High School Was So Seven Years Ago

Except I've entered into a weird vortex that has propelled me back to that time in my life.

It's so weird. Within a span of eight days, I've managed to completely revert back to High School Rachel. Clothes strewn all over my room, building up to NYC snow bank levels? Check. Driving my mom's car to go meet friends at Magnolia Cafe? Check. Family tension, tongue biting and eye rolling? Check.

But the biggest "Ladies and Gentlemen, We've Taken a Time Machine to 2004" moment took place the day after Christmas.



We're the Three Best Friends
That Anyone Could Have

Every year, two former high school classmates - one from my grade and one a few years older - have a joint birthday party. A Reunion of People I Don't Despise, I call it. Having attended the past few years, it's become an event I enjoy - look forward to even. Although it's a little awkward blast from the past, we've all moved on from that time in life. (Mostly) gone are the harbored judgments, and stale stereotypes from those years growing up together. It's weird, like we've all gone and become adults all of a sudden. Real people.

With the exception of one.

Before I came into town, I had been exchanging periodic Facebook messages with the HS Crush, the first (and foremost) CGS manifestation in my life. [Back story: He caustically cremated my fragile little 16-year-old heart. While I totally own up to being a wee bit of an idiot (read: psycho) about it all, years later - last year to be exact - he told me that he had in fact liked me. He was just a dumbass (read: jackass).]

Okay so now we're all on the same page. A page where I thought we were all adults. Now back to the party.

I was with my friend Keaton (honorary high school friend but really from college), S, and The BFF when I received a text from the HS Crush. Apparently he had seen me from across the party, thought I looked "sophisticated," but didn't bother to say hi. He was leaving to grab some food, he might be back, but maybe we could do lunch the next day. 

Those pitchers are $5. Maybe that's why I always have fun?



Whatever.

He never showed back up. Not surprised.

Then, what was shocking, was that he texted me the next day about lunch plans! I was blown over. Wow, he really has changed.

Except, of course, he hasn't. After I responded with a proposed time, he never followed through.

And that was the last I heard from him.

Because we're back in high school and he sucks.

(Unlike high school, though, I lack any semblance of CGS about the situation. It doesn't matter. At all. It's just the total lack of common courtesy that is annoying. But that's just how he is.)

Can I go back to Real Life Rachel now? Please?

Actually this is pretty close to real life.
Unfortunately we are that creepy
and good at dancing.

Home Sweet Home

Exhausted. Another way too early flight from Newark, this time with "adorable" children seated directly behind me, expressing their energy with incessant kicks to the back of my chair and high pitched squeals. Six am, no big deal.

From the Austin airport I was whisked away by my mother to my brother's wedding venue to go over details with his fiance and her mom. Finally I feel like a part of it all! It's so exciting to see it all coming together, but before we can focus totally on that, we have a little thing called

C H R I S T M A S

to celebrate. In another city no less. With Dolo. Who is more stressed out about which movies will we see!?! as opposed to anything else. God love her. Then family reunion pre-wedding, cousins from all over. Did I mention I'm excited!?!

Mix in reuniting with some of my favorite friends - and seeing The BFF who I already miss (co-dependency at it's finest!) - and as you can see I'll be a little busy for the rest of 2010!

Hopefully I'll find time to catch up between now and then, but if not:

Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!

(Note: My excitement being expressed in italics and exclamation points is a direct result of getting two hours of sleep last night. Wooo!!! Is it bed time?)

In Hindsight Maybe I Should Be Blogging About Knitting?

Except of course I don't know anything about knitting. And let's be honest, that seems like a hobby that might require more patience than I'm willing to devote at this point in my life. So I guess I'll stick to writing about my life - and dating - adventures. But it might get a bit tricky.

This weekend when I went to a holiday party hosted by a friend of The BFF's. After a little while, a guy came up to me to say hi. He knew my name, but I didn't know his.

Turns out he was roommates with Kenneth The Page. Awk-ward, although he was very nice.

Then awhile later I was talking to a cute guy. He went to get a drink and came back to ask "are you going to blog about this?"

Oy. Word travels fast.

Oh, and it turns out that after flirting with me for hours, it seems he might have a girlfriend. Ugh. Why has this been my thing recently?! (Although this time I promise it wasn't my fault.)

2011: Year of guys without girlfriends who accept the blog!

Can't be that hard, right? ...

Guest Post: The Mutual Fade Out

There are many beautiful phenomena on this planet—gravity, sunsets, peanut butter and jelly, leaves changing color, finding a taxi when it’s raining, cold pizza—you get my drift.
High up on the list is my new favorite—The Mutual Fade Out. If you don’t know about ‘The Fade Out,’ well I happen to just have something about it right here. Learn something new. Understand that since no one posted any stories means I was 100% correct about my conclusion. I win.

So now that we’ve reviewed the ‘Fade Out’ let’s take a closer look at its hotter, more sophisticated cousin the ‘Mutual Fade Out.’

The ‘Mutual Fade Out’ is the perfect fairy tale ending when you live in fear of hurting someone’s feelings while at the same time you don’t have a soul. HOWEVER, the major distinction between the two is that your partner actually happens to feel just as indifferent as you about your so-called ‘dating situation.’

Therefore there is a lack of creepiness on either side. You won’t be receiving a ‘Holla! What have you been up to?” text at 3 in the morning or any ‘hey babe it’s been a long time, what’s up with that?’ voicemails. Basically you have disappeared from each other’s universes and no one’s complaining about it.

Oh sigh. It’s the best.

Two Classy Ladies

Card carrying member of the Clean Plate club
...and the Cup of Vodka Martini club.

Since I am against making the effort to go on actual dates, I will share with you the lovely "Wife Date" The BFF and I had at a new restaurant that just opened this week. Because that's how we roll. Baller city.

Beauty & Essex, whose founder/chef Chris Santos also started Stanton Social and is a judge on Food Network's Chopped in case you care, was
a-mazing.

The decor is just the right combination of gaudy and chic that allows you to simultaneously feel a little modern day Mad Men while also getting a hint of Atlantic City. You'd like it.

