Dear Match Dot Mom

Dear Mom,

I know how you are. I know that you just love "networking." Yes, you have a gift. But let us remember there is a difference between introducing people and stalking. Take, for instance, that random girl you know whose brother lives in New York. Yes, I get that we're both from Texas. Yes, I get that based on one tiny picture you've seen of him on Facebook that he might not be Quasimodo. Yes, I get you're just trying to help me make new friends.

But you have to stop trying to make it happen. It's just not going to. Why?

Maybe it's the fact that he lives in New York and is a guy. (This demographic has no sense of urgency to meet some super awesome girl from Texas with a blog. Oh wait, no one wants to meet a girl with a blog...source: every guy who knows about the blog. Their loss.)

Maybe it could also be because that one time he and his sister tried to search for my name on Facebook, the search results only showed two heavy-set African American women (Spoiler alert: Not me).

Maybe it's because you've passed along my email twice now to no response from him, and he most likely thinks I'm a desperate spinster. (Maybe someday.)

So, relax, I know you're worried I will fall in love with someone from Antarctica, relocate and never produce any human grandchildren for you (puppies!!). I promise to try not to do that if you promise to stop soliciting randoms on Facebook.

Love,

Your favorite child daughter

L Train Love: It's Not Just Me!

New York magazine: According to an impromptu self-survey, Craigslist has declared that the L train is the "Most Romantic Subway Line" because of the amount of "Missed Connections" travelers report on the classified site. Meanwhile, the "least romantic" stop is the Lexington Ave/59th Street stop on the 6.

For the record, the 59th Street stop was where I used to get off for my old job. That finding is totally accurate. Nothing but uglies. Thank goodness I transferred to the Hottie Express, though! Life is really looking up. [Note: Until World Domination declines. I give it another week or so.]

Taco Bell-Inspired Dating Tips

I saw this commercial twice tonight. And twice I thought, "Hmm, maybe that's not the worst idea ever?"



Let's be honest with ourselves, The BFF and I are totally not above doing this. Nothing classier than a Tory Burch and/or Marc Jacobs full of delicious fast food, am I right, people?

Plus, bonus, even if you don't lure any hotties with the chalupa, you already have your late night snack! Won't even be tempted to stop at Kennedy's! [Note: The BFF and I have not broken the contract!! Wahoo. We have instead, however, found solace in a pizza place 2 blocks away where they have lasagna pizza. It rules. Yeah, that summer diet is going really well, thanks for asking.]

To This Morning's Future Husband

Dear Future Husband Riding the L Train:

I just have to say, I really could see a future between us. You were too cute and mature to be a summer intern. You were tall. And, although it didn't come up in our silent conversation we shared or I imagined we shared, you seem like you would totally be on board potentially moving to Austin.

You might remember me as the girl who gently shoved you further into the subway car so she could squeeze in too. I promise I'm not normally that impatient*, I just couldn't wait another minute in that stifling heat. The weather? You must enjoy it too, but not when we're headed to work. Couldn't you totally go for a day at the beach? Or laying out by a pool? Me too. You seem like you might know people who have Hamptons shares, in which case, yes, I would totally love to go with you.

Thank goodness you're not the type of guy to awkwardly touch a girl's back, though, because things could have gotten weird. With this humidity, my back is like a slip n' slide, very sexy. As you probably already know, the Awkward Back Touch should be avoided during summer months unless you find yourself somewhere chilled down. Like my arctic tundra office or a meat locker. (Although either venue sounds muy awkward to be touched in anyway so don't actually do that. Not that you would, obviously.)

From your constant yawning I assume you had a fun night? You seem like you know how to have a good time, but in a classy way, not in the way the guy next to us wearing the Playboy bunny sunglasses probably does. Did you see those? Based on your non-descript khakis, casually wrinkled button down and no visible signs of hideous man jewelry, you seem to know better. I have to say, I really like that about you.

Unfortunately it dawned on me while we were pressed up against one another that I was a few minutes behind schedule this morning. I don't know what this means for our future, but hopefully you don't mind rising and shining just a bit earlier. It'll be fine, though, because you seem like you care about punctuality too!

Once a guy on the subway wrote The BFF a  poem. You would never, and I appreciate that. Perhaps a business card?

Till we meet again.

Fondly,
Rachel

*lie

"A Wave on the Ocean"

Here's a little summer time merriment to brighten your day since you're probably stuck at work wishing you too were at the beach. Unless you are at the beach, in which case, suck it.



