What Does That Say About Me?

On Tuesday night I had plans to cook dinner for a guy I actually like (a fourth date to be exact, I know a little soon but I have tons o' fresh produce in the fridge and it was giving me heart palpitations about the thought of it going bad. Yes, seriously these are the things that keep me up at night).

And then on Tuesday afternoon I cancelled plans to cook dinner for a guy I actually like when I got an invitation to go to Village Voice's fourth annual Choice Eats event, complements of my awesome friend Laurel.

So what does that say to me? 

Endless supplies of delicious free food > cute guys.

Oy. Remind me of this when I'm single for the rest of my life.

But the event was great. I got to spend some quality time with The BFF and her bf and consumed approximately one million tiny plates of deliciousness. Meatballs, pulled pork sandwiches, shrimp rolls, oh my. And then there was the VIP dessert room. Any VIP room from here on out sans Del Posto olive oil sorbet dark chocolate-coated lollipops will not meet my newfound extremely high and fatassy expectations.

Obviously I'm too awkward to take
a pic in real life. But, swoon, right?

Needless to say the next morning I woke up with a killer food hangover. And a moral hangover. Because I somehow managed to embarrass myself in front of one of my top Food Network crushes?!

The first restaurant stand we went to was serving mini hotdogs smothered in mac n' cheese. Yeah, you read that right. Let it sink in a little.

So, per typical behavior, I immediately inhaled the entire bite. Let's be honest, though, there is not a graceful way to house a mac n' cheese hotdog dream concoction.

And in a perfect act of awkward serendipity, the second it hit my lips, The BFF shouted, "OMG Marc Murphy, we watch you all the time!"

Fantastic. One - if not the - hottest judges on Chopped, a favorite show in our household. It was like meeting a rockstar. With a hotdog in your mouth.

And because I suffer from Awkward Tourettes, I felt the need to ramble on:

"You are one of our top three favorite judges! Once we went to Chris Santos' restaurant and acted like total assholes the entire time. You know, like how he acts on the show! Maybe we'll go to your restaurant and act like assholes there too."

Mind you, all this is taking place while I was wiping cheese sauce off my face. Fantastic, Rach, real smooth.

And that, friends, is basically the story of my life.

(And another reminder of why I don't lose weight.)

Well That's Unfortunate

At least it's pretty.

It's no secret that my mom is pushing for me to move home. But who will babysit your kids if you live in New York? Perhaps if I had a husband boyfriend anyone, that would be of a greater concern...

The fact of the matter is, though, I do think about moving back to Austin. Don't get me wrong, I love my life in New York, but I miss my family and friends like crazy, everyone knows that the ATX is an amazing city, and holy crap can I stop hearing about how it's 80 degrees down there while I continue to freeze my behind off in this never-ending arctic tundra?!

Another important factor I've kept in the back of my mind is that maybe I'd have a better shot of meeting The One in Texas. Because after more than 400 blog posts about my failures at dating over the past few years, I am clearly not making huge progress in the Peter Pan Capital of the World.

So the older and more single I get, I've started to seriously consider the possibilities. That is until I had the following conversation with one of my college BFFs who still lives there:

K: i really don't feel like i'm going to meet someone here. Guys in austin are NOT on the dating to marriage track. Austin is rated the "best city for singles"

me: OMG DONT SAY THAT. Yeah my mom sent me that article...

K: Meaning people STAY single. guys here are not interested in commitment.

me: I was banking on moving back to Austin to meet someone!

K: I want a boyfriend, a husband, and a family. I just don't know if I see that happening.

K: Your mom would kill me if she read this convo.

Yes, yes she might. Oh well, at least Austin still has warm weather...

Status Update: I'm Still Fat

This scale doesn't take into account my good personality.

After the New Year, I publicly proclaimed the start of my new weight loss campaign. But since then I haven't really talked about it. And I figured you were all sitting on pins and needles waiting to hear how it's going.

So how am I doing? In short, not well. I have not lost one single pound. Pathetic.