Plus they serve you complimentary champagne in the bathroom (which, while kind of defeating the purpose of going to the bathroom, is still awesome). Also, this is kind of weird, but I'm just going to say it: I totally judge places based on bathroom decor. And this "lounge" was beautiful.

While the placement of our table left something to be desired (i.e. wedged in between two actual couples having the most annoying conversations ever), the food was excellent.

And that's saying something considering The BFF and I are both fairly big food snobs (plus we had the desire to be extra critical since that's how Santos is toward the contestants on Chopped).

Splitting - as suggested by our waiter - a bunch (too many maybe) dishes, the steak tartare on crispy rice cakes was my favorite. Why did it beat out the rest? One word: horseradish.

Love the stuff.

And while I was (almost) at the point of licking it off my plate, I realized that there is a short list of ingredients that, if on a menu, will make my ordering decision for me. Here's what I came up with:

• Horseradish
• Goat cheese
• Wasabi
• Braised short ribs
• Crispy shallots
• Pancetta (let's be honest, pork belly and bacon too)
• Mushrooms

Oh, and if something is served with a side already (cough cough herb-dusted french fries), then count me in.

Anyway, it was a fun night and a great reminder that although I sometimes complain about being single, I am thankful for this time in my life. I'm at the pinnacle of selfishness. And if I want to treat myself to a delicious "I totally could have bought groceries for a week but oh well" dinner for no reason other than I Just Feel Like It (totally legit reason in my book) on a Wednesday night with my favorite roommate, I can.

And I will.

P dot S: Below is our pre-dinner conversation, proving our maturity. Thank goodness Gchat enables The BFF, S, and I to still have chat rooms like we did in middle school.

Me: are we drinking at dinner?

The BFF: i vote martini

S: its all martinis for me in the new year...

The BFF: what a classy resolution! i second that

Me: your idea of a martini is a cup of vodka...and maybe some pickle juice...let''s not pretend like we're that classy

The BFF: oh right.

Someday we'll be classy, someday. But considering The BFF complained at dinner that her martini was "too smooth and not Vodka-y enough," I'm not quire sure it will be tomorrow.

I have been watching an awful lot of Millionaire Matchmaker lately (to the chagrin of The BFF who cannot stand the show), and one important takeaway I've gathered from it - besides the fact that there really are no datable people in New York - is that you have to have a list of non-negotiables. A few characteristics or qualities that are required in your ideal person. Otherwise you're just wasting your time.

I've come up with mine:

Would live in Austin.

Wants kids and will be a good father.

I Am Nothing If Not Self-Aware

I am aware that it is self-absorbed to
take a lot of solo shots. But it's my thang.
And I don't care.

On Thanksgiving Eve I received the blog comment "You are such a fake bitch."

Whaaat?

The next morning, while calling my family to wish them a happy holiday, I shared this with my mom and grandma. Typical Thanksgiving banter, obv. My complaint, though, wasn't that someone had left me a mean note, "I mean, duh, IAAB!" it was that I do not perceive myself as being fake (on this blog). (In-person is another story because sometimes it is socially required of you. I mean, we are not animals.)

But this blog is a forum for me to share my feelings/genius musings as well as a diary to account for this portion of my life.

Yes, I am a total revisionist historian and yes my feelings and opinions might tap dance all over the chart from one day to the next, but I am not fake! I can be a bitch one minute and nice the next. But that's not fake!

My mom's response to all this was, "Well at least you are self-aware."

And that's the truth. And, to go along with this recognition of perception, I also make an effort to be introspective. This includes conducting an awful lot of internal therapy sessions. How are we feeling today? Do you hate everyone and everything? Oh things are going well? Isn't that grand.

Very exciting, I know, but it helps me stay sane.

And so I've done some pondering lately about all the upcoming excitement involved in my trip home. Twelve days of family and friends (and hopefully warmer weather). Celebrating Christmas, reuniting with my closest college pals and high school buddies (one perk of going to school in the same city you were raised), and of course my younger brother's wedding.

Have I mentioned that? I'm not sure. The first thing anyone says when they hear about it is "Wait, how old are they?" They are young, but also the most mature people ever and have been dating since high school. When my brother called me last year to tell me he was going to propose, my reaction was, "Oh wait, you aren't married already?"

So the fact that he is getting married before me is a non-issue. It was assumed - especially after I broke up with The College BF to move to New York - that it would happen. Also the fact that I can't even make a long-term commitment to my gym membership points to the fact I might not currently be ready for long-term monogamy.

It is also fine that I'm sans date. The idea of babysitting someone instead of spending time with all the family in town is not appealing.

These areas expected to cause concern have not, which is great.

But I have unearthed one small feeling of apprehension. It's begun to bubble up that a certain Spotlight-Demanding Oldest Child Who Typically Thinks The Universe Revolves Around Her might have a slight problem with not being the center of attention.

And so I've been practicing a good mantra to deplete my self-absorption: "It's not all about you."

It won't be, and it will be perfect.

(But since this blog is all about me because it's mine! aren't we proud of my mature emotional progress??)

My Weekend with Washington Insiders, Politico Namedroppers & Craigslist's Finest

Labor Day 2010. Maria, we did tons of historic
stuff without you on this trip!

This weekend I went to DC for a final visit before Meredith, my college friend/ roommate/sorority sister/"Pls let me live the dream" birthday texter, moves back to Austin.

Knowing that Mere tends to get a little stressed, I jumped at the chance to be there for moral support, which included selling the car she has had since she was 16. An end of an era. I told her my sales pitch was going to be about how "I've known this car as long as I've known her, and it's just as stable and reliable as our friendship."

Sadly it didn't come to that. The first person who saw it bought it without even taking it for a test drive. Quite a bit of faith for a 1996 Ford Explorer. (Tangent: Meredith initially tried to list the car for the ambitious price of $2500, but it didn't get much interest. She told me she might need to "pimp me out in a bikini on the hood." I assured her that would not do her any favors at this point in December. Slashing the price in half proved to be a much better option.)

All in all, it was a great trip - the fourth I've taken to see her there - and I realized that I'm not just sad she's leaving, I'm disappointed to lose my favorite go-to weekend destination. Hopefully, though, I'll still make it down there occassionally, especially since I made a new friend while I was there (Hi Carin!), and reacquainted with an old one.

