Don't fight with your partner around your friends

This article in the New York Times last week was about a very annoying couple who fight on Facebook so that their friends can get involved and "can kind of comment on" their disputes. Thank God, I don't know this couple, and I really have no idea how they still have friends, but way too many times I've had that awkward moment around a couple where they're having a fight, and I'm just trying to find a way to hide in the playroom with their kid. So people, please, don't fight with your partner around your friends.

Look, I'm not talking about friendly bickering about whose turn it is to change the baby's dipaer or about where we should all go out for dinner tonight, I'm talking about those conversations that clearly have that "I'm pissed" edge to them. Where most of the time what you say is pretending to be friendly, but you both have that undercurrent of anger, and then start saying things that I don't really understand, but have a second meaning. And then, of course, there are those actual fights where someone might start yelling, or slamming doors. If you need to do that, and you know, sometimes we all do, for goodness sake do it in private, or at least just with your children around (you'll pay for their therapy). But if your friends are around, we start to feel like we're in the middle of an old episode of Jon and Kate Plus Eight, before Jon became as big of a douche as he is now, and before Kate got new extensions and white teeth and started attempting to dance on national television.

Those kinds of situations are totally awkward and difficult for your friends, I'm telling you this right now. None of us want to get in the middle, and the worst possible scenario is for one of you to turn to me and say "Brownie, you agree with me, right?" Please please, don't ever do that. Because whether I agree with you or not, I am SO not going to volunteer my opinion at that point, and just get one of you even madder, and mad at ME to boot. And honestly, at that point, I've probably just started chanting my mantra in my head so that I can't hear any of the conversation anymore, so I would have no idea what I am agreeing to.

The thing is, if your friends are hanging out with the two of you together, it's often because they are either still getting to know one member of the couple, or it's because they genuinely like you as a couple, and they like being around both of you. In either situation, being in the middle of a couple fight is the worst. For the former, it gives your friends a bad opinion of your new girlfriend or boyfriend, or just a bad opinion of the way that the two of you interact, and that will just make any future outings even more uncomfortable. And for the latter, it's like watching Mom and Dad fight, and no one likes to do that, okay? Yes, maybe it's clear that I'm the child of divorced parents, but reliving those moments of childhood is not a good way to spend a Saturday night out with friends.

And really, we just do not care if you opened that bottle of wine that he'd been saving (unless we get to drink some of it), or if he's going to play golf instead of going on a bike ride with your kid, or if she farted in the middle of the night and woke you up. And really, we just do not want to know! We know that some of this has to do with someone's irritation about your sex life, or who works too much or not enough, or some fight about money that you had, but that is so none of our business.

And I'm not asking you to be fake, or super polite to each other all the time. One of my friends and her husband bicker at a low level all the time, but there's no animosity there, and it's just the way their relationship has always been, so I just find it entertaining and not awkward at all. And seriously, if you're a new parent, all bets are off, because we all know that neither of you have been sleeping and you're both hungry and stressed and overwhelmed on top of the sleep deprivation, so if you need to fight, do it, and I'll just go into the kitchen and make you a pie. But those are special exceptions.

So the next time you are having a dinner party and your wife breaks a glass and you want to make a snarky remark about how maybe she feels like she can break things all of the time but you know how much they cost, and then your wife says that well, since she makes more money than you, she can afford to buy some damn new wineglasses sometimes, please just stop, think about how all of your dinner guests would immediately want to hide under the table, and don't do it.

Don't Be Afraid To Compliment A Stranger

(Image of Purdue's Compliment Guys.)

A couple of weeks ago, I went into Starbucks after spending the morning in court (for work) before going to the office. Court had been frustrating, it was cold and windy outside, and I was feeling especially blah. However, I was wearing my very awesome Proenza Schouler for Target coat from a couple of years ago, which almost always lifts my spirits a little bit, and had on an equally fun H&M scarf. When the barista asked me my name to put on my coffee, he hollered it to his coworkers, then turned to me and said, "Roxy! You look fantastic! That coat and the scarf look great with your coloring, and especially your hair." As windblown and chilled as I was, and as little as I was looking forward to the next eight hours, his comment - genuine and not a come-on - absolutely made my day.

