Stereotypical Workplace Differences

So I've only worked in PR, but I am assuming that the workplace culture is very different than, let's say, life in FJO-world.

Like for instance, the chances of this video being repeatedly shown by one guy to other guys in a "Too Big to Fail" office are fairly slim...

But that's just my guess. Who knows?

IAAB Karma

Sometimes there is no guilt related to turning someone down. Like My New Haircut guys at the club reeking of jager bombs who come up to you with some lame line. Or sketchy guys on the street who whisper totally inappropriate come-ons as they walk past you. Like the time my friend Ash was summoned by an official MTA employee - a bus driver on his bus! - to come over so he could hit on her. Ew.

But I am a bitch (IAAB), and occasionally a nice guy will make an effort with me, and for whatever reason I'm not feeling it, I will reject him. Clearly I'm no stranger to rejection, I've been there. It feels terrible.


So what do you do about it? How do you let them down easy? I've been faced with back-to-back situations where a little grace in this department could go a long way.

One instance involved me - hungover and on a shopping mission - and a random, probably very nice human being at Best Buy. As per my usual hungover state of unabashed interest in awkwardly talking to strangers, I started chatting with him. And apparently this guy found Hungover Rachel endearing. As he was from out of town, he asked me if I knew any good lunch spots in the neighborhood. My suggestion was followed by his suggestion that I accompany him. However, having already consumed my body's weight in Chipotle, there was no way. "How about coffee instead?" he asked. Clearly he does not understand booze is always the next option. Otherwise us getting to know each other would be the equivalent of a job interview.

Unfortunately for the potential fairy tale scenario of two strangers locking eyes over cheap netbooks, I was a) not interested and b) not in the mood to play babysitter. Like I said, IAAB.

I shot him down, left immediately after making my purchase, and subsequently destroyed his opinion of New York. Just kidding...

Now, spring forward to today. A very nice acquaintance who I ran into recently sent me an email asking me out this weekend. EITHER Friday dinner or Saturday brunch. Tricky tricky. Although The BFF pointed out that perhaps agreeing to go out with an actual nice human being might be a good change of pace and possibly even lead to an actual healthy relationship - the answer is no, not going to happen. I am just not interested.

So, now how do I defuse this situation? And no, honesty is not a policy I feel comfortable using in this scenario.

Is it wrong to say I'm seeing someone? Maybe I can just send him the link to this blog and say no one in their right mind would want to date me? Maybe I can be out of town and/or busy forever.

Whatever I pull, I will have bad karma. Forever. Because IAAB.

Today We're Getting Deep

Dating is fluid like the tide. It forcefully washes in only to jerk back out again. It knocks you over. It drags you down. It sucks.

You think he likes you, you think you have the upper hand. Then he pulls back drifting into the sea, where you know there are a million F-ing fish, but you’re not an F-ing fisherman. You wanted that one.

Damn All the Fish.

Note: This is the only time I will say something derogatory about sea creatures on this blog unless I happen to get bit by a moray eel or something along those lines.

Match...Dad?

A few months ago I called home to catch up with the ‘rents and, since my mom was out of the house, I had a nice little chat with my father, which included this gem:

Dad: So there’s this really handsome grad student interning at work. (My dad is an engineer).

Me: Uh?

Dad: Yeah he’s really tall, really good looking.

Me: Mom, is that you?

Dad: Yeah he might be a little old for you (he’s 33, so not in NY standards) but he sure is good looking.

Me: Seriously, what?

This coming from the man who has berated my mother for YEARS for meddling/trying to fix me up with any and every guy in the world. And also the guy, who after a few glasses of wine, told my best friends and their parents at our joint college graduation party that he just didn’t understand “why all women aren’t lesbians because women are just so beautiful.” So yeah, it was weird.

Obv when I went home to Austin, I had to follow up and see if I could get a glimpse of this man who had taken my father’s breath away.

My father, who clearly is spending way too much time with my mother, told me that I could come visit him at work, and he would point out said “really handsome” guy and then I could decide whether or not I wanted an introduction. Elaborate stakeouts had always been Mom’s domain, I thought. What is happening to the world?

Sadly, though, my potential future husband wasn’t working that week! Plan foiled! Match.Dad sadly would have to wait…

Talking to my parents recently, though, I did hear that my FH is back in the office, and my mom said she will go “check him out” for me. As her stalking techniques are getting quite technologically advanced, I told her she should pretend to text message while secretly taking a picture.

There is a 100% chance of hilarious failure with this plan. I will keep you updated.

Time to Clean Out Your Facebook Closet

Facebook started when I was a freshman in college, and it ruled. How else would I have been able to remember the names of the gazillion girls who all looked relatively the same in my dorm? Or the guys I met at frat parties?

