If We Get Two More, We Can Be The Golden Girls

I think one problem with our generation is that a lot of us feel entitled to do nothing. We all just want to skip ahead of everything and go straight to retirement. Actually, I really just want to be a Stay at Home Person. Not a mom, because that sounds like a lot of work.

Now, though, after this weekend, I think I could be a mom to a dog. The BFF and I took care of our friend Laura's shitzu Daisy. What we realized is that having a dog isn't like having a baby. It's like having a three year old. She was fun, but a handful. It was awesome. Since The BFF and I have nothing, we enjoyed the new pal.

It taught us that we definitely need a side kick.

Anyway, earlier in the week, The BFF had mentioned that since I've been single, she hasn't gone on a date. "Why waste an evening of my life when I probably wouldn't have had that much fun when I could just hang out with you."

Then we spent the entire weekend together.

"Long Distance is the Wrong Distance. That's a Deal Breaker."

I will be honest, for the most part, I think that long-distance relationships are crap.

My biggest issue with the arrangement is that you waste so much effort wishing for time to speed up so you can only spend, typically, an all-too-brief weekend together. The emotional attachment to the future, which causes resentment of the present, has just never seemed appealing.

Another concern is that you date someone long-distance with the dream of eventually being together. But what happens if when the opportunity arises, realization sets in that maybe the two of you just aren’t compatible anymore? That just seems like the ultimate let down, not to mention a giant time waster, a personal pet peeve.

Anyway, this anti-long-distance belief has affected most of my decisions when it comes to potential long-distance scenarios.

But now it has come to my attention that the men in New York are undatable. Or at least all the ones who I would normally go after. I'm not in the mood to deal with Peter Pans with commitment issues, players playing the game, or tiny Guatamalan window washers who drunkenly tell you that you're a beautiful flower.

So now I'm wondering, can I outsource my dating needs? Somewhere where the labor is cheap and the men are attentive? Just someone to text me sweet and/or funny things would be nice.

Guest Post: The BFF's Guide to the First Date

[Note: Here's The BFF's promised 2nd installment. Please keep in mind all of the examples are actual things that happened. Yes, dating is terrible. Enjoy!]

Greetings again from the BFF. As promised I will now divulge into the gruesome world of…

THE FIRST DATE

But let’s first recap from our previous conversation together:

The main point to take from “The First Contact” is that if you don’t hear from a girl after texting her, don’t make numerous attempts to speak to her again. Do yourself a BIG favor and just delete her number so you can forget about everything and move on.

REMEMBER THIS: You are a lovely person, and she is too, but it’s just not in the cards for you to spend more time together. You want to be with someone who jumps at the opportunity to go out with you…right??

Now if she does respond within the 2 hour time limit, definitely consider asking her out (you know unless her response is something like THANKS FOR SPILLING WHISKEY ALL OVER MY $300 MARC JACOBS DRESS, ASS FACE).

If you hear back from her more than 2 hours later then it’s very likely that “she thinks you are a loser but she’s sort of a loser too so maybe she’ll meet you for a drink (aka not worth your time).”

I like so many newly single women fall into this category.

SIDE NOTE: Obviously I am not a loser but when your roommate has (well had) a boyfriend and you feel stupid for sitting around watching reruns of “Chopped” by yourself at night, you can easily convince yourself to go on a date with someone you have zero interest in. You ask yourself well “how bad could it really be?”

It’s pretty bad.

In my defense, however, I feel like I do a good job of showing my disinterest in the hour and a half that I let this new person into my weird BFF world. Sadly though, these silly guys are too distracted but what’s going on with this (my hand motions around my face) to catch on to my clues because they still text or even worse, CALL after the date.

So guys I’m going to tell you the signs to pick up on if you go out with a girl who you aren’t sure whether she’s interested.

First of all I am hoping that you are going out with a beautiful girl who looked very put together on the night of your meeting.

If on the first date she’s meeting you after going to the gym, SHE’S NOT INTERESTED. If she was interested she would have rushed home after work, spent 30 minutes primping, and would be smelling of an exotic perfume—not like she just left jump roping class.

Also check to see if she has any extra bags with her (aka her BAGGAGE…literally). If she’s interested she will have a cute TINY purse and not 3 bags of sweaty gym clothes and disgusting Tupperware. I personally make it a policy to have at least 2 bags on any date I’m going on where I don’t care.

Moving on, if she’s not wearing some sort of pretty shoe, SHE’S NOT INTERESTED. She doesn’t need to be wearing 6-inch heels but anything in the category of a flip flop, UGG, Crocs (I SERIOUSLY HOPE TO GOD NO ONE HAS EVERYONE WORN CROCS ON A DATE), Converse or running shoe means she does not care about having a successful date.

I once actually started a date in heels but after I realized I had no desire to ever see this person again I switched to flats when he went to the rest room. KEEP YOUR EYES ON THESE VERY IMPORTANT SIGNALS!

“So aside from personal appearance what are some other signals I should be on the look-out for, The BFF?”

Glad you asked.

Obviously if she’s texting or answering phone calls during your date, she’s not interested. Especially texting. Never trust a girl who looks at her phone, smiles, and puts it back in her purse without saying something like “Oh my roommate just saw Dustin Hoffman on Park Avenue.” If she doesn’t tell you why she’s smiling, SHE’S NOT INTERESTED.

If she starts every sentence with ‘We,’ it either means me and my ex or me and my girlfriends who I get so wasted with I don’t even know where I’ve spent the past 4 months. The ‘WE’ word means WE ARE NOT INTERESTED (and we might have a drinking problem).

If she keeps her legs crossed, her arms only move when she’s taking a sip of her drink, and she never lets you near her, SHE’S NOT INTERESTED. PLEASE, PLEASE do not EVER put your hand across the table for her to hold when you’ve ONLY MET THE PERSON ONCE BEFORE. OMG I’m beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

If she tells you about how much she goes out, how many shots she did last night, or how many times she’s woken up on the Brooklyn Bridge, SHE’S NOT INTERESTED (If you’ve woken up on the Brooklyn Bridge, call me…I want know how it happened!!!).

A girl wants a guys she’s interested in to think she is a perfect angel who is the very thing missing from his life. A girl who is interested will probably tell you about a charity event she went to for Cerebral Palsy…she probably got wasted there but if she’s interested in you, so she’ll keep that tidbit to herself.