Written & performed by Steve Heim
Music video by Jim Cunningham & Thomas Blake

The Singles Bell Curve

While not a mathematical scholar (although in Calculus AP, I once made a project out of Kraft Singles, which obv. ruled), I've realized that there's an easily calculated model for how you feel when you're single.

A simple bell curve.

Let me break it down for you with these nifty images:

First you start out low. You've just gotten out of a relationship, you were comfortable, it was easy. Now it's less awesome to sit around on a Friday night watching a movie and eating your body's weight in Thai food. Being single seems like so much work. Ugh uphill battle. Wah wah.

Then slowly, things start to look up. You meet a cute guy or two. Maybe a random, super classy bar makeout takes place. You realize you're not the hermit grandma you'd thought you were.

Now you're getting in a rhythm. You have your wingmen lined up. You're building up your roster of guys. You're even starting to enjoy the freedom.

Hot damn, you're the most popular girl alive. Could you be any more fun, hot and awesome? Probably not.

Ego starts to deflate. That Love of Your Life Last Week didn't text you back. On Monday morning your newsfeed alerts you that he's now friends with Alexis, Sarah, Michelle & Laura - all non-ambiguous girl names. Skanks.

You realize that the grass is looking pretty green in the yards of your friends' relationships. The novelty of being single has worn off. It's starting to become work. You're not in the mood to be cute and sassy every freakin' night of the week. You long for your couch, takeout and snuggling. The comfort and convenience of a boyfriend seems like bliss.

"Woe is me. I'm going to die alone." After you've accepted your fate and started to draft a list of your Top 10 cat names for when you turn into my former downstairs neighbor, that's when it'll happen.

Smack. You've just run into your next boyfriend. Right in the nick of time.*

It's always how it is. It's math.

Note: Predictions based on my super-scientific algorithms may vary. Results not typical. But all we got is hope.

You Must Be New

I feel like surviving in New York is a little like being a Girl Scout. Except I was never a Girl Scout, so what do I know. But I do remember hearing about friends' merit badges, going to different activities, developing a new skill, or selling the most glorious cookies of all time. Thin Mints are my kryptonite.

And along those lines, I think that's how you prove you're surviving in New York too. Each of your first experiences and accomplishments, your time spent learning and growing, you get a little badge that says "I did what a New Yorker would do." Eventually you're full of a million ranging from, "I inherently hate Times Square," to "Under no circumstances should I stop when someone asks me for money or tells me about Jesus like I've never heard his name before."

So after two and a half years, I have a pretty good understanding about the way of city life, and from that, can tell who has a sweet clue too. Or, in the case of summer months, when someone doesn't.

With the warm weather comes flocks of tourists. Obviously anyone wearing matching t-shirts, carrying souvenir bags from cliché landmarks, or riding around on a double decker bus does not live here.

The B&T (bridge & tunnel) people can usually be picked out of a crowd as well. Typically on a Saturday at any club... that is a hint to stay away...unless you want to find yourself in a Situation.

And - my favorite sunny imports - summer interns are currently swarming my neighborhood and gym due to my proximity to NYU. Their sweet fresh faces, their Greek t-shirts and Nike running shorts ensembles (oh college uniform, how I miss thee), and their incredible excitement equate to a big flashing sign that says I'm Not Quite a Real Person, But I'm Here To Party.

God bless them (and their strong southern majority).

I am fairly confident if I were faced with a line-up of 10 people and asked to choose who were summer interns, I'd get at least 90% correct. It's now my new favorite morning commute game (slightly edging out "Who is the hottest guy in my subway car?" Only slightly though.

But as Elle pointed out on DYFU last week, male summer interns - cougar bait compared to my almost quarter century oldness - should be left alone.  (Last summer The BFF and I were asked by two guys what dorm we were staying at for the summer. FML.)

As adorable as I find their sweet, unjaded pre-FJO-ness, I'm not in the mood to play babysitter this summer.

Although, I'm clearly not strictly adhering to any of the rules I've put in place for myself lately (after my iced-coffee rant I went on a binge! I suck!), so we'll see how I feel come August. Maybe there's a badge I can earn?

My Father The Hero

If you've met my dad or heard stories, you know he's a mythological figure. You also know he's very handsome.

Anyway, in honor of Father's Day, I'd like to share a little of why I've turned out so freakin' awesome.

My dad was always around and involved. He coached my little league softball and basketball, helped with my homework, taught my life lessons I still adhere to today, like the importance of living within your means (e.g. why The BFF and I live in the Dollar Store District).

