Leap Year

Last night, I had one of those fabulous single girl retreats. I stayed in by myself and watched a chick flick. I had high hopes, but they were dashed. Leap Year should have been a great movie: Ireland, Matthew Goode, falling in love during forced togetherness, Matthew Goode, and Ireland.

But no. Too much slap-stick comedy, not enough affection between the leads, and a mundane reason why she should hate her cardiologist boyfriend all add up to me wishing I had watched a tried-and-true romcom instead of venturing into the unknown. The old guys are a poor imitation of the old men in Return to Me, there's NO WAY she had to go from Wales to the west side of Ireland, and they should have spent more time in his pub. Plus, Matthew Goode badly needs to shave. Ultimately, the notion of a woman proposing to a man is rather dumb, and I don't really think that a guy would walk away without saying a word after a woman proclaims his love for him if he really intends to ask her to marry him ten minutes later.

But it did make me yearn for Ireland as I haven't in years! I swear, if I'm still single in five years, I'm going to grad school in Dublin, no matter the cost. See below for reasons why.

Instead of going to Leap Year for your Ireland or Matthew Goode fix, I recommend a Maeve Binchy novel for the Ireland and a better Matthew Goode road trip movie, Chasing Liberty. Hey, at least there's Venice in that one.

I suppose I'll have to wait until 2013 for a story that does right by the woman-proposes-to-man storyline. I first read the lovely Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society novel a year ago, and when I found out today that a movie is in the works (starring Kate Winslet and directed by Kenneth Branagh) I also yearned to return to Guernsey island. Which I intend to do, at least on the page until the movie arrives.

As a final thought on Leap Year Day and women proposing, I have this romcom script wandering around in my head about a couple that elopes in Vegas on Leap Year Day, and thus only has to celebrate their anniversary every four years. And that's all I've got so far, so don't steal it...although I can't really stop you since ideas are not copyrightable--the way they're put together is.

Which means that Hayden Christensen and his brother are crazy for suing USA Network for "stealing" their idea for a series about a concierge doctor and making Royal Pains. Hayden, if you want the credit, you should go to the network with a pilot, not just a plot line.

And while we're on the subject of movie scripts I'm going to write someday, here's a few more ideas I have bouncing around in my head and off of each other.

The love story of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning; a Victorian romance a la Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice with the added bonus of being "based on a true story." The poet who penned "My Last Duchess" finds his first wife in a reclusive, sickly, home schooled girl, and she begins counting all the ways she loves him and his ability to get her out of the house.

A romcom writer's love story: Oddly, this is partly inspired by one of the most overplayed-on-TBS romcoms ever, The Wedding Planner (featuring, who knew, Pete Sampras's wife as Matthew McConaughey's soon-to-be-left-at-the-altar fiancee). Remember the line when J.Lo says she's a wedding planner because she can't get married herself? Well, this is the same idea, but with a romcom screenwriter who knows all the tricks and turns big screen love is supposed to take and is therefore skeptical when the pattern begins happening in her own life. I see this movie as a fun but also satirical way to comment on the failings and successes of the romcom genre.

Murphy's Law: This is a joint effort with my mom and my sister, planned sometime over the summer. A young woman goes by her last name, Murphy, amongst her mostly male friends, but never seems to have romance in her life. She works in some dinky job (e.g. dollar store clerk) but wants to break free, blah blah blah. I'm kind of drawing a blank right now, but this was a really great story when we originally conceived it. Do you remember any more, Cardigan Girl or Front Porch Friend?

Blarney: A woman living in Ireland reluctantly goes with her girlfriends to visit the Blarney Stone (perhaps on a regular basis? yearly?). She meets a man whose talk is full of flattery for her, but she thinks its just blarney. This movie will also feature a kiss that comes after great obstacles, since the Blarney Stone is notoriously difficult to kiss.

