Happy New Year's Eve!

Hope everyone has a fun "2nd Biggest Letdown Night of the Year!" (first, of course, being Valentine's Day). Look at me, good thing being in a relationship hasn't changed me (and my capacity for cynicism).

Today is also my parents' anniversary! Mazel Tov. Approximately 27(?) years ago they got married on New Year's Eve and allegedly had a pretty rockin' party for their reception. Thanks for the invite, mom and dad.

As far as anniversary dates go, NYE is a pretty easy for my dad to remember, but since it's also one of the busiest nights of the year, it can be a pain to make plans to go out (especially for someone who doesn't love busy restaurants and prefers to fall asleep in the living room watching PBS...yes my family is wild). This year, though, I served as a witness to my dad attempting to secure reservations, yet my mom - the woman who loves to complain about his lack of effort in situations such as these - was being indecisive about it all. 

So I don't know what they'll end up doing, but if they don't do anything, he is off the hook! He tried!!! I vouch for his effort! Love y'all.

Guest Post: Match.Mom – A Success Story

Editor's Note: After receiving a complaint about my lack of posts, I suggested my friend Lauren write her own. Lauren has been mentioned before - she was the one who said every new friend was just a dollar sign (my new favorite quote), and she was also with me the night of stalking Chuck Bass outside the Gramercy Park Hotel. Clearly she is amazing. Enjoy.

Match.Mom – A Success Story
By Lauren

No, my mom isn’t crazy, she doesn’t have a Facebook account or stalking tendencies, and she has certainly never introduced me to potential FH. But recently she introduced me to someone far, far better: a potential FMiL (future mother-in-law).

I was at an engagement party this past summer for my BFF, when my mom introduced me to a sweet neighbor of ours who I had never met. After some friendly chatting, the following conversation took place:

FMiL: Lauren, do you have a boyfriend?

Me: Nope, I certainly do not.

FMiL: Well, I am shopping for my son, and I really hope you get to meet him.

[Note - if any lady with FMiL potential asks you if you have a bf, you should always say no. You never know when you’ve been blessed with an opportunity to trade up.]

That was it. The rest of the night, IT WAS ON. I turbo-charged my charm, casually highlighted some of my strengths and accomplishments, brought out my best dance moves, and even invited her and Mr. FMiL to join my family’s dinner table. So when I got home that night, like any discriminating girl with a brain, I stalked her son via facebook…

JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH… JACKPOT! He was hot, he was tall, he had a nice smile, and we had like 30 legit friends in common. I immediately began planning our future together.

The rest is history. We’re in love, and I know that our relationship wouldn’t be what it is had I not been recruited by his mom. There truly are a lot of benefits to meeting someone through your family that I have experienced first hand. You know from the beginning, rather than months into a relationship, whether or not they have a family you could stand to be a part of. Also, when your parents are involved you can’t go very long without being forced to define the relationship. And lastly, you both generally are on your best behavior, because you’re held accountable for your actions by people who know your parents.

All the benefits I just described pretty much depict the way high school relationships work, which I ultimately feel is a good thing. There was so much less bullshit back then.

I like you + you like me = we’re dating.

Lately, the equations have been much more complicated.

[(I like you + you like me) – (you work 100 hours a week) - you're applying to grad school + (you spend a lot of money taking me out / you’ve introduced me to your friends)] – you wear man jewelry^2 + your adorable dog already loves me – you live on the other side of town = who the hell knows.

The point is, in times when searching for a FH seems like a futile waste of time, embrace Match.Mom… maybe she really does know best? It's like taking dating into your own hands, but then passing it off into the hands of someone just like you, but older and crazier. Plus, it will make for some adorable stories at your rehearsal dinner.

Thanks, Lauren. You might be a genius.

I Suck

Sorry for my lack of posts, I've been very lazy (well, really just too busy eating non-stop, but, hey, that's what the holidays are for, right?) and traveling. I journeyed to Austin to see the fam and to be harassed about when I will be moving back. Now that I've returned to the frigid north, I'm thinking tomorrow. Just kidding, Mom.

Also, on my flight home, I sat next to a nice girl (lady? woman?) who is also from Austin and has lived in NYC for almost 15 years. She is my new role model. Kidding, sort of. Also her name is Mimosa. Badass.

Who knows how long I'll stay in Manhattan, but I will be here for at least another year now that The BFF and I have officially started our apartment hunt. One month to find something. Moving in the city is quite possibly the most stressful undertaking imaginable, but hopefully we will a) find something perfect, b) not kill each other, c) not be homeless.

Cross your fingers! And now that I'm back, I promise I will entertain you with tons of really great stories, or something.

Speaking of Weddings

A fellow Vows reading friend, who has had a slow day at work (duh, week of Christmas!) made me laugh out loud earlier with this gchat convo:

L: so because my boss got engaged and because i have nothing to do and because i have CGS
i just made a wedding invite list

me: HAHHAHAHA
how many people?

L: and with just the people i HAVE to invite
its like 100
just me, no groom's side
i never thought i'd have a big wedding
ooops
looks like i was wrong

time elapsed...

L: just remembered some people now im up to 120
and thats not including dates

me: ugh

L: like i need to be careful about making friends in the future
everyone i meet is just a dollar sign

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.

Also, she would like for me to mention she is not engaged. Every girl ever really is crazy. Even the cool ones like L and me aren't exceptions. Sigh.

My Secret Sunday Ritual

I have a secret confession. Well, apparently I have a lot of secret confessions. Like how I just admitted to having eaten an entire plate of cookies solo. In one day. Fml.

This other secret confession might be more embarrassing, though, but I find comfort that I'm not alone. I have gotten confirmation from at least a few other friends who do it too.

What is it we're doing? Reading the New York Times' Vows section. Every week.

Each Sunday I look forward to finding out how the feature story couple met and how their relationship turned into The One. As I've mentioned before, marriage as far as I'm concerned is still a fairly foreign concept.  These stories - modern day romances, most without the fairy tale trimmings - help me have a more realistic understanding about finding love. Especially in the city.

