Blame it on the Rain (The BFF's Fav Story)

The weather is currently an awesome mixture of rain and snow; no doubt it's going to be a slushy commute home. While the actual precipitation is annoying, there's nothing worse than the unavoidable "curb moats" and puddles that form everywhere in the city. Even if you're smart enough to be sporting the proper, water-repelling footwear, it can still be hard to avoid getting splashed.

In honor of the shitty weather, and in an effort to make The BFF smile while she's busy/stressed with work this week, I will share with you my ultimate Bridget Jones' moment:

The summer after moving here - finally acclimated and feeling confident in my ability to own this city - I went to the gym on a rainy Saturday. On my way back to the subway station after working out, I eagerly edged my way to the corner of the street while waiting for the light to tell me I could cross. Way too eager. And definitely not taking into proper account the giant puddle that was directly in front of me. It's like I'd unknowingly taken a seat in the Splash Zone at Sea World (what, too soon?). Not that the driver maliciously drove through that puddle or anything, but I stood there as an easy target. Novice.

BAM. Before I knew what was happening, a wall of water had hit me, and I was instantly (even more) soaked than before  - and even more miserable. Thank God I was only in gym clothes and not on my way to work, seeing as how my body was covered in dirrrty city water. So gross.

I waited - since the light had still not changed yet - and briefly locked eyes with a woman on the opposite side of the street who had witnessed the entire embarassing incident. She shook her head in acknowledgement of my predicament, almost as if I could hear her saying, "Dude, that sucks."

And in that next split second while I stood there still in shock, another car ran through THE SAME PUDDLE.

BAM. Instant replay. Entirely soaked again. It was like a bad RomCom, only without the promise of ending up with Colin Firth.

This would only happen to me. Or Bridget Jones.

Guest Rant: The (S) Situation Analysis

[Editor's note: The following comes from a close guy friend of S - she dominates in the guy friend category - proving that: a) So many people want her to be happy (not just me), and b) These other people involved suuuuuck and don't deserve her friendship. Read my advice for her from yesterday if you haven't yet. Also, the author of this post thought I was "goth" in high school, which could not have been farther from the truth even though I like to dye my hair darker brown (when I can't afford being blonde). That's not relevant, but I would just like to throw that connection out there. Update: S just reminded me that in the scrapbook I made for her of our joint Sweet 16th Bday, I put a pic of this guest post writer sitting on the mailbox with the caption, "I think your mailbox just got hotter." Haa haa, no I did not remember that, S, but it was a legit statement.]

While I may not be an 'avid' follower of this blog, I do read it from time to time. (And always enjoy it when I do). This particular post has a special significance to me because "S" is a very near and dear friend of mine and as such, I have intimate knowledge of this rather frustrating situation.

I love S to death and want to be able to put forth an analysis to help articulate why she should “stop caring.”

So, High School Boyfriend 2.0 or as I have dubbed him, “Douche Mover” (because, well, he has a history of pulling just douche moves) didn’t JUST break up with S for some bogus reason. That’s only the tip of iceberg. Shortly thereafter, he hooked up with a friend of S right in front of her. Douche move. He also had a nice little habit of describing the details of his many dates to S. You know, sometimes after a break-up there’s a period of time when the ex-couple still have lingering feelings towards each other. This usually goes away with time or because of some other less fortunate means. Well, during that “lingering feelings period,” this guy REALLY liked to make all of his escapades with other girls blatantly obvious to her. This was where the majority of the conflict and hurt feelings stemmed from IMHO because frankly, this happened A LOT. I’m not saying he’s wrong for getting out there and dating around but seriously, he should have had a little tact. Douche move. There were also several instances within their “professional relationship”- which I won’t get into due to their sensitive nature- that supported the appropriateness of his “Douche Mover” title. Let’s just say, this guy has no idea about the concept of reciprocity.

And finally, the coup de grace: this whole business with “dumb slut girl.” There are several important features of this story that were overlooked: for one, “dumb slut girl”- or just DSG- was a good friend of S and went to visit S at law school. This visit was the definitive “girl’s weekend;” nothing but good ole’ fun between two girlfriends. Long story short, Douche Mover stayed true to his nature and tried time and time again to hook up with DSG without any regard for S or her feelings. No surprise there. But what REALLY irritated me (and S) was how DSG flew across the country with the intention to spend time with her friend and ended up taking MORE of an interest in Douche Mover. Oh, and it gets worse.

Now imagine you’re in S’ position: you KNOW Douche Mover has a history of just basically being an inconsiderate asshole. You don’t want to fall victim to him hurting you again by blatantly hooking up with one of your friends in front of you. But also, DSG is your friend; you want to look out for her and not see HER get hurt. That’s right, despite how painful it would be to see your friend get involved with the guy you still have feelings for, you’re willing to put that tiny little fact aside and focus instead on making sure she doesn’t get hurt.

DSG is so self-involved that she is completely incapable of seeing the big picture. S, trying to be a good friend, conveyed to DSG her side of the issue: S still had feelings for Douche Mover and it would upset her if he and DSG continued anything; however, even if that WASN’T the case, it would still upset her if he and DSG continued anything because of her fear of DSG going through the same thing she did when she dated Douche Mover. Of course, being stupid and selfish, DSG only focused on how S “didn’t want her to be happy” or some crap. From my point of view, it just seems ridiculous that DSG is willing to sacrifice S’ happiness to get what she wants. Now, I understand one might be tempted to say, “But what if their relationship works out and they end up really happy??” Please. All evidence to the contrary. I’m not saying they don’t deserve a chance to try, I just think it’s completely and utterly wrong to do so at the expense of a friend’s happiness.

Remember how I said it gets worse? I wasn’t lying. The real shit-bomb occurred when S found out Douche Mover went ahead and bought a plane ticket to fly halfway across the country to visit DSG for Spring Break. That’s right. After all the drama between the two girls in which S repeatedly told DSG that this whole situation was really hurting her feelings, DSG has no problem with him visiting her- in fact, she encouraged it. And when I say, “DSG has no problem” it’s more that she just doesn’t see their actions AS a problem. Again, she’s selfish… and dumb-- like, really dumb.