I’ve given you some of the Tell-Tale signs that a girl’s not interested. Now while she might not be interested from the get-go, what are some things you can do to make her possibly decide to not not want to ever see you again?

First of all: DON’T BE LATE TO YOUR DATE. In fact arrive 5 minutes early. If she’s not interested from the beginning she’s certainly not going to be in the future if you are late. She will be PISSED she had to wait and look like some sort of loner freak at some freaky bar.

Conversely DON’T TELL YOUR DATE TO “HURRY UP” IF SHE IS RUNNING A FEW MINUTES LATE. Yes, it’s happened. Yes, this person has zero chance of ever finding love.

DON’T PREFACE YOUR DATE BY SAYING SOMETHING LIKE “ARE YOU READY FOR A ROMANTIC EVENING?” when it turns out that your idea of romantic evening is going to a Polish Weiner Beer bar (yuck!)

ALWAYS COME PREPARED. Don’t spend half of the time you meet talking about your Rolex watch and 3 Summer houses to show up at your date without any Cash at a CASH ONLY PLACE. You will never hear from this girl again.

DON’T GO ON A FIRST DATE THAT IS LONGER THAN AN HOUR AND A HALF. Get to know the girl then send her on her merry way so she can marinate you in her mind. If you spend too much time on the first date she will become bored of you. It’s science.

WHEN SHE SAYS SHE WANTS TO GO HOME, WHAT SHE REALLY MEANS IS: SHE WANTS TO GO HOME. Don’t beg for the girl to not leave. Tell her “Perfect timing! I’m supposed to meet a friend at this bar next door in 15 minutes.” This way she’ll wonder who this friend is and ask herself “why would this person plan to see me and a friend in one night?” And these questions will ultimately lead to SPARKING SOME INTEREST.

I hope this all makes sense to you.

So now you’ve been on the First Date, what’s next? If she did any of the above, DELETE HER PHONE NUMBER. If she was a nice girl, then…

Be on the look-out for the “Contact After the First Date” edition of this program…

Nothing? No nothing.

Some people might call me stubborn. Those would be people who know me.

I'm fairly self-sufficient and capable (when I want to be), and so when faced with situations that a normal person would balk at, I'm usually game to get the job done. I've carried a full-size mattress, boxspring and frame three blocks. I helped the movers I hired take up my own possessions (followed by getting invited to their R&B concerts...). So when The BFF and I needed an AC, I figured it would be no big deal.

Did I mention we live on the top floor? Obv. penthouse style, if you want to live in an Internet Fantasy World as your read this. If you've been to my apartment, please don't leave a conflicting opinion in the comment section.

Anyway, on our way up our four flights of stairs in our elevatorless apartment, we got barricaded by a downstair's neighbor's attempt to transition her piano to the neighbor across the hall. Perfect timing. Since we couldn't get by, we had to awkwardly stand in her apartment for a good five minutes. In any instance, this would have been an inconvenience, but this specific apartment created an inopportune nightmare.

Every time we had passed this woman's door, The BFF and I have noticed a weird chirping noise. At first we thought it was perhaps a security alarm or something. No. Turns out she has actual birds in there. Like a flock of them. Seven to be exact. She also had a rabbit and at least four cats.

If you have the same 13-year-old boy movie taste as I do and are picturing the scene in Ace Ventura when all his animals come out from their apartment hiding places, that's exactly how it felt. [Keep in mind the landlord told us no animals when we moved in. Yes, Satan? Oh, I'm sorry, sir. You sounded like someone else. Okay, I will stop quoting the movie and watch (the copy I own) later.]

Apparently after fourteen years in that studio apartment the lady was moving out. The BFF and I made a pact to not allow ourselves to become Crazy Cat Ladies sharing an apartment for the next decade plus. Please God no.

After managing to install the unit in the window without it falling five flights down and killing someone (hopefully it does not do that ever..), we headed uptown to help our friend Ashley move some of her stuff (because she was a saint who helped us move).

While in the Upper East Side, we noticed that everyone had at least 1 dog and 1 baby. The entire neighborhood was way too full of love and happiness for our newly single selves. What do we have? NOTHING. Good ol' East Village is full of loveless weirdos. It's where we belong.

Post visit to the best puppy store ever on our way home (we love to torture ourselves!), The BFF and I stopped at a fro you shop where I was lamenting to her about how we have nothing to live for. [Drama queen much? This was the day as Ice Coffee Rant Inspiration so yeah.]

The guy behind the counter interrupted me to ask "Nothing?" in reference to the yogurt.

"No, nothing" I said staring back at him, meaning in life.

But I'm still pretty sure nothing is better than living in a petting zoo so at least there's that.

Side note: Yesterday The BFF sent me this picture that was on her Facebook newsfeed.

Yes, that is a dog, cat and rat. WTF?! Best thing I've seen all week. "Best thing I've seen all year," said The BFF. It clearly doesn't take much to entertain us...

Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Guest Post: The BFF's Guide to First Contact After Meeting

[Ed. note: Hooray! The BFF has written a little somethin' somethin' to rant about, I mean share, her casual dating etiquette advice for guys. While it is def. good insight that should be take into consideration, please keep in mind that The BFF has very specific personal beliefs guiding her wisdom: A) She hates any non-textual phone communication with guys. B) She likes assholes. C) She's kind of an asshole. And that's why I love her. And her sweet rapping skillz, obv. Thanks, doll.]

After recently becoming single, I (like an idiot) decided that I would give my shot at the so called ‘Dating Scene.’ Dear God, I should have stayed home. When you live in a city like NY where you have a million options, sometimes the best option is just to say NO to all your options.

I wouldn’t be so compelled to contribute to “the Guide” but after waking up in the middle of the night to discover some Random I met this past weekend had left me a voicemail after I had already ignored a text message that was my final straw…

MEN LISTEN UP: You want to go out with a nice and interesting girl, right? You think there’s a possibility that love is out there for you? Well if you don’t want to be labeled as the ‘ultimate creepster’ or a ‘total loser,’ just sit back and soak up my wisdom.

The three most important times in the beginning of a relationship are: First Contact after Meeting, the First Date, and Contact After the First Date. I will dissect each of these precious moments and tell you exactly what to do and more importantly WHEN TO STOP DOING. So let’s begin:

Lesson One: First Contact after Meeting:

So you’ve just met a cool girl. Yes, you were both slightly intoxicated at the time but she seemed normal (well, she was breathing) and you get her number.

