"...you can't be so friendly, kid."

This could almost be a follow-up post to my last.

Everyone's favourite sexual teddy bear, Liev Schreiber, will be on Broadway in A View From the Bridge.

Click that link.

When you click it, you might hear the distant sound of your grandmother's prized china tinkling as it meets the harsh reality of a hardwood floor.

This, coincidentally, is also the sound of my heart breaking.

I fly back two weeks before this opens and will not be over again until June.

Ow ow ow ow owwwww.

Perhaps it's for the best, though.

When I saw what turned out to be Jeremy Piven's last performance in Speed-the-Plow, it was his last for a reason.

That shit was a disaster.

The acting wasn't the issue, though you could tell the actors' hearts weren't in it.

I knew I didn't like the play ahead of time, but it was a Christmas gift because Jeremy fucking Piven was in it.

With this, however, I love the piece and have high hopes for the performance. Ahhh well.

I am not too disheartened, dear readers.

In keeping with what is fast becoming an annual tradition, I saw Gogol Bordello at Webster Hall with one of my best friends.

Sufficed to say, it was a religious experience.

My unimpressive height left me battered and bruised by the flailing young men and shimmy-rocking skanks while I bopped up and down for a glimpse of these modern gods.

At the beginning of their forty-five minute encore, like clockwork, a broad older gentlemen stepped to the side and became my human shield for a few songs.

Alas, when the crowd was invited to the after party it took me several seconds to comprehend that I would not be among the chosen few.

Nahhhh biggie.

I had an amazing time and we saw Batman on the Path. It was pretty sweet.

Didn't manage to get any good shots this time around, so here is my favourite from last year's joyfest/of all time.

Come, all ye faithful

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas.

Y'know, the kind with hot chocolate, fuzzy blankets, and minimal family awkwardness.

Even if you don't celebrate, I hope it was good anyway.

Rather than post about the presents I got or just how full of peppermint bark I am, I wanted to try something a little different.

After celebrating the birth of of the world's most famous mensch, I thought we might celebrate a commodity which, due to my time in Ireland, has been missing from my life.

I mean, of course, sexy Jewish men.

Eli Roth

Let's get the giant cock in the room right out of the way. Yes, he is a skeazeball who spends most of his time getting drunk and demanding a personal viewing of girls' boobs. Yes, his most notable roles include violence. Yes, he is remarkably hairy.

I am okay with all of this. Because he is sexual and looks damn good when killing Nazis.

Liev Schreiber

Also falls under the category of "big and abusive" that I will be teased for enjoying. In our most primal and basic moments, ladies, we want this. You Tarzan. Me Jane. We bone.

You know this one is a teddy bear anyway.

A sexy, sexy teddy bear.

Jeremy Piven

I would do terrible things to this man and his v-necks.

End of story.

Jeff Goldblum

Let's try to keep our minds out of the gutter.

Nobody ever listens to Jeff Goldblum. From dinosaurs to aliens, people just don't take him seriously.

Keeping his shirt open for most of Jurassic Park was a good way to deal with what could otherwise have resulted in an inferiority complex.

Not to worry, Jeff.

Nature, uh, finds a way. (Into your pants.)

Coen Brothers

Two for one deal. That is, the two of them for the one me.

Guys want blonde twins who split their hours Hooters and the Dallas Cowboys.

I want these two.

Yes. Please.

Perhaps I'm projecting the wrong image here.

Raw sexuality and unbridled genius are not the only admirable qualities in a fella'.

I'd be happy to light the menorah with any of these gentlemen.

Because funny is sexy.

Seth Rogen in particular, though.

Even with the weight loss, he is my schlubbly, curly-haired dreamboat.

I could take him home to mother and we could smoke up to make said meeting bearable.

Perfect combination of adorable, funny, with the possibility of being an asshole from time to time.

To finish us off...

Only half Jewish, but only half-dressed as well.

Thank you, Lenny.

Oh, and you too, Baby Jesus.

"Imagine, if you will, a one-eyed mouse...weeping."

This time tomorrow, blizzard permitting, I will be back on the other side of the Atlantic, taking a walk on the beach with my family. The current weather may paint this in a bleak light, but I am more excited than I can say.

Not surprising, considering that this past week our house and lives were invaded by a horrifying being. Think the Slender Man, but French. She shook my core belief that all people are fundamentally good.

That was, of course, until my friends intervened. Or, rather, one friend.

I know that this will make two out of my meager seven entries about Secret Santas, but I don't give a fuuuuuuck.

I think I might have freaked her out with all my rantings and ravings about how amazing my package was. All the time. Plus, I never took the scarf off. But, my God.

Tom Waits collected interviews and Tommy Tiernan's first DVD? You've got to be shitting me. No. No shit indeed.

This also makes me think that Thomas is a good name. Keep that in mind, folks.

And, while we're at it, let's have Mr. Snuggles pose with the Karma soap. Because he wears a bathrobe and I have no shame.

Everything came with little notes attached that deepened their tenderness a million-fold. Wild ejaculations and animated hand gestures were not even enough to convey my joy. There was hugging, too.

Then, after we'd spent twenty-four hours in the library to finish our essays, there was lunch. We split a pizza. I was not nearly coherent enough to make any food decisions, so she ordered. I noticed later that she was picking off the pineapple (we got Hawaiian).

"Why did you order Hawaiian pizza if you don't like pineapple?"

"Because you like pineapple."

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I almost cried.

I cannot list the ways in which I am happy or thankful to be so blessed.

Fuck yes, Christmastime.

My only problem now is that I'm still writing my second essay and Mr. Waits' wisdom is far more appealing than Tennyson's sorrow.

Urggggh

I've just had the most awkward forty-five minutes of my life.