The majority of the feature stories present the obstacles, the extended timelines and the exhausting effort necessary to make these relationships work. While the couple has finally reached the destination together, most stories document the real-world work needed for this conclusion. This week's was no exception.

In addition to the feature story, sometimes you'll find celebrity nuptials, hilariously self-important fodder for Gawker's Altarcations - a face-off to score the Sunday Nuptial winner - as well as occasional stories that just make you say "Awwww."

Or be jealous, in the case of a couple from this week's edition, who are both Production Assistants working in New York and had Will Ferrell make a cameo in their photo. And in their video.

So next Sunday, when you're dreading going to work on Monday and feeling sorry about your own love life, check out the Vows section. I promise I won't tell anyone.

Some Holiday Relationship Insight a la Kelly Kapoor

The Office's Kelly Kapoor is more boy-crazy than me. She's also funnier. Here's a cute essay Mindy Kaling (who is also an exec. producer of the show!) wrote for the New York Times about 'tricking' people into thinking she's adult enough to be a wife and mother.

Scripting a Fantasy of a Family Sign in to Recommend
By Mindy Kaling

Last year, toward the end of December, I was meeting my writing partner at the hotel lobby in Santa Monica where we always work. On the way out, there was a short wait while the valet got my car.

“Big plans for the holidays?” the parking attendant asked me.

“Not too much,” I replied. “Just spending time with the family.”

“Husband and kids will keep you busy,” he said.

“Yep,” I smiled, getting into my Mini Cooper.

Driving off, I felt nervous and giddy, as if I had gotten away with something. I don’t have a family where I have a husband and children. I had meant my family of my parents and older brother. It made me feel a tinge of excitement that someone would actually think of me as a grown-up like that. Even though I was the right age for it, I still felt like what I imagine the protagonist does in one of those “Big” or “13 Going on 30” body-swapping movies.

Who were these people in my parking attendant’s mind? This family wherein I, Mindy Kaling, was the mother and wife? I wanted to turn around and ask him more about what he saw, as if he were a fortuneteller. Who was he picturing as my husband? Was it my boyfriend at the time? Or someone else?

Of course, since I was little, I’ve pictured countless different versions of that family. The weirdest things will make me dream up an entirely new version. When I’m watching television and I see an ad for a hotel chain where “kids eat free.” Photo frames that have a fake picture of a family inside them already. Driving by Sizzler.

This time, the family that I assumed the parking attendant was referring to included a dark-haired agnostic architect husband named Alex who liked ethnic food and zombie movies. (For the record, Alex is a product of my imagination. I realize that no real people are actually architects, and that it is a profession that exists entirely in movies, like art gallery owner or children’s bookshop proprietor.)

Anyway, back to Alex. He was ethereal and dressed terribly because he didn’t care about clothes, but I kind of liked that about him. He did little things that drove me crazy like leaving his suitcase in the middle of the room when he returned from a business trip, an idiosyncrasy I once heard Michelle Obama attribute to her husband.

Alex and I lived in Hancock Park — a hip Los Angeles neighborhood — and I loved him so much that I was in a perpetual state of grinning. The kids were, I don’t know, kids. Really cute, etc. I have less experience with cute kids than I do with cute guys, so I’m not able to describe them as well, but trust me — super cute.

The problem with being a writer of romance and romantic situations is that my capacity for creating and believing in fantasy is huge. Nothing can ever be as amazing as Harry & Sally or, in my book, Joe Fox & Kathleen Kelly from the movie “You’ve Got Mail.”

When I started remembering that this fake family was fake, I started missing them. By the Centinela exit on I-10, I had depressed myself, and nothing had even really happened. Oldie Christmas music was playing on the radio, which made me feel even sadder, and I started to cry. While crying and driving, I consoled myself by thinking that this was probably pretty damn cinematic. I felt certain I must look like a cool underdog from a romantic comedy whom everyone wants to see succeed, which then, actually, inadvertently cheered me up.

The other thing that cheered me up is that the family I was thinking of when I said “Yep” is a pretty awesome family. My mom is a surgeon with an Indian accent who thinks she’s Jerry Seinfeld. My dad wakes us up at 8 a.m. on vacations and plans hikes that sound tiring but turn out to be really fun (and he also thinks my mom is Jerry Seinfeld). My brother is a business school student who takes the time to teach us to do things like video chat.

I have fun adventures with them. We went to Buenos Aires and Iguaçú Falls together last year, and it was one of my favorite experiences. They come to visit me in Los Angeles and we drive down Sunset all the way to the beach so my dad can look at mansions. I love the family that I’ve always had. It is cozy, warm, safe, corny; a PG movie I love, like “Elf.”

So I wondered why I didn’t correct him. Well, one reason, obviously, is that this busy parking attendant is a random polite guy making small talk. And another is that what he proposed was exciting, and sent my mind in a direction I wanted to live in for a while.

Do I want to be the child in my current family, or the parent/wife/grown-up of some other one? The first seems real and comfortable. The second seemed like a silly bit of mischief, a game of pretend, even though I have a sense it might be just around the corner.

I hope my future family always feels like this. Like I got away with a little lie, but with accomplices. “Oh, this is just the cute boy I married and the crazy kids I have, can you believe it? I can’t.”

Is it just me, or is this totally relatable? We're both on the fence about being adults, about growing and transitioning into actual people. I can't picture it either.

Also, for some great entertainment, here's an Office webisode gem featuring Kelly & Erin's faux-girl group Subtle Sexuality:

The Best Gift (And 10 Extra Lbs Gained) Ever

On Seinfeld, everyone knows the "code" to Elaine's vault of secrets is Schnapps. Just like everyone knows the way to my heart is food. And also puppies.

Anyway, this weekend J and I exchanged presents, a little Chrismukkah celebration if you will.