[Side note: GUYS, IF SHE GIVES YOU HER EMAIL, SHE’S NOT INTERESTED. IF SHE GIVES YOU HER BUSINESS CARD, SHE’S REALLY, REALLY NOT INTERESTED. A phone number is the only way you have any chance of speaking to this person again. (And even if you get it, don’t count that that’s the Golden Ticket.)]

So you got the number. The next day you want to catch up with this special lady. What do you do next?

Now back in the day you would have called. You didn’t really have any other options. It would have been awkward. You would have said something like “OMG I’m sooo hungover.” She would have said “Omg me too!” then there would a long silence after one of you fake laughed too hard.

Okay. I’m getting uncomfortable just thinking about phone calls.

Guys, don’t call! Save the awkward conversation for the first date (if you get one).

Send a text message.

Some of the greatest relationships have begun (and ended) with a text message.

In your text message do this: refresh the girl of your name (because she probably met like a 100 guys that night if she’s super good looking), say where you met (because she was probably bar hopping from 10-4), and ask her if she wants to get together sometime. Let me explain this a little clearer so there are no questions:

Here’s a fun game I like to call, “Which text is the most promising?”

A: “Hey! It’s David from Greenhouse! I was just hanging out in my Soho loft when I thought that we should do Bagatelle sometime!”

B: “hi beautiful, it’s rico from kiss and fly my boys are getting a bottle tonight you should come and bring your girlfriends.”

C: “hey it’s matt! I told you, you were smoking hot at that bar with all of the weird lamps. I’m pretty busy this week but we should get together soon!”

D: “It’s Paul from Alice’s rooftop party. I can’t stop thinking about you. Call me, I need to talk”
 
So we have David the asshole whose friends are probably all married but he hasn’t tied the knot yet because he’s too busy hanging out with Soho whores. I might respond since I haven’t brunched at Bagatelle yet, but I wouldn’t call him back after the first date and I don’t think he would either when he realized I am not some idiot Soho groupie.
 
Rico is most likely a closeted gay with one of his ‘boys’. I may stop by Kiss and Fly for a little pre-game action, but after one cranberry vodka I’m out. He would probably send me texts each day for the next 2 weeks about meeting again at the club. I would ignore these attempts.
 
Paul. Oh Paul. He’s either a total psycho, a total romantic (i.e. total psycho) or a total player. Please just hope you never run into this person again and please pray to God that in your drunken haze you didn’t tell him where you lived.
 
Matt is the winner because a) he doesn’t drop stupid club names b) he’s busy and therefore not desperate and c) he states the obvious: that you are ridiculously good looking. He’s the perfect blend of asshole and nice guy. There’s a certain mystery with him which was what was missing from David, Rico, and Paul (all of whom I superbly summed up with just a few insights.)
 
Now guys if you come up with a good text you may actually hear from this girl again!!! If you do hear back, congrats! There’s a 99.9% chance it won’t work out in the long run, but you are getting somewhere, right?!
 
If you don’t hear back soon after pressing ‘Send’ then your head might start to create some scenarios. “Oh I think she said she had brunch with her parents. She must be too busy to respond, but I’m sure I’ll hear from her in next couple of days. If not, I’ll just call her later this week.”
 
NO, STOP RIGHT THERE.
 
Here are some important things to know about women:

WOMEN ARE ALWAYS BY THEIR PHONES AND ARE ALWAYS READY TO INTERRUPT ANYTHING ‘IMPORTANT’ FOR A GUY SHE’S INTERESTED IN. THERE’S NO REASON A NICE GIRL THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO DATE WOULD TAKE MORE THAN 2 HOURS TO RESPOND TO YOUR TEXT. If she does respond after 2 hours, she’s either a game player (aka was at her boyfriends when she got the text) or she thinks you are a loser but she’s sort of a loser too so maybe she’ll meet you for a drink (aka not worth your time).
 
Therefore, if you do not hear from the girl within 2 hours of sending your text, MOVE ON! DO NOT CALL AND LEAVE VOICEMAILS AT 11PM ON A WEEKNIGHT. DAMNIT! THERE ARE SO MANY WOMEN ON THIS STUPID ISLAND (MANY MORE HOT GIRLS THAN HOT GUYS TOO BTW). DON’T WASTE ALLYOUR TIME ONE SOMEONE WHO’S CLEARLY NOT INTERESTED!
 
I hope you will deeply consider what I have said…in the next segment I will cover…
 
THE FIRST (AND MOST LIKELY LAST) DATE

- The BFF

Actual Girl Crush

Oh Tina, funny funny Tina. Congrats on your Mark Twain Funny Person's award, or whatever, it's called. I heart you and your jokes about eating a lot. I think that we would be friends, but only in a bizarro universe where I wasn't socially awkward around celebrities (last night's run-in with the guys from White Collar - see Twitter status - was just a fluke. I realize that now.).

The Daily Beast compiled a list of Tina's Top 10 30 Rock moments. Go read it now while you're procrastinating at work (unless you don't like the show, in which case please start watching it so we can make jokes about Night Cheese.)

Potential Girl Crush

Who is Shallon Lester?

A girl who at the beginning of this Frisky Q&A I was sure I was going to hate. Shallon is about to star in a Downtown Girls, new MTV reality show about late 20-something ladies living in Manhattan. She's a writer. She's pretty. She's living the dream.

See, hate is an easy judgment to jump to.

But after reading her answers, I feel like she could be my new girl crush? Am I rushing things?

Listen to this though, maybe the best answers ever:

Q: Isn’t it awkward flirting with cameras there?
A: I am a woman with a purpose, Jessica. I love boys. I collect them as one collects Fabergé eggs. It wasn’t hard for me! I didn’t mind the cameras. It took my friends a while to get used to it.

Q: So what’s the current guy situation?
A: I was actually texting my friend to see if he would break up with the two boys that I’m dating because they’re just stupid. It’s not great. It’s not bad. I shouldn’t say it’s not great. Together, the two of them make an entire boy. I think dating in New York is like grocery shopping: you would love to just go one place and get everything you need, but you usually have to go [to] a bunch of places and get a little bit there and a little bit there and a little bit there. Sometimes I need five boys to make an entire satisfying experience. So that’s the situation I’m in now. But I think for the first time, I don’t feel like I need a guy. Like that obsessive need for attention and distraction and titillation.

