This morning I realized that I check Instagram before I check my email.

Is that normal?

For me, it’s WILD. I’ve been a pretty half-assed social media person since the start. I like my thoughts to stay in my head, and if they come out, to be fully-formed and directed a particular audience, usually my husband (the poor bastard). If they’re really funny or interesting, I put them in a book or a movie or a TV show, or write them in a notebook so I can use them some day in a book or movie or a TV show.

And then all my other thoughts – most of my thoughts, let’s face it – are not worth saving or sharing. Ranting in my head about the number of emails I get from retailers with the wrong it’s/its in the title is boring, even to ME. Venting publicly about how bad something is makes me feel sad, because someone put a lot of love into that thing, even if that love was wildly misplaced. So… that doesn’t leave much to talk about. You know?

I don’t really do Facebook, never have, never will. I have a profile on there, but I check it about once every six months. And when I do check it, I am overwhelmed by a sort of nihilistic ennui about humanity. I am not alone in this. Teenagers know.

I think Facebook was originally kind of like finding a new bar when you’re in college and you’re like, I LOVE THIS BAR! THIS IS THE BEST! EVERYONE IS AWESOME HERE! COME PARTY WITH ME! And all your friends came and they were being hilarious and it was great. Then suddenly that dork from your International Relations tutorial came along which was annoying but it’s a free country, and then that idiot who bullied you in high school but you can deal with it and it’s kind of nice to see how fat she is now even if she keeps showing you pictures of her awful baby’s new teeth, and then your ex came in which is super-annoying because how dare he still exist, and then some tequila girls came in and gave you free shots and you were like well that’s more like it, but then a really dorky Kind Bar promotional guy came in and tried to give you free power bars and made bad jokes and said things like ‘WHASSUUUP’ which was just pathetic, and then finally some stranger came over and tried to sell you Sealy Posturpedic mattresses, just because you were talking to your friend about the squeaky bed when you got laid last night and he was eavesdropping and figured you might be interested, and you were like FUCK THIS BAR SUCKS I AM SO OVER ALL YOU PEOPLE.

That’s Facebook.

Twitter used to be fun, but somehow isn’t anymore. Somehow it’s just as chaotic and boring as Facebook.

Instagram, however, is adorable.  Like a thousand little windows into a thousand little universes. I don’t follow celebrities because it makes me feel creepy. And I don’t hate-follow anyone, although I know that is a thing. I just follow people I like.

I have a private feed on Instagram, though I accept just about anyone who asks, as long as their profile doesn’t seem bananas. I realize that it’s probably a total false sense of security, but at least this way, no one truly crazy (or, um, the guys I used to date) can just wander through the internet and see photos of my life. Anyway. What about you?

I introduced my mother to the delights of PARTY DOWN the other night, and OH, how she loved it. I remember posting about it before but just in case you missed it…

Watch Party Down. It’s on iTunes or (free!) Hulu.

Just in case you forgot what this video looked like.

It’s actually goddamn ridiculous.

Your new favorite TV show. My new favorite TV show. Everyone’s new favorite TV show. (Soon.)

You’re The Worst.

It’s so good. It’s just SO DAMN GOOD.

Sup. (See how effortlessly familiar I am with you guys? I don’t have to write a big long charming intro. I can just be myself, albeit the version of myself that says ‘Sup’ semi-ironically, without even a question mark at the end, because as a male friend once told me: ‘question marks indicate neediness, statements equal confidence’, to which I would add, ‘and can also make you sound like kind of an asshole’, but sounding like an asshole kind of fits with my semi-ironic use of the word ‘Sup’ so that’s just fine. Wait, am I still in a parentheses? Damn. Okay. Leaving now.)

Today my sister and I browsed McNally Jackson, and I kept seeing books I want for Christmas. So in case you’re looking for ideas or just need something to read…

Does Santa Exist? by Eric Kaplan. Because I NEED TO KNOW.

Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book Of Food And Drink. This seems like the kind of food book I’d actually enjoy.

I Must Say: My Life As A Humble Comedy Legend by Martin Short. I love Martin Short so much that my sister and I refer to him as ‘Marty’ as in ‘Marty always says…’  This is hilarious. 

Life Stories: Profiles From The New Yorker.

Steve Martin’s LA Story and Roxanne, the screenplays. Love Steve Martin. Love those movies. Love reading screenplays. Love the whole damn thing.

The Man Who Seduced Hollywood: The Life and Loves of Greg Bautzer, Tinseltown’s Most Powerful Lawyer. I try to read anything with ‘Tinseltown’ in the title.

Need more? Other books I read and loved recently: Saturday Night by Susan Orlean, Some Girls by Jillian Larson, I Don’t Know What You Know Me From by Judy Greer, and Fox recently read and loved All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki And His Years Of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami, and Laurence Of Arabia: War, Deceit, Imperial Folly and the Making Of The Modern Middle East by Scott Anderson. If you are looking for more gift ideas, my lovely friend Joanna always nails it with her gift guides. Happy shopping.

Review with Forrest MacNeil.

I think I use too many adjectives when describing TV shows when basically I just want to say WATCH IT. ut this show is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. We just watched the entire season in two nights…. Anyway. WATCH IT. It’s on Amazon.

I love Christmas movies. There are a dozen Christmas movie lists out there, but none of them have this one on it, and it’s so great.

THE SURE THING.

My God, that trailer sucks ass. The movie is so much better than that. It’s an 80s romantic comedy and yes, the premise will make you sigh (he’s going across the country to bang a malnourished bimbo?) but it’s really funny and weird and awesome. I swear.

Here are some scenes that may convince you to track down The Sure Thing and watch it.

One of the lines (“we speak each other’s unspoken language… fluently”) is now part of my internal dialogue. I may have put it in a book once. I can’t remember. I do stuff like that a lot, kind of as a pop culture Easter Egg for readers, but also just to entertain myself when I’m writing. Sometimes people spy the little things I put in the books and email me (“Did you know Jake Ryan is the same name as the guy from Sixteen Candles?”) and I LOVE that and pratically hyperventilate my reply (“Yes! I know! It’s the best movie! I love him! So much!”).

And after that, go watch a Muppet movie, any Muppet movie, because every Muppet movie feels like a Christmas movie.

I have bad hair. No, I really do. It’s thin. It breaks. It doesn’t hold color. When I’m knocked up it grows in darker. Then after I have the baby it all falls out. Then it breaks some more, and sometimes, for no reason, looks a little pink.

I’m on a constant quest to get huge 90s hair, you know, a giant flip-the-bird of attitude and awesomeness. So I tried to learn how to blow dry, I tried this and kind of liked it but not enough to keep it, and this is good too but I detest the smell so back it went, and this really works though it kind of makes your hair into cement. But all blowouts, and all products seem to only in my hair for like half a day, then it just looks shit again. I know. My load is heavy.

BUT. It turns out my problems started WAY before blowdrying. (True on so many levels.)

I needed to change conditioners.

Cleansing Conditioner by WEN.

I don’t know how it works and I don’t care enough to find out. Something to do with parabens. Whatever. The point is, you massage a giant glob of this into the bottom 3/4 of your hair in the shower, leave it for a minute or two while you shave your armpits and consider shaving your legs and then say nah fuck it I’m good, then massage it out. BOOM. Your hair will be awesome.  (By the way, those of you who have read this blog for a while know that every now and again I come on and I’m like DROP EVERYTHING GUYS I HAVE THE ANSWER TO ALL YOUR BEAUTY NEEDS and it’s never the answer, not really, but it’s the answer for now. And as with everything I like most, I enjoy the process. Otherwise, what’s the point of anything? Anyway, try this stuff if you want to, and if not, that’s okay too.)