In the tradition of me giving him semi-selfish gifts (last year I got him Netflix, which he deemed "the best gift ever" seeing as how he loves movies...it was really more of just a gift that just made perfect sense) I got the two of us massages - no not couples massages - we can just go at the same time if we want. I also got him a super cute knitted hat with faux fur lining and ear flaps - at least accessories like this make winter seem more tolerable - an "old man" cardigan, and a lobster bottle-opener (duh).

What did he get me?

A box full of my FAVORITE Texas barbecue - Salt Lick - that "feeds 8." The same bbq I made my guy BFF slash Fake Husband venture with me to gorge on while I was home for Labor Day and mentioned here.

The bbq really has been the gift that keeps on giving. We shared it on Friday, I had some on Saturday [Note: A plate of sausage does not make for a good pre-workout snack, FYI], then we shared it with some equally-bbq-fanatical friends that night.

After meal #5 just now, J might have officially set the "Food is Love" bar so high it's impossible to beat.

So if you want to earn my love, go with puppies. Just throwing that out there.

Okay now please excuse me while I go pass out in a food coma again.

How to Know if He's Taken: Dog Edition

There are approximately one billion men in this city, but how do you know if the hottie you're staring down is single? Wedding ring, duh. But NOT fail-proof. What if he's wearing gloves?? What if he's engaged - there's no male engagement bling equivalent to ward you off. Or what if he's just plain ol' IAR? No way to tell. Or is there?

When you don't have an obvious indicator, it's hard to know for sure if he's actually checking you out, or - if you're the one checking him out - if it's worth your time.

So I've developed a few theories, one of which is:

How to tell a guy's relationship status by his dog

• Miniature anything, especially of the white and/or fluffy variety: Don't waste your time. He is either: a) in a relationship with a girl who made him buy a dainty ball of fluff; b) he broke up with a girl who made him buy a dainty ball of fluff and, let's be honest, now probably has some emotional baggage in addition to the physical baggage in the form of the aforementioned dainty ball of fluff; c) he's gay.

• Big, rugged dog: Maybe. I love, love, love big dogs, but would not, under almost any circumstance, have one in the city. Why? Because dogs are very stubborn! I can't tell you how many times I've hilariously laughed at someone prodding their dog whose unrelenting obstinate nature has decided he’s over walking and would prefer to nap on the sidewalk. So funny (since it's not my problem)! If I can't pick up a dog to move it, then I can't have it. But obviously most guys wouldn't necessarily think of that being an issue. They'd say, OMG I LOVE LABS, THAT'S WHAT I'M GETTING! But a guy with a GF would probably "decide" to get a smaller dog... so guy with big dog, maybe single! But maybe not the best when it comes to thinking ahead...

• Dog wearing any article of clothing: See the first bullet.

Okay obviously I really only have one actual observation that has any credibility, e.g. guys walking totally girly dogs aren't worth your time, so the truth is I just wanted to attach a ton of doggie pictures. Because I love to torture myself with things I can't have. Wah wah.

Also, in case Santa is curious, any of the following are acceptable Christmas gifts:

The Lobster Failed

Dear loyal readers -

I have let (all four of) you down. I've been to focused on my own life and the lives of celebrities that I forgot one of my most important journalistic duties: Reporting on sea creature current events. And it seems some important news has transpired. Fail.

According to reputable animal news source National Geographic, global warming might be "supersizing" CRUSTACEANS. Seriously. According to a new study, more acidic oceans - a consequence of rising atmospheric carbon dioxide (CO2) levels - can produce jumbo-size shelled marine species, including lobsters, crabs, and shrimp." However, it's unknown whether the "animals' body mass also gets beefier along with their shells." Fingers.crossed.

I'm not sure if this is totally awesome, or kind of frightening, but either way, it makes me a little hungry. RL, anyone?

And to prove I'm serious about lobsters, I leave you with this awkward solo shot. And, yes, that is a lobster puppet I was gifted. Perfect.

My friend Lauren's FB comment on this pic, regarding my lobster bday paraphernalia:

"Rachel is like that person who used to like unicorns when she was a child, and as a grown-up adult still continues to get uniform themed gifts every holiday... only her obsession flourished way after childhood."

Just (Don't) Do It

Tiger drama hasn't gone away since I wrote about it here, and now it looks like Elin is done.

I'll be honest, I'm over it too. We get it - everyone is a big slut. Men, women, celebrities, regular people.

But the question that seems to be coming to light from all this is -

WHY DID HE GET MARRIED IN THE FIRST PLACE???

Marriage is a commitment AND - due to politics - A PRIVILEGE.

(Now, I'm not going to get all raged up about our society again (once is enough this week, I think), and I have plenty of thoughts regarding the same-sex marriage debate, but I will say one thing: When celebrities are allowed to get married on a whim (hello, Khloe Kardashian and her one month courtship/race to the alter with bball player Lamar Odom) and then later divorced (pretty much every celeb couple ever), IMO that pretty much destroys the sanctity of marriage we're allegedly preserving by not letting gay couples get married. So unless Cali and New York want to ban that too, we're all just a bunch of hypocrites.)

Back to Tiger...J sent me an article earlier from the WashPo quoting Redskins RB Clinton Portis who made a similar point to what The BFF and I discussed last night - if the "perks of your celebrity status" aren't out of your system - if you're not going to be content being faithful - then Just (don't) Do It! No one put a gun to your head to MAKE you marry a smokin' hot Swedish model.

Yes, there will always be temptations, and had this been a one-off incident, maybe Elin would be more willing to forgive his indiscretions. But 14+ *alleged* temptations you just couldn't turn down, Tiger? I mean, I get that when you have a rare opportunity to hook-up with a more-plastic-than-real reality star contestant turned hooker, you just can't turn that down...

Oh wait, no I don't get that...you're just a man-whore.

End point: Don't get married. Spare the Future-Mrs.-Cheated-On. Spare your children. Spare your bank account that's going to be hit hard by your lost endorsement deals and how much you owe her.