Photogenic

Late-night insomnia being what it is, I try to find new uses for it when it arises. Just now, I looked through every single picture I am tagged in on Facebook. And I noticed a few things.

For one, I never take pictures. I own a camera, but I think the last time I used it was March 2011 to snap two quick shots of a pizza making date. Which, ironically, are not posted to Facebook. If someone had to put together a profile of me based on my Facebook pictures alone, that person would surmise that I only care about vacations (London, Houston--not technically a vacation--Michael Buble concert), holidays (only the 4th of July, if I remember correctly), and my dogs. Oh, and that whole set of family photos.

And looking at my Facebook pictures, I can tell you exactly why I never take pictures, particularly of myself. This is not going to be an "I think I'm fat" rant, although that was the insecure thought that sent me running for my Facebook profile at 3 in the morning.

No. As I look at recent pictures of myself, I have complaints about them, places I want to airbrush or photoshop. My arms that look wide in that horizontally striped sweater, my all-too-prominent acne scars, my ever-widening thighs.

But the funny thing is, those are the same things I complained about in the older pictures, snapshots from two or three years ago. At that time, I'm fairly certain I also had moments when I thought I was fat, but I look at them now and think, "Wow. I was so skinny. How could I have ever thought I was fat?" I just can't comprehend it.

Now, yes, I have gained weight between those two time periods, but I don't think this phenomenon is indicating that I will continue to constantly get larger and only appreciate photographs of myself several years after they are taken.

On the contrary. It actually makes me appreciate the more recent photographs more right now. I compliment myself on a hair day well captured on film. I remind myself that I had a terrible cold that day, so who cares if I went a little light on the makeup?

And finally, I look at who else is in the picture with me. Mission companions, old friends, new friends, puppies, a mom, a dad, a brother, a sister, mere acquaintances. Since I'm never the one insisting on photographs, I know it was the other person who demanded that photograph. They wanted a picture. Of me.

Not because I have perfect skin. Not because I have an impeccable sense of style. Not because I am famous or have a famous boyfriend. Not because I have a popular song on the radio or a popular movie in the theaters or a popular show on TV. Not any of the reasons that the "beautiful" women of the world get their pictures taken.

No. But because those people (and puppies) have spent actual time with me and love doing it and want to remember doing it when they're not around me. (The feeling's mutual, by the way.) And all of the sudden, I'm not looking at the photograph as myself, hyper-critic and something-of-a-perfectionist that I am.

I'm seeing myself the way they see me and the way I see them in return.

Gilmore Guys

Well folks, I reached a decision. I figured out who my favorite Gilmore Girls boyfriend is. And before you say, "Duh, Luke!", let me tell you that he was a given.

Because "Duh! He's Luke!"

But lately I've been catching spurts of the series posted on thewb.com, often in the form of episodes I haven't seen before. (I know, I shudder at the thought, too.)

In junior high, I lived for the Gilmore gals. Although my family did not have at home access to the WB at the time, my best friends supplied my addiction by taping each episode and delivering it to me at school the following day. It was like Hulu mixed with DVR, but before either of them existed.

So when Rory told Dean, "I love you, you idiot" next to his green pickup truck at Chilton, I was there.

When Tristan said his final goodbyes during the every-series-has-a-Romeo-and-Juliet-episode episode, I was there.

When Jess stole a kiss from Rory at the Independence Inn during Sookie's wedding, I was there.

And when Dean and Rory broke up at the 24-hour dance-a-thon, I was also there.

And when we got to take a nerdy trip to the University of Connecticut the summer after eighth grade, you bet your life we tried to buy cornstarch at a local market and played "1, 2, 3, He's Yours" with an actual person named Kirk in the vicinity and took pictures of the guy named Dean at Six Flags and held what I consider to be the first official Gilmore Girls fan convention.

