Fight over.

I defer to the awesomeness that is part 10 of Matthew Gray Gubler: The Unauthorized Biography, which was actually a really really cool surprise, OK, I was just kidding earlier. Watch the opening montage and check his dance moves and you'll see why we're still together. The rest, of course, is just the price of long-distance sort-of-but-not-really dating a star. I'm sure he feels the same way about me.

So, OK, I might still consider becoming the Gubestress. He should know, though, that he's got some competition:

Why I'm Mad at Matthew Gray Gubler

Alright, so a few days ago I posted about my torrid on-again off-again relationship with Matthew Gray Gubler, also known as Dr. Spencer Reid from the hit TV show Criminal Minds. Well, shortly after I made that post, Gubler began hinting, via Twitter, that a "humongous surprise" was coming to placate grief-stricken fans of the show (predictably, I was not mentioned by name). Here, I'll quote them:

First, on Thanksgiving, of all days:

Perhaps a humongous surprise coming today.
8:46 AM Nov 26th from Tweetie

This so-called surprise was subsequently delayed until Black Friday, when he said:

Ahhhhhhhhh meltdown! Super secret suprise delayed until Monday. Sorry
about 15 hours ago from Tweetie

Until finally, one hour later:

Fistfight with technology. What I am trying to accomplish won't be physically possible until 2010 I am told. Sorry, surprise cancelled
about 14 hours ago from Tweetie

So yeah. First the Gube refuses to call me on one of our most important national holidays. Then he promises a surprise and takes it away!

I don't know, you guys, this might be the end for us. I never thought it would be this way. I always imagined that he would be the Gubler, and I would be his Gublette. Or that he would become the Gubester, and I would be his Gubestress. But lately that dream is starting to crumble. I may even have to rethink my dual citizenship with Gublerland. I'll keep you posted, as always.

At least Andy Swan, Matthew's nemesis, has posted part 10 in his masterful (if spite-filled) Matthew Gray Gubler: The Unauthorized Documentary. And lucky for you lot, I am just angry enough to link to it: Click here to watch! Enjoy.

Matthew Gray Gubler is my boyfriend. And Thomas Gibson is my INSPIRATION.

Feel free to spread both of those rumors.

So, OK, yes, I know that tomorrow is Thanksgiving. But the thing is, my family already celebrated Thanksgiving like two weeks ago, so I don't really care what "mainstream America" is doing tomorrow (though I am grateful for the day off work, even though I feel kind of ironic saying that since I genuinely believed I was fired until Monday afternoon and it was a sad time for me). So instead of writing some "things I'm grateful for" post, I'm just going to talk about TV and stuff. It's more true to my character, anyway.

So as of the last few months, I am completely obsessed with this show Criminal Minds. Tonight was the 100th episode. I cried and cried and cried. I would still be extraordinarily depressed had I not discovered the following two things:

1) Matthew Gray Gubler's Twitter feed

2) Gublerland

Gublerland, in particular, is pretty freaking cool. I'm even considering immigrating, though I can't decide if I want to choose a passport picture (and if so, if I want to be Benjimum, B-day Face, Zippy from France, or Doogan Gooseberry) or just draw my own. Though obviously we all know that I will decide to draw my own, and then my passport will be flagged going through customs due to excessive awesome (didn't think you could get barred from a country for excessive awesome? Well, of course YOU didn't!) (ZING). Really though, you should check out the movies he's made (especially the music video for The Killers, which I just discovered). They're pretty great.

Other Gube stuff, while we're on the topic (DISCLAIMER: These are on something called "You-Tube," which might be essentially Evil. Click one, and you risk losing several hours of your life before you really know what happened. Plus they are both available on Gublerland anyway.):
Matthew Gray Gubler: The Unauthorized Biography. This is an excellent behind-the-scenes look at the real MGG. Or so I'm told. There are five parts, including one with James Van Der Beek that made Me in 7th Grade pretty happy.
And then The AUTHORIZED Biography. Featuring Anton Yelchin, whom you might know as Chekov that Russian guy, I don't really remember his name, from that Star Trek movie. You know, with the aliens? That one.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that Matthew Gray Gubler is my boyfriend, or that if he isn't, he really really wants to be. I'm having a hard time getting him to commit, though. For example, he won't admit publicly that he's infatuated with me. I keep trying to figure out what the problem is. Maybe he's mad at me because I haven't seen 500 Days of Summer yet (IT IS IN MY NETFLIX CUE, I SWEAR), or maybe he's one of these people who likes to have met you and talked to you and become generally aware of your existence (consciously, I mean, not subliminally in love with me like everybody is) before taking that kind of a step. Psh, whatever.

Maybe if I watch the movie I'll understand. Netflix thinks I will give it a 4.9 (which is impossible since Netflix doesn't let you give partial stars to things, but that's a rant for another day).