Thanks to him, I also have the genetic ability to consume disgusting amounts of food, am stubborn, think I'm inherently right, and take pride in being self-sufficient.

There are a million (hilarious) family stories that I could share to help depict the kind of man he is, but I'll just stick to one of the classics that helped me get into college (for the prompt 'what was one of the hardest things you've dealt with and what did you learn from it'):

The summer before my eighth grade year, my five person family packed into our Suburban and headed up the Eastern seaboard for my first taste of the north. Making approximately one million stops along the way, including my first trip to New York, we reached as far as Niagara Falls, Canada before heading back to Texas.

After almost three weeks of traveling together, clearly we were ready to be home (there is such a thing as too much togetherness). My parents got us as far as Missouri when early one morning my dad pulled into a gas station and realized there was a problem with the car.

While the rest of us were groggy and half-asleep, my dad located the nearest mechanic hoping we'd be on our way soon.

Wrong.

Not only was it fairly problematic damage to the car's axle, but the local car guy was busy for the day.

Nooooooooooooo.

Now, my father is an engineer. He can do anything whether it be fix cars, build houses, or create awesome playhouses in our backyard. He knew he could do the work himself and convinced the guy to let him borrow the shop's tools.

While he was there for the rest of the day, my mom, two younger brothers and I were forced to spend what was the worst day of my life (best day of the boys' lives) at the World's Largest Firework Store Slash Truck Stop. Being the typical male adolescent pyromaniacs, they convinced my mom they needed to spend the requisite $100 to get an "awesome" free hat. I could not have been more miserable. They were in heaven.

After three meals at McDonalds, reviewing every type of firework sold, illegally gambling money on slot machines, and almost getting run over on a highway overpass, we were finally reunited with my dad.

Turns out his day was even more eventful. Since the mechanic didn't have the part required, he hitched a ride with some people who also needed a part from the nearby junkyard. Except their car broke down on the way. So he fixed their car on the side of the road. No big deal. Got the part, went back to our car and fixed it too.

What a guy. Like I said, mythological creature.

Thanks for everything you do, dad! Love you!

Guest Post: The BFF's Reflections on the Past, Present, and…Future?

[Ed. Note: The BFF and I were still BFFs in college, but we (sort of) branched out and had different circles of friends, leading to our own college experiences. Oh what do you know, they were similar. And, shockingly, we're on the same page about finding the next big thing to focus on in our lives. If you have any suggestions, don't be shy.]

Back in college I was a real go-getter.

Well I wasn’t really involved in the regular ‘scholarly’ activities per se. I was more all about the party scene, and I had a rockin’ time. I met so many great people. I made a few bad (awesome) decisions.

Best College Experience Ever.

Sometimes things got really complicated like when I had to juggle between different boyfriends or decide if I wanted to go to SigEp or PhiPsi late night.

Oh. Sigh. Those were the days.

But now I look back and see it wasn’t actually all fun and games.

Determination to improve my beer pong skills also meant gaining a bunch of weight (my mother lovingly refers to this period of my life as the ‘The Fat BFF’ days). Wanting to look like Playboy’s ‘Girls Next Door’ led to frying my dark hair ratty blonde and turning my skin temporarily orange with bad fake tanner.

I didn’t take class too seriously. I was not a fan of studying. I hardly ever read text books (and I was an English major.) I literally wrote a short story about mutant squirrels that killed everyone for one of my creative writing classes.

Instant classic.

Yup, I had it pretty easy back then.

So let’s be honest: I never really thought about the future. I was/am guided by the ‘Life is Beautiful’/’God has path for all of us’ philosophy.

The only long term goals I really ever had was A) move to New York, B) have little girls look up to me and say “She’s just like Barbie. I want to be her when I grow up!” and C) most important: BE HAPPY! So here I am two and a half years later living in my beloved city, being as baller as Barbie, and loving life.

But now I must look for my next big project.

Back in the day I (like every girl ever I assume) imagined settling down at a young age with Ken then enjoying the birthing of babies and what not. But you know you get older. You learn important lessons:

Men are super annoying. Babies Cry. Like a lot.

I am not ready to sign up for that.

So what am I to do in the meantime? Still figuring that out.

I’ll keep you posted.

- The BFF

Every Girl Ever Should Pay Attention to Expiration Dates

Every girl ever is a rule follower. Well, when it comes to those she believes in. Some rules are more of suggestions, like Don't Walk signs. But every girl every knows expiration dates fall into the category of rules to follow, because, ew, who wants to pour sour milk on her low cal cereal?