But as the years go by, I continue to add “friends” that are actually more of not-even-acquaintances - random people who I met one time. Or, in the case of a lot of guys - who I made out with one time. Now, do we have to stay friends forever?

I’m all about major, thorough decluttering of my life. Probably because my mom always made me go through and get rid of my stuff periodically - the reason I no longer have any of my Barbies.

“Bless it and let it go,” her ‘Fung Shui Lady’ taught her. And, yes, that is someone’s career…

While my mothers mantra of, “If you didn’t wear it last season, get rid of it,” is a little harsh criteria, it is a nice excuse to rid yourself of things you’re ready to part with.

The other day a friend announced she had de-friended her ex on Facebook. After an attempt at being friends - years after the initial break-up - had recently gone awry, she felt comfortable being done with him for good.

It got me thinking. If I do not want or plan to come into contact with someone I’ve dated (hooked up with, made out with, had a crush on, etc.) again, why are we still “friends”?



Before the advent of social networking, relationships could totally disappear off the radar with ease. Now you could theoretically never lose contact with someone. Forever. While great for actual friends, family and acquaintances, if you never want to talk to someone again, bless them and let them go. Or, perhaps more accurately, cuss them and de-friend them.

It’s about karma - you’re clearing out your life to make room for others.

I feel like The Fung Shui Lady might be proud of me? Maybe not…


FB sidebar: The Native New Yorker suggested I become a fan of his mom.

HAHAHA. Seriously.

In his defense, she is an author with a newly released book and he sent it to all his friends, most of whom know her. But still.

The request has been unanswered. I feel awkward rejecting it. What if he and I were to date? What if someday I met his mom and I told her I refused to be her fan? I mean small chance of that happening, but still. Thanks, Facebook, for putting me in this awk situation.

Boyfriend Control – The Other B.C.

My mother used to say that all the babysitting I did was the best form of birth control. Boy was she right. I mean, not that I would have gotten knocked up in middle school, but spending countless weekends watching screaming babies, stubborn toddlers and unwieldy pre-schoolers gave me first-hand knowledge of how much trouble kids can be - especially if you’re not ready for ‘em. Before I get to my point, I would just like to congratulate myself for knowing, no matter how I F-up my life, I will never be a pregnant teenager. Wahoo.

Lately, though, I’ve started to get that same “Wow that looks terrible - I want no part of that right now” feeling when I witness some couples. Instead of birth control, it's boyfriend control - used to prevent unwanted relationships.

Yeah of course the sight of two love birds fawning all over each other makes me a little jealous, but so does seeing an adorable, giggling baby. But chances are, in five minutes, that baby will have thrown up on his mom’s shirt and is now in the midst of a giant screaming tantrum.

The same is true with relationships – they’re not all hand-holding and sweet kisses.


The awkward silent treatment at restaurants, where even as a bystander you can tell how miserably annoyed they both are with one another. A girlfriend screaming into her phone while standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Or, worst of all, like what I witnessed at a park with The BFF last night, a couple clearly breaking up. There’s nothing more tormenting. It looked like he was the one to pull the trigger. She looked fairly devastated. I was fairly devastated for her.

Listening to friends wax poetic about their dysfunctional relationships is other B.C. fodder. Not that I mind being a sounding board for friends to vet their problems – that’s what I’m hear for – but just that vivid trip down memory lane of being at a shitty place in your relationship...been there, do not miss that.

While being single can be lonely and full of plenty of its own drama and emotional scarring, it doesn’t involve the potential trauma of being let down by someone you love, being hurt or devastated if it doesn’t work out. You can’t dump yourself - it is the true, “for better or worse, sickness and in health” relationship.

And for the time being, I’m pretty content. It’s up to me to make me happy. And the reminders of the bad parts of dating – like being stuck with a colicky baby for an entire evening – make me think that I might be better off on my own until the time is right and I know I’m ready to fully commit to the responsibility.

Too Many Options

New York, the most expensive city in the country, has one redeeming deal – cheap mani/pedis. And I have found the greatest place to get them – it’s clean, friendly, convenient, efficient. Also one of the precious nail ladies is dating the mailman. Seriously. They met because the salon is on his mail route. Yes, so Legally Blonde.

Anyway, they also have an amazing selection of colors – every Essie shade you could want. Except, it is almost too great of a selection. This summer, one of the “on” occasions with my on-off obsession with getting weekly manicures, was the testing ground to find the perfect polish. While every now and then I would rock a Punch Pink or Flirty Fuchsia - or sometimes switch to a lighter hue when something more subdued was needed - coral has been my staple – the MPD for nail polish.