The highlight of the trip - besides, of course, witnessing the parade of Craiglist humanity marching through Meredith's apartment - was getting together with one of my oldest family friends who moved there in the fall. He's the son of my parents' best friends from college, and his mom is the equivalent of my Fairy Godmother. She provides support, encouragement, advice, amazing hostessing, and "just for fun" gifts. Abra cadabra!

So anyway, her son and I have known each other since I was born and he was a toddler. Recently his dad put together a funny video montage of our families' visits over the years, and I'm pretty sure it shows him dumping me out of a hammock of something. Thanks.

But since those frequent childhood visits, we haven't seen each other in years. The better part of a decade maybe - I must have been in high school and he had just started undergrad at Harvard? Anyway, now that he's back on the East Coast (and newly single), our mothers have been encouraging the idea that we rendezvous. I mean, it is Match.Mom after all. What else would you expect?

My visit to see Meredith was the perfect opportunity since she's one of the girls who has participated in turning his childhood domain into our Wedding Central Sorority House 2.0. As my mom would say, "It's fun to connect the dots."

We went to Michel Richard's Central, one of Meredith's favorites, and it was a fantastic meal. The food and the company. Afterward we both concluded: He's a catch.

He's notoriously brilliant (you might have guessed from the Harvard mention), and that's pretty much been the main thing I've known about him over the years. But it also turns out that he's cute, charming, and fun.

I would make a joke about how my parents should start working on my Arranged Marriage Dowry, but I'm afraid either (or both) of our mothers might spontaneously combust. And we can't have that happen right before Christmas, now can we? Nothing spoils the holidays like spontaneous combustion...

Plus that whole he lives in another city deterrent. And as this blog as my witness, I am not going down that path again.

(But obviously I'm the biggest blog hypocrite of all time - after my passionate protest against them, I had like 400 iced coffees this summer! - so really what do my promises mean anyway? Note to self: Consider a future in politics.)

P dot S: While taking advantage of the drizzly-weather-slash-TBS-plays-awesome-movies combination we watched Father of the Bride (Pts I and II) before I left on Sunday, analyzing them both for the millionth time. (Why was George Banks so against change!?)

It made me realize how proud I am of Meredith for embracing this transition much better than Steve Martin's iconic character would have.

(And because I'm a self-important name dropper who loves to make parenthetical asides, I'd like to take this time to remind you that Steve and I run in the same social circles these days. And I never would have demanded a refund.)

That is all.

"Guide to Grandmahattan"

That's what The BFF suggested I change my blog title to last week because apparently I'm boring and not providing her with the quality of dating drama posts she requires.

"You spent last night hanging out with an engaged friend and eating an entire pie!" And your point is?

So on Thursday night I agreed to go out with her. Did I meet someone? Yes.

"Hey do you want to come home with me and pass out?"

Um no.

And the hibernation continues.

(And so does the propensity that we become crazy cat ladies. Which reminds me, have you noticed that there are an awful lot of commercials focused on cat health lately? Not that there's anything wrong with preventing feline obesity, just an observation about advertising targeting a newly-discovered demographic. See below:)



It didn't have to be this way.



Matchmaker, Matchmaker

I'm only semi-ashamed to admit this, but I'm borderline obsessed with Millionaire Matchmaker. Particularly because this season takes place in New York and that makes me like things 1000 times more, but also because I find matchmaking to be a far-too-overlooked way to meet someone.

The current window in which I'm most likely to meet someone I'm interested in is from about 10pm to 2am. I'm not saying it can't happen, but I am doubtful that the guy who I met while shoving onion rings in my face at a burger joint in D.C. was my soulmate. Mostly because after asking my name three times he still couldn't remember it. Call me old fashioned, but I think that I'd like my FH to know my name. Or am I being too demanding? (Although anyone who still likes me after seeing me devour a totally unnecessary 2am meal might be my soulmate, maybe I should have made more of an effort?)

Lots of people turn to online dating. I'm not against the idea, actually I am kind of intrigued about the ability to be so selective and stalkerish up front, but I'm also lazy. And jaded. Technology has increased our social circles far and wide, but I think the options are overwhelming. Part of me is intimidated. Part of me is lazy.

And so now

The Dog Said It All

Awhile ago I wrote about how you can tell if a guy is taken and/or gay by the type of dog he has. Basically, if a guy is walking a small, white, fluffy dog, chances are it's his girlfriend/wife's or he's gay. 

Yeah, this is what you would call a stereotype. You might find that offense. Well, here's a secret I've learned living in New York: most stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. 

I'm just sayin'.



Princess needs to go out.

So this little nugget of insight caught me off guard today when I left the gym and saw an incredibly attractive guy, whose workouts frequently coincide with mine, tethered to a maltese. Talking to another man with a maltese. Hearing his voice for the first time, my theory was solidified.

I'd really thought my gaydar had gotten pretty accurate, but this one snuck right by me. I mean, he does work out a lot, and he has incredibly toned vanity muscles (props for you if you get that Always Sunny reference), but I just thought maybe he was just a lil' conceited!

Nope. Just another attractive gay man. Which is great since there's a shortage of those in this city!

P dot S: In case Santa happens to click on the link to my post from last December, I'm still in the market for a bulldog puppy. K thanks!

Dating Detox

For the last two holiday seasons, I was in a relationship. (Same boyfriend, two separate attempts at dating.) Now I'm alone. Well, I have The BFF. So that's something. But in terms of guys, I am incredibly single. And it's going to stay that way until March.

Last year I wrote about the Turkey Drop. Basically, whatever your relationship status is at Thanksgiving will continue past Valentine's Day. So there you go. It's science. Like the Farmer's Almanac or whatever.

To add to my chronic condition of single-itis, I just realized I'll only be in town one weekend between now and January 15. Everyone knows vacations are potential-relationship killers.

Plus, you know, I have some really important activities I need to cross off my agenda during the next few months:

- Staying warm inside (preferably wearing sweat pants). I think in some circles it's known as hibernating.

- Eating. It's the holidays. Also, sometimes food seems like love. Or makes up for the lack thereof. Whatever, it's awesome and there's so many delicious opportunities this time of year. 

- Celebrating with friends. Combine it with the above point, and it makes calories count less I think. (Yes, science is my thing.)

