Rebecca A. Foster

I am more prone to laugh at others quoting movie dialogue than quote it myself because A: most movies I can quote correctly no one else recognizes and B: the ones they do know I get the words wrong and then get corrected, which ruins the moment. I find that movie quoters are like mathematicians, you get one part wrong, the whole thing is null and void. Whatever, I'm an English major, as long as I got the general idea right, suck it up. But this movie dialogue is so simple, direct and accurate, it deserves to be quoted often: "I mean, there's been all these bloody hints and stuff, but has he ever actually stuck his tongue down your throat?" "No, not once." Exactly. (from Bridget Jones' Diary )

I won't lie to you: sometimes I dream I'm shoe shopping and find the perfect shoes and wake up disappointed it was only a dream. I don't know if the shoes are symbolic of my hopes and dreams, or symbolic of my inner shallow depths, meaning, not symbolic at all and I just really like shoes. When I saw this pair by Christian Louboutin, they brought to mind the cliche "You don't flirt when a guy looks good, you flirt when YOU look good. " I'm sure I'd allow all sorts of liberties while wearing these shoes because I'd feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. I'd be thinking, how could this guy NOT want to flirt with me? Look at my shoes! (Yeah, I know most guys aren't really into women's shoes. But it might get you someplace flirty so just play along.) Obviously, should be worn with a subtle dress. Just like cleavage or legs but not both, well made-up eyes or lips but not both, these shoes take center stage. Good thing, too, I'...

Find me a woman who doesn't care if anyone finds her pretty, and I would like to find out how she does that. Despite everything I tell myself about my other accomplishments, I do care. Not about everyone, because no one is attractive to everyone. But someone? It feels good to know someone thinks you're pretty. I admit it. But how good should it feel? This isn't going to be a treatise or examination of modern cultural mores regarding female beauty. Suffice it to say: there is pressure for women today to have a perfect body. I don't. I hate the slight jiggle of my upper arms. I hate the curve of my abdomen. But then I hate the way the bottom of my rib cage sticks out when I lose too much weight and looks like a second chest. My butt is bigger than the norm and it's discouraging to go shopping and the button won't close because the pants aren't cut to accommodate a Spanish booty. It's embarrassing to walk past a storefront window or freezer case at the ...

A couple of random things: 1. Online shopping. Because when you order something it's like giving yourself a gift twice: when you order it, and when the box arrives on your doorstep. Sometimes I order things and then forget about it, so it's really a surprise. Even when what you've ordered is for someone else, still fun to get a package. Two things I don't order online, though: shoes and jeans. You gotta know those puppies fit. 2. Canned cranberry sauce. I put away a whole can yesterday. So good layered atop mashed potatoes and stuffing. I like cutting it along the lines, too. Much more fun than fresh. 3. John Krasinski, cover boy. I don't usually find really tall guys attractive, because, duh you can't reach 'em, but loving those arms and hands. And how cute are those big eyes? Those eyes would actually want to hear how your day went. I'd just hope he were sitting down so I could react appropriately.

I don't wear a watch. I just figure out in my head what time it is. I can even take a nap and tell myself to wake up at a certain time, and I do. But knowing what day I'm on? Sometimes takes a few tries. Days seem to sneak up on me and then fly right by. So an easily accessible calendar, especially at work, is a must-have*. As always, I had several options for the new year: Girls In Bikinis Should I get a calendar that forces me to stare at well-lit, well-toned and well-enhanced women all year as a way to motivate myself to eat fewer nachos and make my work-outs at the gym last just a bit longer? Maybe it could work. But really, using a bikini calendar as a realistic indicator of progress only works if I also have an air-brushing and lighting guy following me around all day. So, maybe not. (Side note: you know how in movies when the hero is about to seduce the heroine, the lighting turns all soft and flattering? Yeah, that should happen in real life too.) Kitten s an d Puppies ...

As friends know, I hate having to wear a shirt in public. It just feels so much better when your skin is exposed to the warm sun and fresh air. (And you could in theory do this a lot in S. Texas, where winter lasts approximately 48 hours.) So I especially love Saturday and Sunday mornings when I can take a shower, slide back under the covers and doze again while drying off. And when I do get up, spend all morning in my skivvies. I don't answer the phone. I eat a leisurely breakfast. I read my new Entertainment Weekly or Voltaire or something. (Okay, Entertainment Weekly .) But the best part is definitely being able to lose the outer shell for a while (and be awake for it). The only time I get to experience this in public is wearing a bathing suit. It is acceptable to wear a bikini in public, but not bra and panties. Weird. Which is why my favorite relaxation-vacation is the Yucatan Peninsula, where the only thing I have to do when I wake up is put on a bikini and wear it all day l...

Do you like giving people gifts that make them say, "Oh wow, I totally used to love these!"? Or, "Oh wow, I had only heard about these, damn the FDA!"? Then you should buy assorted old-school candy from nostalgiccandy.com and use it to make fun gift boxes for your friends. They sell lots of cool stuff, including candy cigarettes! Sour Flying Saucers! And Zotz! You can purchase by the item, a veritable Choose Your Own Adventure in Diabetes. Fun! nostalgiccandy.com, $60 for approx. 7 lbs of candy (90 items), including shipping P.S. when I was writing this, I lost the word 'nostalgic' in my head. It kept coming out "nocturnal candy? navigational candy?" I'm tired.