And please, for the love of God, don't pull an A-Rod and run post-divorce into the crazy-scary arms of Madonna.

MOJB

Discussing my new "IAR" (in a relationship) status with a friend, she asked whether or not the blog was going to change too. The answer, who knows. I've always loved to talk about "boys" - I guess they're "guys" now? - whether or not I'm single. Plus perhaps now I will divulge less awkward/embarrassing stuff about my own personal life?

Doubtful.

Anyway, she also said I needed a codename for J. I explained that Pinch Hitter or any other lobster-related names got a little old after typing them more than a few times, so I was going with "J".

Clearly not clever enough for her, she suggested MOJB.

MOJB?

My older, Jewish boyfriend.

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I Told You 500 Days of Summer Was Great!!

Ol' Golden Globe (the other GG) nominations were released yesterday, and the adorable cupcake Joseph Gordon-Levitt was nominated for one of my fav movies this year (as was the film itself)!

If you haven't seen it, you should. I heart it.

Also, The BFF and I had a WTF moment when we learned Sandra Bullock was nominated for The Proposal. Now, I didn't see the movie - and I don't hate her (she's got an Austin restaurant "Bess") - and I think Ryan Reynolds is great (read: hot). But seriously?? From what I heard from my cinematic snob of a grandmother - the most awesome kind of grandma who owns Wedding Crashers and took me to see Bad Santa - The Proposal "wasn't horrible" and Sandra "wasn't that annoying."

But does "wasn't horrible and that annoying" warrant a major award? Hmmm... in'neresting call, Hollywood Foreign Press Association...

P dot S, speaking of Dolo (my grandma, yes we call her by her first name, I don't know why, it's just what we do), she sees all the major Oscar award nominated movies. So if 500 Days is nominated (as GG's are usually the precursor), you're welcome, Dolo, for me making you see it the last time I was in Austin - there's one thing you can cross off your list.

Hooray for being home this time next week!!

playing dress up with her YSL lipstick because I'm seven.

Seriously, Tiger!?

Dear Tiger,

Up until last week, your reputation has been spotless. Now you have fallen to the level of other mortals due to your indiscretions. Nobody is perfect, so the fact that your squeaky-clean image has been tarnished is not the issue. Cheating is to professional athletes as being a giant dbag is to John Mayer. It is (sadly) common and expected.

But the two "WTF were you thinking??" points I want to make are:

1) Have you seen your wife? Not that I condone cheating if your wife is fugly, but OMG!?!? She might be one of the hottest women ever. You cannot do better than her. I get that people cheat for a lot of reasons, but I really don't think any of the reasons could possibly measure up to the hottness of your wife. Especially the ones you picked up in Vegas. You are a fool. But, you seem to have realized that and are willing to pay up (monetarily and emotionally) to make it work. Good for you.

2) One of the skanks who has come out with allegations (and texts, voicemails and detailed accounts) is referred to as "a former contestant on Tool Academy." YOU ARE BETTER THAN THAT.

Note to all celebrities committing adultery: TRY AND CHOOSE SOMEONE WHOSE MOST NOTABLE RESUME REFERENCE IS NOT A TRASHY VH1 RELATY SHOW WITH TOOL IN THE TITLE.

So what should Tiger do now? According to Gawker, he should play some golf.

"Your job is simple. Just be Tiger Woods. That means, continue being the most robotic, uninteresting sports megastar of our time. You, sir, are a cipher. Fans and sponsors love you for it, because they can project whatever image they want upon you, and your inscrutable, uninteresting being simply swallows it up.

Golf is the most uninteresting spectator sport in the world. Golf fans are not moralists. They are people who believe that golf shirts in various shades of coral are acceptable outerwear. They are the bland upper crust of Middle America. That, and rich assholes who love to cheat on their wives. Neither of these groups of golf fans cares one bit about your marital infidelity, Tiger. Nor do your sponsors. What they do care about is being forced to think about something other than golf."



Update: Too good not to share. My mom's opinion on Tiger:

Do you find it ironic that golf is a game where integrity of not moving the ball and cheating is sooooooooooooo important?? and the fact he is such a competitor, but slutting around with cocktail waitresses...how hard are THEY to pick up? He could at least try for a nun or something if he wanted to challenge himself!!

Thanksgiving-inspired Dating Memories

I just had a flashback to the start of my relationship during my junior year of high school, which began with a date the night before Thanksgiving.

We will refer to this guy as Baby Gums, because that's what The BFF still calls him. I'm not totally sure why? I guess he might have large gums and small teeth? Either way, he's actually pretty cute. But, that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, Baby Gums and I met through a shared journalism/yearbook class...obviously I'm so cool that I dated TWO guys I met through yearbook...

He finally asked me out right before the holidays, and he took me to a UT basketball game for our first date, which I assumed would also include eating.

Wrong.

When he picked me up around dinner time, he proceeded to excitedly tell me that he was in fact "fasting for Thanksgiving," his favorite holiday.

Fantastic.

Now, let's be honest, eating is one of my all-time favorite activities/interests and I'm not one to skip meals, but I tried to conform to his Thanksgiving-mindset. I too could bypass dinner in anticipation. I was fine.

Until the second quarter when I excused myself to go to the restroom, and by restroom, I mean the snack bar where I purchased and subsequently scarfed down a giant pretzel before returning to my seat. Because otherwise I might have died of starvation. Sometimes you have to censor your image a little at the beginning of a relationship, it's fine.

We went on to date for a few months until he broke up with me. At his house. Directly after my mom had just dropped me off.

Double fantastic.

Coincidentally we watched another UT basketball game on TV before he drove me home. Fact: not having a car or access to public transportation to escape post-getting dumped scenarios SUCKS.

In the end, though, I will say I won that relationship. Based on the fact that I made out with two of his friends (only partially out of spite), and went to prom with another one.