- Working out. This holiday-related obesity is not going to combat itself.

- Watching the following Christmas movies on TV no matter how many times you've seen them:

1. Home Alone
2. Home Alone 2
3. Elf
4. Christmas Vacation
5. A Christmas Story

So that about covers what I'm up to as part of my Dating Detox. Unless of course you happen to have Prince Charming's phone number, in which case, I guess I could slightly deviate from my winter plan...

(Let's be honest, this Detox might also end with a Bloomin' Onion.)

I Love You, I Love You Not

Bipolar dating

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I will always prefer warm weather to cold and sun to snow, but there is something undeniably magical about December in New York. Within a week, the entire island switches from Gotham City to Santa's Workshop.

Little pockets of cheer throughout even the most mundane areas. Sparkling lights, big red bows. Bells and baubles, wreaths and trees.  

I adore it.




Hard to light the menorah when it's made of ice.

 

Embracing my ear muffs, puffy coat, and scarves, I ventured out in the cold with Ashley to soak up the festivity this weekend.



Don't worry, we managed not to get locked out of any places. (Too soon?)

We braved the masses and meandered through the Union Square and St. Bart's holiday markets (my life's radius also includes Grand Central Terminal and Bryant Park markets too, making question how many spoon jewelry artisans can this city have?).

We made a stop by Wink! boutique in SoHo to meet Katy from Sugarlaws, one of my favorite bloggers. She was so cute and nice, styling me in some adorable dresses and making it very hard to remind myself that I'm supposed to be shopping for others right now.

The weekend went by too fast, which is only a precursor to how the rest of the month will fly by too.

In a little over two weeks, I'll be home to celebrate in Texas. Where it will probably be 80 degrees. And then it will really feel like Christmas.

P dot S: When we were little, my aunt would give each of us a specific ornament. I would get bears, one brother got choo choo trains, and the other rocking horses. As you can see, some of my bears migrated north. It's one of my all-time favorite Christmas traditions.

What a Difference a Year Makes

Last December I was miserable. I was stuck in a job where I'd been for a year too long, and I was habitating with psychos in the inner circle of hell. I could not shake feeling helpless, hopeless, and hapless. Really fun to be around, as you can imagine and/or you experienced first hand.

But as soon the calendar switched to 2010, the momentum began to swing in my favor. The BFF and I moved into an apartment that we love, and I got a new job that pays the bills and where I learn something new every day.

Even though I still don't have a sweet clue how my life will turn out, I'm still blessed and thankful.

Wow this is incredibly positive for a Monday.

And The Love Affair Continues

Um how did I not find this for 10 months?

"Ain’t got a boyfriend at home but got plenty of cheese...Gonna slip into my slanket and just watch some TV"

That might be my weekend. Happy Friday.

I Hope This Gets To Them

So by now you've heard the story about how a guy enlisted his roommates - The Daylights - to make a video for his girlfriend who moved away to grad school. A viral (marketing) love letter that gets to her "organically."

My friend Brooks, quickly becoming my favorite West Coast gossip girl, has all the first-person details on her blawg. Obviously.
Word is spreading fact. Gawker's Gizmodo posted it, OK Magazine wrote about it, Katy Perry Tweeted it, and even my own mother put it on Facebook!

In case you haven't seen it yet, here ya go:



I love grand gestures. And I love this song and video.

But what do I love even more?


Those eyes. That bone structure. That hair. They're still dreamy. Sigh.

Discovering that this band The Daylights is the same band that used to come to my church's middle school and high school youth group events. Once I spent a week with them.

The twins, Ricky and Ran Jackson, were oh so dreamy, talented, and genuinely great guys. Highschool Rachel loved them.

And I'm so happy they're making it big. They deserve it.

(Mom, if you're super bored, there are pictures of me with them in one of my photo albums in my old room the guest room. If you scan one and send it to me so I can update this, you'll be my favorite mom. Ha, now you can see how it feels using the "favorite" incentive in front of a noun that there's only one of in our family, i.e. "favorite daughter"! xoxo)

Love And Other Feelings I Don't Currently Associate With

When I realized I'd have the weekend to myself, I made a conscious decision to do something I've never done before: Go to the movies by myself. Co-dependent Rachel needed a break. And you know what? It was great.

I mean, when you think about it, it's probably one of the best activities you could do solo. You have to be quiet anyway, what does it matter if you're alone? I guess one drawback is that you can't talk to anyone about it after, although according to the Cinematic Snob Dolo, that is more of an incentive so your impressions aren't tarnished.

For this momentous occassion, I decided to see Love and Other Drugs. Spending $12 for two hours of Jake Eye Candy seemed like it would be a good investment whether or not I liked the movie. Cupcake Alert: It was.

(Total side bar, but does any one else find it incredibly bizarre that Jake went from practically married to Reese Witherspoon to dating Taylor Swift? That's like going from Barbie to Skipper, right??)

(Another side bar! During ACL four years ago - the middle of Austin's most famous bromance between Matthew McConaughey, Lance Armstrong, and Jake - I was backstage (thanks to S' awesome parents' hookup) and I walked past Jake and he acknowledged my presence. And because I'm the worst celebrity interactor in the world, I froze then ran away. And that could have been my chance at true love and I blew it. Or it was just another day in my life. Whatever.)

Okay I'm done. So the movie was no The Notebook. The love story was sweet and sad enough to remind me I'm going to die alone but not so sappy to make me cry. Also my heart is currently made of concrete. It could have all been so different, Jake.

I probably enjoyed the premise of the movie more than the average person since Big Pharma pays the bills (random, right?). It's crazy to see how much the industry has changed since the free-wheelin' pharma rep days (mucho regulations, for the better IMO). It was also a good reminder that we should not start dressing like the 90s again. That is a reminder for myself mostly. I have some weird stuff in my closet right now.

Here's the Times' review in case you want to read more about the movie without personal anecdotes about Jake, but really why would you?

"It's always been you, Rach."
FML.

I'm Exhausted From All My Thankfulness

The holiday weekend was the perfect mix of family, friends, and solitude. And I needed all three equally.