It can sometimes be difficult to know how to take a compliment. They can feel backhanded or like they come with an ulterior motive. You can feel like you've fished for it or like it's rooted in guilt. But when it comes from a stranger? It almost always is void of all that history or subtext, and is just a truly genuine piece of positive feedback.

Yes, there are compliments from strangers that are less welcome. If you're hollering out your car window at me, I'm more likely to throw a rude gesture your way than I am to smile and say thanks. (Sidebar: Has that EVER gotten anyone a date? Why are guys still attempting that "Hey Baby Hey Baby!" nonsense? "Nice tits," while true, is not exactly tops on our list of things to hear from some random dude.) And if I hear "Smile! You're so pretty!" one more time, I might just lose it once and for all.

But if someone says they love my jeans? I'll happily have a five minute conversation about my favorite brand (Joe's), my favorite place to find them (eBay or various consignment shops in town), and walk away feeling miles better. Brownie had a similar experience recently, when she was having a great hair day and had that validated by someone she had never met. And Daisy has one of my favorite stories, involving a cool t-shirt, Trader Joe's, and a guy saying, "Oh, stay right there! I want to show my wife your shirt! It's great!"

While we've explained in plain terms how not to be an asshole in public, we also think it's important to be actively nice to people. So many of us are wandering around in our own little worlds, plugged into our iPods and smartphones, and I'm just as guilty of that as anyone. But that doesn't mean its good. Sure, it keeps you from having to have conversations with the crazy person next to you on the bus, but it can also keep you from connecting. And it keeps other people from sharing how cute they think your shoes are or lending you their extra umbrella on a rainy day or just generally making you feel good. And while it can be scary to talk to strangers, it can also mean more to them than you realize. So the next time you see someone with great earrings or the perfect haircut or just a generally sunny and delightful disposition, but you're hesitant to share your thoughts with them? Just stop, think about how nice it is when someone says something nice to you, and don't be afraid to compliment a stranger.

Don't Blame Yourself For a Bad Date

I am a bad date expert. I didn't date much in college, so when I graduated and became a single girl in the city, I vowed to go on any date that presented itself to me. And I did. And it was ridiculous.

There was the guy who told me he could only be with someone who was okay with the fact that he occasionally didn't contact anyone for weeks at a time, the guy who insisted on driving and then got us lost, the guy who turned out to have a daughter my age (I didn't think he was that old; he didn't think I was that young.), the guy whose favorite movie was Notting Hill (Okay, that one was my fault. I thought he was joking and laughed at him. Oops.), and the guy who thought The Rainforest Cafe was a romantic dinner spot. My favorite, though, was the date that went fine, with the guy asking me out again at the end, then emailing me two days later to say he'd thought about it some more and decided we shouldn't get together again. I would still like to find that guy and punch him.

I also went on a bunch of dates with perfectly nice men who were clearly bored by me and whom I thought were dull as dishwater. I would get home from those dates and wonder what the heck was wrong with me that I had gone out with half the city of Boston and couldn't find one guy who was interested or interesting. At first I thought I must be a defective dater. I worried that I was doomed to lose out on the love of my life because of my inability get beyond stilted small talk about my crappy job and the Red Sox.

But around the middle of my mediocre date odyssey, I noticed something. Quite often, the guys across the table from me had a restless look in their eyes that mirrored my feelings of constant, low-grade dating panic. I realized that they were probably sitting there with an internal monologue that was the guy version of my inner voice, sounding something like this: She seems nice. But not great. But there's nothing wrong with her. But we're not really hitting it off. Man, this date is boring. She's boring. Or maybe I'm boring? Am I boring? Why doesn't she like me? Wait, I don't like her. But there's nothing wrong with her. This is not a good date. None of my dates are good dates. I'm going to die alone. (You might think men don't worry about dying alone. This is not true. It was a serious fear for a few of my guy friends, especially when we were in our early 20s and they subsisted entirely on frozen pizzas. They worried that all the cheap cheese was going to shorten their lifespans to the point where they wouldn't have time to date and marry anyone before the inevitable heart attack.)