And this post would not be complete without me telling The Prom Story.

So when Baby Gums ended things with me I had a fairly strong suspicion it might have had to do with another girl. It did. Shocking. They started dating soon after and obviously planned on going to prom together as it was quickly approaching. Being fairly opportunistic, I realized that one of Baby Gum's best friends (who I had become friends with) was my best potential date option. Since he was fairly shy (read: afraid of girls, especially me and my powers of manipulation), I schemed my way into the role of his date...which included being part of Baby Gums' & Mrs. Baby Gums' group.

Suckers.

My date and I arrived at Baby Gums' house for group pictures.

My look for the evening: long red dress, curly dark brown hair half up, black shoes/accessories

Mrs. Baby Gums' look for the evening: long red dress, curly dark brown hair half up, black shoes/accessories

Update: My mom read this post and then scanned and sent me her fav prom photo - solo shot obv. Thanks, mommy!

We looked SO similar (although, let's be honest and humble, I looked better) that my other BFF from HS Shawn TRIED TO DANCE WITH HER thinking she was me.

Hahahhahaha. Awk-ward.

And that's the saga of Baby Gums. Maybe it would have turned out better  (i.e. I wouldn't have had to upstage his new GF at prom - IAAB) had he fed me dinner during that first date.

Food is the way to my heart.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!! Hook 'em Horns :)

And since no post would be complete without an available animals-in-costume photo, here you go:

I Love You, Jason Segel

I totes mcgotes love Jason Segel. Whether it be in movies, on TV, or serenading concert fans with his persuasive musical talent and fame dropping, he is an adorable cupcake.

According to New York Magazine, he and the equally adorable Paul Rudd sent Swell Season a bottle of wine in a restaurant, and then the band asked Jason to play a song at their show in L.A. If you remember from Forgetting Sarah Marshall's Dracula puppet musical, he's quite talented.

And hilarious. And precious.



No special effects.

Then your boyfriend is probably not white.

Ha haaaaaaaaa.

When Bad Haircuts Happen to Good Guys

In sixth grade I had a crush on a boy named John who was in my Language Arts class. Oh those were the days before it turned into English. Anyway, one day John got a haircut - a terrible, too-short monstrosity - and that was the end of my crush.

And that was the beginning of the Dealbreaker Haircut.

From the first guy I dated until present day, I always dread the phrase, "I'm getting my haircut today."

Nooooooooooooooooo.

This could be based on a former boyfriend insistence on "getting his money's worth" at a barber shop that couldn't even cut its way to an acceptable style if their lives depended on it.

I've been so scarred by post-haircut appearances that I can no longer feign excitement.

"Ohhhh, you're getting your haircut? DON'T LET THEM CUT IT TOO SHORT!"

There is just something awkward about that just-cut haircut look, but the real kicker is when a guy gets a disastrous major haircut.

Now I'm not going to say I'm so shallow that I would break up with a guy due to a poor follicle decision...but I definitely might stop liking a guy I had a crush on based on it.

To give you a visual of the ultimate haircut dealbreaker, watch this gem - My New Haircut. It is a three minute documentary depicting the exact guys I try very hard to avoid in this city.

[Note: Dear Jersey, you're probably vain enough to think this post is about you. Well, you're sort of right. It was def inspired by the new look you're sporting, one that involved buzzers and poor decision making. But it's only hair, it will grow back :)]

Guy Hot vs. Girl Hot: Sexy Stereotypes

The stereotypical best description of a girl to impress guys? "She's a model."

By definition, a model is paid to be hot. So guys seem to be automatically wowed with another guy if he says he's dating a model.

Now, if you think about it, there are a lot of people who are quote unquote models. They are not all equally attractive. And let's be honest, even some of the more successful ones I don't necessarily find to be THAT gorgeous. Yes, they take great pictures, but in person most are freak-skinny and maybe even a tiny bit creepy looking. So unless your buddy's girlfriend is a Victoria Secret Angel, should everyone be that impressed? [Note: I would just like to throw in here that Victoria Secret is hosting their fashion show at the Armory next to my apt on Thurs...perhaps I will do a bit of stalking by the side exit...DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM MY APARTMENT!]

I digress.

Anyway, undoubtedly, though, guys will be impressed and jealous. But not as jealous as other girls. Especially the girl a guy dates post-model gf. Friends have told me stories about this phenomena when normal girls get a hardcore case of model-induced CGS worrying about their own ranking compared to his ex. Like I said, unless she was an Angel, don't freak out too much...

The stereotype-induced fear, though, is hard to shed. I personally have decided against pursuing conversations with cute guys who have been introduced with the resume of "he's dated a lot of models." Thanks but no thanks.

Now let's look at the flip-side. For girls, dating a model is not impressive, a non-issue. IMO, the lure of male models is so lacking it's almost comical. Zoolander style - vapid, dull, more beautiful than me - is not appealing.

So what label will be most-likely to impress your friends while instilling at least a little bit of jealousy about the new catch you've landed?

"He played college baseball."

Really, think long and hard. Can you think of any demographic across the board that is so prone to hotness?

Athletic/nice body = check

Tan (the sport requires you to be outdoors for extended periods of time in the spring/summer!) = check

Confident = check

Nice smile = usually, right?

Clearly I'm basing this on prejudice a bit - not only did I go to a school that dominated at baseball (and FOOTBALL!!!) - but we also had some very attractive players.

Like Huston Street. SWOON x 100000000000. He also went to my high school. And he also used to talk to me in the hallway on the way to our next-door classrooms. Swooooooooooon.

So, that is my theory of the day.

Guys find models to be the most brag-worthy dates. And girls have former college baseball players.

That is all.

Happy Monday.

Take a Hint

A fairly standard form of rejection in our dating culture is the lack of response. Yes it is fairly passive aggressive, and yes, it does allow for a little wiggle room in wondering if you're ACTUALLY being rejected, or if maybe the person you called/texted/emailed did not receive your message due to a technology error, or if they just forgot to call you back due to being too busy.

