Vacation.

I would've written sooner, except I went on vacation to Mexico. My friends and I were having a great time, drinking and partying, but then for our last day my boyfriend Jeff decided he wanted to go to these ancient ruins...not the same ruins all the tourists go to, but off-the-beaten-path ruins. Anyway, once we got there, we were confronted by some angry Mayans. They shot this guy we were traveling with in the head, so of course we got scared and ran up onto the ruins, which kind of looked like a crumbling pyramid all covered in plant growth. Anyway, to make a long story short, the Mayans surrounded the ruins and we were totally stuck there!! Plus, to make matters worse, those plants growing all over the ruins were man-eating plants! What luck, huh? Anyway, the whole time I was there, all I was thinking was man I wish I could get back home because the first thing I would do is sit down and write on my Blog. So here I am. I just ate a gigantic cheese sandwich, and man, it was the best one I ever tasted. That's what being stuck on some ruins will do to ya--make you mad hungry! Mad hungry. It's funny, too, because it seems like bad things happen a lot when I go on vacation. Last summer, I decided to take my son Roarke white water rafting. I invited my husband too, but I figured he wouldn't come because he's a workaholic. In fact, I was thinking about divorcing him because we'd been growing apart for some time. But he actually did show up for the rafting trip! That made me happy, and I thought we were going to have a lot of fun, but then we were taken prisoner by a couple of guys who had robbed a cattle auction and wanted me to take them down the Gauntlet, which is this really nasty part of the river that had been closed for years because the rapids are so treacherous! I had no choice, because if I didn't do it they were going to kill me and my family. I thought for sure we would drown, but luckily we didn't, and actually my nerdy husband Tom ended up totally saving the day! It turned out to be a pretty cool trip, but a little more stressful than I would've like or than I planned on. At least there were no sharks on that trip. Once, I went to visit my scientist friends at this underwater lab called Aquatica. They were working on curing Alzheimer's Disease. I know! They are great folks. Well, they were. They are mostly all dead now because the genetically engineered super sharks that they created went a little nuts and ended up flooding Aquatica and pushing my friends and I wherever they wanted us to go (they were very smart fish), eating us one by one and inching their way toward freedom. Luckily the chef and the shark wrangler ended up killing the sharks and saving my life. Thank you Carter and...I can't remember the chef's name, but thanks. You might be thinking to yourself right now--Man, Liz, maybe you shouldn't go on vacation anymore. But no, I'm still going to. You can't let fear run your life. In fact, next month I am going flying with a Uruguayan rugby team over the Andes mountains. I can't see how anything can go wrong there.

The God Derned Boogie Man

A Michigan woman was killed by a stingray in the Florida Keys recently. She was on a boat going 25 mph...her dad was driving, and the 500 or so pound sting ray jumped out of the water, hit her in the face, and killed her on impact. What a way to go. I tend to be a pretty cautious person. I'm a worrier by nature. I'm afraid of flying in an airplane. I won't even drink one beer if I know I'm going to be driving. When I'm running with my dog, I worry about slipping on a patch of ice and breaking a bone. I worry about going back to college because I'm afraid of school shootings. I still worry about the Bird Flu. But I try not to let my fears get the best of me. I'll still fly to Vegas and go running and go back to school. I'm not going to shut myself in my room and not live my life. It's just that worrying like that is a battle I always have going on inside me. It's like I'm always having to test myself, to force myself to face my fears and grow as a person. What a pain in the ass, right? But this stingray incident makes me realize that even when you think you're safe, you might not be. You'd think that would make me worry more, but in a way it's kind of freeing. You know? You can't prevent something like getting hit in the face by a stingray from happening, so why try? I don't know if that makes sense to you...but it does to me.

I wish I was going to an Easter buffet this year, but I'm not. Buffets are a lot of fun, and they are also kind of a metaphor for America. We are never satisfied with just one serving, or with just one food-option for that matter. We want the macaroni and cheese AND the ham AND the prime rib. We want salad AND soup AND dessert AND a main course. And we don't want it just once. We want it AS MANY TIMES AS WE FEEL LIKE until we are not just satiated, but STUFFED.

There is this really cool website that you all should visit, especially those of you who are word nerds like me. If you visit it, you'll be helping to feed people who really need food, and you won't have to spend any money, I promise. It's fun, too! Click here! I'll probably post a banner for the site on here soon, but I'm too lazy to do that right now.

I hope you all have a fantastic Easter and that you stuff yourselves full of Cadbury Creme Eggs and marshmallow peeps and even some of that plastic grass that you put in the bottom of Easter baskets. I know you're not supposed to eat that grassy stuff, but if you can't be silly at Easter, when can you be silly? I hope that your Easter celebrations go swimmingly and that none of you get hit in the face by a 500 pound stingray.