The fact of the matter is, unless you do something ridiculous like get drunk and belligerent or say something insulting, bad dates are not your fault. You could be the most charming, witty, fascinating person on earth, and the person across from you could be well-read, intelligent, and committed to saving the whales, but if your interests and personalities don't complement each other in just the right way, sparks aren't going to fly. It has absolutely nothing to do with you or with your date for that matter. If getting along with someone nice and decent-looking was all it took to make a relationship work, I'd be married to the kid I took to my freshman formal.

Instead I dated and dated until I went out with a guy who started talking my ear off thirty seconds after we met. Yet instead of going dull dull dull my inner voice supplied, what a weirdo. And you know what? Thank god I had been on enough crappy dates to realize that what a weirdo was a good reaction. I was intrigued instead of bored! I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to plumb the depths of this man's oddness over two hours worth of small talk, and I was delighted by this fact.

Seven years later, I still think he's a weirdo. But he's my weirdo. And he's got even more bad date stories than I do. (A girl once bit him. And not in the fun way.) So despite how it might feel while you're poking at your pad thai and listening to a nice guy tell you about a hobby in which you have zero interest, sometimes all the bad dates are worth it for just one good one.

Don't tell me to calm down

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a naturally exuberant person. When I get excited, I get EXCITED. Twice in grad school when good friends of mine got great jobs, I started shrieking and jumping up and down with them in public, making everyone around us turn and stare, and you know, those memories make me smile. When I talk about something that I care about a lot, whether it's politics, or the most recent episode of Project Runway, or how ugly these shoes are, I get animated. So please, do not tell me to calm down.

What is the fun of life if you are all muted and low key about everything? Why do people love Gus Johnson's sports calls so much? Because he doesn't try to play it cool and pretend that he's not thrilled, he lets it all out. What's more enjoyable: telling a friend that you're pregnant, and having her give you a big yay and a hug, or having her say "Oh, isn't that nice?" ? I think that you know the answer to that. If you're having an intense discussion about politics or reality TV or Brett Favre, it is fine to punctuate your statements with a slightly raised voice, as long as you aren't actually yelling or calling someone a fascist. Telling me to calm down just implies that I'm getting excited about nothing, and that's just condescending and a buzz kill.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not that person who goes around shouting in a library, or even in a Starbucks. Attention whores irritate me as much as anyone else, and I glare daggers at those people carrying on loud cell phone conversations on public transportation. See, I know that my voice is naturally too loud for any conversations like that other than "I'll be there in five minutes, okay bye!" Isn't that why texting was invented? And if I ever am disturbing anyone in a place where quiet should reign, I am happy to leave or quiet down.

But if I am laughing really hard at a comedy show, or chattering delightedly in a park, or yelling "RUN, RUN, RUN" at a sporting event (or, to be fair, at my television while a sporting event is on), there is no reason for me to calm down. Dancing when you make a mid field tackle is annoying, but you know what? Dancing when you score a touchdown is just fine. Sure, sometimes it's good to act like you've been there before, but it's also fun to show that it matters to you that you got there in the first place. If I want to be excited, if I want to be pissed, if I want to cry from laughter, then I will. If someone thinks that I'm making a big deal out of nothing, then they can go on and think that. But don't ruin the moment for me, and make yourself sound like a superior ass, and tell me to calm down.

So the next time that your friend is ranting about college hockey, or the Supreme Court's campaign finance decision, or last night's America's Next Top Model, and you want to tell them to calm down, just stop, think about the last time you got enthused about something and how fun it was, and don't do it.

The What-Day-Is-It? Quickies: Food Edition

The weekly links round up, on the day Daisy really thought was Tuesday.

Don't eat nails:
A Varied Diet (Mind Hacks)

Don't think too much about what this resembles, you dirty birds:
Banana Bunker

Don't put too much stock into these results (although Daisy does in fact have "a large network of loyal friends and admirers"):
What Does Your Favorite Girl Scout Cookie Say About You? (Shine)

Don't give this name to your restaurant:
Oh, we'll let you be surprised (Roger Ebert's Twitter)

Don't try to write with cheese or eat fonts:
Cheese or Font?