Maybe 1 time out of 10 that is the case, but chances are, you're being ignored.

Sorry.

After the initial brush-off, there usually is a one-more-attempt buffer that allows you another follow-up while still keeping hold of your dignity.

If you decide it's worth another shot, keep your level of communication light. On a scale of 1 to 10 - 1 being "Hey, how's it going," 10 being "Actually I want to take you to dinner next Wednesday at XX restaurant at XX time" - stay below a 3. Tread lightly.

If your level 10 has been ignored, THEN TAKE THE HINT. If your previous persistent, aggressive efforts did not solicit a response, then your next 25 won't either. Back-off gracefully.

That does NOT mean follow up ignored emails with a Facebook gift alerting the recipient that you have in fact been FB stalking her to know she has been a little under the weather.

Do everyone in the situation a favor and take a hint.

Yes, IAAB today. But similar to the unrequited full-court press post, I just find it mind-boggling when some people cannot comprehend when to leave you alone.

For My Wedding, I'm Registering for This

Chuck Bass strip show at my reception.


There are no words.

NY Mag Daily Intel (via Us Weekly) reports that the bride is a friend of his girlfriend, the actress who plays Vanessa, who I don't care for. At all.

I don't know what I would do if I were at that reception. Based on my current Chuck Bass sighting track record, I would probably be that dbag trying to lick him. And by probably, I mean most definitely.

Seriously, I bet that was the most fun reception ever.

I mean, the only thing better for a wedding story would be for Chuck Bass to perform the ceremony.

Anyway, one more time for good measure.


Swoon.

"You Doing Anything After Dinner Tonight?"

Beep beep bzzzz.

That's the noise my texts make. Oh sweet text message anticipation, who is seeing what I'm up to?

Oh, it's you. Jimmy.

Jimmy is a club promoter who The BFF and I met awhile ago. And for almost a year - give or take a few months - we have been on his "Hey girl" text distribution list. Well, I should say "I have been" ... The BFF recently realized he hasn't texted her since October 22!

After months without responding to his unwarranted "Hottest Party in NYC" texts, I have recently taken him up a few times on his offers. I mean, going to 'da club - in this case usually Tenjune - isn't my weekly routine, but every now and then (especially when friends are in town who I know will make it fun) I can enjoy partaking in a little free bottle service and getting my dance on to "Rise Up."


The last time I saw him, Jimmy told me I looked like a model. I'm not totally sure what that means (like anyone can be a catalogue model for example). Then he introduced me to his girlfriend. And then he tried to kiss me. Classy.

Anyway, I've started realizing that guys will come and go, full-court text press and then fall off the radar, but my textual relationship with Jimmy is going strong. So even if my dating roster isn't full, I will at least have someone to prove to me that my phone is indeed working. Beep beep bzzzz.

"WEATHER REPORT: Crowded with a chance of *Sparkler Bottles* Tonight!!! Are you coming??"

At least there is a guy out there asking me out. Even if it is via mass text. And even if he is kind of sleazy.

It's something.

The M Word

In the last year my peers and I have crossed into marriage territory. Well, not literally for most of us, but the topic of marriage is now a real, timely "thing." Any quick browse on Facebook documents another person taking the leap.

It's so weird. Becoming an adult just sort of sneaks up on you. Last time I checked, we were talking about who asked who to the middle school dance.

Anyway, I just got an adorable, glittery Mr & Mrs. engagement party invitation in the mail. Being a thousand miles away with limited vacay time and plane fare funds has unfortunately severely restricted my partcipation in friends' pre-wedding festivities.

Although I'm not physically there, it's still a reminder of a world I have one leg in while the rest of my body is in a different time zone. A time zone that thinks if you're under thirty and married it might be due to some sort of child bride scenario. Like whenever I mention another friend from home has gotten engaged, older coworkers always slip a "But you're so young!" comment in there.

While I have a few more years until it's the main focus of my New York friends' agendas, the majority of guys I have dated fall in the big, fat middle of the almost-all-my-friends-are-married-slash-engaged category. As a side note, I would like to point out that it should have been more apparent that there might be a reason why they're the ones still single...

Anyway, both worlds I occupy are filling with marrieds. It's fine, I'm getting older, and I'm also associating with people who started life a little ahead of me. But part me still finds the idea of marriage so foreign. Part of me feels like the way my friends and I approach the topic is with the same curiosity and gossipy anticipation as when we started liking boys in the first place.

"Oh so and so, I bet you have a crush on him. When is he going to be your boyfriend?" Replace boyfriend with fiance/husband and we're still using the same script. After a few dates with a guy, I get at least a couple "Do you think this is going anywhere?" questions. I've even come to expect the totally premature "Could you see yourself marrying this guy" Q because, hey, I ask my friends the same unanswerable thing.

Our focus on the future should be expected, though, because it's our nature. We like long-term planning. Yes we might jump the gun a little, but at the heart of it, deep down inside, we're still excited by the same possibilities as we were in 7th grade. We love gossip, we love boys, we love love. And now we love weddings and marriage too. And cake.

You Deserve This

So the "certain male friend" I refer to in the opening of my profile is a guy who I've worked with/been friends with since I moved to the city.

This guy we will call Jersey because he's from there and always seems to be going there, not because he's super "Jersey" - ALTHOUGH HE DOES ROCK A GOLD CHAIN OCCASIONALLY!!

Anyway, he's a genuinely good guy, fun, attractive, etc. [Note: Am I doing a good job of building up your ego??] ... although he might have the emotional fragility of a 13-year-old girl... and he thinks my blog is scary. Apparently guys do not need to know the inter-workings of girls' minds...

So Jersey sits down the hall from my cubicle and will occasionally stop to chat. He works directly for the president of the company who also sits down the hall and also likes to stop and chat. Yesterday I mentioned to his boss I wasn't feeling very well. He proceeded to give me a five minute lecture on the importance of my health and how I should leave immediately. I "promised" I would in a little while so he'd leave me alone.