It has recently dawned on every girl ever, though, that the shelf life of her interest in a guy is about the same life span as a carton of milk.

And, much like with milk, every girl ever should pay attention to that commanded Use By Date so she understands the timeframe she has before things head south. Because why waste the effort with a guy when you know it's about to go bad?

However, every girl ever knows that to extend the life of food, you put it in the freezer. (And every girl ever also knows there's nothing worse than wanting cereal with no milk in the fridge. But, a ha, there's some hidden away for later. Always a nice surprise! Although waiting for it to thaw takes quite a lot of patience, which of course is not every girl ever's strong suit.)

Every girl ever is wondering if this might be a good trick with the men as well. Before things expire between y'all, put him away on ice for a bit, and see if you're still interested down the road.

Perhaps in the case of casual dating, setting aside a guy before the clock strikes twelve might be the trick to keeping things going with him. Maybe down the road he's what you're looking for and visa versa. Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

Or absence makes your forget about him and stop at the store on the way home for a new carton of milk - or that cute guy making eyes at you down the aisle. (As you might have guessed, every jaded girl ever is fickle as f*ck.)

Either way, at least you're not sitting around crying over sour milk.

Every girl ever will keep you posted on this new dating experiment.

And remember, don't let a relationship sneak past its expiration date. You can't go back. Unless you have a time machine, in which case please let me know, I'd be very interested in that.

P dot S: Milk in the city comes with a regular expiration and a very confusing "In NYC by XX" date, once again proving that dating in the city requires its own special, perplexing rules, which I hate.

Your Happiness Is My Happiness

Awhile back I went on a little rant about how I wasn't too psyched for other people's engagement happiness rubbed in my Facebook face (because IAAB).

But now I have a story that warms my heart and sets this week off on a good note.

During the summer of 2007, The College BF and I went on an organized "backpacking" tour of Europe. Backpack is a verb for traveling, not the actual vehicle for carrying your stuff. Eight countries in 30 days. It ruled. All of our forty person group were college-aged, fun and made for the perfect vacay family.

The best part was the couple we met on the first day heading to our London hotel. We instantly hit it off (after I awkwardly asked if the room arrangements were locked down for the rest of the trip). Turns out they were the keepers.

They'd been dating since high school but long-distanced while in college. Nicki was already pushing for an engagement, but Joe wasn't in a rush.

After about a million and a half memories traipsing around Europe, we came back home, all promising to stay friends. Although still connected via FB with most of the group, Nicki and Joe are the only ones I've kept up with because they live in New York.

Since I had already planned on moving that following January, we banked on staying close, describing her roommate (whose wedding I went to in November!) and The BFF as each other's 'future friends.'

And it all worked out perfectly. They've ended up being some of my favorite people in the city. When The BFF and I first moved and dealt with the insanity of finding an apartment, they were the girls who let us live on their futon for two weeks.

And then when The BFF and I moved neighborhoods this past winter, they're the people in the apartment across the street who can see in our windows. No seriously, it's creepy. :) (We've been planning on attempting to do a tin-can-string-telephone experiment. I will keep you posted. How can it not fail?!)

Everyone who has every met Nicki knows she's the sweetest person in the entire world. With the personal mantra of "Life is beautiful" and the fact she's always "so full of happiness," she's an inspiration in positivity.

So in the years since that fateful European meeting, we've all been waiting for the proposal.

On Friday she invited me over. When I got there she flashed me the bling.

Nice work, Joe.

The story of the proposal was equally as beautiful as the ring, taking place on a remote beach with the kind of adorableness that melts even the most frozen of hearts (mine).

I'm so full of happiness for the two of them. Life is beautiful.

And, as an engagement present, here's some of the (many) paparazzi pics I took during our trip of our tour guide Terry, the most awkwardly hilarious British man on the planet. He would be so excited for YALL too!

Meat and Music, What More Could You Ask For?

Another great weekend, another gluttonfest. But this was legit since it was the Big Apple BBQ Festival aka my favorite event in New York. I love it enough that two months in advance I'm willing to make a $100 investment in my eating future for the VIP Fast Pass. I'm clearly a true Texas girl; I have my priorities.

My eating soulmate Ashley was by my side as I stuffed my face for the third year in a row. True friendship. She too has her priorities (and is coming to Austin for ACL!!).

Sadly Texas' own amazing Saltlick was MIA due to pitmaster injury, but luckily, another favorite bbq - Texas' own (and my mom's cousin's own) Stubbs was in attendance.