This situation is made all the worse because DSG has a deep history of doing crappy things like this-- similar to the history of Douche Mover’s douche moves. I’m not joking; this girl has ruined friendships, ruined relationships, caused more than her fair share of drama, and created or exacerbated conflict upon conflict. What’s the WORST part about it, though? She does all this without the slightest acknowledgement that any of her actions are wrong. She honestly believes that instead of her altering her hurtful behavior, others just shouldn’t view her behavior as hurtful. Think of your own personal quintessential definition of a ditz… Then multiply it by, I don’t know, a hundred?

The truth is, S is too nice. And that’s terribly unfortunate. Several times throughout our discussions over this issue she asked me, “Why am I so nice?” Upon further reflection it doesn’t matter why she’s so nice; what matters (to me, at least) is why someone who is so nice has been pushed to the brink of regretting being the decent, caring individual she is by others who- to borrow the phrase- don’t deserve to breathe the same oxygen as her? Honestly, it really pisses me off that two people who are both well-educated, perfectly rational human beings can have such a blatant disregard for someone as sweet and likeable as her. They just flat-out don’t care.

I really don’t want her to ever question herself like that again; not for the sake of people like that. She has told me several times before that she’s looking for a relationship. (Whether or not she’d want me to touch on this I can’t say for sure, but doing so helps me make a valid point). I understand that people tend to reach a period in their mid to late 20’s where they start looking for something more meaningful, long-term, permanent- whatever you want to call it. It’s certainly a mature decision, but I always find myself giving her the same advice: don’t be in a rush. And it’s true, she shouldn’t settle. Hell, no one should. I’m certainly not one to give relationship/dating advice, I’ll leave that to Rachel. But, to S, my point is pretty much the same as hers: you can’t let yourself care about this - about people who clearly don’t care about you.

Thanks for the great analysis! I'm all for holding on to old friends, but weed out the crappy ones that only bring baby mama drama. Life's too short.

Advice for a Friend: STOP CARING.

The BFF and I have another friend we've known since middle school - we shall call her S - a third amigo, musketeer, etc., who currently (sadly) lives half way across the country while attending law school. Last night she called me for my "sage dating wisdom," and after talking for a little bit, I had to get off the phone in order to salvage my dinner in the oven, but I promised to call her back. Then I got sidetracked by eating, showering, seeing something shiny, followed by The BFF gashing her finger while cooking. Having just watched a contestant on competitive food porn show Chopped do this, I quickly helped her bandage it back up so she could finish the meal in record time. Seriously, this Food Network addiction is intense.

So, that is a long way of saying "S, I'm sorry for not calling you back."

I also decided that I needed to write this in bold print so she can read it and re-read it if necessary:

MAKE YOURSELF STOP CARING. HE SUCKS.

You see, the big downfall of S is that she's too freakin' nice. You ask, "Can that be a problem?" Yes, yes it can be when you allow unworthy people to take advantage of your generosity and awesomeness. Case in point, S was involved with someone - who people might describe as a "loser" - on and off all through high school (and, let's be honest, part of college). While deep-down inside he is a nice person, he did not deserve 1/1000th of the kindness she showed him. At one point I got so enraged by their relationship that I lectured him that he "did not deserve to breathe the same oxygen as her." I don't really know what oxygen he should be breathing, but not hers, so whatever not my problem.

Fast forward past additional guys who I could have also given the same lecture to, and then we reach High School Boyfriend 2.0, the guy she briefly dated last summer. The BFF and I met him while on a trip to visit her, and wow we were shocked that she managed to find the same guy AGAIN! In a different state! (He only gets the 2.0 label because he is enrolled in law school, and not working as a waiter slash boat driver.) Nooooooo, you're smarter than that, S!!! You're better than that. And you're going to be a lawyer!

Anyway, he ended things with her because he sucks (I'm not just saying that as a judgy friend, it is based on multiple accounts from others too), but they're forced to continue interacting because they work and have classes together.

She is upset because he has been semi-secretly talking to one of her friends - who happens to have a poor track record for being a dumb, well for a lack of a better word, slut - and now they're allegedly "getting serious." While S is over him, she doesn't have another source for her emotional energy therefore this has upset her.

I REPEAT: YOU CAN'T LET YOURSELF CARE ABOUT THIS.

While I've definitely had some serious CGS moments in my life, I truly believe that ever since defeating the biggest source of CGS in my life - the HS Crush - junior year of high school, I've been way better than I could have been.

HS Crush was a source of flirtation irritation. One second he would pay attention to me (typically the second I got a boyfriend), the next minute he would ignore me (the minute I was single and ready for something to happen). It was a vicious cycle that tested my patience to the millionth degree. Even though we were friends, I knew he had to become "dead" to me in order to get over him and move on.

And, sweet S, that's what you have to do too. I know, I know, you cannot avoid him, but for the 1,000th time - CUT HIM OFF. Don't let him take advantage of your friendship because it will only upset you. Don't be rude, just become indifferent.

Yes, this won't happen over night, but if you start acting indifferent it will eventually lead to you becoming indifferent, wherein you will stop caring about this jackass and be happier.

You will find someone who truly deserves you (or maybe you already have, cough cough, you know who I'm talking about.) But in the meantime, stop mentally and emotionally exhausting yourself over this situation because it will get you nowhere. And you have more important things to worry about, like for instance, planning a trip to visit our new, awesome apartment in New York.
Love,
Rach

P dot S - A story that has no real point but I cannot stop myself from sharing:

S had a cat in Austin and procured another when she moved. The BFF and I could not - for all the money in the world - remember the new cat's name before we went to visit.

The BFF: "I think her name is Mrs. Beatrice."

Me: "That is 100% not her name."

The BFF: "Are you sure? I really think it could be."

We later found out that the cat's name was in fact, not Mrs. Beatrice. It was Stimpy. And she is, allegedly, a he.

But, after meeting the cat, we found this totally unfitting (and unacceptable).

Forever on, her name is Mrs. B. And she's very photogenic.

Superior cat photography brought to you by the talented BFF. Please inquire within about any pet photographic needs you might have - her rates are very reasonable as this is her passion.

Every City Girl Ever is Ready for Spring!

[Editor's note: Awhile ago I ran the Every Girl Ever (is Crazy) post. After a recent brunch discussion with J and his friend about how "all girls like ... ", I decided to write my own Every City Girl Ever. Please leave other Every Girl Ever's I left out in comments! :) ]

Like Every girl ever, I've been sporting my knee-length down coat for the past few months. It's like my little Elie Tahari cocoon. Winter is the Ugly Season. Sure I might still get cat-calls and whistles while I'm walking down the block, but how do you know I'm cute if I'm bundled up in 75 layers, random guy? Are you just assuming...or *gasp* pretending? Wait, do you just do that to every girl that passes? I'm a little upset about this faux enthusiasm for my beauty. Oh well. Soon enough you will see that I am! Like Every girl ever, I am very humble about my cuteness.