The Book of Liz: Part I

I bought a book on blogging, because I'm a nerd like that. The book that I purchased is called: "Navigate the Blogosphere: The Rough Guide to Blogging." I've only read bits and pieces of it so far, but what I've learned is that I'm doing a lot wrong. Maybe that's why no one reads my blog. (Except for you, Kate.) Anyway, according to my book, the people who read my blog want some back-story on me. The people who read my blog want to know what makes me tick. So, I guess I'll get started:

My name is Liz Abruzzo. Some people call me Lizzy. My Dad calls me Lizzy. My friend Becky calls me Lizzy. But most people just call me Liz. Whenever a teacher asks me what I'd like to be called, I say, "Liz." Some people affectionately call me Lizard. Kate calls me Lizard. I allow it from Kate, but you have to be a pretty close friend to get away with calling me Lizard. Not too many people are close enough to me to be able to call me Lizard without me giving them a questioning look (as in, "Do you really think you know me well enough to be calling me Lizard?"). My sister often calls me Eliza or Liza or Lizabeth or E-Lizabeeeeth when she's mad at me. She doesn't really get so mad at me anymore that she yells at me like that. I guess we've grown up.

I was born in Lapeer, Michigan, at the Lapeer Regional Medical Center...I think. I spent almost my entire youth in Lapeer, except for a short period of time where my family relocated to Kalamazoo, Michigan. That happened when I was in 2nd grade, much to the chagrin of my friend Jenny DeArmond. We gave Kalamazoo a try. My mom thought Kalamazoo would be a better place for her children to grow up, since it was where she grew up. And, to my mom's credit, Kalamazoo is way cooler than Lapeer. Culturally, Kalamazoo has so much more to offer...more theater programs, art programs, music programs, etc. In Lapeer, all we have is football. Oh, and basketball. But our time in Kalamazoo was short-lived, partly because my Dad was gone so often traveling back and forth to Detroit (almost a two hour drive!) for acting jobs. My Dad is an actor. And partly because my sister Gina had a mini-nervous breakdown, 5th-grader style. She couldn't deal with being away from her tight-knight group of Lapeer friends. Yeah, she had a heck of a time settling in. There were woods in back of our house and sometimes Gina would run off and be gone for hours, screaming and crying and ranting and raving. Not even a deep-fried dinner from Long John Silver could comfort her. Then I got my first detention ever, at the ripe old age of 7, and that was the final straw. Sure, Kalamazoo was culturally rich and even had a Bookmobile, but that doesn't mean much when compared with the well-being of an entire family. So, aside from that dark period of 8 or so months, I spent my entire youth in Lapeer.

And with that, I'll leave you. I know you're salivating for more, but you'll just have to wait.

I love a man with an accent.

Natalie from Big Brother thinks that there are 27 letters in the alphabet. She is such a dumbass. I'm going on record as saying that I hate these people from Big Brother 9 ('Till Death Do Us Part'): Natalie, Matt, Ryan, and Sheila. I'm pretty sure that's all the people I hate on that show. I especially hate Matty, the roofer from Boston, for thinking he is way cuter than he is and for making comments like: "Do you think I should let Natalie give me a blow job tonight?" Um, do you think you should let her? Natalie is a dummy, but she still deserves some respect, as do all women. Although, what's with the knee-high socks Natalie? Why the fuck do you always wear thong underwear, a tiny tank top, and knee-high socks? Are you on your way to slutty softball practice? Please stop. Please, please stop.

A new season of The Bachelor starts next Monday! And this time The Bachelor is British. I think it's safe to say that most women would sleep with pretty much any guy that had a British accent. Accents are fantastic. But lucky for 27 year old Matt Grant, a global financier from London, he isn't half bad to look at. Matt Grant is desperate to settle down and start having kids. His ideal woman is: "adventurous, playful and fun, who loves to travel and enjoys the outdoors...funny, self-deprecating, and outgoing." Hmmm. Yes, Matt, those are very desirable traits in a lady friend. I wonder if any Bachelor ever said that his ideal woman was a fearful, boring, homebody with no sense of humor and no social graces. Hey ladies, here's a little tip to get you in good with the hot Brit: he loves working out and current events! He's at his happiest on the treadmill while watching the news. I wonder if he likes girls that wear thong underwear and tube socks? I personally love it when the girls say they are "willing to do whatever it takes" to get a rose.

Poor, poor David Archuleta. He really fucked up Beatles' night. Then again, there were only a few really great performances last night. I'm charmed by Jason Castro and Michael Johns. Chikezie is growing on me. David Cook is a confident performer who always picks great songs. I could do without Syesha, Amanda, Kristi-Lee, and Ramiele. Carly is ok. David Hernandez is just aight. Brooke White is darling.

