Sunday, September 29, 2013

My Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Emmy Experience

It's taken me a week to write this post. Partly because I'm still recovering from the too much champagne/not enough sleep whirlwind of a wedding weekend, but also because, like a child, I needed to chill the eff out before I could use my words to express how I feel.

Let me not be a huge bitch and start off by saying that the wedding was beautiful. I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid in my husband's sister's wedding last Saturday, which has nothing to do with this rant. I was honored to be asked to support her as she (finally!) tied the knot with a wonderful man and everything about the whole weekend was fabulous. 

However, due to being in said wedding, I was not in my usual viewing spot three hours prior to the 65th Annual Primetime Emmys on CBS on Sunday night. We wanted to have as much time with the family as possible, so we opted to take a later boat back to Nantucket that evening. Because we had taken our car over, we had to take a two hour boat ride instead of my usual one hour high-speed ferry that left Hyannis at 8 P.M., the exact moment the show started (don't get me started on the three hours of preshow coverage I missed- we all make sacrifices).

The entire ride to the dock, I had been attempting to get any nugget of video that I could showcasing the stars arrivals. Normally, I am planted on my sofa, hanging out with my friends Guiliana, Kelly, and George (and if I'm lucky, Ross!), updating my social media platforms with my very honest thoughts about what the TV-lebrities are wearing on the red carpet. So I went to my E! Live from the Red Carpet app on my iPhone, as I thought I could trust them to relay to me all the usual up to date coverage. But no such luck. Well, sort of. While the app did show a stream of the red carpet, it looked so different than the normal show that I couldn't get into it. 

Biggest issues- it was hosted by Kristin Dos Santos (of Watch with Kristin on E!) and some guy I had NEVER seen before. Like not even Jason what's his name or the blonde flamboyant gentleman that is BFF's with G and sometimes take street polls on E! News. So I missed my usual peeps. The other issue was without the red carpet interviews (these two were in a studio what could have been miles away from the actual theater just talking about the people entering, not to them) and the commercials, the entire stream ran with this annoying techno music that I never realized is always playing during the live show, because there's usually a lot of noise and people talking that drowns it out. Every three minutes, Steve would yell out, "are they at a club?!" and after a few segments, I couldn't handle it. I left in search of greener pastures.

I tried every entertainment app I had ever downloaded in the history of my iPhone. My first inclination was that the actual licensed Emmy app would show it, but no dice. After trying PopSugar, Entertainment Weekly, People, Us Weekly, and Perez Hilton, I gave up. Some had photos (not super updated though- I need REAL TIME, people!), others had shotty live feeds that blurred in and out of focus (once again, I would like to quote my husband, who upon seeing video chats feels compelled to scream, "it's 2013- we can put a man on the moon but WE CAN'T HANDLE VIDEO CONFERENCING," to which I like to remind him that there's been a man on the moon since the 1960s). I figured it better to focus my attention and battery life on the actual show once I got on the boat and could get on the wifi. 

We arrived early and waited to drive our cars onto the boat. Steve offered to have me walk on the boat earlier to get settled, but I have this weird fear of the ramp breaking away and falling into the ocean (which may also explain my fear of bridges). I figured I would contain myself and just drive onto the boat with him like a normal human being, which was the last time I exhibited that behavior for the rest of the voyage. 

The second the car was in park, I bolted to the seating area. I literally left Steve behind and was all like, "peace, suckaaah."

There's two boats you can take your car on, one you have to sit in the car the entire trip and the other has rows of seats and a snack bar and such. And TVs. We were on the latter. But despite running I wasn't the first person on the boat, and there wasn't a clear ideal seating area. There were a few burly guys already plunked in front of the flat screens, staring at the football game that I could only pray was about to end. To cover myself, I immediately pounced on the only Steamship Authority employee I could find (at the snack bar) and interrogated her about what a girl had to do to watch the Emmys in this joint. She blandly informed me that I had to speak to the "controller" who sat in a booth in the middle of the boat with a desk and a cot in it (which after seeing it, I can assure you is the WORST place to work or sleep). You can imagine my horror to find that the booth was empty.