I have to admit that I haven't seen many of the Logan episodes, and sure the guy is good looking and has that whole bad-boy-from-good-money thing going for him. And sure, he paid for Rory to spend Christmas in London with him. Yada, yada, yada. I'm telling you right now, Logan can never win this argument in my mind because I have no 13-year-old emotional connection to his character.

Which means it's basically a Celebrity Death Match between Dean and Jess. And you might be surprised who wins.

The first inkling came when I recently rewatched the "Bracebridge Dinner" episode, featuring everyone's favorite recurring character, Rune. (Not. Well, the episode does feature him, but no one likes him.) This episode features both Dean and Jess, but circumstances being what they are, Rory finds herself on a sleigh ride with not her then-boyfriend Dean but her hopefully-soon-to-be-boyfriend Jess. And that was the first moment when I realized that at 13, I was right to like Jess over Dean. Because Jess could read. And did so of his own volition. Unlike Dean who was spoon fed Anna Karenina.

And then there was the "Oasis" episode, a.k.a. the episode where Lorelei and Rory get a crazy neighbor who lives at the 21st century equivalent of a tiki bar mashed with one of those crazy game kiosks in the mall. Okay, so I think Dean and Jess actually get into a fight in this episode, but that doesn't lessen the fact that Jess comes running to turn off the water at Crazy Neighbor's house when she can't do it herself. And then turns it back on with a grin when Rory says Dean will be coming over to fix it any minute.

The final nail in the coffin? Today I watched a never-before-seen-by-me episode entitled "Luke Can See Her Face," wherein Luke buys himself a relationship self-help book ON TAPE and realizes Lorelai is his It Girl. Jess also makes an appearance because his mom is about to get married to the uber-weirdo T.J., and while in town he admits to Luke both that (1) last time he saw Rory he told her he loved her and (2) he didn't want to come because he might run into her.

So, there you have it. The three things I want in a guy.
1. He reads of his own volition.
2. He fixes (or unfixes) things when I need him to do so.
3. He can't get over me.

Hey, at least it's better than the list I had when I was actually in junior high. That one was totally shallow and mostly based on Tom Welling.
1. Must have blue and/or green eyes.
2. Must be taller than me.
3. Must not be a Yankees fan.

But here's the rub, kids. The basic problem of economics: scarcity. What if guys of the reading-fixing-liking me type already ran out? What then?

Christmas on TV: ABC Family style

I know, I know. Christmas is over. And it's been weeks since I posted a made-for-TV holiday movie review. But there was a little thing called Finals Week, followed by a littler thing called Post-Finals Week which led up to actual Christmas. But you'll be happy to know, I didn't forget you, faithful readers. I'm back.

Today's post (tonight's? it's almost three in the morning as I'm writing this) spotlights the best and worst of the movies made by ABC Family. (Channel tagline: A New Kind of Family. Does anyone know what they mean by that? I sure don't.)

This year's fare was actually quite satisfactory because they followed the tried-and-true formula of picking attractive, well-known, but still B-listed actors to portray virtually flawless male leads opposite women that you hate not just because you want to be them but because they're actually annoying.

Case-in-point: Desperately Seeking Santa stars That One Guy from That One Show with Amanda Bynes and Jennie Garth, commonly referred to as What I Like about You. And if you're like me, what you like about that show is That One Guy, legally referred to as Nick Zano. (Vince, if you're still lost. And if even that doesn't help, just see the picture below.)

The premise of the movie is gag-able, so I won't apologize for it. A shopping mall in a low-income area of Boston replaces the traditional Santa by holding a talent search for "Sexy Santa." Of course, Nick Zano enters to earn the attached $10,000, wins, and then has to have desperate housewives sit on his lap all December long while wearing a Santa suit and no shirt. Don't ask who approved this.

In Desperately Seeking Santa, Nick plays a character with these flawless qualities: he's trying to save his family's Italian restaurant (think Return to Me knockoff), he's saving for med school and is a licensed EMT, he's good with kids, he can dance (well, he tries), he's nice and sweet, and, oh yeah, he looks like Nick Zano. His counterpart is one of those corporate ladder-climbing type ladies too blind to see that her boyfriend is not worth her time and doesn't like her for who she is. You won't like her, but you aren't watching because of her.