Not that we think you would, but don't launch a bacon rocket in your back yard:
Yeah, we said "bacon rocket" (Rather Good)

Good lord, don't eat this:
Pizzacone (Thrillist)

Don't tell guests what this place used to be:
Barbecue Joint Proposed for Former Restroom (Boston Restaurant Talk)

Don't eat school lunches every day unless it's for a noble experiment:
Fed Up: The School Lunch Project

Don't make breast milk cheese; we hear it tastes terrible:
Klee’s Daniel Angerer Invites You to Taste His Wife’s Breast-Milk Cheese (Grub Street New York)

Don't Be Afraid of the Gym

(Image from this fantastic post about women and weight training. Go read it. I'll wait.)

Way back in January, when I reminded you not to wear makeup to the gym, I mentioned that there was an entire post that could be written about not being scared of the gym. This is that post.

Disclaimer: I am not a jock. Not even a little bit. I attempted team sports at a few brief junctures in my life - once on a park-run softball team in elementary school, a tiny bit of volleyball in high school (and intramurals in college, which was a total joke) and...that's about it. My lack of hand-eye coordination is still a running joke in my family, and while fifteen years worth of modern dance should have given me some level of agility, I was enough of a klutz that my nickname at camp (orchestra camp - I told you I wasn't a jock) was "Grace." I had to take three gym classes in college - I chose ballet (lots of relaxation), badminton (which I played with my cousins as a kid) and tennis (which I SUCKED at, but had watched my entire life, and since the grade was based solely on attendance and the written final, I aced it - pun intended.) I failed gym my freshman year in high school because I refused to do anything beyond walk around the track and sit on the bleachers with the cute rebel boy who taught me how to smoke and I managed to get gym credits out of doing high school pep band (have I convinced you of my dorkiness yet?). I have mild PTSD related to the ever-popular Presidential Physical Fitness Test - while I rocked the V-sit Reach and the Shuttle Run, the memory of hanging in front of my entire 7th grade gym class, unable to do even one pull up, still gives me nervous butterflies. And let us not even speak of the Mile Run.

I give you this history, so you don't think think that the girl who always looked great in phy ed, never got hit in the face with a volleyball or lost her shoe in kickball, and went jogging on a regular basis even as a teenager is now sitting behind her computer, lecturing you about how fanTAStic it is to work out at the gym. I am not that girl. At all.

In January, I told you all about how I had a gym membership for over two years before I had the nerve to actually run on the treadmill. Besides the fact that I hadn't actually run in the ten years since I'd spent a week on the high school track team (I still can't quite explain why I thought that would be a good idea - maybe it was my dominance at the Shuttle Run), I was terrified of a couple of things. First, I was afraid that I was going to start running and not be able to sustain it for more than a few seconds. Secondly, I was convinced that, since I wouldn't be able to run for very long, I would stumble and fly off the back. That makes an excellent YouTube clip - for everyone else - but it makes for pain, suffering and emotional distress for yours truly. So for over two years, I walked. I walked FAST, mind, but I walked. I walked and I walked and I walked and while walking is good for you, and a great place to start if you haven't been active in a while, after that length of time I got frustrated with myself. Eventually, I ran across the Couch to 5K program, which starts you out with running at 30-second intervals, so I took some deep breaths, and pumped up the speed. And guess what? I didn't fall down. I don't like running today any more than I did then, but I know that I can do it, and that feels fantastic.

What about those weight machines? Those are indimidating, I am not going to argue with you. Adjusting the seats, adjusting the weights, keeping track of your reps...it could all be enough to keep you confined to the safety of the treadmill or elliptical or stationary bike. But here's a hint. Most gyms have a free session with a trainer, who will walk through the machines with you, show you how to adjust them, find the range of motion that works for you, and so on. And if you're really lucky, your gym has Fitlinxx or a similar system, which will count your reps and keep track of the current weight and range of motion for you - because I don't know about you, but when I'm rocking out to whatever terrible music has just popped on my iPod, it is nearly impossible for me to count. If trainers are scary for you, try to remember - this is their job and they are there for you. They want you to be successful, and don't you want to be successful too?

But then there's those fitness classes and the mind-numbing terror of Other People. Yoga, weightlifting, step, Zumba, bellydancing, spin...they all sound awesome in theory, don't they? But it's scary to walk in and see the girls in their fancy Lululemon yoga pants, or getting reading to do belly dance in a sports bra and leggings. Especially if its your first class, it's easy to talk yourself into the thought that everyone else knows what's going on, that you're wearing the wrong thing, that you're taking up too much space or you're going to trip over yourself or - worse - someone else. You know what, though? I'd bet you good money - or, okay, five bucks - that 98% of the people in that class feel the same way and the Lululemon gear is just their version of (fancy) armor. And if they don't feel that way today, they did once.