Also, like Every girl ever, I cannot wait for Spring! In a few months, I will emerge as a Forever 21-sundress-clad butterfly. You see, like Every girl ever, I know that when it comes to cutesy outfits, it's quantity over quality - I can't be wearing the same thing in every upcoming Facebook pic, now can I?  Shh don't tell 'cause I will of course let others assume it was way more 'spensy. I'm not the only girl who plays this game, I assure you.

Along with Every girl ever, I will start purchasing the aforementioned warm weather ensembles pronto. Yes, the calendar might still say it's cold cold cold, but retail stores say buy buy buy. And it was just Fashion Week, so it's totally fine - we're inspired. And we love trends! When it comes to trends, my boyfriend is wrong, celebrities are right! Who cares if they're ugly, who cares if in two months I will be ashamed I bought an entire bottle of taupe nail polish or a dress with shoulder pads. Girl Hot is way more important than Guy Hot! Unless you're single, in which case you should just dress like a whore. Just kidding, Every girl ever will judge you, skank!

Like Every girl ever, I will also be entranced by adorable shoes that I know will destroy my feet. While I understand that one second sporting them will equal hours upon hours of uncontrollable pain, I race to buy them as fast as possible. Like Every girl ever, I'm a foot masochist. Beauty is Pain for a reason, duh.

While we try and be oh so cute hobbling around in our sex-ay, open-toed shoes, like Ever girl ever, I still schlep all of my personal belongings in my black Longchamp bag everywhere I go. Every girl ever has one, so who cares if it looks like I'm Mary Poppins. Why do I insist on lugging a purse full of mini-sized non-necessities with me? It doesn't matter, because one time I might need that back-up lip gloss I keep hidden for emergencies. Or the spare gum. Or that tape measure I needed two months ago. But like a boy scout or something, I'm Always Being Prepared. And, no, it doesn't matter that I could just drop into any of the 1,000,000 drugstores on every block to pick up something I need.

After a long day of schlepping and preparing for spring, my favorite snack is Greek yogurt just like Every girl ever! It's so healthy! It's just like icecream! Well, if ice cream were full of protein. And tasted like yogurt. Maybe you could trick yourself into thinking it was ice cream if you squint a lot and punch yourself in the brain while you eat it. The other day I realized I could put frozen fruit and other toppings in my yogurt and then mix it all up. Why has no one ever thought of this? It's so yummy and inventive! Every girl ever should be proud of me. Oh right, they already sell yogurt with fruit in it. It's still awesome, though, and I'm still a genius!

Like Every girl ever, I totally think leggings can be a substitute for regular pants. Every girl ever knows that while they may not be the most flattering choice, they are so comfortable! Every girl ever also knows that what we all really hope for - the opportunity for sweatpants to be fashionably acceptable - is probably never going to happen, so we might as well milk the legging glory for all their elastic worth. Plus you can wear them everywhere - the gym, brunch, work! Multipurpose, my fav!

Today it's raining, and like Every girl ever, I'm clonking around in my rainboots. Unlike Every girl ever, I do not own a pair of Hunter boots, so therefore I hate the rain 'cause I feel left out. Instead, like Every other girl ever, I still have the first pair of rainboots I bought when I came to the city, you know, the brightly colored ones with little designs all over them. Like every girl ever, I still love my sorority even though I'm so old, so mine are covered with fleur de lis. Like Every girl ever, I hope that one day a "sister" will approach me about these, and then we'll become best friends! I'm still waiting.

Like Every girl ever, I loved college. Now, though, I realize I'm never going to get to go to another Frat theme party. Of course, like Every girl ever, this makes me sad and also motivated to throw myself a theme party soon. Hmm, what is a unique way to dress slutty?

Like Every girl ever I will write all of my ideas down in my day planner or my Moleskin notebook. Because, obviously organization is super important to Every girl ever! I'm like, so detail-oriented and Type A!!

Oh that reminds me, I gotta run and watch a marathon of Keeping Up With the Kardashians! What carazy stuff is happening with my fav reality fam this week? Oh wait, I've seen all the episodes! And I follow the entire family on Twitter! Like Every girl ever, I love low-brow celebrity entertainment and watching the same crap over and over again! And I'm only mildly ashamed!

xoxo

Every Girl Ever

The Psycho Roommate Diet

So after my eating mea culpa last week, it's clear I have some real issues with food, but so do a lot of people I know. Whatever. Anyway, I alluded to the fact that I've gained some weight since I'm no longer living with the motivational inspiration of dos Psycho Roommates, and so I might as well share the story, if for nothing else than to make you feel better about your own life.

Without having to get into the lengthy, dramatic back story detailing out the roller coaster living situation that scarred The BFF and me for two years, here is a (sort of brief) synopsis to bring everyone up to speed:

The BFF and I found a sweet apartment after moving here two years ago, and then we found two randos from Craigslist to fill the other bedrooms. While there were a few other roommates transitioned in there for one reason or another, for the bulk of the first year we lived with Kris (named changed to a more hilariously feminine spelling), who was the most disgustingly filthy and lazy roommate ever. The other was Brandi, an "actress with a day job" who had just broken up with her live-in boyfriend of five years. I clearly remember The BFF wondering if she could potentially have some, err, issues. The BFF was right, to put it mildly.

Kris moved out a month before our lease was up, and the three of us decided we wanted to stay (or, more accurately, did not want to hassle with or pay for moving - especially since it was in the smack middle of The World is Ending Financial Apocalypse). While Brandi had proved "difficult" to live with, we hoped that without Kris, things would improve. Ha haa, rose colored glasses FAIL.