On Wednesday night I headed to my aunt and uncle's house in Beacon, a great little town up the Hudson River from the city. I really love it there, such a nice escape.

My dad's brother has lived in New York since before I was born. You would never guess he is from Lubbock, Texas. Much like my father, my uncle is The Smartest Person You've Ever Met. His wife is in the club too. Visiting them leaves me with a bit of an intellectual hangover, but in a refreshing way if that makes sense.

On Thanksgiving we headed to my cousin's house in Connecticut. Her kids are the ones who help me keep a pulse on America's Youth. Spoiler Alert: Silly Bandz are so over. Email forwards with funny animal pictures are still in.

As sad as it was to be missing out on my own family time (I hate to be left out!!), I really enjoy experiencing other families' traditions and holidays. Except when other people's Thanksgiving appetizers include mini pigs-in-a-blanket and I feel compelled to eat 27 of them because I make horrible decisions and have no self-control.

In addition those little evil treats and the normal turkey and sides, Colombian and Portuguese heritages were represented at the table making the meal quite a feast. Lasagna, arroz con polo, oh and homemade vino. I can respect that. All in all, it was a wonderful day (and, let's be honest, I probably did myself a favor by not watching the UT game...).

The next day I headed back to the city where I spent over 24 hours alone. I love my co-dependent life with The BFF, but I'm definitely one of those people who needs to recharge her batteries. It was gloriously unproductive.

On Saturday I caught up with my friend Jordan, introducing her to the Texas crew who had stayed in town too. All you can eat sushi and sake after two solid days of binge eating, why of course that's a great idea...!

But it wasn't over yet. On Sunday night, to finish off the weekend, my friend Cori and I went to the opening gala for the American Art Fair, courtesy of my uncle who works at a gallery. Clearly any event I'm invited to that includes passed h'orderves is right up my alley, but I wasn't aware it would have another one of my favorite things: Celebrity sightings!

I looked across the room, gazing past the beautiful paintings and WASPy crowd, when I focused in on a tuft of white hair and thick-framed glasses.

Steve Martin.

Genius, actor, comedian, wild and crazy guy, person I follow on Twitter, one time guest star on 30 Rock. Of course it took every ounce of strength to remain the totally dignified and sophisticated person I am, but I managed to play it cool. By that I mean I did not totally embarrass myself or accidentally break any priceless art.

His new novel An Object of Beauty is set in the New York art scene. I must read it now that we run in the same circles.

I think we can all agree that Father of the Bride is one of the best movies of all time.

Hope everyone else had a great Thanksgiving too!

Message In A Bloggle

A few weeks ago I had the most vivid dream I've had in years. Like Inception-style, other-people-in-this-dream-must-be-dreaming-this-too kind of experience.

It was me, The College BF, and his parents. Even though it was just in my mind, it was good to see these people who at one point were such a large part of my life. It ended with me hugging him and telling him that I was happy for his engagement.

The dream was simple. It was pleasant. And it provided some closure.

But since then, I've also vetted with my core group of advisors the benefits of reaching out to him to share this message, you know, to get actual closure. However, the idea has been almost unanimously vetoed. "What would be the point?" I can see how, after not having communicated for over a year and a half, it would almost seem selfish to interrupt his life.

So I've decided that blogging about it is clearly the best solution! That never ends badly!

According to Facebook, he and I still share 222 mutual friends. Some who probably read this. So if my congratulations somehow get back to him then that's great.

Instead of throwing a message in a bottle into the ocean, I'm sending out a message via the communication waves.

Okay, on second thought, this was way more awkward than just reaching out to him via email.

Story of my life.

P dot S: I'd also like to thank him for putting every single Zeppelin album on my iPod in college. Greatest Band Ever.

Thanks-Christmas: It's All Running Together

According to retail stores and TV commercials, we're well into the holiday season. I mean, it's only four weeks until Christmas so we better start getting our cheer on!

Oh, right, and Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm staying in the North, visiting relatives up here and enjoying a somewhat-quiet weekend in the city. I'm sad not to be going home, but knowing that in less than a month I will be spending twelve days of Christmas (and New Year's for my brother's wedding!) in Austin makes it seem okay.

One of my favorite Thanksgiving traditions, though, I will miss: Making my brother feel guilty for leaving me off his "thankfulness" placemat he made in preschool.  All three kids in my family have one, my youngest brother's goes something like this:

"I'm thankful for carrots, burritos, popcicles, water, cheetos. I'm thankful for sunshine and pumpkin pies. I'm thankful for Trey, Claire and Charlie and Dad and Mom...and Rachel"

Apparently he was too busy thinking about food and his neighbor friends to remember his only sister. I was a pretty smart elementary school aged kid at that point and I totally called my mom out for writing my name over the laminate!

Anyway, in honor of his random placemat of thankfulness, here are a few things I'm thankful for:

• The wonderful BFF who knows that festive party planning is the best way to help me get past any silly boy drama currently crumpling my ego. Oh, and having her surprise me with a Winter Wonderland-decorated apartment? That's why she's the best. (And why it pays to live in The Dollar Store District!)
• Congregating friends from various groups, stages of life, etc. all in one (tiny) apartment. I'm also grateful for my efficient domesticity, which led to me throwing together a baked brie with pecans & cranberries and pumpkin-chocolate cupcakes with minimal baking skills. Big hit, but low-stress and delicious. And sharing White Russians, because really what's more festive than the Big Lebowski's signature drink?
• Speaking of Russians, having The Russian and Jersey, two friends/former crushes/decent guys, show up to the aforementioned party. A nice reminder those do exist.
• My dog Jesse who has had a mysterious Facebook profile for over a year. Last year my mom told the family no one was allowed to eat Thanksgiving supper until somebody fessed up. A year later and it's still unsolved!
• Match.Mom's current project of setting me up with her childhood friend's extremely attractive, orthopedic surgeon son. Finally, a good reason to have your mom on Facebook.
• A fall full of fun. Between ACL, The Hunt, the Spelling Bee Halloween, and my mom's visit, I've had a fantastic time in my favorite season. (If only the Longhorns weren't having a "rebuilding year.")
• My family. I miss them and can't wait to see them soon!