I've been going to the same Zumba class for almost a year now, so I'm usually pretty relaxed there. I know the instructor, a lot of the steps, the flow of the hour, and some of the other folks in the class with me - if not their names, then definitely their faces. But that doesn't mean that it wasn't completely scary the first time I went, because oh wow, it really was. My husband had to practically shove me into the room. And it was also scary when, after I'd been out for a while with an injury, I found out the instructor had also gotten hurt and had to cut way back on the number of classes she was teaching. So suddenly I went from a Tuesday post-work class to a Friday lunchtime class and that's a whole OTHER set of new people and a whole other routine in my day and you know what? It ended up being even better than the original time. Now, my extra-long Friday lunch is my treat at the end of the week, and if you'd told me a year ago that my end-of-the-week reward would involve sweating, I would have probably called to have you committed.

I know, believe me. Going to the gym can give you totally paralyzing middle school panic. You can convince yourself that everyone in the locker room thinks like this chick, that the skinnier pople are judging you, and on and on. And hey, if you do a class or a free trial someplace that you aren't comfortable? That's fine! Don't go back! But also, don't write it off five minutes after you walk in, and don't let your own set of issues - which we all have - deter you from something that could be really great. Give it a little bit of time and try to get comfortable. Do more than one class, more than one day of circuit training on the machines. You don't have to become best friends with that girl in the sports bra, but don't assume that you know what she's thinking, either. The next time you start to talk yourself out of that amazing-sounding adult ballet class, just stop, think about how everything you love had to be done a first time, and don't miss out.

Don't Feel Guilty, Moms

Before I had my daughter, my entire family took great pains to inform me of all the ways in which it was HORRIFICALLY DIFFICULT to care for an infant. So I was prepared for motherhood to be a gauntlet of Herculean proportions. Then I actually had the baby. I spent two months waiting to feel overwhelmed, then decided my family had either been brilliantly using reverse psychology or just messing with my head, because while it has its low points, being a mom is actually pretty awesome.

You know what I wasn't prepared for, though? The guilt. I grew up Catholic, so I'm well aquainted with feeling bad about, well, everything. But mom-guilt is different from regular guilt in that it sneaks up on you. I'll be going along, feeling totally competent because I haven't forgotten to bathe her recently or dropped her on her head, and then suddenly I'll get whomped.

The two child development newsletters I get weekly are the worst culprits. I felt all pleased with myself for successfully breastfeeding my daughter until I came upon this one week: "Is it okay to nurse my baby with the TV on? Spending time with your baby nursing or feeding is precious one-on-one time. It's biologically designed to foster attachment and bonding because of your physical closeness, cooing, cuddling, and most of all, eye contact. I would discourage watching television because it dilutes this time by taking away your attention and eye contact."

Well crap, not only did I usually have the TV on while breastfeeding, I also generally checked my email and websurfed at the same time. Because I have ADD am a multitasker. Clearly I was ruining the baby.

Here's the thing: logically I knew that, in my case, that advice was bullshit. My daughter thinks eye contact while she's nursing is for pussies. In fact, whenever I try to lock eyes with her, she throws her arm up over her face to better concentrate on nothing but eating. Jeez kid, don't you know the experts say we're supposed to be bonding? Nevermind that I'm pretty sure the only way we could be any more bonded is if we could actually read each other's minds.

But there's nothing logical about mom-guilt, unfortunately, and I spent a day after reading that feeling like a complete failure. The same thing happened when I read that I wasn't supposed to leave her in her swing for more than a half an hour at a time (I'd been leaving her in for as long as she seemed happy) and when I gave up and finally let her watch television with me because I didn't want to miss the Olympic men's figure skating.

Then there's the free floating guilt that I'm doing something wrong that I don't even know about. As I told my mother in a fit of confessional insanity, I worry that I don't give her enough attention. I worry that I give her too much attention. I worry that I'm over-protective. I worry that I'm too lax. I worry that I'm not playing her enough classical music. I worry that I'll make her too much of a geek. I worry that I'm not patient enough with her. I worry that I spoil her. Deep breath. There's much more, but I'll spare you.