Craigslist once again helped us procure a new roommate, this time we happened to find another girl from Texas, moving up north to Live the Dream. I was super excited since that had been us, literally one year before, but unfortunately, I suck at the roommate vetting process. We didn't meet Ruby in person until she arrived, and well, she wasn't exactly what we pictured. First impressions included: Robert Pattinson obsession worse than a 12 year-old girl; inability to keep her stories straight (conversations about one guy led us to believe he had been her boyfriend, turns out he wasn't at all - would be shocked if he were real...) or one night she would pound shots and then the next night she would say she has 'never drank before;' she would endlessly watch and name-drop Meg Ryan circa 1995 movies, believing that was how Manhattan really was; and just a level of overall annoyance that made my brain cry out in pain. Seriously, I know IAAB, but I swear I really did try to make an effort, I just realized sooner rather than later that - for my mental health in particular - I could not be BFFs with her.  

Luckily though, for her sake, she and Brandi randomly did become BFF. Brandi, who had a temperament where she found it acceptable to regularly cuss out every person she interfaced with due to them somehow purposefully doing a poor job/inconveniencing slash ruining her life, was definitely not who I would expect to take Ruby under her wing, but shockingly, she did. This alliance ended up pitting the two groups (me and The BFF) and the Psychofaces against each other for a better part of the 12 months, but I guess it was somehow better than Ruby constantly sulking creepily in the living room (don't worry, there was still plenty of that too).

Okay, that was still a pretty long build-up to the actual purpose of this post, but believe me, I could have gone into way more detail. Painful detail.

Here is my point: during that time, I was in the best shape of my life. I went to the gym almost every day; I'd discovered this crazy diet plan called "Don't eat two dinners every night" - I know, you'd never think of that being a solution, right?!; and I would walk home from the gym/work nightly (an additional 30 minutes of cardio). All in all, I was dominating. Circumstances, etc. have changed since then, unfortunately.

Oh, also being roommates with The BFF is like living with my own personal eating parole officer. Having grown up in a household that did not have an endless supply of crappy packaged snacks, she has always been way healthier (and thinner) than me. She doesn't allow herself to mindlessly graze, and so - as opposed to when I lived in the most amazing sorority house ever with two chefs and friends who also loved snacking, ultimately gaining 10 pounds of memories - I actually lost weight by learning from her tactics.

But even all of those factors combined could not prove as effective as the Psycho Roommate Diet.

The first ultimate incentive to be skinny came from witnessing and listening to Brandi and Ruby (oh God I still have flashbacks to the sound of their voices - worse than nails on a chalkboard  - and so unnecessarily loud)'s laughable discussions about their impending "diets." There is no better diet than listening to two people talk about their diets only to then witness (and judge) them for ordering enough fatty delivery in one night at 11pm that could have fed a small village for a week. Or hearing two "dieters" talk about how much they were going to binge on their "cheat days." This conversation, mind you, would take place before any actual dieting had yet to commence.

When Brandi first moved in, she was fairly thin, but eventually fell into a two-month-long Big Mac Value Meal dinner bender that *shockingly* caused all of her pants to stop fitting. It was sort of like living with Morgan Spurlock. Once Ruby moved in, things only got worse for her. It was like they just wanted to sabotage each other's attempts at healthiness.

One of my favorite stories from the Bad Old Days is when Brandi went on and on about how she was doing the Master Cleanse. Much like with everything, it was very dramatic. Day one: insufferable. Day two: more insufferable. Day three: Outback Steak House. Wait, you didn't know the Day Three tradition of switching from the syrup-cayenne pepper-lemon water to the Bloomin' Onion??

Shockingly, the diet didn't work. Neither did their 10 minute "cardio" walks to Walgreens to purchase rolls of cookie dough diet.

IAAB x 1000.

Just by the shear annoyance level - and, of course, the motivation of superiority - I ate healthier and smaller serving sizes (or I guess you would refer to them as "accurate") if only to be better than them.

The second part of the Psycho Roommate Diet was the physical pain The BFF and I suffered just being in their presence - aka our living room slash kitchen where they always were. It caused us to have to really justify the need to leave our room for nutritional supplies. There were nights when The BFF wouldn't even want to order food just because she would have to leave our sanctuary and face the crazies when the delivery man arrived. The worst, though, was the ear pollution - which primarily came in the form of the acoustic versions of Umbrella. Over and over and over again. Walking into these "jam sessions" made food undesireable. Inedible even.

Times were tough.

But now, there are no longer any obstacles between me and my refrigerator, no more built-in incentives to be healthy without their mockable, eye-roll-inducing "diet" discussions. Now I'm forced to rely on self-control and will power to watch what I eat as opposed to judgment and competitiveness.

Ugh.

Anyway, just to end things on a good note - and to make me realize that no matter how fat I get living in our new, awesome apartment, at least I don't have to dread receiving aggressive condiment emails - I leave you with this gem from Brandi:

"You guys know that I am not working and money is very tight for me. I am on a strict budget and part of this budget is food. I have purchased both hellman's mayonnaise and country crock butter in the past weeks. Hellman's once and country crock 3 times. I have only used my mayo maybe 3 times and the butter about the same.

At first I thought maybe you thought it was communal. So I labeled them with my name. Haven't looked at them in a while but recently did so, and whomever used the mayo (seeing the label and ignoring it) left about 2 tablespoons and the butter-it was empty! I would appreciate 2 things-whomever used nearly all of my stuff-please replace it with the same size/brand etc. And 2: from here on out, if something is labeled, or, if you didn't buy it-don't use it! If you are in a bind or need to use something that is mine-just ask! I just cannot continue to shell out funds for stuff that I haven't even used."

Thanks,

B.

.· ´¨¨)) -:¦:-

¸.·´ .·´¨¨))

((¸¸.·´ ..·´ Brandi
-:¦:- ((¸¸.·´*
 
(P dot S, that was her actually swirley signature line. She's almost 30.)
 
My response: "FYI - I only cook with olive oil and I have my own mayonnaise (whole foods omega). Alex hasnt used either also since she's being a Vegan. I am more than happy to respect labeling, it makes it easier for me to know whats mine and visa versa."
 
That did not satisfy her, however, because she responded:"Then who the hell used it all? I guess it just disappeared on it's own, huh? Who puts an empty container that belongs to someone else back in the fridge??"

The only thing I wanted to write back was, "Neither of us have used them. Perhaps you should check with the scale."
 
But I didn't because I am the bigger person. Well, not literally. Zing.

