RUMS(H)PRINGA!

IT'S STILL COLD

(Whose "home sweet home" are we referencing? Because if it's the any of the Kardashian homes, then I'm not interested in a candle that smells of cocoa butter and tears.)

Here's a little something I thought about today: The smell of cold is way better than the feel of cold. It's still in the forties range every day here in Chicago, and let me tell you something...I CRY ABOUT IT EVERY NIGHT *Scroll down for a fun side note about crying at night* It always hits me this time of year that I am so exhausted with piling on clothes every day before I leave my apartment. I can't lift another finger to put on another circle scarf! I can't do it! But, alas, something I do appreciate about the chill in the air is its welcoming, I want to jar this, sell it to Yankee Candle Co., and make a candle out of it, scent.

Actually, I think Yankee Candle Co. has already beat me to the punch. I remember going over to a girlfriend's house in high school and being befuddled by her "Winter" scented candle. EVERYONE'S WINTER IS DIFFERENT, YANKEE...suburban white people profiling at its finest? Here's the thing though, I could totally bottle up the scent I'm thinking of. I'd call it "Generic Cold". Imagine the possibilities. It doesn't matter where I am in the world, if it's below forty-five degrees some sort of molecular collision occurs in the atmosphere making everything smell like wet wood chips and maybe a tinge of singular pork chop on the grill. Breathe it in next time. Go on, try it. I've never seen the movie "Snow Falling on Cedars", but I can imagine that if we had smellivision, it might smell something like "Generic Cold" (copyright 2012 Molly Rosenberger).

*One night, my really awesome friend Liz and I were at work and she was talking astrology. Here's the thing, she's either talking astrology or talking burritos, AND THAT'S WHY I'VE DUBBED HER "REALLY AWESOME". Our conversation:

                                LIZ
Molly, I bet you're a Pisces.

                                ME
 Hell yeah!!! Duh. I'm ALWAYS somewhere else when I should be right here, ya know? Pisces girl problems.

                                LIZ
Yeah, figures. Pisces cry alone in the dark a lot.

                                ME
...that's not true...it's truuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue.

Admittedly, that dramatic "it's truuuuuuuuuuuuuuue" part was just for the sake of dramatic effect due to being bored at work. I can't even remember the last time I enjoyed a good cry in the dark. However, I have ZERO problems crying in broad daylight. I cried at around three in the afternoon a couple of weeks ago watching the One Tree Hill series finale.

MANNEQUIN, SAY WHAT!

It's no surprise to anyone who knows me, I'm an interior design junkie...or actually, maybe I don't share this with a lot of people, but I DO happen to love interior design. I'll put it in these terms, I'd rather dress a room than dress myself. A popular design site, Design*Sponge, has a feature every week titled "Living In" which takes well known classic films and matches their look and feel with home items, kitschy knick-knacks, and the like. This past week they revisited the 1987 rom-com, Mannequin! Okay, HELLO, this is DEFINITELY no surprise to you if you know me. I'm obsessed with tacky eighties pop culture: the music, the movies, the Ringwald. I dig it all. And Mannequin, oh, it has it all. The last song in the movie is "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" by mutha effing STARSHIP! OKAY?! Plus, Andrew McCarthy is in it. A top eighties dreamboat if I do say so myself...Although, I'm always very uncomfortable during his kissing scenes, as it seems to me his kissing style is like a fish narrowly opening his mouth over and over for food bits? Check me on this. Anyway, Netflix your little heart out on some Mannequin. You can thank me now for exposing you to Meshach Taylor who plays Hollywood. Little did I know when I first saw this movie in my youth that he would be my gateway drug into gay fandom.

Oh, by the way, here's the full article for Living In: Mannequin!

MEAN 2 ME

What am I doing right now? Meh...Well, I'm listening to The National and trying to stave off self-inflicted injuries. You know, the total norm! In my attempts to be resilient and remember all the good that came within the course of the day, my mind automatically took me to this place: Molly (my mind addresses me by name, uh duh), you said some pretty funny things today. And now, Me, Myself, I'm going to type out ONE of the funny things I said (because the thing I said to Liz that was just so hilarious that I couldn't forget about...I forgot about):
                               
                                EMILY
I have to get smaller pants. I guess I'm a twenty five now.
                                ME
Guys, did you know Emily used to be fat and in a sorority?
   