My mother, who is whatever is the opposite of introspective (outrospective?) said, "Look at her. She's healthy and happy. Why the heck are you wasting time worrying?"

And then, lord help me, I felt guilty for spending the precious moments of her babyhood feeling guilty. Luckily, my mother had another point, which was that she didn't get any of the crapload of advice that mothers today get, and somehow my siblings and I all ended up fully-functioning members of society. And we did all sorts of things that are considered verboten today: watched lots of TV, played with toys that were completely non-educational and probably pointy, were frequently out of my mother's sight, and did ridiculous things like eat mud and fall from dangerous heights. Heck, I fell down a set of stairs when I was two. My mom found me at the bottom of the staircase without a scratch on me. (She didn't have the baby gates up on the stairs yet because she didn't know I could climb them, thus setting up two reoccurring themes in my life: quick learning and falling on my ass.)

So, yeah, thinking about how the last generation managed to get us all to adulthood while of doing things "wrong" helps to alleviate the guilt some, but I've developed an even more extreme form of visualization. I imagine life as a hunter-gatherer mom or a pioneer mother, where success was making it through the day without the kid getting eaten by a mountain lion or catching consumption. And whenever I feel a guilt-attack coming on, I cut myself off and list things I'm thankful we have: vaccinations, a heated home, agriculture.

Does remembering that humanity made it through thousands of generations without worrying about screwing up their kids' development make me feel better? Not always, no. But it helps. So moms: the next time you're entering a shame spiral because you fed the kid non-organic applesauce, just stop, think about how blessed you are to even be able to worry about the type of applesauce your baby gets, and don't beat yourself up.

Don't Make Fun of Reality TV

Last night I got home late, to a full TiVo. While checking my email and getting ready for bed, I had time to watch one of the shows recorded over the last few days. Did I watch Modern Family, a new comedy getting lots of critical buzz? Did I watch the new Mercy, which is actually a pretty good new hospital drama (Dawson is on now, and he's surprisingly hilarious!)? Did I watch last week's Community, which everyone tells me was really funny? No. I watched last night's American Idol, and I do not regret my choice. I adore a lot of great scripted TV shows, but I love a lot of reality TV shows too, so please don't try to tell me that all reality TV sucks.

We here at Don't Do That are of the firm belief that TV should be fun. Yes, I'm sure your totally depressing show is gritty and fascinating and educational and blah blah, but is it enjoyable? Do you smile? Do you laugh? No? Well, then, it's not for me. Do you know what is fun and makes me laugh? Lots of reality TV, that's what. Any genre that gives me all of the laughs of the Four Four recaps of America's Next Top Model (the show title is a lie, but who cares?), this list of fantastic reality show judges by the Fug Girls, "My ox is broken!", Santino's imitation of Tim Gunn and Andrae going to Red Lobster (and really, any of Santino's Tim Gunn impersonations), multiple "I'm not here to make friends" montages, and the many amazing faces of Nina Garcia is a genre that I'm going to love. And if those things don't make you laugh, I'm so sorry that you have no joy in your life.

Even more, reality TV can be fascinating and educational. Did you see Hung break down those chickens on Top Chef? Or that gorgeous dress made out of sandpaper on last week's Project Runway? Or make vacation plans to some gorgeous looking country that you knew nothing about after seeing it on The Amazing Race? Because we all did.

Another great benefit of reality TV is that they're fun to talk about, and many of them are great for a range of ages and interests. My boss and I bond over reality TV all the time -- she watches way more than I do, and can't wait to discuss the most recent episode of Dancing with the Stars with me in the mornings. One reason that I started watching American Idol again, after swearing off the show for a few years, is that I can have in depth discussions about it with both my nine year old cousin (who makes himself a little chart every night while watching Idol to see how people did and who he wants to vote for, it's kind of adorable), and my 79 year old grandmother. And it's always delightful when you know someone who knows someone who is on a show; I was very excited when I discovered that a girl who was the flower girl in a wedding that I was in in 2000 made it to Hollywood week on this year's Idol, and told everyone I knew (she didn't make it to the top 24, sadly).