Hope everyone else has a fantastic Thanksgiving! xoxo

CGS: A Case Study

It was brought to my attention that a certain someone - who, mind you, has already been mentally tossed into a boiling vat of You Are Dead To Me - has taken my Facebook ban one step further.

He blocked me.

Yes, it is dumb that this is something blog-worthy, but in our age of connectivity reliance, these are the hits that sting the most.

How did it come to this? One week ago he was telling me to "pull the trigger" to buy a ticket to see him while he was on the East Coast for Thanksgiving. Now he believes I'm worthy of an online blackballing?

Well according to our mutual friend S, it's under the umbrella of the Emily-matum. Because when she wasn't satisfied with his initial commitment to her (by unfriending me), she needed that extra step: Hatred solidification.

I mean, I can see why she wouldn't want there to be an online connection, but how was this necessary? Now? Mind you, in the past week, I've made zero effort to contact him so it's not like I'm fanning the flames. (Minus, you know, blogging about the situation. But, duh, don't scorn a girl with a blog! If anything I deserve some credit for my over-sharing constraint. And plus I could be far pettier if I wanted to. You know that.)

Back to the point. This situation has made her crazy. And I mean that in the nicest, I've-totally-been-there kind of way. He screwed her over, and now she needs to punish him see how far he's willing to go to make her happy.

The thing is, though, the reason why it's an interesting case study: I have never seen CGS actually end well.

Acting crazier to make him like you more? Leveraging your personal insecurities and jealousy in your favor?

Between myself, my friends, and - hell - even celebrities (I think we can all agree Jessica Simpson suffers from major CGS), I don't think I've ever witnessed an ending like this.

We're part of history, friends. It's a big day for crazy girls everywhere. CGS: It might just work.

(And yes, if you were thinking it was mildly CGSy of me to even figure out that he blocked me in the first place, you're right, but I'm not afraid to admit my digital sleuthing skills are top notch. And even though he's totally DTM (dead to me), it's only been a week, get off my back. I promise I'll be over it by tomorrow. And on to the next romantic tragedy.)

I'm Always Homeless in Philadelphia

LOVE Park is full of homeless people. Perhaps we should have
made some friends.

The first time I met Ashley was the morning after one of the worst nights of my life, which just so happened to take place in Philadelphia, her new home. (I had spent the night alone in the Philadelphia train station because I'm a cheap idiot who booked a trip home for a friend's wedding, justified saving $100 to fly out of Philly, and then was stranded there when the train taking me back to the city broke down. It was a monumental disaster.)

It was her first day at work, and I scared the crap out of her by acting like a genuine crazy person who had just slept in a bus station. Eventually she accepted that I am a crazy person so it's totally fine.

Since she moved there for grad school, I've been wanting to see her new home and perhaps learn a thing or two about the city of Brotherly Love.

I mean, what do most people know about Philly? It's historic. It's Always Sunny. It has a lot of really ghetto neighborhoods including one where Will Smith spent most of his days shootin' some bball outside of a school. And it also has a lot of cheesesteaks.

So I was determined to learn more, to really get in touch with the city.

The first 24 hours of my trip were fantastic. Ashley whipped up a delicious dinner for us on Friday, we stayed in and caught up over wine. The next morning we went to a great brunch over looking Rittenhouse Square where got to sit outside and soak up the warm fall weather. We were even treated to seeing a flock of tweed-clad bicyclists ride past our table. My first thought was, "Are we in Brooklyn?" My second thought was, "No, seriously, are we in Brooklyn?"

After walking around to see some famous stuff and stalking a bride doing her 'first sighting' with her husband which could not have been more awkward, we went back to her apartment and watched the Hangover.

A tale of debaucherous misadventure. How foreshadowing.

We went out and Ashley played the role of superior wingman. We met a group of cute guys at the first place who ended up serving as our resident pub crawl tour guides for the rest of the night. Until we ditched them so we could inhale cheesesteaks, obviously. That's when the night took an unfortunate turn. When we got out of the cab, Ashley realized her keys had fallen out of her purse at some point during our night. Uh oh. And no spare set.

Her boyfriend back in New York did his best to help us, calling every Philly locksmith while we tried to break down the door. It wasn't happening on either front. Apparently customer service isn't something they really value in the locksmith business. "Someone will be on their way in 15 minutes." Lies. All lies. Also apparently her apartment is really safe because there was no way to get in. At least that's something.

Oh and remember when I said it was unseasonably warm during the day? Well we hadn't bothered to bring jackets with us. Luckily my super scraggly long hair kept me warm.

We were getting so desperate that we even called around to hotels. How could they be all booked?!

Finally at around 3 am or so, Ashley broke down and called her mom who lives a half hour away. When she arrived, she found us hanging out with two police officers who had been like um what the hell are you doing out here, you are too pretty to be homeless.


I don't know what was weirder, the terror of
the 30 second blackout or seeing the Cowboys
play so well. Either way the seats were great.

Okay maybe they didn't say that. You see, I was already curled up, half asleep on the stoop, so I don't really remember what we talked about. Eventually a locksmith showed up (albeit not a very good one because he couldn't even pick one of the locks and had to drill through it), and we were finally let in around 5 am. 

One small problem, though, was that we had already committed to going to the Giants-Cowboys game with her family the next day, getting there early to tailgate. That left us with only a few hours of sleep and an hour-long car ride before we were to be surrounded by booze and barbecue.

In any other scenario, that would have been the perfect day. In any other not-homeless-the-night-before scenario that is.

While we both tried our best to enjoy the afternoon (read: not throw up), we decided to retrace our steps from the previous night to see if we could locate her keys.

Calling a bar to ask if they've found a set of keys with a "love" key chain is mildly embarrassing. Having to ask them for the name of the cheesesteak shop across the street so we could check there too is mortifying.

P dot S: During my homeless experience, it made me really curious why all homeless people don't migrate south for the winter. Sleeping outside in the cold is horrible. Why wouldn't you go somewhere warm? I mean birds have been doing it for years. Just a thought.

Take Out Dating

It's been awhile since I've shared one of my "wise" dating theories (probably because I've been too busy breaking all of my own rules to come up with any new ones). Long distance flings? Check. Thinking a guy wearing board shorts to the gym is cute? Check. Ugh. And the real kicker - I'm now on the same morning commute as a cute guy who I'm pretty sure is straight but I'll never know because he carries a Jack Spade bag! Gahhh.