I decided to be proactive and find my seat. I must have sat in at least five different spots before I found myself immediately in front of a flat screen that I could almost sort of here... right above my head. 

are you there, emmys? it's me, nph.

Have you ever been late for a movie and forced to sit in the front row, but you already paid like $14 for your ticket and you just really wanted to be able to say that you had seen a movie in the theater since The Notebook? So you bear through it and stay, hoping your husband will massage out the crook in your neck later. I even made friends with the girl next to me (after all, there were a thousand seats available and I sat in the one directly next to her) and she seemed to understand my life's purpose. I mean she also put on headphones and read a book, but she got it. 

I had only missed a few minutes of Neil Patrick Harris' opening montage when Steve found me. As we settled in, I positioned my iPad mini and phone to be at my maximum social media reporting. As I stared up at NPH's beautiful dainty face, the unthinkable happened:

The channel changed... to football. 

I would like to take this moment to say that I am not a particularly angry person. I have never been in a fight. I never scream or yell if I am upset. I have never hit anyone or anything out of frustration or anything resembling it. But in that moment, my blood boiled. If I was a mother whose child was in danger, this would have been my "lift a car" moment. I jumped out of my chair and went to hunt down this so called controller. I found him at his dreary desk and just burst out, "what happened to the Emmys? I was just watching them, and the channel changed. How can it be changed back"

He stared at me blankly, as if this was the first time he had ever had such a request. "Well, uh... four people asked that it be changed to football. So I changed it."

Unacceptable. "Okay, well football has been on for the last six hours, and it's not even the Patriots playing. They finished their game this afternoon. The Emmys are on once a year."

"Well... didn't you record it?" he responded, void of every emotion that normal humans are capable of.

What I think I meant to say was, no sir, I did not record it. While I am normally on my DVR like white on rice, I have had a busy week preparing to be a bridesmaid, which is a hectic and emotional experience. Not to mention I knew I would be returning at the exact moment the show started and assumed that one television set on a boat with at least six of them would be broadcasting the most important television event of the year. Also (and this is none of your damn business but let me enlighten you) I have a very demanding award show routine that requires constant updates in real time on all channels of social media, which I certainly cannot do watching a recording.

But instead, a trail of verbal diarrhea came out that very unintelligibly sounded like, "uh, I um, well, no... I was in a wedding... dress, bridesmaid, blugdsadhkfadshtr..." Because instead of feeding off my anger, I just get flustered and all the words in my head try to escape my mouth at the same moment. 

I gathered myself and tried to think rationally. "Surely, you can put at least one television on the Emmys so the travelers outside of the four people that need to see this game have another option of something to watch."

"Well, no," he said. "All the tv's need to be on the same station."

All of them. ALL OF THEM. It's twenty thirteen. Again, people in space, but ONE CHANNEL per six televisions. What is my $160 round-trip ticket going to?!

Because I can't have the last word in a firm and powerful way, I choked back tears as I shuffled back to my seat. My former Emmy BFF was already asleep. So much for solidarity. Steve was staring at his phone trying not to make eye contact with me. 

I collapsed in my seat, filled with the fire of a thousand suns. I had never been so angry in my entire life. And then immediately after, I was mad at myself for being angry, because I knew I was being irrational. But I didn't care. I couldn't stop the hatred I felt deep within my soul for this stupid sport that was rapidly ruining my life (or at least my evening). 

I immediately flashed back to high school physical education class when the kids that played sports acted like they were God's gift to the gymnasium because they could kick a ball or run a mile. I'm not saying that kids shouldn't be active or take care of their bodies. I'm talking about the mindless drones that treat sports and professional athletes as if they are contributing something to society (you know, other than killing people and getting busted for steroids). l think football is the most is the most boring sport to watch, exacerbated by the fact that it is on for hours upon hours, consuming fall Sundays and clogging arteries with orange nacho cheese substances. I could care less about any of the coaches or the players, unless they are sleeping with a Kardashian, and even then, it barely seems worth it to learn their names. It doesn't matter that it has been ten years since I was in high school, in that moment, all I could think about was that the jocks win and the theater kids lose. 