But but but, reality TV created Tila Tequila! Yeah sure, there are lots and lots of super trashy reality shows. But you know what? There are a lot of really bad scripted shows too. According to Jim was on the air for way too many seasons, and The Ghost Whisperer and Two and a Half Men are both still on, along with many other really bad shows with awful actors. And reality TV also brought us Tim Gunn and Phil Keoghan, so I'll happily take the bad with the good.

So the next time that you're about to roll your eyes when two of your friends start discussing the latest episode of Big Brother in depth, just stop, think about how the "motherf**ing walk off!" is one of the best things that has ever come to television, and don't do it.

Yes, Do That: Gabby Sidibe Edition

Full disclosure: This post has been in the topics queue since the very beginning. We here at Don't Do That have been nursing tremendous girlcrushes on Gabourey Sidibe for months, eating up every soundbite and giggly interview she's done throughout this awards season, while picking up accolade after award after prize for her performance in Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire. And now that we've gotten through the Oscars and the awards overdose, today we are going to quit lecturing for a minute and simply tell you: Yes. Do Be As Awesome As Gabby Sidibe.

"I don't think my brand of confidence can come from an outside source. I have to find it in myself. I have two little sisters who are 13 and they're just at that age where they're about to hate themselves. I do it for them. They think I'm pretty, and I want them to think they're pretty." (Link)

By now, you probably know the story. Gabby, a New Yorker who was studying psychology and working as a receptionist, skipped class on a Monday and decided to go to an audition. By Wendesday, Lee Daniels had offered her the lead in his movie. What has followed is a whirlwind of fast fame - print interviews, photo shoots, TV appearances - for a woman who is far outside the Hollywood Box, and through it all she has maintained a demeanor that can only be described as delightful.

"This time (in her next film), I get to make out with a boy. I know that because I wrote it into the script." (Link)

First of all, she is a self-admitted geek, who nurses giant crushes on boy band stars from the 90s. When she had to "Earn Her Plug" on Leno, he asked her what she was going to do. Gabby's answer? "I'm going to be awesome at *N Sync trivia." And awesome she was, even after an appearance by a Very Special Guest got her flustered. In other boy band silliness, the highlight of the Golden Globe nominations for her was that "Justin Timberlake just said my name!". ("... it's like the nomination is That's How I Roll from Cold Stone Creamery and Justin saying my name is like cherries on top of That's How I Roll from Cold Stone Creamery.") She dropped hints that she wouldn't say no to a cage match featuring Anthony Mackie (of The Hurt Locker) and Justin Timberlake, with the winner being her date to the Oscars, and once she decided to take her mom to the ceremony (her new boyfriend "hasn't earned the Oscar ticket"), she suggested that Justin meet her at Red Lobster afterwards.

"My mom has a crush on Steve Martin, and we used to watch The Jerk pretty much every day. And so I'm really excited that this show will be hosted by Jack Donaghy and the Jerk." (Link)

This is a woman who is absolutely confident in herself. When Chris Rock grabbed her ass at the NAACP Image Awards - pissing off her father in the process - she laughingly smacked his hands and responded by saying, "Some dudes gotta have it – it’s my own fault for being too damn fine." Lee Daniels told an interviewer that she is "unequivocally comfortable in her body . . . I had no doubt that she had four or five boyfriends, easily." Her response was "cackling" - "It's a gross underestimate." Sunday night, after telling a reporter that she thinks Gerard Butler is hot and she would totally hit that, he popped up behind her and shook her hand. Instead of getting embarrassed, Gabby told him, "I kinda said, 'I'd hit that.' I'm not ashamed. I'd hit that. I'm sorry." Gerard replied: "I'm here, I'm available. Let's go!" and Gabby responded: "Let's grab a bottle of champagne and see where the night goes." And at this point we've all heard her comment about her Oscars dress that left Ryan Seacrest - SEACREST - speechless, right?