I'm so happy.

I'm so happy. Senator Clinton won three out of four states yesterday, including TEXAS and OHIO! Hell yes. There's still hope. Obama and his glass jaw might just have to wait another 8 years...

I'm so happy. They're making a movie out of one of my favorite childhood books--Roald Dahl's "Fantastic Mr. Fox" It looks like Wes Anderson is directing it, and co-adapting the screenplay with Noah Baumbach. Um...considering the post I just put up about Baumbach's last movie ("Margot at the Wedding"), lets just say I'm thankful he's got help on this project, especially since it's so close to my heart. It's going to be a stop-motion animation movie with the voice talents of George Clooney (as Mr. Fox), Cate Blanchett, Bill Murray, and maybe Jason Schwartzman (I hope, I hope!), and Anjelica Houston. 2009 is going to be a good year.

I predict that Luke Menard, and either Danny Noriega or Chikezie will be eliminated from American Idol on Thursday.

I would write more but I have to go out to dinner now.

Hysterical is the new calm.

This is my 50th post! I'm so proud of myself for doing 50 of anything. Anyway... I was reading TV Guide today, and it turns out Matt Roush agrees with me about Quarterlife. His review in a nutshell: Quarterlife blows. Don't watch it.

I went to the movies with my parents yesterday. I am so cool, by the way, all out and about with my parents. After the movie we went and walked around Whole Foods, which reminded me a lot of how I used to spend afternoons in the city, walking into random grocery stores, taking just a little more than my fair share from the bowl of sample guacamole. I heart Mexican food. We saw this movie called "Charlie Bartlett." I think I'm in love with the actor who plays Charlie, Anton Yelchin. He's adorable, and hilarious! Anyway, it's a fantastic movie and I highly recommend it. It's uplifting, funny, sweet--plus, any movie that showcases a great old Cat Stevens song and has shades of the delightful wackiness of "Harold and Maude" is a movie I like. Go see it in the theater and support it!

Today I watched "Margot at the Wedding" which is the latest film from Noah Baumbach ("Kicking and Screaming" (the one with Eric Stoltz, not Will Ferrell), "The Squid and the Whale"). I gotta say, I want to be a Noah Baumbach fan, but I just don't get his movies. He must watch a lot of foreign movies. His movies are always so dark and talky and with no real plot to speak of. Call me old fashioned, but I like plot. And what is Noah's fascination with masturbation? People were masturbating all over the place in "The Squid and the Whale" (remember the kid leaving his spooge all over school?) and they were masturbating a lot in "Margot..." too--seemingly for no reason. At the end, there's this part where the kid who plays Nicole Kidman's son says, "I masturbated last night, while you were sleeping, mom. I went into the bathroom and locked the door and I did it," to which she replies, "You don't need to tell me things like that, sweetie!" No shit! What 14 year old kid tells his mom stuff like that? And how does it even serve the movie to include it? At least I'm not the only one who thinks "Margot at the Wedding" is pretentious and dubious.

I love all sorts of movies, but maybe I'm a simple girl at heart. I loved "Definitely, Maybe" starring Ryan Reynolds and Isla Fisher. Could anyone be more adorable than Isla Fisher? I think not.

I want a god damn ice cream sandwich.

I barely ate anything today. And when I say I barely ate anything, what I mean is that I ate a lot of crap that's good for me, but that I don't really like...like lettuce. Mmm...lettuce.

So, this is pretty disturbing: my mom keeps talking about how she heard on 60 minutes that people who live in Denmark are the happiest people on Earth. It's not because they have low taxes, either. I think she said they give up something like 50% of their income to taxes! BUT education and heath care are free. That's not the disturbing part, though. The disturbing part is that I repeated this little tidbit to a younger friend of mine (still in high school), to which the friend replied: "Is Denmark in the U.S.?" Oh...my.

I tried watching that show Quarterlife tonight. My mom taped it. We only started watching it because our recording of American Idol was starting to catch up to the live show (you know how you record something, then start watching it before it's done recording?). I watched twenty minutes of it before suggesting that we return to Idol. She was annoyed by that. I said: "I'm not impressed." She said: "Well I guess I'm just not as picky as you." And I said: "I just don't want to waste my life watching shows that suck." And it's true, I don't. Quarterlife is unrealistic. I'm actually in that stage of life and I don't identify with the show or its characters at all. It's a bad chick lit novel in motion--the brooding, politically aware, self-loathing writer who works at the teeny-bopper magazine and whose perky blonde boss steals her brilliant ideas...the gorgeous wannabe actress who masks her insecurity with booze and boys...the girl who loves her boyfriend more than he loves her...the guy who pines for his best friend's girlfriend. Ugh. At least The O.C. didn't take itself so seriously.