great SHG is, and Lord help me, he has a heart-stopping pair of beautiful brown eyes. It's agonizing - really.

In between lusting after SHG and trying to keep my writing in order and my head on straight, fall is creeping in. I wish the leaves changed here. Los Angeles summers tend to hold on too long for me.

I suppose that's it for now. I haven't had any coffee yet, and I'm fairly certain I need to be all-the-way awake to be remotely entertaining.

The Average Recap!

Okay, as it turns out, I'm not dead. I sort of thought I was on Monday when my epic death plague hangover triggered an equally epic death migraine, but long story short, my absence from my little blogiverse has been a result of various important other things, like EM's birthday a week or so ago. Also, it's summer, and as we all know, summer is the time when the surrounding heat creeps into your body and leeches into your brain like, "Hey! It's hot! We don't want to do anything! Screw laundry! Screw grocery shopping! Screw responsibility! This is beer drinkin' weather and we're going to make you too lethargic to get off your lazy, sweaty butt and accomplish anything. Even blogging, the laziest of all writing exercises. Not. Gonna. Do. It."

Additionally, the sad facts are that I haven't really had much entertainment to share. Eharmony guy, music journalist guy and hot musician have pretty much gone the way of the buffalo, TOL and I are still on pleasant but ever-more-distant terms (good... I guess?), work is still as soul-sucking as it was last month and most of my extra writing has been funneled into one larger project approved by the Writer's Workshop of Death (inclusive of MEH and Friend With Great Hair). EM and EM's boyfriend are still doing well and planning on visiting EM's boyfriend's family in the nether regions of the States in July which will most likely leave me bored and alone in the apartment for a month, but also able to sit around in my underwear without fear of impropriety or social repercussion.

Ahh, stability - a blessing and a curse.

To Recap:

1. The Average Broad: not dead.

2. Everything is pretty much the same.

3. Oh, I think I'm gonna get a bbq this weekend. Omg. BBQ. ::swoon::

4. Have you ever seen banana flavored ice cream? I don't think I have, but I wonder what it would be like to have a banana flavored banana split.

5. Also, I'm going to learn to surf this summer. Hell yes.

I really love famous people. Mostly.

Last night, J.R. and I met up with another friend of ours from our internship days at this really pretentious, but reeeally delicious burger joint downtown. J.R. and I showed up at about the same time, but because said burger joint is on the small side, we had to wait outside for our fellow ex-intern to arrive. While I was regaling J.R. with my theories about Hot Musician and how I'm pretty sure he's annoyed with me, I watched a random white minivan pull up to the valet. A good-looking, slender hipster type got out of the driver's side and walked around to open the passenger door for: Molly Shannon.

They walked up to where J.R. and I were standing (well, I was more like, gawking) and proceeded to wait for their own table. I tried repeatedly to mouth "Oh my God, J.R.! Molly Shannon!" and give the big dude-look-behind-you-right-now! eyes, but J.R. just thought I was being crazy and mouthing something about Chinese people.

You may think that it's not a big deal, but I happen to love Molly Shannon. I think she's hilarious and has an awesome, unique smile. She's all teeth! I love it. Anyway, I was desperately trying to think of something mind-blowing to say to her so that I could say, "I talked to Molly Shannon one time!" but all I could do was stare at her shoes because she was wearing these insane platform stilettos that I fell in love with and by the time I thought about asking her where she got them, she and her dining partner had already been seated. Damn. I was *thisclose* to having some substance to this story.

I know a lot of people in L.A. that are totally unimpressed with the idea of the celebrity. They're everywhere! Truthfully, I still get excited when I see them out and about acting like real people - yep, I'll admit it. I haven't yet lived in Los Angeles so long as to become jaded when someone from "the teevee!" or "the movies!" ends up standing next to me by a valet. Unless, of course, they're some d-list dbag who wants to talk to you about all the accomplishments that you've never heard of and all you can do is just stand there staring at them thinking, "dude, why are you wearing so much foundation?"

:: Shrugs ::. It happens.

And that's how I almost met Molly Shannon.

How do I get myself in these situations?

Being a female music journalist often brings you to the limits of your sense of morals and ethics, because you are often confronted with very difficult choices. It can be difficult, on occasion, to present an interview or a review in a frank and unbiased manner when you canNOT stop thinking about how cute the guitar player is and if he fancies Guinness just as much as you do. Fortunately, I swore off dating musicians long ago and have never been so distracted by musician hotness that it has compromised my craft or my sense of journalistic ethics, but I do sometimes wander into "gray" area.

Earlier this year, J.R. and I interviewed an up-and-coming rock band composed of all beautiful, charming men. Since they happen to live a hop, skip, and a jump away from me, the interview of course progressed into the lot of us talking about meeting up and drinking together. This has not yet happened, but since it has been months since J.R. or I have written anything about this band, we feel that it is now within the realm of possibility to hang out with these beautiful, charming men in a not-so-professional capacity.

The other evening while procrastinating, I spent some time Facebook-chatting with one of the beautiful, charming men and proceeded to inquire about the lack of drinking happening between all of us. There was a lot of good-natured challenging and jokes, which seemed to degenerate into a really weird conversation:

TAB: Oh, hey! Did you see the pictures of MutualFriend's puppy? They melted my heart!

Hot Musician: No, I'd rather have an unmelted heart, thanks.

TAB: (Sends picture of cutest puppy) MELT, DAMN YOU!

Hot Musician: (Laughs at me) Okay, you're right. It's pretty cute.

TAB: HA! Now I will tell all your screaming female fans that I melted the heart of Hot "Freezer Burn" Musician with a picture of a puppy.

Hot Musician: Ha! That has got to be my new nickname!

TAB: Oh, I'm already using it, Freezer Burn. And do you realize how many amazing pick up lines I just gave you?

Hot Musician: So many.

TAB: So many. I have a burgeoning career as a wingwoman. You should pay me.

Hot Musician: Is that something you're proud of?

TAB: What, that I want money for my wit or that I have a career in the sidelines?

Hot Musician: That you have a career in the sidelines!

TAB: You know, I've spent more than my fair share in the dating game and here on the sidelines, I don't have to worry about my date's prison-mandated ankle bracelet, whether or not he's really married or if he's going to run away from me when I try to kiss him. The sidelines are fun, and have beer.

Hot Musician: (Laughing at me, yet again) Please tell me none of those have every happened to you.

TAB: Oh, Freezer Burn, all of those have happened to me.

After this, there was more joking followed by Hot Musician leaving mid-conversation. I am pretty sure that this does not really bode well for me, considering I would love to make out with Hot Musician and I unintentionally made myself look like a dating leper. J.R. and I still have plans to go out drinking with these fellows, but now I'm kind of unsure about it because they are like the cool kids in high school that always sort of tolerated me but never really found me irresistibly charming enough to ask to the dance... We'll see. If anything, at least there will be whiskey.