My you look lovely tonight.

Okay on to the point. So if you don't live in New York, let me educate you: You can literally get anything delivered, food of course being the most popular and easily attainable at all hours of the day or night.

And glorious technology makes it so easy you don't even have to communicate with humans! Seamless Web, for instance, allows you to just tap tap tap on your phone/computer and voila food is delivered straight to your door. Whatever you want, baby, whenever you want it.

People like it quick and easy. And I'm not just talking about dinner. I've started to realize a pattern: If a guy mentions that he only eats takeout, chances are he sees his life as too busy to take the time to cook. If he can't even commit to throwing together a few ingredients, how do you expect him to act in a relationship? If a guy doesn't use (and/or own) real plates, chances are he's not a real person. And If he says he can't even boil water, sheesh. Good luck, you're going to need it, mom.

What's the point of all this? If he's so used to the grab-n-go availability of Peter Pan city life, chances are you might be tossed out with last night's Chinese.

Not always the case, but I'm just sayin', in my experience... Take Out Food = Take Out Dating. No preparation, no commitment, no real shelf life.

(I think the fact that I rarely order food says a lot about my current state of dating tolerance. I prefer to come home and whip up some semblance of a 30 Minute Meal, experimenting with fresh ingredients and *gasp* eating on real plates with real silverware. I am a freak.)

Guest Post: Twitter Flirting and More on the WORLD WIDE WEB OF TERROR

[Ed. note: Since this is clearly Horrible Blog Karma Week, we're sticking with the trend. It's not that the guys in these stories are necessarily bad people (although the jury is still out on one), it's just that they're breaking the rules they try and enforce with us ladies.

You see, there is a HUGE double standard in dating* and girls get a (deservedly) bad rap.  You call too many times? You're a psycho. You lead them on? You're a biatch. I'll admit it myself, I'll always be recovering from CGS.

But the thing is, women have LEARNED. Um, hello, He's Just Not That Into You? Well, I mean, okay, but at least we're TRYING. He doesn't respond to a few texts? Let him go. Guys, it seems, are regressing in their social skills. Take a hint! I blogged about it last year with a certain guy who couldn't get it in his mind I was just being nice, that I was never interested. The BFF had her Textual Menace (who went a little bananas after finding the post, telling her he was going to get his "Internet Guru Friends" to destroy her. He seriously explained SEO in the creepiest way possibile.

Anyway, the point is that some guys act like crazy girls. Yet they will never be judged as much if they were girls. It's just annoying. And I'm taking a stand. And "calling them out defenselessly in a public forum." Yeah, not the week to get on my bad side...

Okay this is officially the most rambly intro of all time. Let's get to the main event. After my former baby sorority sista Brooks commented on yesterday's Ultimatum post, I sent her some additional gossip about the story (yes, shockingly, I do have a limit about what I'll share with The Internet). Anyway, she recipricated with a story of her own, and was enough of a doll to share it with you. A little background: Brooks is a few years younger than me, just now setting out on her journey to Live the Dream - the La La Land verison that is. The only way to describe her is that she's a firecracker. Who is also obsessed with dogs. And uses more abbreves and made up words than me! You think I'm bad? Shet, watch out. And also her blog is amazing.] 

*By dating I mean two members of the opposite sex communicating, because most of this drama goes on without a single date!

From Brooks:

I was thrilled when, after graduation, I moved to a new city. After 4 dull years of college boys I was ready to meet some major emo hipster hotties. I’m talking the kind of men who are scruffy—not because they’re growing their beards out for SAE Junkyard, but because they didn’t have time to freshen up after sunrise surfing. Delusional? Yes. But a squirrel can dream.

This hipster, surfer, music-appreciating dreamboat is not what I found once I entered the West Coast. No, no. Instead, I got a burnout computer hacker who I’ve known since 2001. But I’m jumping ahead.

This boy, lets call him R2Creep2, and I go way back. We went to the same high school and ran around in the same crowd. We were never close, though, and my most vivid memory of him is when he asked me out my Freshman year. Nothing was special about the date except for the fact that I got nervous that he was an upper classmen so I forced my friend to come over and he ended up having to take both of us out to dinner. As Rachel would say, IAAB.

Clearly, R2Creep2 and I lost touch after high school. But because of magical things like Facebook and Twitter, we reconnected and I loosely learned that he was living out in California. When he found out I was moving there too, he tweeted at me, got my number, and was destined to be my friend in the sandy jungle that is Los Angeles.

When I arrived to the coast, he was unemployed, wearing tie-dye, and had a mysteriously red beard. “Money,” I thought to myself, “The one person I know here has literally nothing else better to do than be my tour guide. This rules!”

Fast forward a few weeks and a few activities later. R2Creep2 was becoming my go to when I had zero other plans. It was nice and easy—similar to the shampoo. It continued this way until one night when we got a little wonky and saw Jackass 3D. Sick movie (in the good way), sick aftermath (in the bad way).

After the movie, he walked me back to my house. It didn’t seem like he was leaving, so I let him stay and watch Mad Men (my fave). I convinced myself that I was still buzzed and thus hallucinating, because his hand kept inching dangerously close to my leg. Finally I kicked him out, took my dog out to shet, and hugged him goodbye. I watched Miles drop a deuce right as—from the corner of my eye—I see R2Creep2 stop at his car door, breath out heavy like “lets do this” sigh, march up to me, and kiss me on the mouth. I was stunned. He left. I went in my house and called everyone in my rolodex.

The next week it was my birthday, and because of his and my’s Twitter relationship, I knew he’d get word of the festivities, so I bit the bullet and invited him. He, of course showed up, but I managed to ignore him the entire night. He got kicked out with the rest of the party, and while I was cleaning up the night’s very fab aftermath, I got this text:

“Thanks for another Sunday funday. Happy birthday. Scorpios and Gemini = http://www.sexualastrology.com/sexual_compatibility_scorpio_gemini.html”

Okay.

No.

First off, omg. So inappropriate. Second, thanks for sending me a website link via text? That’s incredibly inconvenient. And third, did you go to the website? Because we are actually VERY INCOMPATIBLE. That “chemistry” scale? We had the lowest rating. One heart. That translates to “What were you thinking?!”