My Relationship with Food

As I began writing about how I've gained weight living in my new, awesome apartment due to lack of psycho roommates (which I will write soon), I realized that my love for food deserved its own blog post. Well, actually it needs its own confession. Because eating is my everything. Wow, issues much? I'm just kidding, sort of. But really, eating is my favorite activity, and food really is one of my biggest interests. (No, it does not say that on my Facebook profile because I only blog about being a fatass, I don't need Mark Zuckerberg knowing too. Or my 1,200+ FB friends - do not judge, Facebook started when I was a freshman in college, I promise I only have like three friends in real life).

So today, inspired by Tiger's non-press conference fessing up to his own personal issues, I would like to announce:

My name is Rachel, and I'm a food addict.

(You see, by choosing to say it with those words - instead of just saying "I'm a huge fatass" - instills a sort of sympathy for me, kind of like saying you're a sex addict because you were a horny/rich/famous philanderer who was made to feel like rules didn't apply to him. I digress.)

But even though I will admit to these demons, I will not be entering into some sort of rehab (even though that is so the thing to do these days). You see, I choose to work out non-life-threatening issues on my own, and I won't use rehab as blanket redemption for my problems. While I really do have actual dependencies with food (e.g. bored eating, stressed eating, celebratory eating, etc.), unlike most substance addictions, I clearly cannot just stop eating altogether. 'Cause I would die, since, you know, you need food to live. And that wouldn't solve my problems with food, now would it? And no, consuming liquid nutrients to stay alive sounds worse than actual death, so if I couldn't eat, I think I would rather just go ahead and end things for good. Err, dramatic much?

This should be no surprise to you, though, if you've met me, or spent 1 second reading this blog, since you quickly learn that food is the numero uno way into my heart. Co-workers have realized this and since feed me like a pet squirrel or something. While my inability to turn down free food is border-line pathetic, it is a delicious perk of going to work.

Comparing my tendencies to others' battles with their own demons, my foodie desires and conquests tend to be more upscale, fine dining (as opposed to skanky Vegas whores). It's not just the act of eating I love, I tend to find myself watching food porn - whether it be instructional (Barefoot Contessa - Ina Garten, I love you) or pleasure-filled (Best Thing I Ever Ate) - or reading food porn (NY Mag Grub Street). And when it comes to the actual act, I lurve trying new restaurants, dining at my old-faithful places, cooking gourmet food, ordering-in crappy food - I can go on and on, but I think you get the point.

Luckily, though, I have refined my palate and developed a healthy addiction to vegetables. Although, don't get me wrong, put me in any scenario that involves the possibility of onion rings (okay, any fried food), and I will bow down before them like a crack addict to his dealer. Is that sad?

My relationship with food, though, is more than just an obsession; it is part of my genetic makeup. It is in my genes, and, well, now it's in my jeans, if you know what I mean. I was blessed/cursed with the hereditary ability to consume inhuman amounts of food (I assure you it comes from my father's side of the family). And I was raised to be an aggressive eater. I don't really know what that means, but it's obviously a very sex-ay visual. Unfortunately, this tendency has led me to believe I could turn my aggression into competition and always makes me inclined to think that I could possibly take part in certain over-the-top glutton-fests portrayed on Man vs. Food (low-brow food porn). That is, of course, until J reminds me that no one actually wins in an eating competition.

He's probably right.

I don't really know the purpose of this post - kind of like no one really knows the point of Tiger's press conference today - other than the fact that I clearly have a lot of issues, I'm admitting to them, and I'm working on becoming a better eater.

How to Know if He's Taken: Bag Edition

Today, as I waited for the L train on my way to work, I saw a cute guy. He was carrying a small lululemon tote bag.

If you see something similar, I suggest you do not waste your time - he is in a relationship.

Not that I'm judging a guy for being Earth-friendly and carrying a reusable bag - rock on, random guy - but lululemon doesn't exactly scream straight and single. I mean, the phrase "Friends are more important than money" doesn't quite seem like the mantra a FJO might recite voluntarily. And although the label does offer a guys line, lulu isn't an establishment I've ever known a guy to buy merchandise from on his own. It's a place your gf recommends. For example, J's roommate Frank has quite a nice looking lulu sweatshirt (you would never guess it's from there unless your eyes are trained to zero in on that omega logo). His gf picked it out. His ex-gf picked it out. [Ed. note: I'm sorry for the confusion, ladies, Frank is indeed single and ready to mingle. Please contact me if you're interested. A potential date could include hanging out on his and J's couch watching the soon-to-be-returning-Greatest-Show-of-Our-Times Gossip Girl and eating delicious food cooked by his grandma. Clearly it's an opportunity you can't pass up.]

Also, if a guy is carrying a Jack Spade messenger bag, does that make him gay? Or am I just stereotyping nice taste?

Please let me know, because I could be writing off an entire accessory subsection without warrant.

The Stuff Epic Movies are Made of: Olympic Glory & Love

Was Cool Runnings one of your favorite movies growing up? Me too. There are few cinematic elements I love more than Olympic glory.

Strangely enough, though, I haven't been that into the actual Olympics in a long time. I guess the whole "Is Communist China going to survive hosting the games without any major incidents" element from the '08 Summer Games was semi-intriguing, and Subway's 2nd Favorite Hero, Michael Phelps,' domination was definitely impressive, but I haven't gotten caught up in the magic like I did last night.

Off and on all weekend I got sucked into more Olympic viewing than I have in the past decade combined. I forgot how much I loved watching downhill skiing, moguls, and figure skating.

Not being what you would call "coordinated" or "graceful," I never had any aspirations to break into the world of ice dancing. But it's really fun to watch/arm chair QB judge without any actual idea of qualifications. "Oh man they're so in synch," "That outfit is ugly," "They fell; they're dunzo," is about all I can grasp in terms of the performance critique.

But, boy oh boy, did last night's finale of pairs figure skating end with the trifecta of Olympic Glory perfection:

1) A older, married couple, who were twice as old as their competitors, coming out of retirement for a chance to win the elusive Gold Medal after a devastating injury doused their hopes years ago

2) The first Gold in the sport for their country (China), and first ever non-European couple to win the event! Trend-setters.

3) A victory over long-time champion Russia (it's not my fault Russians get a bad rap, but after witnessing the bitchiness of the tiny Russian coach toward her Japanese-turned-Russo skater who F'd it up, it seemed semi- deserved)

Seriously, mark my words, in a few years, there WILL be a movie based on last night's victory from China's Xue Shen and Hongbo Zhao. And I will totally cry during the montage, because you know there will be a good one.