But as much as I love getting my nails done, I’ve begun to dread the, “Go pick a color,” directive that meets me as I walk in the door. My coral conundrum this summer would have my mind racing as I’d go back and forth between Boat House, One of a Kind, Enuff is Enuff, Escapades and Tangerine. All good choices (and no they’re not the same!) – but is there a best?

What if I get something that’s not as good as last week? What if it’s not what I really want? What if I’m wasting my time trying out a new shade? Should I just stick with one so I stop worrying?

Yeah, I get these are very first-world problems.

Anyway, the summer has ended but my nagging indecisiveness has not abated. And the constant second-guessing about whether I’ve made the right choice or if I should keep looking has infiltrated into dating.

Cute guy, good job, nice apartment. Just like the guy I met last week and the guy the week before him. Too many damn candidates all neck and neck for the finish line; rarely has there been a clear winner.

Like with the overwhelming number of polish options, the practically invisible distinction between guys I meet within MPD has made it difficult to decipher what I want and who I should go after - I blame the city for making it hard to tell them apart. How can I figure out which ones are just looking for a good time, which ones are flakey, or which one could potentially be The One? It’s about as hard as judging a bottle of nail polish to determine which won’t chip in a day or two, and which will stay perfect all week. Except, you know, I would prefer a relationship to last a little longer than seven days.

You wonder whether to make an effort with Guy A or blow him off hoping something will happen with Guy B. Or do you blow them both off because, hell, Guy C, D, E or F could be around the corner and be even better? How do you choose between a bevy of eligible bachelors, none of whom you actually really know that much about besides what you get at face value?

When it comes to the nail polish deciding vote, the shade with the cleverest name is usually the winner – prob not the best judge for dating…

As of late I haven’t found myself in the situation where I’m forced to choose between settling down with someone or continuing my search for something better, but I know that when that time comes, my new-found crippling indecisiveness will be an issue.

Maybe, though, the key is to not allow yourself an overwhelmingly infinite number of options. Maybe you say Enuff is Enuff and just choose the one you think is right. And stop second-guessing your decisions, Rachel…I mean, you, the reader…

Lovely Weather

The New York weather this weekend was perfection. After sizzling in Austin during the first half of my trip home followed by soaking torrential downpours the second half, I could not have been more excited to have my first weekend back include beautiful blue skies and perfect sunny 70 degree temperatures.

It was perfect weather for running errands and checking off a list full of to-do items. Ah productivity.

It was perfect weather for sitting in the park eating lunch creepily watching other people with their adorable dogs. Ahh puppies.

It was perfect weather for a terribly awkward two-block walk of shame in the UES (upper east side) to catch a cab while wearing the previous night’s short dress and knee-high brown suede boots complete with disheveled makeout hair and hungover, smeared makeup. Ahhhhhhh buckets-of-PBR-and-a-tequila-shot-I-did-not-need-induced-poor-decisions.

But still, the weather was lovely.

Roster Update: The Native New Yorker

My main points of reference for city kids are my older, Brooklyn-raised cousins, who always seemed so foreign and mature, and Gossip Girl. And also those weird, scary skateboarding hooligans in Union Square. I hate them (and when they almost run you over on your way to Whole Foods – assholes).

I’ll be honest, that combined mental image has always been a little bit of a deterrent when it comes to dating guys born and raised in the city. They’re a different animal. Not different as in bad or total dealbreaker necessarily, just a little harder to relate to. And so it’s no surprise that I’ve managed to go over a year and a half without dating a city kid. Sure I’ve met a few, but no one I was ever really into.

Like the guy who pursued me after we were almost plowed down in an intersection together by a red-light-running cabbie. I will be honest, he wasn’t that cute (he was no Trey MacDougal) – and five seconds after he introduced himself he had already volunteered how much paid for his apartment. It was muy aggressive.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I went to a rooftop party thrown by some friends in town. With my FGBF (French gay boyfriend… I miss you!) as my wingman, I managed to meet no guys. And then the minute he left, a 6’4’’, dark haired, green-eyed native New Yorker arrived fashionably late.

He took an interest in me (total self-esteem boost), and after talking for awhile, we made out. Because that’s what I do.

The next day, due to my little faith in the opposite sex (specifically MPD), I immediately texted our mutual friend to find out how big of a player he is known to be. She responded, “I don’t think he is?” Hmm, interesting concept, I didn’t know that existed in this city. Clearly no lack of cynicism these days…

Adding to his reasonably good reputation, since meeting - we’ve hung out again; he’s CALLED me on the phone (is he my mom or grandma?); and he’s texted/FB messaged me while I was gone for a week. From a quick textual analysis, he is doing fairly well: good caliber of banter, willing to flirt via SMS, surprisingly accurate breakdown of my personality - “90% sass, 6% healthy dose of self-confidence, 4% awkwardness.”