Anyway, in true Austin spirit, not only was there barbeque galore, there was Austin-sponsored live music. One of my favorite artists Bob Schneider made an appearance on Saturday, reminding me and teaching everyone who doesn't know already what a bad A$$ place Austin is.

Nice work, ATX. Way to represent.

P dot S: I'm still meat drunk. Good thing it's not swimsuit season or anything.

This Video Makes Me Smile; Happy Friday.

Inspired by Iceland Video from Inspired By Iceland on Vimeo.
(Cup of Jo.)

I want to go to there.

How to Know if Your Blind Date is in the Mafia

Since I've been single, I haven't been on a date. Mainly because dating requires you to be nice and charming for at least 1.5 hours. That sounds like work.

The BFF also hasn’t gone on a date since I've been single because now she doesn't have to be nice and charming anymore either. Ch'ching. (We’ll be signing up for best friend co-dependency therapy any day now.)

Anyway, while I was away, The BFF went out with some friends in town wherein a nice (much older) man offered her a glass of wine from his table of beautiful eurotrash diners. He got her number (she couldn’t afford another $16 cocktail on her own) but figured she would never hear from this person again.

Nope. Monday she received a text from him to go to dinner with a group of his friends and for her to bring a friend as well. "A group dinner date at a nice Soho restaurant. How could this be anything but awesome?” she thought.

In an attempt to not turn into crazy cat ladies, she prodded me into agreeing to this blind date on Tuesday with the trump card promise that I at least "I might have something to blog about."

Damn, she had me.

We arrived at the Eurotrashy hotspot restaurant to find the guy she had met waiting at a table for us.

From the first sight of his tanned, stocky, Eastern European appearance, you could tell there was something different about him. After awhile his cousin finally showed up. Since no such thing as a free meal and all, I was willing to smile and nod for some expensive dinner gratis, but had very low expectations.

However, he ended up being not what I was expecting at all. He was young (well, comparatively), with a chiseled face, nice smile and the floppy 90s heart throb, center-parted hair. He was a caliente charicature of a person. But not a real person, mind you. From the minute he arrived, he was different too.

And then, the final straw was when another random guy joined us halfway through the meal, but was never really formally introduced. He was just there.

So, yeah, it soon became very apparent we were involved in a situation. A bloggable situation.

With help from The BFF, I bring you:

The Guide to Mobhattan - Your date is probably involved in organized crime, IF:
- He treats everyone working at the restaurant as henchmen
- When his friend arrives out of nowhere, he discreetly hands him off a bag that totally could be carrying some sort of contraband
- When he jokes "if I told you, I'd have to kill you," you're worried he might have followed through with that promise at one point in time
- He looks down on FJO's faux-elitism, believing he is above them with "his small businesses" (I guess organized crime is recession proof?)
- He is "allergic" to working in an office, instead preferring to do business out of shady third world South American countries
- He can get reservations at notorious mafia-owned restaurant Rao "within a month" as opposed to the standard 9 month span
- He can quote the sales price of a kilo of cocaine in every continent (apparently Australia is the most 'spensy?)
- He isn't phased by sharing his $100 cigar with idiot girls
- He makes statements like "it's proven that governments need untaxed money in the system"
- He gives away his expensive watch to another friend as if it were a napkin
- He counts his country's primeminster as a friend. A friend who looks out for his business dealings
- He mocks the US Congress for being the most powerful mob of all

So, it seems that The BFF and I might have spent a lovely evening with the mafia. First date back in the game. Nice work.

Throw Backs to College Are My Fave

{Random sidenote: One of my fave blogs You Are My Fave inspired this title.}

This past weekend I scooted back to Texas for another wedding, just three short weeks after my last trip. And it ruled. If flights were free and you weren't accosted at the airport for not finishing the last sip of water in your bottle before going through security, I'd prob go home as frequently. (There was another friends' wedding Memorial Day weekend but sadly the aforementioned examples are in fact a reality. Congrats to Matt & Susan!! Obv stalked your pics and it looked great!)

Okay, on with the show. So this wedding weekend was different than the last because it was in Dallas. Ol' Big D. I know Austin like the back of my hand. I can get around in Houston. I know nothing about Dallas, except that all the trips I've taken there lately have been like visiting a magical land of awesomeness.

This is thanks to my mom's best friend and her husband who live there (in a beautiful house where they pamper us. Oh yeah they have two adorable King Charles Spaniels, so yes, basically, heaven.).