Q: How do these guys you’re dating feel about the show coming out?
A: One is freaked out that I’m going to change and it’s going to portray me in a weird way. He’s only 24.

Q: Yeah, I have read about you and your fascination with younger guys!
A: I love younger guys!

Q: If you’re 27, then 24 isn’t even that young.
A: I’d go younger. Believe me, I’d go younger. The best boyfriend I had, I was 25 and he was 19. Best! Best boyfriend. They’re just so honest at that age. They don’t know yet that they can lie to women and f*** around and get away with it. They still feel obligated to be honest. They have better bodies by default. They’re so excited to see you naked. There’s just so many things! The other guy I’m dating, he’s older. He’s 29. He’s a little self-congratulatory. So I’m, like, all right.

Hahahha. Oh Shallon, you boy crazy cougar. What's not to like? Hope you don't turn out to be terrible a la everyone on the Hills ever.

Hawaii Trip: LOST & Hungry

Today Facebook was super boring because I don't give a dayum about LOST. C'mon where are the wedding photo albums I can judge and/or be jealous of? Where 'da cool updates about entertaining stuff. Nope, LOST, LOST, LOST.

Hoping to be relevant but holding myself back from posting some sort of faux-unny Tweet like, "So excited for the LOST finale so everyone shuts up!" here's a story for you:

In March 2009, God smiled down on me and plucked me from miserable New York post-winter coldness and dropped me off in Hawaii. Oh sweet glorious Hawaii. I'll be honest, up until this trip I didn't really get Hawaii. Like, yeah it seems cool and pretty, but so are lots of places.

Yeah, lots of third world countries. Hawaii is a U.S. state. And it's amazing. If it wasn't so far away from my fam, I would totally live there pretending to be a marine biologist.

Anyway, that was a tangent!

So my friends Lauren and Keaton and I were lucky enough to stay in a super sweet beach house on the North Shore with Lauren's friends from high school who had just moved there. He and his roommates could not have been more awesome or hospitable, which helped to make it the best vacation ever. I'll prob be on my honeymoon someday (hopefully) and be like, "Yeah this is cool and all, but it's no Hawaii, sucker!" But I assume whoever I marry will already know I'm this annoying and blissfully ignore me.

Okay back to the relevant point. So one day Lauren and I were walking down the (private, amazingly beautiful) beach when we saw a few bamboo structures and some other random belongings.

"What is this, a homeless shanty town?" we wondered. Until we saw the piece of the plane. WTF?

OMG WE'RE ON THE SET OF LOST!

I guess they were filming that day so none of the normal orange net barricades were up. So crazy/random to stumble on it like we were on the show. We went back the following day and took these pictures.

Pretty suweet, huh?

Anyway, to share one other important story about this trip, my roommate Ruby had given me Twilight to read while I was gone. I was not a Kool-aid drinker to put it mildly slash could barely finish it. This was possibly due to the fact that since I had met Ruby, every single breathe she spoke included the words: Twilight, Robert Pattinson, Ilovetwilightandrobertpattinson.

Name-checking celebrities crushes as real relationships is not acceptable anytime after 5th grade. [But it was fine then and JTT and I were super happy together in case you were wondering.]

So when you're 23 living in Manhattan it's unthinkably unacceptable. The entire time reading the book I kept picturing her giddy, nauseating excitement about the love story that would never happen to her. IAAB.

Plus, once I figured out the underlying theme, I was so over it:

"Maybe I love you? Maybe I'm hungry?"

Because, duh, that is my life.

Seriously, think about it. Edward loves Bella, but also wants to naush on her. Love and hunger could potentially be mistaken for one another? Yes, and it can be very confusing. For example, when you meet a cute guy and start planning your lives together only to realize that it's not so much that he's The One but more like you could use a snack!

It's just so simple yet so full of truth. You're welcome.

I Know These Are First-World Problems

Hold on a minute while I climb on my soapbox. It might take awhile for me to get up here because it's the Sunday night after a long weekend, and I'm not feeling awesome.

Last Monday, post-Texas trip, I had told myself I was going to take it easy. That was not the case, but it was all worth it. Between going out with girl friends, almost killing myself moving a super heavy window AC unit with The BFF, playing tennis for the first time in years, it's been fun.

Anyway, after an incident wherein The BFF and I spent FIFTEEN dollhairs on two ice coffees (and one tiny bottle of Pellegrino), I've decided it's time to air some grievances with the current state of our world.

And, before you even say it, yes, I get these are white girl problems.

First, let's start with the ice coffee. Can you please explain to me why it costs - on average - $2 extra for a cup of coffee with ice cubes? The BFF spent $6 on one iced latte!? For some coffee, milk and ice cubes, six dollars.

Seriously?! That is egregious.

So, out of principle, I no longer am buying ice coffee. I will get hot coffee, wait for it to cool and mix it with my own 'cubes. Take that.

Of course my moral stand against over priced, chilled caffeination has started at the super inconvenient brink of summer time, I get that. But I will stay strong.

Okay, what else can I complain about?

Oh yeah, "convenience" service charge fees. Ticketmaster, I'm looking at you. You're seriously going to charge me $2 extra so I can print my ticket at home? Yet, for you to ship them to me - a service that costs postage money, material expenses e.g. the ticket, and man power to stuff said materials - is free?

Riddle me that.

I was ranting about this last night post ice coffee incident and The BFF asked what show I was going to see. No, I told her, this is just one of my biggest pet peeves of all time, not a recent issue.

Sorry, I'm just all riled up so let's end this on a good note.

My biggest complaint of all: Ye Ol' Checked Bag Fee.

Worst.idea.ever.

I get that airlines want to find other ways to save/make money. I get that you want me to die of starvation mid-air, forcing me to eat Auntie Anne's pretzels for no reason during my layover because of my lack of snackage fears later on. I get that my half drank terrorist coffee you tricked me into buying before the security line is a totally legit danger and I will chug it immediately. Who doesn't love burning their mouth for no reason, thanks, Al Queda.

But the bag fee is ridic. Almost everyone has at least some form of luggage when they travel. And, if you're like me and always trying to beat The Man at his own game, you refuse to buy into the $25 bag babysitting bullshit. (The only time in the past year when I checked a bag was when I got stuck in Detroit, of course my toiletries were in that bag, FML).

Clearly I'm not the only genius who carries everything on, so obviously there is rarely enough room on the plane for everyone's possessions. This, of course, forces everyone to wait while they stow additional items below.