He is tall. He has pretty eyes. He is hot. But more than that - or the fact that he’s successful and 30 - he’s sweet, funny and possibly a little awkward himself.

An additional interesting fact about The Native: he owns a cat. Like a big, black, fluffy one with a scrunched face. In his feline defense, the cat seems more legitimate (both in size and intelligence/personality) than most of the guinea pig-sized dogs I almost step on walking home.

And no, Mom, I do not know how he feels about moving to Austin.

Friend-of-a-Friend (FofF)

I’ve always been a fan of the mutual friend connection (mutual acquaintance will do). Just that initial, baseline screening process can be helpful. Sort of like the referral or reference letter required for job/apartment applications. At least one person in the world will vouch that he’s not a total sociopath.

Yeah, things could eventually become awkward if you were to date long-term and break up, but I’ve come to learn that a drunken makeout or two all the way up to a few dates doesn’t really do much harm.

And I should know. I’ve worked my way through (that is not meant to sound so slutty) approximately a dozen FoFs since moving here. Every eligible bachelor - from the coworker’s boyfriend’s roommate to the roommate’s boyfriend’s coworker – has been met, assessed, and, for whatever of the million reasons, dismissed as potential boyfriend material. My supply dried up. Or so I thought.

Then, in response to last week’s post about Time Out New York’s list of 52 eligible bachelors, my work BFF Ash commented that #42 was in fact her bf’s frat brother (in addition to pointing out that Yorkville is on the UES – wahoo - I live right by the 6).

So I will be willing to get over my ageism seeing as how he told Ashley via FB chat at work the other day that he would be interested in grabbing drinks. She had been interrogating (read: making fun of him) about the responses he received (lots o’ crazies/phonies, 2 normals) when she mentioned my potential interest. And from the looks of the pictures she selectively chose to copy and paste from FB into an email, he looks pretty smokin’, more so than that TONY pic - (And don’t judge, you know you do it too – FB pictures provide a fantastic vetting service).

So we will see. But no matter what, I’m glad there are still a few FoFs left in the city. Especially those who, at some point in the past six months or so, looked pretty good shirtless.

I Had About a Million Dates in Austin

As in the dried fruit.

Approximately 48 oz. to be exact. Oh, Costco, how I miss your giant, family-sized, economically considerate offerings! Anyway, inspired by one of the best tapas I've ever had - from Pipa - I suggested to my mom that we attempt to make a few bacon-wrapped, almond-stuffed dates for a ladies party she was throwing. Luncheoning & shopping, yeah it was a tough life to adjust to for a week... Anyway, the dates turned out to be perrrfect.

The "recipe"

Ingredients:

- A bunch of pitted dates, however many you are willing to allow your fat ass to eat in one sitting because, let's be honest, they won't last long once they're covered in bacon

- Bacon

- Almonds

Directions:

- Stuff almonds in dates
- Wrap each date with enough bacon to cover so it won't fall off
- Insert toothpick to help it stay together (and to make easy to eat)
- Bake at 300 degrees or so for about 30 minutes (cook on foil covering a baking sheet for easy clean up)

Voila.

Bon appétit!!


In other news, I'm thinking about being Julia Child for Halloween (slutty version, obv), if for no other reason than to continue using that hilarious Meryl Streep voice.

Note: See, Mom, I'm capable of writing about other things besides "sex"!

My Summer was Better Than Yours

The time has come for the return of the most amazing fictional cougar bait of all time. Chuck Bass. He is charming, smarmy and rich. He is arrogant, pompous and hot. He is the perfect villain you can’t help but love. I am clearly obsessed.

Allegedly, though, Gossip Girl might not actually be real life. And Ed Westwick isn’t actually Chuck Bass.

Allegedly.

I know it might be hard to believe, but sometimes I live in my own little world. And this is one of those times. So when I’ve seen Chuck Bass (Ed) twice this summer, instead of acting with a modicum of cool, collected indifference that would be my typical response to most celebrity sightings, I’ve turned into what I assume is the equivalent of a tween Jonas Brothers fan.

Awk-ward.

The first interaction occurred during one of the most random nights of my life. My friend Lauren was in town and, after dinner, I decided I just really needed to get a giant Tasty D waffle cone before heading to a bar to meet her friend. Totally necessary after a giant Italian dinner... Anyway, I suggested we walk around the park while I finished my treat, and we noticed a few barricades and a couple of paparazzi loitering outside the Gramercy Park Hotel.