Clearly anytime I go to Dallas, I try very hard to book a reservation with them. And they always oblige because they're saints.

Along with me, four of my college BFFs/sorority sisters/roommates stayed too as well as my parents, who couldn't resist the fun.

Part-ay. Just like when we all lived together in college (minus the parental units).

When I graduated, I knew I would never live as well as I did in the sorority house (we lived there junior and/or senior year. I did both, although graduated a semester early. I know, what was I thinking). Four story red-bricked mansion with big white columns, two chefs, housekeepers, and a FRIDGE STOCKED WITH AMAZING FREE FOOD AND LEFTOVERS!!! (such fat girl excitement). And now ol' Cinderella has to do everything herself. Wah wah.

Going to Dallas is like taking a time machine back to When Life Was Super Awesome.

Us girls made ourselves at home, took over the upstairs spreading out all of our requisite beauty tools everywhere, were provided with delish snackages, and were served margs while floating on rafts in their beautiful backyard pool. Heaven.

(Except some people have a selective memory about their quasi-albino tanning abilities and are now sporting super awkward sunburn striations. To give you an even better visual, I basically look like a sunburnt ice cream sandwich. Hawt. Hooray for being stupid enough to think that a bottle "base" tan was legit.)

Not only was it great to see my own friends, but it's also fun to see my mom with her own college BFF, reliving their (crazy) college memories.

Like, for instance, the legendary story of how my mom picked up my dad at a bar on 6th street, and how after he called her, she stalked him old school Phonebook style, found out how lived down the street diagonal to her and her bff, and, in their pajamas, went to check out his apt. Oh and they used to call him Jungle Jim - allegedly because he looked like Tarzan? - but also just a good pun.

That little family story should help clarify why I am the way I am...

Thanks again L&E for all you do (and have done) and for all the awesome stories you've shared about my parents. Bwahaha. Y'all are the best.

The entire weekend went by way too fast. And even sadder, we don't have anymore wedding reunions on the horizon (clearly no one's holding their breath I'll be next). So everyone needs to come visit me in NYC!!!

P dot S: I thought we were doing a "crazy" picture in this one, but clearly it's just me.

The Road to Marriage

One of my favorite things about living in the city is not having a car. I mean, except on those days when I'm running errands all over town and I end up looking like a bag lady. Especially if it's raining.

But, for the most part, living without the hassle, the responsibility, is nice. But it's not a reality. At some point I'll have to join the drivers' club; go back to the real world. Going car-less in America isn't really sustainable. Or at least requires a level of stubbornness I don't think I have the patience for.

But the main thing I dread about the future isn't the auto upkeep or maintenance. It's the traffic. Yes, wedging my body between two fat people and a stroller at 8 a.m. on the subway can be terrible, but sitting in gridlock is my purgatory.

Your lack of control over the situation is part of why I hate it. The other is my incredibly short attention span. And the fact that I always have to pee.

I've done the bulk of my lifetime driving in Austin, and as it turns out, the increasingly bad traffic is the city's biggest drawback. So when I lived there, I would always make it a point to figure out the best path to get me wherever I needed to go the fastest because, duh, I'm impatient.

My mind would always race with the same questions: What's my best option? What if the traffic is cause of a wreck? How long will I have to sit here, creeping by a mile per hour? What if they make me to detour and take another route? What will this do to my plans?

Then it dawned on me. A lot of girls act that way about marriage, aka reaching their matrimonial destination. They decide who will be their best option for settling down the soonest. What guy is most likely to commit in the short-term for the long-run. Maybe it's a guy they've invested years with, wherein giving up now would be backtracking (one of my biggest personal pet peeves, something I share with my grandma Dolo).

Or maybe it's a guy you fall head over heels for and he feels the same way. Love at first site and neither of you can wait to make that commitment till death do you part. Like jumpin' in the HOV lane.

But, of course, it's different in the city.

Because we're not drivers.

(Oh and the fact every guy is a Peter Pan and women tend to be as flakey as men when it comes to taking the leap of long-term commitment.)

Am I Sneezing Hotness?

It has come to my attention that there's a new trend in getting hit on by creepy guys. Lately I'm frequently being told "God bless you." And, no, it's not while I'm sneezing or because I'm going to church (sorry God).



At first I just figured it was a one off because "God bless you" is typically a phrase reserved for specific situations (as depicted by the above sparkly image), hotness not being on that list.

Not even hotness, though, just being a female under the age of forty. Ick.