Photo credit: AFP

Sigh. That story will get me through the rest of the week. Thanks to The BFF for keeping me up to watch it.

UPDATE (thanks, Lauren):

Happy couple
At the 2007 Worlds, Shen and Zhao won their third world title with a commanding performance. At the conclusion of their free skate, Zhao dropped to one knee and proposed, but Shen didn't know what the Western gesture meant so she dropped to her knees as well. It was not until later that she said yes, and in May 2007 the pair was officially married, though they did not hold their ceremony until 2008.

Even more adorable.

I leave you with this inspiration:

Feel the rhythm! Feel the rhyme! Get on up, its bobsled time!

The Psycho Diaries

If you're my friend in New York, there is a guarantee you had to listen to me bitch about my previous living situation. Again, I'm sorry. Thank goodness, though, those days are behind us, and it could not feel any better.

Coming home to a house of hate is horrible, as you can imagine. Although it wasn't always horrible for the two years we called that apartment home, the last year was fairly unbearable.

The first year began with us living with Kris (named changed to a more hilariously feminine spelling). Having been raised with two younger brothers, the thought of living with a guy didn't really worry me. But having spent the past four years living with girls (in particular very, very tidy and clean girls) ruined me. Kris was the filthiest guy I've ever met. Like, it makes me cry thinking about how bad he was.

Not only did he never lift a finger around the apartment "because he was never there," on a regular basis he would come home drunk from happy hour(s) and eat my food. It was not uncommon to walk into the living room to find tell-tale remnants of my string cheese having been consumed by his inconsiderate self. He would also help himself to my laptop since his was broken. He said it was for Fantasy Football. One night after drinking Fantasy Football apparently turned into other fantasy sites, which led to his immediate priveledge revocation.

Kris and I went from being fairly good friends to enemies and back all within the course of his 11 months in the apartment. He was the one who got us involved in the Hamptons share house, and the one to get me personally involved with WBDB in addition to a few other friends. It turned out he didn't really appreciate his friends liking me, slightly understandable once I was out of the situation.

All in all, he was a good guy. A guy who living with made you hate him. No ill will harbored against him though. He moved out a month early to live with a friend, and I've only randomly run into him a few times.

Along with Kris, we spent the first few months with another guy, Wes. Now Wes was the ultimate roommate who no other roommate ever lived up to. He was young (an 18 freshman baby), super fun and outgoing, and all around fabulous. He was rarely home because he was always donig stuff (better than us), and when he was, he was helpful. Wes, swoon.

Sadly, though, the reason Wes was living with us was because Brandi (named changed so she doesn't sue me and/or do something else super aggressive to prove a point, per usual) had to sublet her room in the apartment for a few months while she got out of her other lease.

See, Brandi had broken up with her live-in boyfriend of five years. She just had to get out ASAP. Although I frequently admit that IAAB, I will also admit that I'm very easily taken by people's stories. I am not a sucker necessarily, just fairly gullable when it comes to hoping the best about people.

Brandi was an actress with a day job. So, let's take a moment to recount the situation properly: dramatic person who had just broken up with a guy she'd been dating since college, jumping into a random living situation she could not afford with her current rent.

Now, The BFF deserves full credit for realizing this as a potentially disastrous equation right off the bat. But as I mentioned here, we were in dire need of figuring out a housing arrangement, like yesterday. So we just all jumped in, totally blind.

Anyway, even before Brandi moved in, there were issues. Like crazy bitch email issues. So needless to say we were already concerned before her shit arrived in our home.

Things that first year were up and down. We had Kris as a scapegoat for many of our issues (e.g. disgusting bathroom, general lack of contribution to apartment), but The BFF and I were worried how things would go once he moved out since Brandi made it clear she would not be leaving.

We had to figure out what we would do, but considering it was fat in the middle of the World is Ending Economic Mess, neither of us wanted to rock the boat with a new lease and additional moving expenses.

So again we turned to The Worst Roommate Finder Ever, otherwise known as Craigslist. Now, I have plenty of friends who have had decent/good experiences using Craigslist. I am cursed, however, so I can't say this story gets better.

With only a few weeks to figure out what to do, we made an ad and interviewed a few people. Unfortunately none of them were desirable. Then we got a response from a girl, who lived in Texas! OMFG! New BFF! How exciting!

Seriously, we were pumped. A fellow Texan moving to the big city to Live the Dream!

I tried. I really tried. If you're one of the people I used as part of my attempt, then thank you for taking one for the team. The phrase "socially awkward" does not come close to explaining Ruby (named changed).

I won't get into details, but she drove us insane. Once, soon after she moved, she name-dropped Robert Pattinson so much that The BFF's boyfriend asked if he were her boyfriend (clearly 28-year-old FJOs are not RPatz' target demographic). She ruined Twighlight for me.

She also name-dropped another guy, who we were told had been her boyfriend. As more and more details of stories came out, we learned that wasn't exactly the case. The over-exaggeration in addition the immaturity of everything else gave her a maturity of about 12 years old.

She was the kind of person who would repeat things you had said to sound cool. She would interrupt conversations to ask to play Truth or Dare. At bars. For no reason.

At first she was sweet, and then soon after she became a bitch toward me. Whatever, by that point I had made my attempt at friendship and I was back-peddaling as fast as possible. My mental health would not allow

Bitter Betty Had a Good VDay

As I've already ranted, I typically associate Valentine's Day with: A) unmet expectations and/or total disappointment, B) break-ups (two in high school within days of Feb. 14th), C) jealousy.

Exactly what you're supposed to think of, right!?

Anyway, due to this memory montage swirling around my mind, I didn't let myself get too caught up in my favorite thing ever, planning. I knew if I did I would end up getting upset if things didn't work out perfectly. A pre-Vday fight (or, more like an airing of grievances) with J made me even less excited.

Luckily, though, we worked things out, and we spent the weekend happy and sappy.

The BFF was out of town for the weekend, so I cooked J dinner for the first time at my new apartment. I made chicken breasts stuffed with almonds and goat cheese, sautéed mushrooms and asparagus with mustard cream sauce.

A week or two ago I was watching the Food Network (my go-to channel) at J's, and Sandra Lee's Semi-Homemade was on. If you're not familiar with Sandra, here's what you should know about her:

1) She loves to booze on camera.
2) She's dating New York's Attorney General Andrew Cuomo, who is potentially running for NY Governor. Random.
3) She's always creating themed "tablescapes" for each festive meal. Every meal.