So since Lauren is known for her gregarious nature (in addition to her super sweet dance moves, her amazing acting skills, and her fantastic taste in sunglasses), the two of us proceeded to talk up a few paparazzi. You must learn to take advantage of life lesson opportunities when they arise - like learning the inter-workings of the biz. Or that if a fat Puerto Rican paparazzo wants to get your digits he probably doesn’t want to be your platonic friend.


Anyway, rapid fire questions steadily shot out of our mouths for almost an hour.

- “Who is the biggest bitch you’ve ever photographed?” – Jennifer Aniston

- “Do you have any problem taking pictures of people’s kids? Do you have any sort of moral compass?” – No, No

- “What do you think of Spencer Pratt?” – He would let you have sex with Heidi if you got them on the cover of a magazine

During our interrogation session we also learned that the cast of GG (in addition to a bunch of CW shows I don’t really know/care about) were at a network event inside.

OMFG.

So clearly we could not leave. Also another important life lesson we learned the hard way - watching not-really-quite-famous people awkwardly walk out in front of paparazzi only for no one to know if they’re important enough to be photographed = beyond painful. Train wreck painful.

But it was worth it. Because I had this amazing encounter:

Me: OMG ED WESTWICK!!!! CAN I GET A PICTURE????
Ed: [blank stare] - [awkward (or scared) smile]
Ed: [running to waiting town car with VANESSA (probably headed to Brooklyn to do some sort of protesting!!)]
Lauren: OMG I didn’t know you were capable of reaching that decibel. That could not have been more awkward.

It didn’t matter. I had made eye contact with Chuck Bass.

The second encounter took place at Tenjune. Chuck...I mean Ed… left the VIP area to make a request at the DJ booth. My friend in town, who ridiculously doesn’t watch GG!?!?, pointed him out to me. He was wearing a green plaid suit and a white fedora. So Chuck.

As I creepily stared him down, he passed me on the way back to his table. And do you know what I did? I grazed his back.

What did you do this summer? I made eye contact AND touched Chuck Bass.

It's the little things in life.

Keep Austin Weird

My week-long trip home has been great, lots of time with friends, the fam and JESSSSSEEEEE, our very rugged cocker spaniel. Yes I consumed an entire chocolate cake and an inhumane amount of Salt Lick BBQ, but that was to be expected.

Then things got weird. Never in a million years would I have guessed what randomness was in store, specifically the time the only guy to ever really break my heart (high school crush) confessed he had in fact always liked me. And that he was so stupid and so sorry for everything he had done to hurt me, e.g. the time he surprised me with a personalized cake on my 17th birthday only to start dating some idiot girl the next day. Also weird was when he mentioned that his dad randomly talks about how I'm the girl he would choose to set him up with in an arranged marriage.


WTF. "Once again, something that could have been brought to my attention YESTERDAY! ..." ... or in this case approximately 8 years ago.

Now headed off to a friend's wedding. I feel so old. But also like I'm a freshman in high school all over again? Because life wasn't confusing enough before. Fantastic.

500 Days of Wasting Your Time

So after seeing 500 Days of Summer again (fun fam outing with my mom, grandma, bro and his adorable gf), I remembered I never actually published my thoughts from my initial viewing a few weeks ago.

First of all, I loved the movie. Definitely worth seeing, if for no other reason than the fact that Joseph Gordon-Levitt is an adorable cupcake, who I’ve had a crush on since his Angels in the Outfield, Third Rock from the Sun, 10 Things I hate About You days.

Also one of the best lines of the movie is about how he won’t know if Summer is hooking up with “Lars from Norway, with the face of Brad Pitt and the abs of Jesus.” Let’s just say that sometimes art imitates life very very accurately – cough cough uncannily accurate in the case of the ForeignJO.

Anyway, there are also some good dating lessons worth taking note of, most importantly about one person thinking that someone is The One yet the other person not returning said feelings.

Unrequited love is a bitch. One of the worst things in the whole world, I’m pretty sure. Falling for someone so hard, being convinced that he is The One only for him to not feel the same way. Suckfest.

If you find yourself in this situation, the smartest thing you can do is to force yourself out of it. You cannot make someone love you back as much as you love them – trust me I’ve tried.

While you can’t instantaneously turn off feelings for someone, you can remove yourself from the situation. Yes you might want to be friends, but don’t go there, at least not right away. It will only make things worse, I promise. It’s like pulling off a Band-Aid, getting a shot, etc. – it sucks, it hurts, you live, you forget the pain, you go on with life.