Now, though, I have to talk about Thomas Gibson. And yes, I know I've been going on and on already. But you guys, Thomas Gibson is amazing. His work in the show tonight was unsurpassable (or insurmountable, whichever of those is a real word). I am not joking about this. Hotch is easily one of the most compelling, interesting characters on TV right now, and that is all Thomas Gibson. There's a team of people writing him things to say and do every week - trust me, I recognize that - but you don't get that extra layer of magic without a truly magnificent actor in place. What a brilliant episode, too. I don't want to give everything away, but there was a section of near-silence during which I was literally inches from my TV screen. It was incredible.

(Note: there is a very loud movie geek in my head who is bugging me to rewatch The Third Man so I can see one of the original, great cut-the-music-to-build-suspense scenes. I am ignoring that person, for now.)

This show...if you don't watch this show, then you need to be watching this show. It can get straight-up horrifying at times, but that's all a part of the experience. Seriously, great writing, great acting, great direction...tonight's episode was, in a word, triumphant. And deeply, deeply sad. So, you know, great.

(Click to enlarge the photo. Also, Gublerland is officially on that link list over there ---->. You see that, Matthew Gray Gubler? That, right there, is called "publicly acknowledging someone else's existence." You should try is sometime. xoxo, ME.)

Sitting with Cats

“That’s what people do when tragedy strikes. They come over, and sit.” – Lars and the Real Girl

I’m sitting on my bed with my cat. Her name is Tiger. I named her that when I was five years old, and she was a kitten. She was born here, in the room right underneath the one I’m in now. Sometime today, or possibly tonight or tomorrow, she will die here.

Tiger is lying on her side, more or less the way my brother found her earlier this afternoon, except by now I’ve moved her into the quiet and relative dark of my bedroom. When we found her outside like this I sat with her while my mother wrapped her in a baby blanket. We brought her into the kitchen and laid her on an old couch cushion. When she mewed at me plaintively I took off my sweater/pajama robe and placed it on top of her blanket. After a while the light and noise of the kitchen seemed too much for her, so we retreated to my room. Now we’re sitting on my bed, a space heater trained on her and her two layers of blankets, and we’re waiting.

Every now and then she half wakes up and calls for me. I give her a dropper full of water and stroke her neck until she falls back asleep. She’s getting more peaceful all the time. And in a weird way, so am I.

I’ve had a lot of contact with tragedy this year, much of it oddly remote. 2009 more or less began with a short series of deaths I had to hear about by phone – a suicide, a removed breathing tube, my beloved dog’s sudden heart failure, and so on. When you aren’t near the incident and the world is spinning by so quickly it’s hard for any of it to settle in the way that it needs to. You hear about something, you sit on the floor for a moment, but before you know it you’re back to work or school or social commitments and it’s hard to believe that anything really happened. When you sit and think about it you might notice a dull ache somewhere in your chest, but it abates slower and ever slower until the day you can actually come home and notice the empty place in the kitchen, for example, or the strange absence of a sound you didn’t notice you’d been taking for granted for so very long. That’s when it’s real. That’s when you can hurt in the way that you really need to hurt.

This is the first time I can remember being near the tragedy while it happens. All my life someone or something has been in the way, helping me pretend that the world isn’t changing. Now, instead, I’m sitting in my room, and it’s quiet, and most of the time I’m just watching a dying cat breathe. I’m staying peaceful so that she can be peaceful, because 18 years is more than long enough for a cat and she deserves to go out so softly that she barely notices the transition. And I’m staying right here because no matter how much people like to say that you’re born alone and you die alone, I know that’s frankly not true. You were born with someone there to hold you, and that’s why you’re alive today. I really don’t see why we shouldn’t try to always live – and die – in more or less that same way.

So I’m sitting. And right now, sitting feels right.


Edit: Tiger died peacefully in her sleep at approximately 6:20 PM today. She will be missed, but only in the best of ways.

Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure (Cd) - The Weakerthans

Worries - Langhorne Slim
Note: These will only play the full version if you click on the link. I don't know why.

Four O'Clock

It’s 4:00 in the morning, and I am awake.

Let me clarify: it’s 4:00 in the morning, and I am still awake, sitting on my bed with my back against the wall, the dog who is my bedfellow having decided to commandeer my pillows while I was out of the room getting a past-midnight snack. I know I’m being a Great Big Pushover, letting her stay there while I take the less comfortable position, but at least she’s using the pillows for their intended purpose; namely, sleep.

I, on the other hand, am still awake.

I tried my usual things. I watched reruns of Frasier and Top Chef and Criminal Minds until the light and noise from the television set seemed terribly obnoxious. I soaked in a bubble bath until I was bored. I read some 70 pages of Running with Scissors, which is not a great choice when you’re already feeling a little insane. I also, Facebook informs me, played 20 games of Bejeweled Blitz in 30 minutes. But my spatial reasoning skills are slipping, and at 4:00 in the morning an inability to set the new high score feels like a serious personal failing, so eventually I had to quit playing the game and turn to less intellectual pursuits. Hence the aimless blogging.