So J commented on the decorative table settings, which green-lighted my excitement to create something festive he might appreciate.

One of the many awesome things about living above a multitude of Dollar Stores includes the bountiful assortment of holiday-themed cheap decorations, like heart champagne glasses and sparkly stickers.

The night turned out fun, and on actual Valentine's Day we went to brunch at Momofuku Ssam Bar.

So basically the combination of eating, eating, more eating and low-key quality time together created the perfect weekend.

Hope everyone else had fun too. And, for your sake, didn't gain 10 pounds like moi.

A Card for Everyone

Happy Valentine's Day. Hopefully you can relate to at least one of these, otherwise I'm not sure why you're reading this.

someecards.com

RomCom Love Tips: What Would Bridget Jones Do?

To make up for yesterday's anti-Valentine's rant, read New York Daily News' rules of love based on romantic comedies here. The suggestions are obviously very insightful and in no way can they fail you. Unless you're actually looking for real dating advice.

My favorites:

RULE 1: Zany adventures are the best place to find love.
Are you investigating a madcap crime? Are you stuck on an airplane or ship? Are you members of the same sassy girl band, but he's in drag? Are you members of the same soccer team, but you're in drag? If you answered yes to any of the above, read no further, because you're all set. (Note: If you answered that you're on a ship, then one of you may die. But don't worry - your love story will be even more touching.)

RULE 3: Beware the Best-Looking Guy Around (unless it's Hugh Grant).

The Best-Looking Guy is the evil one. Remember that. Whisper it into a tape recorder and play the tape under your pillow while you sleep. The hot guy is only there to distract you from your steadfast roommate/confidant, friend's brother (who is also unusually hot, but in a less prissy way) or the Guy You Knew All Along. Exception: If the hottest guy around is Hugh Grant, then he probably is the right guy for you and you just need to wait for him to realize it, which will result in a car chase and a proposal. Exception to the exception: If your name is Bridget Jones, jump to Rule 4 (Give the Annoying Guy a try (unless it's Hugh Grant).

 

[Ed. note: In related news, I love Hugh Grant. I know, I know, he cheated on Elizabeth Hurley with a hooker, making him the dumbest guy alive according to my father, but my love for him is genetic. Just ask Dolo. She even sat through Did You Hear About the Morgans for him. Now that's dedication.]

RULE 12: Cardinal Rule: Kids Are Wise.
When in doubt about your dating life, ask someone under 7 to explain it. These pint-size gurus have great instincts and your reliance on their advice shows that you Will Find Love After All. Unfortunately, Abigail Breslin is now too old to help you. But look for kids with big glasses and spiky blond hair, or, if none are present, get an adorably ill-behaved dog.

[Ed. note to self: Get a dog. Or two.]

I'm Already So Over Valentine's Day

Although I won't deny that I enjoy the cutesy, heartsy festivity surrounding Valentine's Day - if for nothing else than to liven up February, an otherwise shitty winter month wedged between Christmas and Spring - everything else about it blows. Except maybe the abundant supply of chocolate. And craft ideas.

But, let's be honest, Valentine's Day as a holiday has pretty much been downhill ever since elementary school. Back then, you just showed up, had a sweet party where you got jacked-up on sugar, decorated shoe boxes with glitter and sparkly stickers, passed around generic cards confirming that you did indeed "rock" or were "totally awesome" (and when you got one from your crush, it was a sign you were most definitely going to get married someday, even though everyone else got an identical one from him too), and then you went home to crash from your sugar high. It ruled.

Now that we're adults, it seems like no matter how low we set our expectations for this holiday, it ends in disappointment. Or guilt. Or loneliness. Or all of the above, and none of which are particularly sweet treats.

And lately it seems that Valentine's Day has grown into something bigger than Barbie cards or Hallmark forcing couples into being lovey-dovey hostages to The Man. It has now turned into every company ever's favorite marketing ploy. If you're in a relationship, wherever you turn you will be bombarded with suggestions of how to celebrate your love. Cause if you don't do anything, then you obviously hate each other. Or if you're a single loser (just kidding), there are thousands of ways to meet someone, who you can hold to extremely high standards for Valentine's perfection next year!

Although I have received approximately 1,000,001 email blasts from various outlets (Time Out New York, I'm looking at you) about what to do this holiday, I still have no motivation to make it special. I have become Valentine's apathetic.

But, if you're less jaded about meeting your soul mate this Valentine's, might I point you in the direction of the potentially most awkward dating set-up ever?

Crunch's Flex Appeal: Speed Dating Yoga

Meet someone special during our night of light-hearted match making. You’ll be paired with a rotating cast of potential Mr. or Mrs. Rights to break the ice over an invigorating partner yoga workout. The match making will continue after class with complimentary drinks at a neighboring bar/restaurant. More details to be announced in class. Non-members are welcome, so bring your single friends along to get in on the action!

"Oh, how did you guys meet?"

He was facing my Downward Dog on Valentine's Day...

Awk-ward.

You Control the Message

This is a lesson it's taken me awhile to learn. Maybe because I'm slow when it comes to dating? I don't know. But I think it's a common problem for people.

Ever get annoyed if your friends don't love your BF?

Ever get annoyed with you friend for dating some guy you don't think is that great?

The thing is, no one but you and your BF really know

It's Not Just the Ladies: PMenS

Ever been accused of acting irrational, moody, overly dramatic or sensitive because of "hormones"? Yeah, me neither.

Ha haaaa just kidding. I will totally own up to the fact that when I'm PMSing, I (can) act like a total crazy person. Or, like, show actual emotions. If I tear up over something (e.g. a commercial featuring babies), a little check of the calendar will most likely conclude that, yes, it is in fact that time of the month.

I'm sorry, I know no one wants to talk about this. But I have an actual point.

After many a discussions with friends, I'd like to share a little-talked-about phenomenon: PMenS. I think it's time we found a term to describe when guys suffer from weird bouts of unexplained irritability and extreme mood changes.

While it's obviously under different circumstances, I promise, it's not just the ladies who act up occasionally.  Like a random episode when a guy - seemingly for no real reason - just flips a switch and takes a total 180 from his usual course of action. I'm not saying he becomes a girl, he just acts with the certain irrationality that - when I act that way - I have an "excuse" to blame it on. 