Instead do your best to move on, surround yourself with things to keep you busy, and try and meet new people (specifically future love interests). Eventually you will realize it wasn’t meant to be, and you will find something better.

Easier said than done, I know, but the more you can remind yourself that it is, in fact, what you need to do, the better. It might be hard, but it beats kicking yourself for wasting months pursuing something you can look back on and realize wasn’t as perfect as the fairy tale in your head.

For a relationship to be the real thing, you both have to have the same level of obsession with one another. If one person is more committed, more interested, more devoted, it’s going to collapse. Like a Ponzi scheme.

Time Machine to Last Labor Day

This time a year ago the BFF and I were wrapping up our Hamptons share experience with The World’s Biggest Douchebag and Some People We Didn’t Really Know. As things were winding down it became quite apparent the BFF and I weren’t BFFs with everyone like Memorial Day had led us to believe. It had been fun, but we were ready for it to end.

One major factor that aided to this sentiment was that the World’s Biggest Douchebag had landed the hottest girl in the share (who I had thought was way out of his league, but oh yay she was willing to date down. IAAB - I am a bitch). There really is nothing better than getting to witness first-hand your former fling and a girl way hotter than you become an item. And, since getting to watch their love blossom before my eyes was such a special treat, I was excited to discover that they would continue sharing their affection with the world via Facebook alums dedicated to their romantic getaways (in painstaking photo documentation detail too magical to avoid when it’s on your newsfeed). From the looks of their pictures, they seem to be made for one another. Oh burn.

Anyway, lucky for me, I had moved on so I wasn’t particularly crushed. Unfortunately the person of interest was not the best choice. Or even a good choice. Or even an OK choice. In fact, some people would probably go so far as to say he was the True World’s Biggest Douchebag (WBDB).

He was pushy, manipulative, bratty. He toyed with my emotions. He could be cruel. And that’s just how I first knew him as friends.

One time he told me he HAD really liked me. So great to hear that in past tense.

Even after that fun exchange, I still liked him. The first time we ever hooked up (after months of flirtation), he pretended like he didn’t know it happened. For weeks he kept that up. Yeah we were drunk, but we weren’t that drunk. Asshole.

And I was stupid enough to let it happen again. Obviously drinking was involved that time too. Yeah he must have really liked me. Again, I like to learn things the hard way.

Had they’re been an election for the WBDB title, he would have won the popular vote. But thanks to that one showing at the Bob Schneider concert, Jack’s status had been solidified. That concert was the state of Florida.


This guy was the Al Gore of my Summer ’08.

I may still make poor choices, but thinking back to last year, I’m slightly better off than I was then - at least the douchebags I go after now are of a higher caliber. High five.

Fingers crossed Labor Day 2010 is even better.

The Time Has Come to Bid Adieu to My Summer Love

Ask anyone in the city and they’ll tell you to NOT get a boyfriend during the warm weather. No, it’s the time when you’re supposed to be out enjoying the world – aka looking cute in your skimpy summer clothes, meeting hot guys in the Hamptons, and ultimately shacking up with a few randoms. That was my summer last year. Luckily I’ve matured. Or something (like the fact I didn’t have a Hamptons share). Whatever.

So, instead I made the most of my summer in the city, rejected others’ advice, and embraced love.



But now summer is over - he’s leaving me. And I am devastated.

I thought I wanted a boyfriend, but all along I think maybe I’ve just been in need of a gay (French) best friend.

We met at work. Yes I know, normally work relationships are a BAD idea. And he’s a foreigner! But apparently doing the opposite of what you would do to find a hetero-relationship is the best game plan. Then you get someone to entertain you during the day plus, since he is Parisian and snobby, he has nice taste and is always telling me about great restaurants, shops, venues, etc.

His daily presence in the office has been like bright sunshine (if bright sunshine referred to me as “sumo”). He is snarky and chic. He is the perfect GBF. Ah I’m already tearing up.

I will miss his French accented “Hellllllllllllllloooooooo” each morning; his quiet whispers that he hates his life because he’s tired/hungry/too busy; his serious requests for 500 euro so he can buy a new bag or Tods sneakers; his love of nice restaurants and New York-y activities, especially Central Park and rooftop parties. When asked how his previous night’s activity was? His reply is almost always, “Oh it was just perrrrfect.”

I will miss his insistence on Facebook stalking my upcoming dates – well I guess I still have my mom for that.

I will NOT miss him asking me grammatical questions. Yes I understand English is my first (and really only) language, but I don’t know everything.

I will miss being sent the link to great new music, like this little gem: and random, crazy French videos.

I will miss him going to the classes at the gym with me – particularly Beach Body Bootcamp, or Body Beach as he calls it. I will miss us laughing at each other in the mirror when he can’t keep up with the coordinated routines. And of course, I will miss his monogrammed, flamboyantly colored Nikes.