Logically, star gazing shouldn't be something I really enjoy. Not terribly climate controlled. It happens at weird hours. And because the first stars I saw were in D.C., 'normal' stars are 'painted or lit up on the wall.' (Planetariums? Awesome. Still the best date idea ever. Much more likely to get some, just because you had the good sense to choose the planetarium.) But there is something about being outside in nature, not quite warm enough, the quiet and solitude, the beautiful night sky seemingly engulfing you, that creates quite an ideal environment for keeping close to the person next to you. Love it. Love it even though (because?) it makes me fall unwittingly, unquestionably, for some of the more BS pickup moves. And like them. Just ask Jeff, whom I met in college summer school. (I was an over-achiever and wanted to graduate early.) We met in English and pretty soon were hanging out, going out dancing, but just as friends. Our finals in August coincided with...

Who sends real mail anymore? Exactly. So double the shock factor to your postperson and recipient by making your own saucy envelopes. 11 x 17 magazine pages work well for this. Just pull apart a standard sized envelope and use it as a pattern for cutting the magazine page. Fold the cut magazine page along the pattern fold lines, tape everything but the top flap together, insert mail contents, tape the top flap down, and then I recommend covering the whole thing with packing tape so it doesn't rip in transit. Cut up an index card or business card for the To and From. Tape those down too. If you need Martha Stewart-like instructions, ask and I'll try my best. I made these two envelopes for male friends. The one on the left is an ad for something or other from 'W' magazine and the full text says, 'God Save Queens, NY'. The one on the right is from a photo spread of Eva Mendes and inside it included, among other things, a condom lolly. I know, I'm pretty much th...

I have a love/hate relationship with technology, because I vary between wanting to be connected to everyone all the time and becoming weary that I am connected to everyone all the time. Before I moved to be with my dad while he battled cancer, I had an old-school phone that didn't use electricity, just plugged into the wall socket. I loved it. When the power went out I could still use the phone. I didn't have caller ID either, instead I had a little silver answering machine to match that looked like the box Charlie used to talk to the Angels and people would call and I'd listen to see who it was before picking up. This wasn't because I wanted to live in 1978 but because I was a starving grad student and a landline in Texas costs $20 a month and I just got out of the habit of being reachable all the time and when I could afford a cell phone again, I didn't get one. But I wanted my dad to be able to get a hold of me at any time. This is a definite sell ing point of ce...

Things I sometimes say: "My bed is calling my name." "The magnets in my bed won't let me out." "No, sorry, I'm already in bed and quite frankly you're not enough right now to get me out of it." (Okay that last one I texted, not said, but it did make me realize: a man who can't get me OUT of bed will likely never get in me IN it.) Anyway, the bed: queen size pillow top, on which I've added two of those 2-inch Tempure-Pedic-like memory foam mattresses. I have to climb on since the top of the bed is a good 3 1/2 feet off the ground. 500 thread count sheets and a big goose down comforter. Four pillows of various size and firmness, two small throw blankets, brass head and foot board. See why it's tough to leave? This is also why I've often said if I ever decide to get married, if I can't have my own apartment, I'd still like my own bed. Although I'd probably be okay with shared naps, and sleepovers on special occasions.* ...

My friend Rebecca gave me these socks last week to keep my cute little feet from turning into toe popsicles this winter. I've worn them the past few nights and I have to recommend them to anyone who likes cloud-soft things and warm feet. Now, I don't wear smelly lotion, so I generally avoid Bath & Body Works the way I avoid any place perky blonde salesgirls congregate to try to get me to smell stuff. So I can't actually recommend going into the store to buy these socks. But, hello, online shopping! Especially for men reading this: buy these socks for your girlfriend/wife/sister/friend/mom etc. These can never be the wrong gift. No matter if she usually wears slinky things or says she doesn't like socks: these are awesome and only someone with a coal heart could resist them. Plus, if you share a bed, no more cold toes on your legs! Also a great stocking stuffer or cute addition to a larger gift i.e. a very soft lounge blanket. (The lounge socks look pretty comfy, ...

I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge in order to take pictures. You can get who-knows-how-many pics of the BB on the internet, but this was my eye, my camera, my attempt to get a shot. (My fave setup was putting the camera flat on it's back, and using my purse makeup mirror to watch the digital screen to make sure I was centering properly. It worked pretty well and I felt like I was being clever.) I walked across at night, the weather was just chilly enough to need a jacket, and it was an invigorating experience of noise, lights and that little shaking and residual vibration of the bridge when the bigger trucks would pass by. And while my eyes searched out the Manhattan skyline it struck me: this is a really beautiful view, a really beautiful walk, and I'd like to share it with someone who also appreciates this, and the fact they appreciate it makes me like them that much more. So, Universe, I'm just putting this out there: if at all possible, someday before I die, I'd l...