For example, out of nowhere, he suddenly becomes temperamental and hard to please. Nothing you do helps the situation; you can't seem to get on his good side. You eventually realize that maybe it's not something you did, perhaps it's just the way the Universe is aligning, etc. But soon enough, he gets out of the mood, and things go back to normal. There's nothing to psychoanalyze about the situation, any potential relationship crisis was averted because it didn't happen in the first place (just like last weekend's NYC snowpocalpyse).

So the point is: If your BF is acting weird and there seems to be no reason for it, most likely it's just a mild case of PMenS. Cut him some slack; remember, you always appreciate when he does the same for you.

[Editor's note: I know this post will prob annoy a certain someone. But listen, Carly Simon Warren Betty, it's not you - it's every guy. This syndrome is applicably generic and widespread as assuming all straight guys like the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition. PS Brooklyn Decker is hawt.]

How About We Don't...

Exactly one year ago I met a guy while visiting a friend out of town. We became Facebook friends. The other day - totally out of the blue - he wrote on my wall to "catch up." You know, for no real reason.

At first I was a little weirded out. And then I realized, it was as if someone had suggested he reconnect with me.

No, just no. This long-lost friendship rekindler is possibly my least favorite FB application. Like maybe even worse than those weird games people try and make you sign up for.

Have you ever reconnected with someone because it was on your homepage? Like, someone you don't even actually know?

I hope not.

And, while I'm on the subject, how about it if FB stops suggesting I reconnect with The College BF. Because, yeah, that would be pretty awkward considering we haven't communicated in the better part of two years.

Just wanted to say, "Hi."

Because Facebook suggested it.

Wait, It's Not Spring Yet?

I have reached that point in winter where I'm getting really antsy. Like, oh okay I've been a good* sport for the past few months, where is my reward of an 80 degree day? Austin, you ruined me.

But there's no reprieve in sight. And after complaining about that dumb groundhog's prediction earlier this week, I was reminded that, duh, it's only the beginning of February - obviously we would have six more weeks of winter. Or, if we're cursed with anything like last year, six more months of cold weather, a fate which I refuse to accept.

Credit: REUTERS/Jason Cohn

And retailers aren't making it any easier on me. Everywhere I look beautiful spring window displays taunt me with their floral whimsy. There is no reason I need to be tempted with flirty, romantic sleeveless dresses and sandals I can't wear for months. For heaven's sake, there is a snowpocalypse headed to the North East tonight!

With predictions of more than few inches of snow (much worse in D.C., sorry friends!), hibernation feels like the only acceptable solution for this weekend. And I'm not the only one to think so.

*IMO. I could be much worse. I think bribing myself with the new coat def. helped. Although I lost one of my red gloves approximately 1 day later. And have lost 3 other gloves since then. Cold hands it is.

Relationship Mindcontrol Syndrome

Do you remember in Aladdin when devious Jafar hypnotizes the Sultan with his staph? Oh, you don't? Do you not just sit around randomly thinking about dating comparisons to Disney movies? I don't know what my deal with Disney is lately...

Anyway - as so everyone is on the same page - Jafar uses his evil powers to brainwash the Sultan into doing whatever he wants. Then things get scary! Like giant snake (my most hated/feared animal) scary!

After talking about Social Blinders Syndrome, aka the syndrome that ruined Sammi Sweetheart & Ronnie's star power slash cool factor on Jersey Shore, I wanted to talk about something even worse: Relationship Mindcontrol.

Now, there are some girls out there who just have the desire (and power) to whip a guy into boyfriend submission, wherein he basically packs away his package and gives her utter control of his social life. She dictates who he talks to, she'll check or answer his phone, and she'll coordinate his schedule to her liking - basically Kim Jung Il'ing his life so he is no longer a member of the Free World.

I have never been this girl. While I do enjoy wearing (or thinking I wear) the relationship pants as well as not minding others thinking that I'm the center of the universe, I also have a short attention span and would get sick of perma-control very fast. Anyone I date has to know when to occasionally lay down the law, otherwise I will walk all over him. And then I will walk out the door because, wow, that was boring.

I also learned the hard way that going through a boyfriend's phone (even for good reason) NEVER brings you peace of mind. Even if it's innocent (e.g. he's in the shower and his phone rings, it's not yours to answer/mess with/etc ...obviously if he gives you permission, whatever, but I wouldn't recommend making it a habit). Even though at the time, in high school, I had good reason to (e.g. my "friend" slash yearbook rival slash almost college roommate was trying to steal my bf away from me!), it turned me major crazy. And crazy is not a flattering shade on me! Shocking.

Okay, back to my main point: the inspiration for this post came from a FoF's story about losing his guy friend to his new GF. He no longer has contact with his friend as the new GF is the one who answers his calls, replies to his texts, cancels his plans  (e.g. Dave is "sick tonight"...I am taking care of him so we can't come), etc. Seriously, just hearing about it made me naush.

This is the kind of story that just screams OOC CGS. This CGS is not only unacceptible, it is frightening! It's a dangerous situation because - as a friend - you want to stage an intervention, but you know that all parties involved are so in love that there's a chance you will only make things worse for your friendship. Tread lightly. You can hope that eventually he will open his eyes to the idea of a better life, one where he can make AND keep plans for a boys' night, but in the mean time, it's not your decision to make.

But the point of this all is, girls, I know we like to have control. But do NOT use your powers for evil! Disney villians never prosper! And, guys, don't allow yourself to be that guy. Because no one wants to date the Sultan.

And we all lived happily ever after. With our pet tigers.

Hostesses with the Most-esses

On Saturday, The BFF and I hosted our first party together in years. And it was a huge success. Although I love love love to plan parties, since our previous home was part of Dante's inner circle of hell, we haven't been able to throw a real, full-on part-ay in quite a long time. Ushering guests back to our room past our wardens sprawled out in the living room did not count.

Saturday made up for it, IMO. We even got a shout out from Elle at DYFU.

In addition to the fun of watching all our different groups of friends interact, the jello shots and punch, and the Craigslist-hired bartender who helped raise the level of classiness up a notch or two, The BFF decided to create a little tribute to our former, (more) fun selves with a wall-covered photo montage.

You really accumulate some great memories when you've been friends for a decade plus. Please note there was a polaroid of us taken at a middle school, Millennium-themed dance up there too (although I refused to let her put up any pics from that era..shudder).

Love you, Wifey! Now we get to go home and Swiffer the floor...