Anyway, it's happened on a variety of different occasions - on my way to work, wearing workout clothes (not my most attractive), going out, sitting by a bubbling brook with my white majestic horse, etc. - so there seems to be no rhyme or reason for it.

Last week, The BFF and I went on a long walk, not looking our finest with greasy sunblocked arms and faces still smeared with the previous' nights makeup, and we still managed to have a slew of guys blessing us. What tha?

And - equally puzzling - how do creepos all know to say this? Was there a campaign to switch from "Dayum, I want a piece 'a that?"

Has anyone else experienced this trend?

And, for your Monday adorable baby animal quota, the sneezing baby panda video:



What tha?

Guest Post: The BFF's Guide to "We Should Do This Again"

[Ed. note: Here's The BFF's final installment of her guide to casual dating. Hopefully The BFF won't break too many hearts in the city while I'm in Texas for (another) wedding this weekend. Joking. It's what we do. Or maybe what we do is eat embarassing fried food? (And yes, eating Kennedy's while I'm in a different zip code is still cheating.) Either way, good behavior!]

You are on cloud nine. You just left your date with a hot girl that you can’t wait to tell your buddies about. She made you laugh with her stories about going to the #1 party school, she offered to pay for a round of beers, and she said those magic words before walking to her apartment “We should do this again.”

"We should do this again."

Probably the third most evil 5-word sentence in the English language. Coming in first and second are obviously: “I’m not ready to date” and “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Guys, when a girl is on a first date she starts the night by creating a T-chart in her head with pros on one side and cons on the other. Every new fact you present about yourself she inputs into this handy-dandy rejection-calculator-slash-potential-lives-together-planner. It goes a little something like this:

You say: “Oh last summer I had this awesome beach house.”

She thinks: “PRO! Reasoning: Fingers crossed he gets another this year and me and my girlfriends will have a place to party away from all of the GD summer interns in the city!” (giggle, giggle)

You say: “I’ve been thinking about moving out of Manhattan when my lease is up in 3 months. I’m so sick of the city life.”

She thinks: “CON! Reasoning: Do you really think I’m going to be traveling an hour and a half in the morning to get to work?” (pouty face)

Comprehende?

Depending on her final T-chart she will either actually try to make real concrete plans in the future aka “there’s this brunch place on 12th street I’ve been dying to try” or she’ll give you the ol’ ambiguous “We should do this again.”

If she says the latter what she really means is SHE’S NOT INTERESTED.

Your retaliation move?

Delete her number.

Well actually write down the last 4 digits of her phone number, delete her number, and then wait for her to contact you. (Write down the last 4 digits so if she does text you you’ll know it’s her, duh.)

I’m going to assume that if you do get a First Contact After the First Date, it will go a little something like this: “Omg I just watched an episode of True Blood! So good and sort of scary! J ) This will stir flashbacks of you saying that this was your favorite new show and you can then have the warm fuzzies because she wasted an hour of her life watching some stupid vampires prance around (aka she wants to see you again.)

However if you don’t get that text, remember this: you made the initial plans so you need to wait for her to contact you for round deux. Believe you me, women are sneaky creatures. If we are interested, we will find a way to worm ourselves into your life. You really don’t have to do much, except…

KNOW WHEN TO THROW IN THE TOWEL.

This way even if we don’t ever speak to you again, we won’t have forever branded you as “that psycho who left 2 voicemails.”

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE Do not ever do any of the following (which you wouldn’t of course because you deleted her number, RIGHT?)

- Send an ‘I miss you’ text

- CALL DURING WORK HOURS! (This will cause spouts of rage)

- CALL AT BEDTIME HOURS! (Fire from my eyes!)

- I stress that you don’t call but if you MUST the best time is between 7:45 and 8:30.

- Send a Facebook message. Cool people don’t check their Facebook inboxes (well I don’t at least…130 unread messages…what upp)

If you don’t hear from the girl within 3 days, it’s time to make a bro date and meet some new ladies. If you do hear from her (and you made zero First Contact After the First Date), freaking awesome! You might not be the total loser that we all thought you were!

REMEMBER THIS:

Be smart about dating. There’s no point in going on multiple dates with someone where there isn’t mutual attraction. Don’t be scared of weeding people out and don’t let your heart get broken if you are dissed after a first date. Just be glad it wasn’t after your 5th!

Always strive for an equal amount of creepiness. If one part of the party is too creepy only bad things will come. If you are equally creepy then try not to fuck things up (and I’m super jealous of you.)

Peace.