Best scene: Let's just say I'm adding "private carousel ride" to my list of romantic kiss locales.
If you liked it: Check out Nick Zano in Everything You Want, another made-for-TV holiday movie with a major B-list cast: Eric Matthews from Boy Meets World, Darcy from the pink Pride and Prejudice, K.C. Clyde of The Best Two Years and A Golden Christmas 2. But be warned: this movie is about a girl who literally dates her imaginary boyfriend.

Of course, in the world of B-listed actors with major fan bases, you can't get much bigger than Mark-Paul Gosselaar, aka Zack Morris of Saved by the Bell. And if you didn't know that already, shame on you. He's the male star of ABC Family's second attempt at made-for-TV magic this season, The 12 Dates of Christmas.

The premise of this one is basically just a Groundhog Day reboot with one down-on-her-luck career girl reliving Christmas Eve twelve times in a row, including her blind date with Mark-Paul Gosselaar. The only thing I couldn't figure out was why she was complaining about repeatedly going out with Zack Morris. Next time I have the chance to go on the same date with him twelve times in order to get it perfect . . . Sign. Me. Up.

In fact, Mark (or is it Mark-Paul? That sounds like a brand of sunglasses) is the best part of this one, since he's the perfect first date and you automatically feel for him since they've written him as a widower. (Wise move. Who would believe that he's still single? And if he were divorced, I'd be so mad that he walked out on Kelly Kapowski. So. Mad.) And he's a landscape architect. And a hockey player/hockey coach to underprivileged kids. So what if it's not realistic. It's made-for-TV.

Amy Smart is actually a much more tolerable female lead than the actress in Desperately Seeking Santa. The major failings of 12 Dates are that it fails to make the conventions of how she gets back into Christmas Eve less predictable and formulaic like Groundhog Day. I was so sick by the end of the movie of her falling asleep watching the home shopping network and waking up on the floor of a department store.

Best scene: No amazing ones here, but it did make me wish I'd been able to go on that ice skating date this summer.
If you liked it: Check out some Saved by the Bell DVDs from your local library. Or find the reruns on TBS.

These two are only this year's offerings. Along with Hallmark Channel and Lifetime, they're the biggest contributors to this genre, so they have plenty from years past. Of those, I've ranked them and given you a quick blurb, but if you're anything like me. You won't be able to just take someone else's word for it, even on the Stay-Aways. You'll want to suffer through every painful minute until you just can't take it anymore.

Must-Sees

Holiday in Handcuffs: I actually don't think this movie is all that great as a made-for-TV Christmas movie, but I just love the concept of Sabrina the Teenage Witch kidnapping A.C. Slater for the holidays. And forget the creepy-weird Stolkholm Syndrome Mario Lopez experiences. Just watch it because you know you want to. I won't tell.

Not-Too-Shabbys

Christmas in Boston: Long-time pen pals discover that they'll finally be in the same city and decide to meet--except they each sent pictures of their best friend. You can surely see what's coming, but this is a great opportunity to see Gia from Full House (don't even attempt to watch her in The Gift of the Magi, even though it has the guy from Nickelodeon's Snow Day) and that blonde super spy chick from The Famous Jett Jackson and assure yourself that they're not entirely starving actors just yet.

If-Time-Permits
Snow and Snow 2: Brain Freeze: Once again a version of Santa Claus leaves the North Pole and finds true love, this time chasing a stray reindeer to a zoo and falling for a zookeeper who, the following year, must save Christmas when Santa gets amnesia. As with most franchises, the original is better than the sequel, but Tom Cavanaugh fans should really just watch Hallmark Channel's Trading Christmas to get their Ed fix.