For free.

Like how it was during the time when lugage fees wasn't an issue we had to worry about in our lives. A little time I like to call The Good Ol' Days.

Oh, Corporate America, stop trying to screw us over. You know I am capable of wasting plenty of money on my own without your forced non-sensical taxes.


Thanks,

Your slave, Rachel

Match.Mom In Her Element

I spent this past weekend with the fam in Austin, and the whole thing could have been an episode.

That's my dad's favorite thing to quote in reference to a family-friend's tendency to point out comedic observations of the Seinfeldian persuasian: finding hilarity in the every day life absurdity. Our family has a lot of these moments.

If you know my family, you know we're all, well, a little quirky. That's a nice way of saying crazy, right? My parents are the polar opposites of the same person, if that makes sense. My two (younger) brothers and I all fall somewhere in the spectrum between them.

We're also all very goodlooking. [Note: To be fair, one of my brother's is f*cking gorgeous, not just goodlooking. And brilliant, graduating from UT Engineering this weekend, congrats!!]

And humble, obv!

No, but seriously, my family is great, and this trip home made me miss being back in Austin.

Up until the point my mom tried to hook me up with a guy who was holding his gf's hand. Seriously.

Ol' Match.Mom back in the game. That move was a swing and a miss, though.

He was an usher at one of my college roommate's wedding (where my parents were my dates, wahoo I'm cool!). Per her penchant for matchmaking, I know she was just looking out for her sweet lil' newly single daughter.

Please look elsewhere. Thanks.

At one point a cute boy asked me to dance (Score! Didn't look like a loser in front of the parental unit!), and apparently my dad - thank goodness - spent the entire span of the song explaining to my mother how taking a picture of the two of us would be super embarrassing.

This woman knows no limits when it comes to Cute Boy Documentation.

To give you a taste (definitely not the full list because we don't have time to review years of this practice, people), I have in my collection of Awkward Mom-Forced Photos:

- a picture of Middle School Rachel at the beach surrounded by an entire baseball team of strangers

- a picture of me in California with random hot lifeguards

- a photo-album worth of photos of me and guy friends through the years that she thought were cute and hoped I would date [included in this list, I believe, is a picture of my former coworker Jersey. Awkward.]

Not embarassing at all.

Oh Match.mom. Now that's an episode.

P dot S: For Mother's Day, I found her the perfect gift: "Have I Got a Guy for You," a collection of horror stories about what really happens in Mom match-ups. Bwahahahahha. I already know it will not make the slightest impression on her, but I got a copy for me too thanks to The Strand's cheap book section. Pretty funny stuff.

So It's Not Just That I'm Vain?

I'm going to be honest with you about something. I like to be the more attractive one in a relationship. Not that I am dating trolls or anything, but if I had to choose between a smokin' hot beautiful guy and a cute guy, I'd go with cutie any day of the week.

Why?

A) I'm vain and want people to focus on my beauty!

B) I have a feeling my insecurities (e.g. other pretty girls constantly hitting on him; wondering why he chose me) would get the best of me, making me a less-than-awesome version of myself. And no one wants that!

I've had this conversation with lots of ladies and most agreed. Who wants to be the girl that everyone wonders how she got with the Brad Pitt look alike? Thanks but no thanks.

Apparently, though, it's not just me and my friends. According to research reported on MSN yesterday:

- Men who were more attractive than their spouses were less supportive than men who were were equally matched or less attractive.

- Men and women tended to be more positive and happier when wives were more attractive than their husbands.

- Attractive men are more likely to attract women, which could make them less satisfied and less committed.

- Attractive women might not mind being better-looking because attractiveness might be less important long-term.

Just some food for thought. So, if you know any quasi-attractive guys, let me know.

Maybe I Can Get a Job as a Psychic?

So awhile ago when The BFF re-joined the land of dating, I joked about how the two of us had never been single at the same time, and how it was probably for the best, otherwise the world might implode with our awesomeness.

Wellllllllllll. What do you know, the day after J and I called it quits, Elle sends me a link that a three alarm fire is blazing on 14th street.

Errr, what? At that point it wasn’t certain how far the fire had spread and if our apartment (and beloved Dollar Stores!) were in harm’s way. Luckily everything was contained before our end of the block was in any real danger.

Anyway, during my email communication relay with The BFF sharing the news, she pointed out that the fire might be a direct result of our mutual singleness. "We knew it would affect the world.”

In my best Urkel voice: “Did I do that?”

P dot S: Did anyone see this week's season finale of GG? The part where S and B sit on her bed and realize they're both newly single for the first time ever. Just like us. The part where S and B head to Paris for the summer dressed like Barbies. Devastingly not like us.

Relationship Status Update II

In Annie Hall, Woody Allen says, “A relationship, I think, is like a shark. You know? It has to constantly move forward or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark. “

That’s what The BFF told me last week. What a wise one, she is.

After a few awkwardly-timed convos coupled with some introspective soul-searching, J and I decided that romantic things with us have run their course. This might seem a little out of left field based on some of my recent stories about him. Things were going well for the short term, but life is a long time. And while neither of us really know what we want, it has become more apparent that it probably isn’t the same thing. Which, to be honest, sucks.

Anyway, I always roll my eyes when celeb couples release the obligatory “We broke up but will remain close friends” bullshit. Really, are you really going to be friends? Doubtful.

But for the first time maybe ever, I really hope we can stay friends. If not, I only wish him the best. (These are not my typical post-breakup sentiments, I promise you, because IAAB.)

From the beginning, our friendship connection has been strong. We have the same interests, like the same activities (e.g. food-focused or funny-focused). We could not have been more compatible, but maybe that was an issue in itself.

At the end of the day, the only thing I can compare us to are two puzzle pieces you just know are going to fit together. And then you see that tiny sliver of light, feel the rocking between them instead of the required solid fit. It’s just not meant to be. (Am I the only nerd who loves working puzzles? Only the ones that are doable, not ones that are stupidly hard. My patience does not need that kind of stress, I have I terrorism to worry about now, ugh.)

One thing we will have to look back on, though, have been our legendarily awesome breakups. If there was an Olympic sport for synchronized break-ups, we would dominate. I’m talking gold-medal winning, worthy of our own Subway sandwich endorsements and ABC Family movie of the week material. We’re just that good. Each time ended on friendly terms with a precision and routine that would make those ice dancers jealous. We even wore some sequins. Well, not me just him. Kidding.