                                EMILY
Shut up! I was my sorority president, though.
                                ME
So, she was the fattest.

This could also be interpreted as very bitchy. I agree, but I said it in my forgiving tone. I'm a woman of MANY tones, and since most of the things I say are bitchy, you'll get my forgiving tone quite a lot. Someone said to me the other day, "If I'm being a bitch to you, then you're cool. It's when I'm super nice to you that we might have a problem," which is my sentiment exactlykindof! It's like how you hear tales of little boys throwing rocks at the heads of little girls that they are fond of. If I'm throwing the proverbial rock at your head then I really, really like you! The metaphorical little boy rocks launched at the heads of little girls might be a bit much. Maybe little boys slap little girls on the forearms? I DON'T KNOW WHAT KIDS ARE INTO THESE DAYS, but what I'm definitely trying to say here is that you want me to throw rocks at your head and slap your forearms. Na night, worrrrld.

NIKI AND THE DOVE- TOMORROW

The battle cry of the Molly republic. This is really really awesome. Swedish music rules ONCE AGAIN!

GIRLS

Judd Apatow and Lena Dunham's new HBO series "Girls" is IT, people. Watching this trailer makes me fancifully believe that someone has been following me around with a hidden camera for the past four years since I moved to New York and now Chicago, logging all my silver lined misfortunes, and they've now turned it into a weekly dramedy. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I totally will when I say that I can one hundred percent relate to being the doubted "self involved" writer with a way more fortunate looking group of girl friends, "unfit for any and all paying jobs" whose life forms into it's own quirky adventure fit for a timeslot on big timey HBO! In a recent interview Dunham says that she wanted the show to resemble "My So Called Life if Gilda Radner was in it," so basically this show has any and ALL of my immediate attention. Thank you, Lena Dunham for listening to my secret inside mind prayers. Let's get this show on the road. Sunday. This is my Superbowl.

"I think I may be the voice of my generation...Or at least a voice...of a generation."

WEEK OF THE BANGS

It's been one week...one week since I've gotten BANGS. Is it a coincidence that this has been the most fun week of my life in a long long while? Me thinks not. Once you go bangarang you never go bangerback. That's DEFINITELY what she said, y'all.
Three of my very best best heart friends came to visit this week. It felt right to have the homies back together. I even cried out of sheer friendpreciation at one point while David was driving me back to my apartment. The conversation went a little something like this:

                                 DAVID
So, Mike says he wants to take us all out to dinner tomorrow night.

                                 ME
What?
                                 DAVID
He didn't tell you? Yeah, to a really nice steak house.

                                 ME
                        (crying)
What?

                                DAVID
Are you crying?

                                ME
Maybe...that's so nice. Oh man, that's SO NICE. Nobody ever takes care of me.

                                DAVID
Well, you're supposed to take care of yourself.

                                ME
I ALWAYS TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. It's just nice to be taken care of sometimes.

Okay, okay. That's pretty much exactly how that went. I get so emotional, babyyyy. I hope some of you can relate to my essential breakdown, though. I know a lot of people in this world that go it alone, fend for themselves, and make it work each day. I am not ashamed to say that it can get excruciatingly exhausting at points. You'll know you've reached this point when slumping over on the bus listening to your John Mayer pandora station and you don't even bother to change the song when "Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls comes on. YOU'RE JUST THAT TIRED. Fuck it.

I just had to step away after that paragraph to remember what my point was for writing this. I came up with the fact that I wasn't writing this for any particular reason, but then I thought of something...As much as one likes to be alone watching Weeds reruns, eating Lean Cuisines, and constantly questioning why finger picking on the guitar is so effing hard, it's also sometimes important to surround yourself with people who make you feel good. This week I reluctantly gave into the reality that "I get by with a little help from my friends"...BUT ONLY A LITTLE HELP 'cause you KNOW I got this life on lock down otherwise. I also have a fantastic new set of bangs.