I’m DEVASTATED.

I will miss you, Matthieu. Come back soon and I’ll marry you for your Green Card. We can check out hot guys together, go shopping and eat delicious meals. It will be just perfect.

Parting is such sweet sorrow. Au revoir, fatty, think of me when you eat croissants and cookies!

xoxo

The Time Has Come to Bid Adieu to My Summer Love

Ask anyone in the city and they’ll tell you to NOT get a boyfriend during the warm weather. No, it’s the time when you’re supposed to be out enjoying the world – aka looking cute in your skimpy summer clothes, meeting hot guys in the Hamptons, and ultimately shacking up with a few randoms. That was my summer last year. Luckily I’ve matured. Or something (like the fact I didn’t have a Hamptons share). Whatever.



So, instead I made the most of my summer in the city, rejected others’ advice, and embraced love.



But now summer is over - he’s leaving me. And I am devastated.



I thought I wanted a boyfriend, but all along I think maybe I’ve just been in need of a gay (French) best friend.



We met at work. Yes I know, normally work relationships are a BAD idea. And he’s a foreigner! But apparently doing the opposite of what you would do to find a hetero-relationship is the best game plan. Then you get someone to entertain you during the day plus, since he is Parisian and snobby, he has nice taste and is always telling me about great restaurants, shops, venues, etc.



His daily presence in the office has been like bright sunshine (if bright sunshine referred to me as “sumo”). He is snarky and chic. He is the perfect GBF. Ah I’m already tearing up.



I will miss his French accented “Hellllllllllllllloooooooo” each morning; his quiet whispers that he hates his life because he’s tired/hungry/too busy; his serious requests for 500 euro so he can buy a new bag or Tods sneakers; his love of nice restaurants and New York-y activities, especially Central Park and rooftop parties. When asked how his previous night’s activity was? His reply is almost always, “Oh it was just perrrrfect.”



I will miss his insistence on Facebook stalking my upcoming dates – well I guess I still have my mom for that.



I will NOT miss him asking me grammatical questions. Yes I understand English is my first (and really only) language, but I don’t know everything.



I will miss being sent the link to great new dance music, like this little gem: and random, crazy French videos.



I will miss him going to the classes at the gym with me – particularly Beach Body Bootcamp, or Body Beach as he calls it. I will miss us laughing at each other in the mirror when he can’t keep up with the coordinated routines. And of course, I will miss his monogrammed, flamboyantly colored Nikes.



I’m DEVASTATED.



I will miss you, Matthieu. Come back soon and I’ll marry you for your Green Card. We can check out hot guys together, go shopping and eat delicious meals. It will be just perfect.



Parting is such sweet sorrow. Au revoir, fatty, think of me when you eat croissants and cookies!



xoxo

Ahhh Christmas Comes Early

So I was super excited to learn (per my ultimate source of stop-working-and-look-at-this fodder, Ashley, thank you) Time Out New York has given us a little present today: 52 single, straight ELIGIBLE bachelors in New York.

The list includes photo, age, where they live and what they do. Clearly my mother was not in charge of making this list because it’s missing her two, most pertinent questions: their height and how they feel about moving to Austin.

Unfortunately, this present is a little like the Christmas when I was in third grade and all I wanted in the whole world was to get my ears pierced. And my mom gave me those stupid magnetic earrings, which I immediately mistook for real earrings and a gesture that I could get them pierced. Psych. I was devastated. Anyway, luckily soon after she and my dad went snow skiing, leaving us at home with the grandparents, and as an incentive to be on good behavior, she let me get them done then. Ahhh bribery, the foundation of good parenting.

I digress. Anyway, so this list was not as awesome as I had hoped it would be.

Its main flaws:

1. I am lazy. I’m only interested in convenience dating - geographic proximity is key. As Liz Lemon wisely advised on 30 Rock, "Long distance is the wrong distance. Dealbreaker!" The majority of these guys do not live on the isle of Manhattan. Yeah I understand the logic that many places in Brooklyn might actually be closer to me than other neighborhoods in Manhattan, but I cannot get past the mental roadblock of there being a river in between us.

2. A lot of them are not attractive or are hipsters. Is that redundant?

3. Allegedly all of these men are straight. I am having a hard time buying that.

So, I’ve weeded out all the total rejects, and in case anyone cares about my taste in men, here are the few that caught my eye. Unfortunately most of them have a few qualities that, well, seal their dealbreaker fate.

#9 is maybe the most my type, but oh Brooklyn, oh dealbreaker.