Think about two competitive people who see the impending breakup doom lingering on the horizon. The relationship execution had been set. With the characters that we are, this scene could have gone down differently than it did, with us both running in shouting “It’s over; I said it first! I win!”

Breakup roulette if you will.

But no, for once in our lives we both acted like sincere adults. There’s a first for everything I guess.

How to Avoid the Awkward Back Touch

Over the years I’ve perfected a patented move to try and deter the awkward random back touch. You know what I'm talking about, right?

The unwarranted hand graze of a guy, typically landing on the small of your back, that makes your skin crawl. Not necessarily because the person is a skin-crawl-inducing human being, but because you just don’t want them touching you.

This move can come from total strangers, FoFs, formerly platonic friends, etc. In any case, no buddy, just no.

The first attempt to break this uninvited physical contact involves sticking out your chest and awkwardly trying to shimmy out of reach. Almost like you’re trying to hula hoop. Or like a wet dog shaking off water, in a slightly more discreet manor. Slightly.

Unfortunately some back-touchers are more persistent. Like, OMG did you coat your palms with super glue before you went out? Level Two of the dance is similar, just slightly more violent. Maybe throw in some arm-windmill action. That should get your point across and he'll get the hint to find another back to talk to.

If not, Level Three is just to physically run away. You tried to give him a polite out. That time is over.

And to all of you with touchable backs out there, good luck. The weather's getting warmer, you're wearing less clothing and your back is just getting all the more desirable.

iPad: Just a Giant iPhone? Am I Missing Something?

The only apple product I own is an iPod. It’s fine minus that it somehow only plays music out of the right ear now (shocking since I only drop it every single time I go to the gym. You know that moron girl whose iPod flies off the treadmill shooting back three feet behind her? Yeah, I’m that girl. No really, I am. Can you grab it off the ground for me, it’s right next to you? Thanks).

I don’t have an iPhone or a Mac Book so maybe it’s just a general thing I don’t get about the amazingness of apple, but really, what’s so great about the iPad?

Maybe it’s ‘cause no one I know has one so I haven’t been inundated with peer reviews. (Unlike when everyone got the iPhone and you would have guessed Jesus had his second coming. I think there’s an app for that?)

Anyway, on my flight out of New York (finally, after getting to the airport at 4 a.m. only to have to be rebooked on an 8 a.m. - obviously I’m in an amazing mood!), I got seated next to two guys who were chatty freaking Cathy’s. Not that I hate all social interactions with strangers, but there’s a time and a place. The time is when I’m not working on three hours of sleep, and the place is not in close quarters where I could be napping, loud talker.

One guy, a bulldog of a man resembling a Soprano Mr. Clean, whipped out his iPad to show me some pictures of his giant English Mastiff dogs. Yes, because somehow people can sense that even though I’m about to die of exhaustion, I do want to talk about puppies! Maybe it’s the chocolate lab luggage tag I have on my bag? No I’m not 12. Maybe?

So he’s showing me pictures of his 260 pound baby – no joke, insane right!? – when the other guy in our row, a late 30s prissy-ish Dallas FJO, started on about how was he "going to get an IPad ASAP because OMFG it’s SO COOL.”

Seriously. That’s how it began. For a solid 80 percent of the next 3.5 hours, I had to listen to two grown men coo over the glorious possibilities of this gadget. You would have thought its owner had given birth to it.

I just don’t get it. I mean, it’s a cool enough product, but it’s not revolutionizing anything. It is basically a giant iPhone.

Then it dawned on me. It IS revolutionizing something. It’s revolutionizing technology FOR OLD PEOPLE.

You know those books with super large font grandparents have? Those over-sized remote controls with buttons fit for giants?

Uh hello, that’s what this is. Instead of having to squint their strained eyes and manipulate a tiny persnickety key pad with their less-than-nimble fingers, now adults can relish in technology in a size they can actually read.

I’m sure the apple secret police will hunt me down for cracking their true branding strategy – the iPad: the giant-sized iPhone for Olds.

So after listening to these two guys go on and on and on about all the features, I was about to lose my shit. This also coincided with the time when my giant cup of coffee had worn off, originally masking my sleep-deprived crankiness.

I almost would have preferred two strangers developing a romance next to me to this PDT (public display of technology), even if it had it included some making out.

Got an iPad? Get a room.

Stop Ruining My Commute, Terrorists

Every morning I emerge from the subway and find myself in one of my favorite historical spots in the city: Grand Central Station. The cream marble, the big brass clocks, the giant chandeliers, and - my absolute favorite - the Tiffany-colored teal ceiling painted with astrological signs and star maps.

Stunning doesn't do it justice.

When I walk through there, moving in step with the current of commuters and avoiding the stop-and-go traffic of the tourists, I can't help but soak up the history and beauty that surrounds me. As I skip up the steps to exit the cavernous den, I pause for a second and pretend to be Serena in the opening credits of Gossip Girl. Spotted: Rachel on her way to work.

I love starting my day there.

You know what I don't love, though? That it was included as one of the foiled terrorist attack points from a few months ago. Now the effervescent beauty is speckled with cops toting machine guns and bomb-sniffing dogs. Not the kind of dogs I like.

Obviously any act of terrorism in any part of the city is unthinkable, but please leave my beloved Grand Central alone. And not just 'cause I work right by it. [Note: This is where I try not to say tacky things about Times Square, the recent incidents there and how they wouldn't affect me cause I avoid that area like a hazmat zone. It has its value too (in the form of large glowing lobster hanging outside RL).]

It can be a little overwhelming to let the potential extreme situations that could unfold sink into my bubble-gum filled reality. Oh shit a massive terrorist attack would really suck. For those of us who didn't live in New York during 9/11, I really have no clue.

But I refuse to live in fear. First, it seems like a lot of effort. And, second, I'm already pretty busy losing sleep over my mountain of first-world problems like how to lose 5 lbs by Memorial Day. So can we all just agree to calm the F down about terrorism? At least in my zip code? Thanks.

"Saw This and Thought of You"

Never has there been a product so perfect for me.

"Interventionware" by Fishs Eddy. "We never claimed to have tact! The perfect plate for the perfect intervention! Serve up a heaping scoop of guilt...or mac and cheese!"

HAHAHA.

My hypothetical wedding registry will obv include these.

See you at the intervention.

And in a related story, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ASH.