Later I receive this gchat message:

Jersey: opps.

me: huh

Jersey: i owe you an apology, you are about to be aggressively harassed. Boss asked if you had gone home yet, and I said I don't know then he said, "She really looked like she wasn't feeling well." and like an idiot I said "Great, means she'll probably get me sick too" implying you are going to get your co-workers sick. Instead, he took it and ran with it, and made a bunch of wild gestures... so I'm sure you'll be hearing about that.

me: HAHAHA

Jersey: he said "way to go" and now im uncomfortable

me: HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA great...i need to get the F out of here immediately

Jersey: seriously. please do

me: first im going to email him and ask him to please keep our secret relationship to himself MUAHAHAHAHA ..JOKING

Jersey: my goodness. im incredible... only i could get the judgment of an office relationship without the perks...i suck

me: HAHAHAHAH seriously hilarious...minus the fact im involved

Jersey then went on to complain about how is life is a comedic tragedy - DUDE HAVE YOU READ MY BLOG? Tons of crap happens to me constantly! - what a baby.

So I told him I would blog about this, which he didn't appreciate. But one time he did say that I could use the blog to try and introduce him to girls. So I've merged the purpose of this blog: hilarious office non-romance gone awry and finding Jersey a date.

Like I said, he's cute, funny, has a soul. He enjoys eating. And making fun of Texas.

[Note: I love matchmaking. Clearly it's in my blood... I will be honest, though, my track record is not amazing...but this could turn things around...]

Let me know if you're interested.

It's Not Just Me

So I have a lot of "soulmates" in life - and a few months ago I found my blogger soulmate(s). Elle & Em - two longtime BFFs! - at doyoufancyus.blogspot.com. I randomly stumbled upon it searching for a 30 Rock Liz Lemon "dealbreaker" quote, which they had obviously written about at one point. Duh, soulmates.

Anyway, I've linked to their site a few times, and visa versa.

Haven't read it in a few days due to actual work, etc., but after I just wrote about spotting FH 2.0 on the street, I saw this post from Tuesday:

Murphy's Law. You are real and a bitch, and a REAL BITCH

True story, last summer I tried speed dating on a whim, it was....interesting. I don't think its necessarily the where I will find a husband, or the owner of my future monogrammed towels, but it is definitely an experience that I think everyone should try just for kicks.

Anyway, I ended up going on a few dates with a cute lanky, and very nice British guy. Great on paper, he was cute, owned his apartment, had a great job, but the chemistry wasn't there ...so I bailed. Literally, I bailed, i.e. stopped responding to emails, calls, texts. I felt pretty lame/ pathetic/ rude, and should have just done the big girl thing and said, "yeah, I don't think this is working".

Well, the Brit got his, because last night as I was ducking out of the gym, post workout, I run into him on the street. It wasn't a "Hello" type run in, it was a stop, stare and walk away. So, true story, if you treat a boy not so well, you WILL see him again, and Mr. Murphy and his law will dictate that you won't look lovely, in fact, you will probably be tomato red, with sweaty hair, and in old yoga pants.

Glad we share the pleasure of having had awkward, post-gym ex spottings this week. Like I said, soulmates.

PS Love the headband suggestions from Em.

Crap...I Know You

First, let me just say that New York is clearly a ginormous city, and it takes awhile to build up your network of friends/acquaintances/people you recognize/etc. Especially compared to Austin where I was born, raised and attended college - I know no one here. So when I do run into familiar people on the street, it's kind of cool. Like when The BFF and I randomly saw our old roommate (who sublet for like a month) the other day at brunch. Nice to run into him (someone has been working out), and kind of ironic since we had just had a convo about how we would prob never see him again...except it was not really that random because Dos Caminos has a great brunch deal (FREE MARG) and is directly next to our apt and close to his new place...

Anyway...

So I'm usually pumped about the random run-in, until yesterday when - for the first time - I spotted a guy I had been out with a few times. Yes, there is an entire SATC (Sex and the City) episode dedicated to running from exes on the street. It's a legit fear, and now one of which I will be more aware.

The guy I saw, Ol' FH 2.0 was described here, and then mentioned in my ingenious feedback request scheme and also for sending a patronizing text about my capacity for humor in relation to my age. La-me.

Anyway, I spotted him and his date checking out a restaurant menu while I was walking home from the gym. We did not make eye contact, and I doubt he saw me. Which made me happy because a) Post-Ultimate Conditioning is NOT my finest look, and b) He was on a date, how do you make this introduction: "So and so, this is Rachel, a girl whose Avon Walk for Breast Cancer fundraising goals were met in part due to my donation, and who I took out a few times, introduced to my close friends and then never hung out with again!"

Spare me.

So after inconspicuously slithering by and ducking into the grocery store next door, I realized my heart was pounding. I mean, obviously saying hello wouldn't have been the worst thing ever, nor was him semi-falling off the face of the Earth that Earth-shattering. But the unexpected sighting reminded me that you just never know when someone might pop back up in your world.

I've been on enough dates to know the odds are decent of seeing a few of them randomly. But that doesn't mean I won't get awkward and uncomfortable as I try and avoid interaction. Especially when sporting sweaty gym ensembles.

At least, though, I did not look as bad as Miranda when she hid from her ex. Overalls. Gross.

Maybe the Most Depressing Article Ever

According to the NY Post last week, half of Manhattan lives alone.

First, this just upsets me as I have about 2.5 roommates more than what I wish I had. If you know that I have 3 roommates, yes that would leave me with .5 left over - which would be the point value of having a dog. Man, I wish I had a dog.

Anyway, according to new Census Bureau data, the number of singles in the city is continuing to rise to historic levels. So it shouldn't be that hard to find dates, or something. Where are all these single guys with their own apts? No seriously, please point me in their direction ASAP.

