See ya, Sacagawea

Living in New York during your post-college years is definitely an adventure. Explorative. Lewis and Clarke style. And you meet people along your journey (and, randomly for me, a large amount of those I've met happen to be from Texas. What are the odds?).

So in my two and a half years here, making new friends has been balanced with seeing others move away. There's a constant flux of people transitioning from one phase of their lives to another.

This past weekend was the last night out for one of the girls from the Fourth of July AC trip. She's going back to Tejas to attend B-school. What a smarty. She had stellar wingman capabilities. She will be missed.

Anyway, while going through my Facebook pictures to determine if my face has gotten any skinnier since college when it was apparently vying for a spot in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, I stumbled upon a picture of a group that is now missing a fun component.

(I became worried about this while researching old pics when I was blonde to determine if this huge major super important life change should really go into effect. My findings suggest my face has slightly reduced in circumference. Still mulling over the highlights.)

Anyway, this was such a classic night.

First, we ran into these totally random guys on the street. They'd just come back from Medieval Times, an establishment I've never been to because I was disinvited from a certain person's birthday party.

Then at the next bar we went to, four out of five of us met cute guys. It is a scientifically proven fact that the larger the group of girls going out, the more difficult it is to meet men. When you're walking in with a full court lady press, I assume it's kind of intimidating. (Yes that is the justification I'm using to describe how I managed to go out on Friday and not meet one guy.)

That night, though, was different. The guy I met was cute. Real cute. Totally fell into last summer's perfect demographic. (A category that had a 100% screw me over rate. Awesome.)

And then he kissed me. First off, his stubble felt like sandpaper against my face. I am not joking, I had to put a special skin irritation lotion the next day it hurt so bad.

The real problem, though, was that his tongue was like an escaped lizard. And my mouth, apparently, was where this lizard wanted to hide. If this analogy is making you incredibly uncomfortable, then good, now we're on the same page.

I shared a cab uptown with the guy, fighting off that damn lizard every block.

I did not return his text the following day. Just couldn't handle it. It, meaning the komodo dragon.

Another friend met a guy that night too. She couldn't remember his name after. Which was awkward since he would text her to see what she was up to on the weekends. He was saved in her phone as Anon.

Short for anonymous.

Like I said, classic.

We'll miss you, MB!