Me: "At my eating intervention can you not bring up how I stole a bottle of caramel syrup and drank it in the cab? FUN TIMES."

Ash: "i think me holding an eating intervention for you would be like a dealer holding one for a drug addict."

Me: HAHAHHAHAHAH. So so true.

Happy Mother's Day

Although I might occassionally give my mom a hard time on the blog (and in real life), she's the best. (Maybe just not the best wingman.) 

As a prominent member of the Rachel Fan Club (total membership: 3 people), she's so supportive of me and I'm eternally grateful. While it's hard living so far away from each other, I always appreciate her "I loved your blog post today" emails and gchat check-ins.

Over the years, my mom has taught me so many great life lessons, including the gem: "tan" fat looks skinnier than white fat so go get some fake tanner on those legs to make yourself feel better post winter. It is true!

Hopefully some day I can be as great and insightful of a mom as she is - to a dog baby and/or a human baby.

Love you mommy! I'll see you this week. And happy mother's day to Dolo, the world's best grandma, and all the other mom's out there too. Y'all are amazing. I can barely take care of The BFF, I don't know how you do it.

Great Grandma Goes to Prom, Will Most Likely Be Let Down By Lack of Awesomeness

First of all, setting my prom cynicism aside, this story is adorable.

Ninety year old Haselteen Rumbo has been waiting for the chance to attend her very first prom because "back 60 years ago, you couldn't go because of the dancing." Funny to think that jitterbugging was sinful back then. Oh how our moral standards have fallen.

Haselteen's date to the Fort Osage Highs School prom will be her great grandson, who apparently doesn't mind because girls at his school "think it's cute." He's enjoying the attention because "a lot of girls who have never talked to me, now talk to me."

Note to guys everywhere: In addition to puppies and babies, adorable old grandmas are babe-magnets too.

The reason Haselteen is going to the prom is to check another item off her bucket list . "I got a lot to do," she said. A few weeks ago, she went to her first concert and met Reba McEntire after sitting in the sixth row.

The nursing home Haselteen lives in started granting wishes about a year ago and so far it has granted 30 wishes. "We believe you are never too old to try something new," said Independence Mayor Tracy Bunch. "Everything from going to watch The Price Is Right to learning to play the drums."

So sweet!

Hope Haselteen has a fun time and her date doesn't ditch her to go hottubing with his stupid gf!

The Do's and Don'ts of White Pants

Yesterday I saw THREE people wearing white pants in the span of my fifteen minute commute. In my head I was all, OMG it's not even Memorial Day!? Then I realized it is May and nice weather, so maybe it doesn't matter? Here are a few tips, though, to keep in mind when rockin' the bold pantaloon choice:

- Do wear proper undergarments, i.e. not black granny panties.

- Don't forget to wear something underneath, skank.

- Do wear them if you're tan, the contrast makes you look even darker.

- Don't wear them if you've just applied fake tanner and are sweating in the dank subway humidity. The ol' bronzer tie-dye look is not sex-ay.

- Do bring a Tide pen with you in case of some accidental stainage.

- Don't even think about getting that red sno cone from the guy selling them on the street. It ain't going to end well, klutzy.

- Do wear them with confidence.

- Don't wear them if you're questioning whether or not you can pull them off. Because that means you prob can't. Sorrs.

- Do wear them if you want a divebar band in downtown Denver to serenade you with a song dedicated to the pants' awesomeness.

- Don't wear them if you're against being molested by the lead singer.

"White pants. White pants. White pants in the house tonight. White pants. Whiteeeeeeeeeeeee paaaaaants."

Yes, if you're keeping track, I have had two songs written about me. Hands down one of the most fun nights from last summer. [Note: S lives in Denver and needs to come visit me and The BFF soon for a reunion!!! I promise I will find us a place to go as awesome as El Chapultepec.]

Here are some pics from that legendary night.

Cinco de Mayo Probation

What are you doing to celebrate Cinco de Mayo? Going to Arizona? Too soon?

I'm doing nothing. I'm not even cooking a Tex-Mex inspired meal (which is shocking since I cook fish tacos fairly regularly).

A self-inflicted ban is still in tact after annually Cinco de Mayo'ing myself out in college. And not in a good way. More in a 'I thought it was acceptable to drink my weight in Mexican beer and throw some sort of bratty tantrum for no good reason' way. There were typically tears involved. Who doesn't love to be around that?

So in an attempt to be a mature adult, I will let another Fifth of May go uncelebrated. Maybe next year I'll be allowed to join in on the festivities. We'll see what my imaginary parole officer says.

You Should Be Paying Me for This Dating Insight

Ever wish you could know what was going on inside the heads of guys you're dating?

Well yours truly did a little qualitative dating research, some investigative digging if you will, to get some answers from single guys in the city.

You're welcome.

The two guys I grilled, I mean talked to about their personal lives, currently fall on different ends of the dating spectrum. One of the guys is on the more aggressive end; the other, on the, err, lazier. Dating is a lot of effort so I totally understand that end of things.

They're both nice, normal guys from good families. Unlike some serial bachelors (I've dated), they both want to settle down with the right person. It's just that neither has found her yet.

Guy A has a rotating roster averaging four ladies. Some phase in and out, some stick around for a few games. None are The One. Almost all are my age (he is approx. 8 years older). He seems to think that the 24 - 26 age range will be the pool from which he selects his perfect woman no matter how old he is when that time comes. Like Matthew McConaughey's famous line in Dazed and Confused, "That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age."

He made sure to note that his juggling of multiple ladies wasn't sleazy or undermining in anyway. I assured him lots of girls are doing the same thing. Serial dating is a game. Learn the rules and play by them, otherwise get out.
Tip: This is the kind of guy who you must play it cool with. Patience is a virtue. CGS is not. The thing to keep in mind is that you never really know where on the dating spectrum a guy falls. And no, you can't always tell. But, if he's aloof, makes plans spaced far enough apart that he could be fitting in a whole other life or two, he probably is. Take your number, sit down and wait your turn. Whether or not you're willing to hold out long enough to be the last (wo)man standing is up to you, but running to the front of the line and banging on the glass is going to get you nowhere but off his list.

Guy B isn't currently seeing anyone. Oh the effort involved in casual dating. Like, sorry I have a job and important TV shows to catch up on. But that doesn't mean he's not interested. He's just not suited up for the game right now. Injured reserves maybe?