#25 is hot – but performance artist? I know for a fact that people describe standing creepily as the Statue of Liberty outside Central Park as “performance art”… Dealbreaker.

#30 is cute, but my age & Queens? Dealbreaker.

#35 works at Gawker! Lives in LES. Maybe he could get me a job! I think he’s cute, but I also think Seth Rogan is cute. So there.

#42 has pretty eyes…but my age and I don’t even know where the hell Yorkville is, so dealbreaker.

#46 has pretty hair. But he looks kind of melancholy. And BK dealbreaker.

I think #31 might be the BFF’s soul mate. LOVES ITTTTTTTTTTTTT. HAHAHAHAHA.

"Deplorable"

The word used to self-describe FH 2.0's lack of communication this past week.

Indeed.

I guess that means IF I had been describing our situation in yesterday's post, his friends didn't hate me. Fantastic.

As I'm leaving town for a week, there's a fairly high chance this could be the end. But you never know. I'm clearly not known for my ability to steadfastly commit to ending things, cough cough...Pinch Hitter...cough cough.

Market Research

I feel like my life is a continuous loop of online feedback requests. Whether it’s the annoying pop up surveys when you visit a website, or a follow-up email asking for your comments after a dinner you reserved through Open Table, interactive communication is changing the dynamic of our world. Whether or not you take the time to fill it out is your prerogative, but if you have something to share or recommend about improving the experience, you can. While I’m sometimes skeptical about how much my opinion will make a difference, I still appreciate being proactively presented with the option.



Unfortunately this candid, quick and easy two-way communication has not yet been harnessed where I think it could be most helpful - dating – a terrain in serious need of cooperative feedback to help streamline the many complexities plaguing relationship building in our over-stimulated, attention-deficit culture. Casual dating lacks open and honest communication like Times Square lacks things I enjoy.

The perfect example of when the opportunity to solicit feedback would be invaluable: a guy goes radio silent after you think things had been going well. Out of nowhere you never hear from him again. Perhaps you went to his friend’s intimate birthday dinner with his close friends and their serious girlfriends (last Friday). He insists he wants to see you the following night only to not respond to your text. And then you don’t hear from him for awhile. Clearly things are fading out - it’s fine, it’s life, it’s FJO dating - but the nagging question of WHY will inevitably vex me you. [Note: his friends seemed very nice, not like the kind of people to say they hated you, so hoping that is not the reason.]

While I’ve made a personal commitment to maintain fairly low, early-on expectations about guys I meet, the fact that this totally hypothetical situation could occur is irritating. This behavior from most guys wouldn’t really faze me, but seeing as how a certifiable member of MPD has fallen off the radar, I can’t help being a little perplexed…I mean, I WOULD feel this way if I found myself in this situation...

Now, I can be totally guilty of the same bullshit dating faux pas. Sometimes I don’t return calls, maybe it’s because I’m busy and I forget, maybe I don’t see the point since I know it’s not going anywhere. Whatever it is, it's bitchy; maybe he cares, maybe he doesn’t. But if a guy cared enough to straight up ask me why I abruptly ended things, I think I would respond. And maybe guys who blow off girls would too?

This is when a handy email survey, Facebook or iPhone app would be perf. A “So How Come You Just Weren’t That into Her/Him” quick questionnaire would save a lot of wondering.

The post-dining survey would be a great one to mimic:

We would appreciate your feedback about your experience at Mercer Kitchen hanging out with Rachel on August 29, 2009. Please take a moment to fill out our Dining Dating Feedback Form:

Food?
Service?
Ambiance?
Noise?
Overall experience?

Ok, well maybe I’ll have to change a few of the categories, but you know what I mean.

Not that I’m suggesting public reviews of my dating or anything – this blog is clearly more than enough overshare to go around - but it would be nice to be able to discreetly solicit feedback after things end with a guy.

An outside third party could provide you with the closure – and valuable dating insight – that would help you go on with life without having to spend the next two weeks obsessing over WHY.

Yeah maybe he might make up an excuse, but at least it’s SOMETHING. Or maybe he will admit the reason he stopped talking to you is, in fact, the hidden insecurity you feared it to be, and you’re heart broken. But you will get over it. Because at least you know - at least the uncertainty is gone. Plus then you will learn that all those bullshit excuses you feed yourself (and your friends considerately feed you) are crap. Man up.

Although, since girls are crazy, this genius idea has a fairly high chance of back-firing. If his reasons aren’t deemed as acceptable excuses, a girl could send a million texts in retaliation. But I figure those girls are probably the same ones who would send a million text messages to inquire why he wasn’t calling them back in the first place.

Maybe this isn’t the worst idea?