But wait, "Ladies, however, are at a disadvantage. There are 212,000 single female households compared with 165,000 male single."

Ugh.

The journalist of this amazing article goes on to assure us single ladies that "many of those women are lonely hearts, but they aren't all Carrie Bradshaws."

You know why? BECAUSE THE REST ARE WIDOWS. "It reflects the large number of elderly in the city's population, and many live by themselves when their partner dies."

So you are either a lonely heart/Carrie Bradshaw or a widow? Fantastic.

But all is not lost. You know why? Because we have this woman as a role model for either (or combo) scenario.


"There is a fine line between having a good time and being a wanton slut. I know. My toe has been on that line."


- Blanche Devereaux

Halloween was a Success

Halloween was great because:

a) I did not cry

b) In addition to a number of other props I had with me, I carried around a mini potato masher - which is just hilarious

c) The vast majority of my close NYC friends were all on hand to celebrate - in a city with one bajillion things to do and places to go it worked out so well!

d) Some guy - dressed as a giraffe a la Jeffrey from Toys R Us - gave me a non-business card with his name & email!! OMG just like my idea! Sadly FB photodocumentation warns me he's not that cute. IAAB.

And here's a little taste of Sexy Julia because I know everyone is DYING to see how it turned out:

You Don't Let Prime Real-Estate Sit on the Market

I'll be honest, finding an apartment when The BFF and I first moved to the city was one of the hardest things we've ever had to struggle with. Yes, we've had pretty easy lives, but seriously, the experience was SO painful. I won't bore you with the details (mostly because I'm too lazy right now to adequately describe the horror), but for two weeks, three amazingly generous girls allowed us Texan vagabonds to share the living room futon in their spatially-challenged Greenwich Village apartment.

For fourteen straight days we endlessly scoured Craigslist for anything that would work. After having two almost-signing-the-contract situations fall through, we were desperate to find something suitable. We had a checklist of required apartment specifications and had narrowed down our scope to a few, particular neighborhoods, but other than that, we were pretty open to whatever came our way.

We saw a lot of apartments. I mean a lot. Most were terrible. Like "a ply-wood 'wall' with a hole cut out for the front 'door' separating us from an annoying 18-year-old guy" horrible; like "a creepy stay-at-home chain-smoking creepster roommate" horrible; like "legitimate Craigslist 'wire us some money through MoneyGram' scam" horrible.

So once we found The One, we did not let it out of our sight. It had everything we wanted - good location, beautifully remodeled features, A DISHWASHER! It was love at first freaking sight. Yes, there were a few things that could have been better, but it didn't matter - we wanted it.


When you find something you've been searching for and realize it's everything you need - maybe even surprising you with hidden charms like courtyards visible from both sides of the apartment! - you lock it down. We knew that we couldn't let this one get away; we couldn't bear to live without it.

So after meeting a guy and dating for long enough to get a good sense of one another (the initial "getting to know each other" stage of dating obviously requires more time than judging an apartment - think a couple of months not days) and, if nothing has moved forward in terms of commitment (e.g. more frequent communication/hanging out/inclusion in activities/The Talk), I begin to realize that I'm not what they're looking for.

The longer a piece of property (i.e. a potential relationship) sits on the market without so much as a contract negotiation, the more likely it will decline in value. My mother is a realtor so I know what I'm talking about.

If you're really interested and truly wanted it, you wouldn't risk losing it. You sign the lease (or you buy it! Although I'm clearly nowhere near THAT kind of commitment, metaphorically or otherwise).

You're not willing to commit to me? To jump through some hoops to get me off the market? Sorry ... Snooze = lose.

How Much Does a Polar Bear Weigh?

The inspiration for my latest date-meeting scheme started this summer with one decent looking guy who I would pass on the street each morning – him just getting off the subway, me hopping on to head uptown to work. We started seeing each other so regularly and catching eye contact that we both began to give slight acknowledgements to one another. I saw him recently for the first time in awhile. Minor look of familiarity. All is not lost, but doubtful anything will ever come from it.

I hadn’t seen him for awhile because I had to tweak my work schedule, leaving a little earlier than before. My Park Ave friend was replaced by a couple of interchangeable, cute guys in suits who all ride in the same car I specifically wait for each morning. For those of you have never experienced commuting via subway, you should know that it is a great day when autopilot takes over and you instinctively begin to line up to wait for the subway car that will let you off directly in front of your final destination’s exit.

Almost every day – depending on the time I left – I began to recognize the same guys, all of whom could potentially be The One. Okay, maybe that is a tad dramatic, but based solely on shallow first impressions, they all look like guys I would go out with. I mean, yeah sure it’s a long-shot to meet a guy on the street – or in this case underground – but so is meeting someone at a bar. But much like my Park Ave friend, there has never been an opportunity to break the ice.

This is when it hit me. I just need a purse full of cards to pass out to hot guys. Kind of like business cards, but not. While some people do hand out their business cards to strangers (e.g. FH 2.0), I know the IT guys at work, and I would rather not have "hey random girl on the street, thanks for picking me up" emails stored on the server. Plus, if my recipients are taken or are not interested, having my full name and place of employment makes things muy awkward, in my opinion.

What I need is an icebreaker card – a card with my name and email address. Just like an online dating profile. And maybe a funny joke or something. You know, to break the ice.

It’s like guerrilla marketing meets matchmaking – two strangers connecting. What would be the harm in that? I live in a city of millions of eligible bachelors, yet how come it seems like I never meet any of them? I need to expand my dating pool.

And, in the case with my subway boyfriends, I already know we have similar schedules. Dating convenience is something I hold in high regard. We could even be that annoying couple who commutes together ... although for the sake of those around me, I promise to limit my early-morning PDA.

So if society embraces this trend, or if I get ballsy enough to go rogue and print up a batch of these bad boys on my own, maybe the next time I see Park Ave I can casually slip him a card as he walks past ... and we'll see where things go from there.

Who could resist calling me after receiving this?

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