Tip: This is the type you should go after. Not to change metaphors for the hundredth time in this post, but a slow moving animal is easier to catch. I mean, I think, but I don't actually know because I don't hunt. It just seems like you might have more luck getting the laid-back guy to fall into your boyfriend trap than the hustler. Okay, I'm just digging myself in a hole here. Girls are not that devious, I promise...

Here are a few more tidbits of insight to share:

- There's a difference between playing it cool and being indifferent. Don't let a guy take your attitude to mean you don't give a shit. Because then he won't give a shit either. Showing interest and respect isn't lame, it's refreshing.

- There is a communications hierarchy. Calling is the top level followed by text (or I guess BBM, but sorry I'm not in your stupid club so therefore I don't care...) then email then FB message. If a guy calls you, call him back. Responding with a text says 'ehhh you're not worth the effort to move my vocal chords. My thumbs are already nimble.' The same should be kept in mind of guys' efforts. If a guy who has your number sends you a FB message, go ahead and unfriend.

- Don't text like an insecure seventh grader. Texting can dumb down your communication skillz. If you include 'jk' or - God forbid - LOL in each of your messages, he's going to think you're a self-conscious moron. Just.Don't.Do.It. Also, asking "Who are you with?" in every correspondence is totally unnecess. Inquiring what group of people you're currently hanging with sounds superficial. And obviously girls are anything but...  I guess "are you alone?" is kind of creepy to ask, but if that's the info you're after, think of a better way to find it out.

Okay, that's all I got. Hopefully it's helpful. And hopefully neither source will cut-off the tap to future insight.

Every Girl Every Had a Legendary Weekend

Like every girl ever, my weekend was the best weekend ever. It was the first weekend in May and temperatures surpassed 80 degrees. Decked out in my effortlessly chic ensemb, I spent the day basking in the glory of amazing weather as I giggled my way through rounds and rounds of drinks and shared meals. Even if you end up eating four dinners, it doesn't really count because you were splitting them. Every girl ever knows that.

Sporting a so in right now floral sundress and royal blue gladiator sandals, I knew every girl ever was adequately impressed with my outfit just like I was with theirs. Ray Bans. Check. Hot & Spicy OPI nail polish. Check. Jalepeno margarita. Check.

Like every girl ever, the combination of sunshine and cocktails made me way friendlier than normal. Under different circumstances I might not have been psyched to be surrounded by beautiful strangers, but not this weekend. Like every girl ever, I made a million new best friends.

Speaking of best friends and part of why my weekend was legendary, I went out with The BFF to 'da club. Like every girl ever, sometimes you just need a night on the town, a place to dance and an opportunity to show off in your lucky dress. You know, the one that every time you wear it you know you look good? Some people go to therapy for self-confidence boosting affirmation. I go to Meatpacking. In a black ruffly racerback number and four inch heels.

Like every girl ever, I know that club life is not real life. Bottle service is nice, but being a nightlife prostie is not. Watching the scene - especially the peroxide trainwrecks surrounding New York Jets football players sharing our table - I reminded myself that Tiger Woods' skanks were just that type too. Like every girl ever, thanks but no thanks.

After being escorted to the hottest club de jour by our promoting bestie Jimmy, The BFF and I decided that exclusively cramped scenes (boasting not-to-be-found Gossip Girl starlets) were less appealing at two a.m. than late-night pizza.

Like every girl ever, I have my priorities.

The following morning, the two of us awoke motivated to make the most of the weekend sun. Like every girl ever, we headed to the jogging path along the West Side highway to get some rays and burn some cals. Obviously if you do the math, that work out totally made up for the following eight solid hours of eating and drinking. Every girl ever knows that.

Now, like every girl ever, I'm sad that it's back to the real world tomorrow. At least I got a little (lobster-esque) color and a credit card bill that will remind me of all the fun memories.

And to think, the summer is just beginning. Like every girl ever, I know it will be legen - wait for it - dary. Oh wait, every girl ever won't get that Barney Stinson reference because no one watches How I Met Your Mother but me.

Sweet dreams of next weekend's activities.

xoxo
Every girl ever

Swedish Princess Escapes to New York; Expect ABC Family Movie Sometime Next Year

Being raised in America I always forget there are real princesses out there in the world, not just the Disney versions or Hollywood starlets who think they are. (And, no, British Royals don't count. They're too commercially recognizable.)

But apparently in the midst of glorious New York (the weather is awesome therefore I love the city), a Swedish princess is hiding from relationship drama of her native country.

According to New York magazine:

Less than a month ago, 27-year-old Princess Madeleine of Sweden was all set to marry her long-term boyfriend, lawyer Jonas Bergstrom, 31. It was to be a "fairy tale" wedding, according to Hello magazine, with dancing and drinking and a traditional smorgasbord. But then: A 21-year-old Nordic handball player with the wonderfully sluttish and low-rent name Tora Uppstrom Berg revealed to Norwegian magazine Se og Hor that she had had a fling with Bergstrom behind Madeleine's back. "I could not foresee the kind of attention this would get and I regret that I told the story," Tora said later. "I feel sorry for Madeleine." Whatever, Tora.

The wedding was, needless to say, off. Rather than be hounded by the Swedish press, who follow her every move (of course they do! Who else are they going to stalk, ABBA?), the princess decided to get on a plane and come to a city where hardly anyone knows her: New York.

What will she do here? According to Hello, she's "been throwing herself into work for her mother's World Children Foundation in an attempt to take her mind off the breakup." So there's that. But she'll also have to shake off the Swedish paparazzi, so she'll probably get a radical new haircut, maybe something brunette with bangs, from a sassy hairdresser who will become her best friend. After that, there will be a montage: The princess looking out at the city from the top of the Empire State Building, interacting with crabby cab drivers and snooty salesgirls who don't know she's a princess, and having a terrible mixup in which she doesn't realize she's not supposed to eat the koi fish in the pond at the botanical gardens. Oops! Finally, she'll end up having a lonely, homesick wander through the aisles of Ikea. There, she'll bump into a hunky carpenter with rumpled hair, abs of steel, and no idea that she is a princess, she'll help him select an Ektorp, and they will fall in love and live happily ever after. Or, at least, that's what would happen if this were a Julia Stiles movie.

We all know I'll be tuning in for that one.

And, Madeleine, if you are looking for a lovable yet awkward side-kick to show you around and teach you about casual dating in this town, I'm your girl. Just don't cast me as Heather Matazzo in the movie.