For a moment I considered starting my own campaign of the non-meathead passengers to find five people interested in watching the Emmys to counteract the channel change request. After all, if it hadn't been for the success of the early days of television, people wouldn't even be able to watch sports on TV, so how about a little respect? While I sort of wished I had taken a stand, the adult in me reminded myself that while I felt alone in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, I would soon in fact return to an island in which I did not wish to be known as "that crazy award show girl" on the boat (I'll stick with the internet, thank you very much). 

Instead, I sprung into action, hoping that the wifi would prove to be my best asset under this fascist regime. I mean, that's one of the reasons you get a tablet, right? Those people in the commercials are always streaming with such ease. Surely, I would soon be one of them. 

Unfortunately, unlike the Hyline fast ferry, the wifi was spottier than Aaron Hernandez's alibi (get it? Because of THE MURDER), to the point that I lost it entirely about halfway through the trip. Even in the brief moments I had it, I couldn't find the show streaming anywhere, which really pissed me off even more, since there is an actual Emmys app. If you can't get it there, what's the point?!

One place you can get it is on your husband's ancient HTC phone that just happened to be picking up 4G. He was able to find a random stream of the live broadcast (by Googling it, of all things) and propped it up in front of my now useless iPad for my enjoyment. It was just one of many times that I was reminded why I married him.

best seat in the house. or on a boat.

I opted to take my tiny viewing to the level where our car was, as I couldn't continue to breathe the same air as the traitors on the upper level much longer. Plus, I also forgot my headphones and couldn't hear the telecast over the sounds of the six televisions. I caught about seven minutes of the show before we lost our connection, catching the end of Julia Louis-Dreyfus winning Best Actress in a Comedy for the 18th time. 

And then, I cried.

I am completely serious. I just broke down and cried. Like actual tears. I shut the iPad, turned off the phone, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat and just cried. I cried out of frustration, anger, and the embarrassment of acting like like a child, but at the same time, not really feeling sorry about it. 

Steve tried to comfort me, but I could tell he thought I was being a little ridiculous, and that it wasn't actually worth shedding tears over. He later told me that he was so relieved when I gave up and fell asleep, because he had been fighting the drowsiness of his Dramamine in order to help me and he didn't know how much longer he could last. 

I tried not to think about all the conversations happening without me on Twitter and Facebook. I pushed out of my brain the thoughts of all the moments I missed, including the tribute to Cory Monteith that I knew was being presented. I ignored the urge to continue to check my nonfunctioning phone to catch a glimpse of any red carpet fashion that I no doubt would be a day behind on in comparison to the rest of the blogosphere. I just relented, gave into my own weariness from a sleep-deprived weekend and chalked it up that this would be one of those "life's not fair" moments. 

And yes, just to repeat so that I'm not the worst human being on the planet, I get that this is minor. It's nothing compared to the hardships that so many people face on a daily basis. It's not the worst thing that has happened to me this year (this month, maybe). This is one hundred percent a #firstworldproblem that most would barely bat an eye at. But for me, it's more. Award season is my favorite time of year. Unlike sports games that are aired multiple times per week for months and months (and rerun on sports specific channels on repeat), this is a one night only scenario. It's a time that makes me feel like I have found my calling, despite annoying everyone on my feed, and you know, not getting paid for it or anything. I don't know how else to explain it. I felt like I was missing a chunk of my soul.

But I'll get over it. Because like everyone says, it's just TV. Nobody died (well, except for those poor "In Memoriam" people) and the sun still rose and set in the following days. 

But I really do hate football.


Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Dress Me, Kate

It's no secret that Kate Spade is hands down my favorite designer. I don't know how I went to being a girl from NH that literally had never heard of Kate Spade until they starting selling knockoffs at the Derry flea market, to a woman that not only loves the brand but owns more of it than I ever imagined I would have of any one designer. I imagine living in such close vicinity to the outlet may have had something to do with it. Since I clearly can't afford most of these clothes and accessories (I would say 85% of the Kate Spade merchandise I own was a result of gifts), I spend a lot of time staring at pieces online and dreaming of how I would style them.

Knowing that this week was New York Fashion Week, I spent much of my boat ride back to the mainland on Friday fighting with the WiFi on the Hyline, frantically searching online galleries for pics from the Spring 2014 showcase. When I heard the theme involved Paris, garden parties, and travel, I died a little inside, knowing that many of the pieces would soon by on my wish list, and by that I mean, my mental list that I hold onto and hope in two years I can get it on clearance at the outlet.

The only thing that bums me out about the NYFW presentation is that you don't get a good look at the smaller pieces, like bags and jewelry (which are my favorite things to look at from Kate Spade), because it's more about the overall looks on the parade of models. Regardless, I was of course in love with the bright colors and the shapes of some of the dresses and skirts, which goes back to why I love Kate Spade in the first place- because it's fun!

The only thing that wasn't so fun to me was... the lemons. I'm all for the quirky touches and random objects that KSNY chooses to highlight with particular collections, but mostly I found many of these garments to be ill-fitting. Frankly, I wasn't sure if they reminded me of a small child or a grandmother. 

Please don't hate me, Kate Spade. I will love you forever. As long as you take it easy on the lemons. 


All images via The Fashion Spot.

Friday, September 6, 2013

I Want to Go to College the Rest of My Life... or Not

There's something about Facebook that constantly reminds you of moments from your past that you either wanted to pretend never happened, or makes you depressed that they're over and you'll never experience them again. This weekend, I felt both of those feelings upon seeing a gazillion pictures of college students moving into their dorms. This week marks exactly ten years ago that I moved into a tiny room at Cazenovia College and began the first decade of my adult life (still working on that). 

Two years ago, I accompanied Steve and his family as they moved his brother into St. Anselm's in New Hampshire. On the drive up, I just kept thinking about how sweet it was to be a college student. You get to live next door to all of your friends and you spend a solid three hours a day in class, and the rest of the day doing whatever the hell you want. Immediately, I was a little sad that I was so far past that stage in my life that I was now closer to my thirtieth birthday than I was to those years. 

And then, we got to the dorm.

Immediately, I was reminded of why this situation is (and should be) only temporary. There are people everywhere. Like you live in a 12 x 12 room with another human that you have never met and you share a shower with at least twenty other people. As we walked down the halls and observed an assortment of kids bumping rap music out of ridiculous speakers (let's be real now guys, you're at a Catholic school in New Hampshire, not the Bronx) and smelled all sorts of upleasantries (ugh, boys), I realized that you couldn't pay me to go back there. 

Most of all, I couldn't help but think how different things were when I went to school versus kids that are starting now. I guess it's only natural, it's been a decade after all. But of course, I couldn't help but reflect a little bit, especially now that I'm looking back as super successful mature adult (right?).

ThenYou had to have a really deep, emotional goodbye with everyone because you will never ever see them again.

Now: You only really lose touch with people that suck, because technology makes it literally impossible to not continue your relationships. 

In the two days before I left for college, I literally visited each of my close friends and said a heartfelt goodbye to all of them, complete with tears. While a lot of my friends were staying at least in the state, I went to a school six hours away from where I grew up, which I assumed meant that I would lose all touch with everyone and they would forget I even existed. Now, if you can't bear to part with your BFF, you really don't have to. You could make a Facetime date once a week or write on their wall when something on TV reminds you of them. My first semester, a few of my friends and I actually wrote each other letters

every piece of mail i received freshmen year. yes, i am that cool.

I used a calling card to call my parents, but didn't have enough minutes to call my friends every night. Luckily, I had gotten a laptop for a graduation gift and this was the height of AOL Instant Messenger, so were slightly more connected than in the truly olden days (like, the mid-90s). 