"Just because our president is black doesn't mean our struggle stops. The Obama family is something for us to aspire to, but a lot of us aren't going to get there." Is Precious going to get there? "Precious's story is a fiction," says Sidibe, "but it's also a truth. There are lots of Preciouses out there and not all of them are as lucky as her. She has a light of hope in her that we see in the film even when she's in the heart of darkness. Others may not be so lucky. But who knows if she's going to get out of her world. We hope she will, though, don't we?" (Link)

The first thing that pops into Gabby's head when asked about the perks of fame is free shots. She has opinions on face tattoos. The day she got nominated for an Oscar, her mom texted her and asked her to act like a serious 26-year-old. She used to be a bully to the boys in her class, she wanted to be a comedian (she thinks she peaked too early), and she does a killer impression of...well, herself. She tells hilarious stories about meeting the biggest star on the planet, she and her roommate choreograph dance routines JUST IN CASE they end up on Ellen, she hangs with Johnny Weir (please do not read the comments there - they are not awesome), and she's fabulous enough to prompt Conan O'Brien to say that she's his favorite guest ever.

"People trip over themselves to tell me I'm beautiful. It's cute. It's cute, but I'm not buying it. I'm beautiful now because you can buy a ticket to see me on a screen? I was beautiful before."(Link)

But more than just silly and giggly, Gabourey is also thoughtful and articulate. She's working in an industry where she doesn't fit, and the role she plays is one of great horror and heartbreak. She spent the first few weeks and months after the release of the film having to deal with people confusing her with her character. "I've seriously got people saying to me: 'Are your children OK now?' And not just from ordinary people, but from people who've been in the movie business 20 or 30 years." In talking about Precious, the girl, she says, "It's like she's fat. Well fucking A. She's already having a hard life. So what, if she was skinny, would this story be any the less heartfelt or daunting. I think it's funny that people are like 'on top of that...' but that's not the story. That's not the point." It's a part of the film, and of Gabby, that cannot be overlooked, though, and her weight comes up in nearly every interview she's done. "Over time,” she's said, "I’ve worked out that nobody else lives in my body, nobody else has to live my life, except for me. I’m the only one in charge of whether I’m happy or sad." Something tells me that that could be a lesson for all of us.

"If you look at Precious and all you see is someone who is overweight and dark-skinned, you're missing the point. Just like if you look at me and all you see is someone who is overweight and dark-skinned. You've missed the point. You've missed me." (Link)

So what's next for this completely adorable and charming Every-girl? She's just finished filming a movie - in which she plays the bully - and guest stars in the pilot for Showtime's The Big C, starring Laura Linney. (She's also made no secret of her admiration for such female comedians as Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, and Jesse Tyler Ferguson would love to have her on Modern Family.) She's found a legion of fans by being absolutely herself and by clearly enjoying every moment she's had in the spotlight. (And, really, she should call us and give us the scoop on Sunday night, because you just know she's got good stories and would be more than willing to share them over a bottle of wine.) Even if she eventually goes on to finish school and be a psychologist, there's no doubt that she's left an indelible mark in an industry usually defined by artifice and conformity. So the next time you forget to be confident in who you are and what you can do, just stop, think, and take a page from the Gabby Playbook:

"The press paints the picture that I got this role and now I'm awesome. But the truth is that I've been awesome and then I got this role."

Tuesday Monday Quickies: Oscar Hangover Edition

Special Monday Quickies this week because our Oscar parties kicked our asses.

Don't rush the stage, lady:
The story behind Oscar's "Kanye moment" (Salon)

Don't forget to ask who they're wearing! We're not watching for your sparkling wit, Seacrest:
Designed by whom? Often it was a guess. (NY Times)

Don't mistake "shamelessness" for a positive personality trait, Giuliana Rancic:
For E!'s veteran hostess, the occasional trainwreck is no setback. (Washington Post)

Don't you love Meryl Streep's gown?
Meryl Streep in Chris March at the Oscars (Tom and Lorenzo)

Don't you also love George Clooney?
George Clooney: The nicest guy at the Oscars (Steve Garfield)

Don't forget your wallet; the Oscars are cash bar:
Oscar bar menu (Neil Gaiman)

Don't get yourself banned from the Oscars. You'll have to make your acceptance speech on your lawn:
Hurt Locker producer Chartier speaks in Malibu

Don't file dumb lawsuits:
A lawsuit for Hurt Locker in time for Oscars (Carpetbagger)

Don't blame the rest of the Hurt Locker guys for drinking mimosas. It was 4:30 a.m.:
post-Oscar interview (Today Show)

Don't skin a muppet to make your train, Zoe:
Red carpet hits and misses (NY Mag)