To lighten the mood...wingtip and saddle shoes.

I'm a dork.

Always wanted a pair.

Especially when I made fun of them.

Tuxxedo - Steve Madden

Wingtip Oxfords - Steven Melin

Gale Patent Wingtips - Forever 21

I don't think it's a coincidence that my favourite pair is also the cheapest.

Feel free to laugh, but I'll be hand-jiving the awkward away.

Sh-sh-shake it up, baby!

"So young, and so untender?"

"So young, my lord, and true."

If we're being honest, Cordelia, I'm not giving you or your family the attention you deserve right now. I'm trying, but I cannot focus for the life of me. All day.

I woke up horrendously early, armed with good intentions. I made a proper breakfast (that is, not just toast), did my thang, got dressed, packed my bags, took some very intense notes on criticism of The Alchemist for about ten minutes, then went in to drop off writing samples and post a few letters.

Going to see Where the Wild Things Are with a group of friends was, perhaps, not my greatest decision of the week. Don't get me wrong--I loved every minute of it and spent the entire film trying not to openly weep. I left trapped in a glass case of emotion, but my soul was definitely better for it. Except for almost crying when I dropped the cup of tea I'd bought to keep myself going in the library. I'm a woman. I'm allowed.

Never made it to the library. Instead, went to a lovely choral concert of Christmas songs that made my heart sing. Not as well as those performing, of course, but whatever.

Friends were right in telling me to come home. I'm totally wrecked for no apparent reason. What is this nonsense? I'm reading lines from Lear and tearing up like a little bitch. I think that I just have a lot of feelings.

My soul, though a bit wobbly, is in a good place. Plus, my wonderful new scarf kept me warm and happy all day.

Since it is the holiday season, I've decided to be a selfish skank and imagine the things I would buy myself if Daddy Warbucks ever returns my calls.

I'm looking at you, bro!

My lack of funds prevented me from ordering this myself in time to get the t-shirt bundle. This is actually the first Christmas I've ever wanted to be asked by my parents what I'd like. Possibly because it's the first I've had an exact answer.

I've been dying to get this for the past couple of years, but I always put it off.

I have a lot of first seasons. It's a problem.

No more box sets now, or we'll never be done.

Cogito Ergo Sum Silhouette Ring

This illustrates exactly how lame I am.

Tentacle Ring

Creepy? Perhaps. Gorgeous? Fo' sho'.

Wine Country Dress

A custom-made dress? Yes, puhleez, Warbucks.

Silk Taffeta

Technically it's a wedding dress, but I technically don't give a fuck.

Wenezday Boots

I would learn to walk in heels for/make sweet love to these boots.

+ everything in Lush, a new lens for my camera, a typewriter, a record player for the house here, tights that don't ladder, fabulous handwriting, world peace and a puppy.

_____

What I will actually get:

-to see my family and dog

-to hang out with my friends

-to play with my goddaughter and meet my new baby cousin

-to trim the tree

-to walk on the beach with my mama

-to watch NCIS marathons with my dad

-underwear, socks, hugs, home-cooked meals, and some kind of board game (YES)

Not going to lie, this second list is a far better motivator for me to get my ass in gear. It sounds lame, I know, but thinking about hugs from my lovelies is making me do this.

Hopped up on gummy worms

I got my Secret Santa package in the post today and I'm finding it very difficult to reign in my excitement.

I think my housemates were more than a little confused by it, but they were kind enough to prop it up against my door (like I imagine Santa would. I don't know.)

I could have stopped right here and it would have been enough joy to last me a long time.

Not only is that my favourite nail polish (which I just ran out of) and the most delicious candies, she made that brain (pencil topper) and arm (pen holder).

My face:

Not done. The ribbon is sparkly. I feel the need to share this.

Are you seeing this?

These are handmade and I'm not entirely convinced that they aren't made of cotton candy and magic.

Here's where I actually lost it.

The back:

The photos fail to convey exactly how gorgeous these are.

Composition book + zombies = DEcomposition book = Liz collapsed into a pile of mush.

The note inside was so tender and lovely that I had to go and make another cup of tea.

No lie.

I could not be happier if Phillip Seymour Hoffman walked through my door with a tea tray, condoms, and my finished essays.

Thank you so much, Raena!

Forever and ever and ever AMEN.

While there are still twenty minutes left of the day

Today marks the sixty eight year anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack.

It is also Tom Waits' sixtieth birthday.

I'm not placing the latter before the former in importance, but let's try to stay on the positive side of things.

The sunny side of the street, as it were.

To celebrate I had lunch for three hours instead of going to the library, listened to the man himself nonstop, and got free whiskey while meeting some new people.

A good day, by all accounts.

Did anyone else celebrate?

Play us out, sir, with one of my favourites.

Let's get this going right

So, sometimes we do silly things with boys.

And then we feel really terrible, even if it is unnecessary.

Then we are reminded of all the mountains of essays and exams looming in the distance, for which we are dismally unprepared.

(Like, trying to climb Everest without oxygen when your only prerequisite is being "King of the Hill" on a pile of woodchips when you were ten unprepared.)

Life, however, is kind enough to throw in a few good things to balance out our ridiculousness.

Right now, my good thing is one of my amazing housemates.

Not only did she clean the kitchen and make me a delicious dinner while encouraging me to do my work, she bought me this.

That's right, folks.

It's a Batman finger puppet and he makes my day a little brighter.

Why, yes, that was the reason for this post.

Technical difficulties

This is my first/second entry and it will be comprised almost entirely of photos.

Bill Nighy is a god among men and a couple of weeks ago I had the distinct pleasure of inhabiting the same ten square feet as him for two hours.

Please, you look.