Whyyyyy.

Obviously I didn't respond to the text. A few days later, my actual birthday comes. Because work = life, I end up staying at the office until like 9PM. As if that’s not enough, when I get to my house, I find a terrifying thing on my porch: a bag of clothing from Amer Appar (his new job) stuffed to the brim. Oh jesus.

Texting ensues.

Me: Whaaat? You did NOT need to get me anything

Him: Pssssh you deserve a rad birthday. 10/26/10 get crunk this weekend. [My favorite part] Hustle-birthday Rick Ross.

What?

And it’s only gotten worse from there. I’ve gotten a total for 4 unreciprocated texts, two missed calls, and two @ mentions from this R2Creep2 character—one of which says “neither Willy Wompa, Zanzibar Santa Monica, bass in yo' face”. What? I don’t understand! Why wont it go away!

So I thought I moved to the “Golden State” but I actually moved to The State of Constant Fear. Every time I tweet, facebook, blog, gchat, I feel like he’s wathching. Or mapping our astrological cosmic energy. The ushh.

In conclusion, let this be a lesson to you all. Don’t be nice to people, ever. Don’t have friends in high school or keep up with them after. Don’t go to movies, don’t use technology, and for God’s sake, don’t have a birthday party. Because someone will find out your horoscope, and that someone will purchase ill-fitting over-priced shirts for your dog. From Amurcan Apparel.

The end.

[Oh the humanity.]

Another Experiment Gone Awry

Me and The BFF.

I mean, let's be honest, having a blog that chronicles my (mis)adventures in dating is a decent amount of baggage. We're talking "You'll be charged an extra $30 to check it cause it won't fit in the overhead bin" kind of baggage.

When I started The Guide two summers ago, I dated (and wrote about) guys who had no clue about it. Then I got back together with J, an avid reader, and that was that. Since he and I broke up last spring, I've almost exclusively dated/been interested in/hung out with guys who are friends-of-friends so they either learned about it through our mutual connection or at least could find it via Facebook. If they were smart enough... (Wasn't always the case.)

So when I met a relative stranger during Halloween - Kenneth the Page - and he friended me after our first date, I decided to make it so he couldn't see my website.

It's not so much that I'm sneaky/shady as it is that I like to perform "controlled experiments." Think of this as running a piece of string across 14th Street.

And, well, the experiment has concluded. And it worked out about as well as that tin can telephone. I mean, if we had been hit by a bus or arrested or something.

You might have read last week this innocent little sentence: "One freakin' day after I blog about the horrible, unforgivable awkwardness that is Facebook Poking, the guy I met on Halloween (Kenneth The Page) who I've gone out with a few times did it. Shudder. Is there no decency left in the world?"

Let's be honest, I've said much worse.

Midnight on Friday I received this text: "So. I was doing some Facebook "research" earlier today, and happened to come across a certain blog. Just wanted to say ... F*CK YOU!"

An hour later: "What... No response after I call you out for calling me out defenselessly in a public forum?"

Two hours later: "So, again, you have no issue publicly insulting me, but won't admit or respond to your actions... Nice."

The next morning, after I woke up, I apologized for blind-siding him with the blog and for hurting his feelings. I did note, however, that poking is awkward and a personal pet peeve. Or, you know, a universal pet peeve.

Clearly IAAB, but drunken, aggressive texts in the middle of the night? No thanks.

And another one bites the dust.

Do You Remember That Episode of FRIENDS?

I'll be honest, it always really bothered me that she
had on that horrible track suit when she did that.
I mean, it's a wedding, have some decency...

The one where Ross is about to marry Emily in London, and Rachel barges in, causing Ross to say the wrong name at the altar, and everything goes to hell?

Well, that's basically been my life this weekend. Without a wedding. Or jolly ol' England.

But the fact of the matter is that I was totally Rachel in this situation. And what do you know, the same  "If you want to stay together, you can't ever talk to Rachel again" ultimatum was presented.

Much like in the episode, "Ross" was torn. Did he live up to his commitment to "Emily," or tether himself to his friendship with Rachel on the chance that it could lead to something more?

The truth is, in my story at least, things shouldn't have gotten to the point that they did. But our connection and compatibility took our friendship a few steps way too far. Even though important factors - e.g. thousands of miles and other people's feelings - stood in the way, I still rocked the boat, making me the Girl Who Played With Fire. (I mean, obviously not literally. I'm no Lisbeth.) But either way, he reciprocated. Yes, I barged in and ruined their happiness. But he still said the wrong name at the altar.

He proceeded to flounder, per usual Ross style, going back and forth until he got to the decisive finale.

Unlike the show, he ended up accepting the Emily-matum. And he also accepted that her demand stemmed directly from her going through his email and finding my note where I laid out all my cards (and heart) on the line. (And I assume she also noticed his equally inspired reply.) But oh well. I guess sometimes conviction-fueled acts of CGS don't always end disastrously?

In the end, TV Ross can't bear to lose Rachel in his life.

In my life, Rachel gets UNfriended on Facebook. (Thanks to Mark Zuckerberg, it's much harder to "never speak to someone again" since speak now means chat, see, type, hear, and most importantly, stalk.)

And so now I move on.

P dot S: Can everyone channel themselves back to when the show was on the air? I was always on Team Ross and Rachel. The line from the first time they get together after all the will-they, won't-they - "It's always been you, Rach" - is my favorite line ever. Sigh. It's just so perfectly simple. And it probably helps having the same name. If only life - or sitcom plotlines - didn't make everything so complicated.)

The currency of your words is crap.

The currency of your words is crap. You spun a tale of gold. And because the glint and glean of what could be seemed so shiny and ideal, I happily traded in my better judgment.

And now my emotional capacity is bankrupt.

Someday I'd like to think that I'd grow past this naivity, that the next too-good-to-be-true pitch will have me turn my heels, but let's be honest, when it comes to the heart, I am the worst broker of all.

(Another post brought to you by the letters P-M-S. Fingers crossed I do not let my CGS get the better of me, because boy oh boy it is not a good idea to scorn a girl with a blog.)