But these changes are both good and bad for current college freshmen. It's good because when you're in a strange place and super homesick, nothing cheers you up more than getting a message from an old friend. However, if you let the fact that you can keep in touch with these people consume you, you'll never make new friends and you'll be that weird kid in the dorm that is obsessed with your old life, too afraid to move on and start living your new life. The good news is, that new life can include those old friends if you're not an asshole and keep in touch with people that matter. I did. 

Then: You furnished your dorm room with graduation gifts, hand-me-downs, and assorted tapestries. 

I think everything that I was allowed to purchase in my dorm room cost less than $50 and all came from Target. Everything else was a gift that I was thankful for, regardless of if it coordinated with any sort of scheme or not. That three-drawer plastic thing in the corner is still in my bathroom today, holding cosmetics and hair accessories. My room theme? Apparently, purple. And that's it. Nothing else. Just... purple. (And no, we're not going to talk about my affinity for baby tees.)

Now: You should either hire an interior designer or spend your first two weeks at school DIY'ing a blog-worthy student bedroom.

When I was preparing for college, I remember dreaming that I would live inside a perfectly coordinated dorm room right out of a Pottery Barn Teen catalogue. Just the other day, I saw an impeccably styled room on Apartment Therapy that I was shocked to find out belonged to an actual person. Like, an eighteen year old person.


I mean, seriously. It's a dorm, not a meditation room. And if you think there's room for extra furniture in a dorm room, you are out of your freshman mind. 

Then: You filled out your roommate survey and prayed that you wouldn't be paired up with a murderer. You spoke on the phone exactly once, decided what each of you would contribute to the success of "the room," and met for the first time on move-in day. 

My first roommate was from Maine. I don't even remember talking to her on the phone, but I do remember we met up with our families at Friendly's the day before we moved in. I also remember meeting her and thinking we had absolutely nothing in common, which I thought was weird, because I so carefully filled out the information on my roommate survey. I did get along really well with her mom, and realized that she was the one I actually should have been living with, because in a shocking twist of events- she filled out the form! Needless to say, we did not stay roommates and lifelong friends (which, unlike my husband, basically never happens). But the great thing about college is once you get the swing of things, you actually make friends on your own and are able to choose who you would be compatible with (like an adult! Crazy). 

my first chosen roommate kb- watts 216 fo life.

Now: Okay, so I don't know if that much has changed, because unless you are going to college with people you knew from high school, I'm pretty sure that they still randomly pair you up (no matter what you fill out on that stupid survey). At least now you can friend each other on Facebook and find out prior to living together whether or not they're a psychopath. 

I can't tell you whether it is better or worse, easier or harder to start college in 2013 versus 2003. I can tell you that if you dwell on the negative stuff, it's going to be awful no matter what. So relax. Use the Internet sparingly (unless it's getting ideas for your really awesome dorm room, something I did not have the luxury of) and sign up for every activity that allows you to meet people in person. DO NOT go home every weekend. If you need to do that, save yourself the money and commute instead of forking over more than what you would pay for rent in the city, just to live in a room with no shower. And I know it's impossible, but try, just try for me, please, to not do things that ten years from now, you will look at and be like wtf? After all, your shiz is already all over the Internet anyway. Think about how not to embarass your almost thirty year old self.

But just have fun. I know it's super annoying and every adult tells you, "this is the best time in your life," as they wistfully wipe away a tear, but seriously, they're right. You will never be able to nap midday just because you feel like it, eat a bunch of horrible food and only gain fifteen pounds, or live within ten seconds of your closest friends. So just enjoy it.

But don't be an idiot. I don't want to see any more of you on the news. 


Thursday, September 5, 2013

A Pretty Little Girl & a Beautiful Wife Pt. 2

When we last left Kristen and Ross, they were getting ready for their gorgeous rustic wedding. Correction: we didn't actually see Ross yet, but I promise, he was there too!

Here are some of the getting ready + ceremony pics. Enjoy!