Santa Baby and Santa Baby 2: No, you're not experiencing dejavu. And you don't have an amnesia-like brain freeze. ABC Family did, in fact, make two Christmas movie series that are exactly the same except one stars a man and one stars a woman. The Santa Baby movies are basically Santa's daughter trying to decide if she wants to join the family business and stick to her roots. Even Jenny McCarthy can't make this right, and once again, avoid the sequel since her boyfriend changes from That Cute Guy who was on Crossing Jordan to Some Guy You've Never Seen Before. And as a note to all made-for-TV Christmas writers, if the conniving elves didn't work in The Santa Clause 2 and 3, why would they work on television?

Stay-Aways
Christmas Cupid: Christina Milian gets the Ghosts of Girlfriends Past treatment on the small screen so she can end up with Chad Michael Murray. At least, I think she ends up with him. I never made it to the end. Just watch the Tristan episodes of Gilmore Girls if you need a CMM fix. This one is just a no.

Snowglobe: Christina Milian gets trapped inside a snowglobe. Double no.

And I love how this picture captures the substance of two equally bad made-for-TV Christmas movies with one image. Christmas Cupid in a Snowglobe.

Gifts and Giving, Mistletoe Style

I don't think I've kept it exactly a secret on here that I'm still anticipating my first kiss. And lately I've been contemplating that first kiss as if it were a tangible item, something that can be wrapped up in a box and handed over to me. Like someone owns it and just refuses to hand it over.

Maybe it all stems from one too many listens to the Justin Bieber Christmas album and its inordinate number of references to mistletoe and all related activities, but I don't think I can blame it all on the Biebs.

I'm past thinking there's something wrong with me, imagining that I'm just fundamentally unattractive to men, even men who are supposedly my type. You know, college students of similar moral fiber and religious affiliation, experiencing the same phase of life that I am and harboring similar desires for the next.

But they haven't noticed me, and I'm leaving in a few months.

I don't didn't want to be one of those girls who believes that Mormon love can only be found in P-town or Iceburg. But I'm staring in the face of evidence that says I am. Sleepless nights. Conflicting desires.

Like any normal college student anticipating graduation, I'm starting to look for employment in the near future. My chosen career path means big city adventure, a prospect which excites me and actually seems fairly probable from my preliminary searching. I'm going to be in a place that many Mormon women don't get to be in. I'm getting a degree, and I'm going to use it. And just to be clear, I like that.

How amazing is it that in six months I could be interning as an editor for Smithsonian Magazine, in a city and at an institution I've wanted to work for since I saw a TV special about this museum of museums when I was six years old? Or copyediting and proofreading DC Comics in the metropolis of New York City? Or writing and editing a variety of content for an online women's magazine based in the city by the bay, a song that a favorite band of mine promises could "save me"?

Why should I not be excited for that?

I'll tell you why. Because I can't shake the feeling that taking a job like that in a city with a limited Mormon dating pool is a death knell for all possibility of me ever getting that kiss. Even just one.

So for all nine of you out there reading this, all I want for Christmas from you is for you to tell me I'm crazy and remind me that my prospects for romance are only going to improve once I leave my small-fish-in-a-big-pond status behind for a big-fish-in-a-small-pond one. After all, isn't it a basic rule of most romcoms that successful, big-city career girls find true love because of that life situation, not in spite of it? I should know. I've watched plenty of them. I happen to be the variety of girl who needs validation and reassurance from her friends every once in a while. And I'm not apologizing for it either.

Also, I recognize the inherent flaws in the theory that some guy is holding my first kiss hostage. My theory of kisses believes that both parties own the kiss, so it's just as much mine as it is the lucky guy who'll someday (sooner than later) receive it. From me.

Actually, it also makes me realize that I've probably been metaphorically standing under the mistletoe for years, just hoping someone would pass by. And that's wrong, too. I have more control over this situation than that. So, unlike Justin Bieber, I'm done "waiting under the mistletoe."