How the Partners in Crime Hit Rock Bottom

Our first New York Memorial Day was fairly eventful as it was also the opening weekend in our Hamptons share house with the WBDB. Shudder. Last year I was attending a friend's (beautiful) wedding in Texas while The BFF was on a trip to the Dominican Republic with her BFJO.

This year, The BFF and I - the partners in crime - had a nice little staycation. The doorman who worked at the hotel next door to our old apartment used to call us that because apparently some people think we're attached at the hip. We're not Siamese twins though. Like, for instance, I don't go with her to the bathroom or anything. I mean, except at restaurants but that's not weird, it's standard girl protocol.

Joining our entourage was my fave college guy friend (who lived in the city a year ago for a year) and my friend's shih tzu Daisy, who I'd agree to puppysit.

The BFF and I had a great time playing hostess and mommy to our guests. Turns out - to the horrified dismay of my mother - that we've really enjoyed having a dog. What have our empty lives been missing? A sidekick!

Plus we think that this dog might be able to sniff out crime. Before it even takes place. And her sneezes - this dog sneezes all the time!? - solve the crimes!

Okay that first part was stolen from an It's Always Sunny re-run we just saw where Charlie and Mac write a movie script about a crime sniffing dog. And since we live on a fairly busy street with lots of sirens, we started joking every time we heard one that Daisy had sniffed out the cause for the emergency.

But the part that counts - her civic justice sneezes - are real (or at least really made up by us). And, you're welcome.

Anyway, when The BFF and I weren't babysitting our crime solving sidekick, we entertained ourselves with food. So out of character!? We went everywhere from Shake Shack, Butterlane cupcakes and Tortilla Flats to Luke's Lobster Bar and Muzerella Pizza. Oh, and that was just in a day. Seriously, what tha?

I know...

But that's not the worst part.

Spoiler Alert! - things are about to get weird.

Let me backtrack. Last weekend, The BFF and I finally broke down and did the unthinkable. We went to the KFC - Kennedy's Fried Chicken - the MacDowell's of fried chicken joints - underneath our apartment.

Think of the most ghetto fried food establishment, multiply it by 40% and that is Kennedy's. Up until now - almost 5 months in our apt - we'd never been. Then BAM somehow we went twice in one weekend. [The second time was due to slumber party peer pressure. The guilty party knows who she is.]

This is the part in the intervention recap where you're warned about the slippery slope of addiction. Things are getting scary and dark. Those wings were like crack. But actually, they might have crack in them since it is Kennedy's after all...

Shudder.

So a week later when Memorial Day weekend rolled around I told myself things would be different. I even drafted this contract.

Friday night started early and I was not on my A Game. Remembering only parts of the night, I woke up (thanks to the dog) at 5:30am.

To find evidence of our third trip to Kennedy's all over my new, silver monogrammed table tray.

What. Tha? Because I'm sure when my friend gave it to me as a wedding party gift she envisioned wing bones and ketchup all over it. [Actually she might have considering she lived with me in college and once there was an episode wherein I woke up and went to class before I realized I had bbq sauce on my feet...in my defense it was the morning after Bid Day...]

So early Saturday morning The BFF finally agreed to sign the contract.

Rock bottom never tasted so good.

[Yes that is the Kennedy's delivery menu on our fridge. Yes we will throw it away TODAY! And yes we have an eclectic collection of sea creature magnets because, yes, we are weird.]

Dating Rants: A Trend

Awhile back - while The BFF was still blissfully unaware of the horrors of dating - I wrote two fairly similar posts about dating do's and don'ts. Figured might as well get some mileage out of them now while we're waiting for her third installment.

• Take a Hint: Ignorance is the sincerest form of rejection (minus all those better ways).
• How to Win with a Good Defense: Sometimes the little engine that could did win. And sometimes he was way out of his league. It's not always about perseverance. Sorry your parents lied to you.

P dot S: The guy who helped inspire both of these posts has gone without contact for a few months. Until last week when he FB chatted me regarding a recent tennis-referencing status update. "I know you have a bf but if you ever want to hit some balls around, let me know."

First, good thing I didn't put anything on FB about breaking up!

Second, ew don't ever say balls to me again. Vomit.

And, for the record, IMO, FB chat is the social media equivalent of breaking into someone's car and popping up out of their backseat while they're driving. Okay maybe that's insanely overreacting, but if you do not email, text, or gchat with a person, then you should not attempt to FB chat with them. (Especially if previous attempts have gone unanswered). Let them stalk in peace.