I’ve always laughed at people who said things like “4 AM in the morning,” thinking they must not want me to confuse that with the 4 AM that comes in the afternoon. It’s like when people say, “I was thinking in my head,” which always makes me wonder if they normally think in their elbows. But I would like to state for emphasis that it is now past 4 AM. In the morning.

Perhaps I should read something a little more soothing, like that James Herriot book I have lying on my floor somewhere. Or some Kafka. It is almost Halloween, after all, which is a perfect time to reread The Metamorphosis. You should try it. Everyone you know will be reading Edgar Allen Poe (hey, that rhymes!), but Kafka’s got some chilling stuff too. Obviously it’s different – it’s more “your reality has inexplicably changed, so you’d better get used to it because you have no control over anything” and less “there are body parts hidden under the floor and I can still hear the beating of his horrible heart!” – but it is nonetheless appropriate for the season.

I have shifting dreams and unidentifiable needs and a life-size picture of John Kerry. I have slightly wet hair and an implacable cough and a head that’s all full of congestion. My right leg is asleep but the rest of me isn’t and it’s going on 4:33.

I’m having surgery next week so I can breathe properly through my nose and I hope by then to have clear sinuses. For the third time in my life, I’m afraid of the dark.

...

That’s enough writing for me. Good night, good day, or good morning, depending on how you believe.

Update: My Brain Broke

"Julie, why has it been so long since you last wrote something for your blog?" I'm sure you're wondering, all the time, relentlessly, as you compulsively check this site for updates. The greatest joy of your life has been on hold since June (when I posted something incredibly lame that was mostly pictures of designer clothing) and your summer has seemed comparatively dim and hopeless for the loss. You want answers. I understand. Thankfully, the answer is pretty simple: I just haven't been talking to anyone because I'm insane.

OK, not insane exactly. Crazy, maybe. I can't find a concrete definition for the term "nervous breakdown" - it's apparently not a real clinical condition of any kind - so I feel reasonably confident in applying it to myself. But I am now standing in the eye of my particular mental breakdown with a possible end imaginable, so I thought I'd take a moment to say hello. Hello! I've been learning all kinds of interesting things over the past few months. For example, I like having short hair. And The Weakerthans are AMAZING in concert. I've also learned many fascinating things about insomnia, panic attacks, PTSD-style flashbacks, prescription medications, crippling ennui, dog training, and how to cook dynamite pesto/eggplant/goat cheese pizza. I keep a journal sometimes now (no, you can't read it! Sheesh!), made up my own version of "Cat Heaven" for solo piano, tweaked my blog's sidebar (look to your right for evidence), and I have better mascara than I used to have. Then again, I also joined Twitter, so I can't legitimately say it's been a wholly productive time.

Tonight I am at home, mysteriously ill as I have been off-and-on for the past few days. The dogs are here with me, lying calmly on their various blankets. The crazy one is successfully ignoring my father's parakeets. My third or fourth consecutive rerun of NCIS is playing on the TV in the kitchen. I am sitting back in my leopard-print pajamas, enjoying a giant green Otter Pop. I guess this life is not that bad.

Picture above is from the fabulous Garfield Minus Garfield.

My Fashion Daydream

Today, I imagined that I was incredibly rich. I was going to some imaginary coastal area to shop and have imaginary cafe latte drinks with my rich friends, and I needed an outfit. So naturally, I went over to Bloomingdale's and picked up this adorable white eyelet dress from Marc by Marc Jacobs:

So cute, right? But since as in most of my dreams I had literally nothing to wear, I naturally had to buy all new jewelry and accessories. As I hurried barefoot out of the store, I stopped by jewelry and picked up a bracelet by Lauren Ralph Lauren and a faux pearl necklace from Majorica.


Dress and jewelry all safely in their "big brown bag", I rushed off to Saks to pick up the most glorious thing on feet, a brand new pair of Jimmy Choos.

And then, I mean, I have to carry my piles of imaginary cash in something, so I grabbed a matching Valentino bag, no big deal.

OK, not really "no big deal", because I love this bag. Like, I just - I need this bag. Sigh...

Since I was headed someplace coastal, I wanted to keep my makeup fresh and light. Maybe something skin-brightening from Smashbox, combined with a nice, peachy-pink glow from Nars. (PS: Do they have a blush called Orgasm Blush? Is there a good reason for that name? Yes, and Yes.) Simple hair - a low, messy ponytail if I imagined it was long. Imagining my own, very short hair, I kept it similarly messy and just shy of stick-straight. I looked fabulous.

And then I woke up. And I was in my real house. With my real bank account. My day was kind of depressing, is what I'm saying.

Note: all those images link back to their respective websites - follow along for more views and price tags and actual shopping ability and such. Go ahead and click so I don't feel badly about borrowing their images.