My problem isn't that I don't know how to lose weight. Because I do. It's just that my proposed motto Think before you eat has turned into Think about what you want to eat.

I try to be good, but I can't just seem to get ahead. I just love food.

Perhaps consuming my body's weight in french fries like in the case of my brunch yesterday is a reason. In our defense, when we asked for a side of fries, our water failed to tell us that both of our meals came with their own. So really, those calories don't count because it was his fault. (I hear justification burns calories.)

Weekends in general are diet dealbreakers. It's not my fault that my social mainstays are caloric catastrophes. A few beers and some dip during a little college basketball game watching at Bro J's, don't mind if I do.

So it's important that during the week I reign it in. And up until recently it's been going okay. I bring "rabbit food" to work for lunch, snack on carrots, and cook healthy meals at home.

Everything was on the right track.

Until my coworkers turned into evil snack-promoting demons. How dare they ask for my input into what goes into the newly-supplied snack drawer. Anything dark chocolate, thanks, jerks.

It's bad. Like they might be planning a Snacking Intervention for me. Because apparently it's kind of gross to eat BBQ Pringles and M&Ms at 10:30 am. Although in my defense, they spend more time with me than anyone, they know how I am!

The only positive report I can share is that I have maintained my promise to walk home every day (which would be way more awesome if it was actually nice outside, grrr), and along with Pilates, I've started doing yoga a few times a week.

I swear it's doing wonders. I'm stronger than I have been in years, and {insert eye roll her} but the physical-spiritual connection has really helped me find my balance.

I feel good. I feel at peace. And I feel like if I finally lost a few pounds of hibernation weight then I'd have a rockin' bikini bod.

And that's what inner zen is all about.

Namaste.

P dot S: It's sad that I was ranting about the same problem exactly a year ago.

Something is Up

Replace all of this sweet girl's happiness and
optimism with freezing bitterness and you'd get me.

It started hailing on my way home from the gym tonight. Yeah, you're right, it is the fourth day of spring. Needless to say I was not a happy camper. And there's more to come in the forecast. Ahh!

Mother Nature is such a little bitch, right? From being 70 degrees last Friday to snow today, you'd think that slut started hooking up with Jack Frost! I hate her.

Okay, I clearly have some weather personification issues, but it's just hard for me to direct my disdain. It is not normal for it to be this cold in March!

And it doesn't make sense to me.

Sort of like how my new found male attention all of a sudden doesn't seem normal either. I swear there's something in the air. 

I have no idea where it came from, but in the past few weeks I've had the luck. And we're not just talking about gangs of high school kids hitting on me at McDonalds while I was getting a chocolate sundae, we're talking about being asked on dates. Yeah, you heard me.

Case in point, tonight I was supposed to go out with a guy I met a few weeks ago at da' club. Looked freakishly like an ex, but he was from Houston so originally I thought why not. (River Oaks to be exact, yes IAAS(nob).  But I was just too exhausted from my date last night so I ended up cancelling. Your world has just been rocked, right?

I mean, it's not that impressive really, it's just that I've been on a dating drought sabbatical for awhile. And it's been a-w-e-s-o-m-e. Instead of having to fake being charming over dinner with a stranger, I've been sharing awkwardly hilarious stories with great girls. And it can be hard to make friends in the city so I feel like this has been a way better use of my time. (Especially considering a friend who works in advertising hooked us up with free razor blades last week. That's like handing out gold bars!)

It hasn't just been being busy with other things that's kept me away from real dates though. There's also the small fact that for someone who blogs about dating, I have actually developed a bad case of dating agoraphobia. All the effort just seems like, well, effort. You know, being nice and charming on a Tuesday is a lot harder than watching Bethenny Ever After, I'm just saying.

But here's the really crazy part of this long drawn out story - even more insane than getting asked out by multiple guys - I have been on two dates with one guy in the last three days. And both last more than four hours.

I don't really know how it happened either. (Or was aware that I'm capable of spending that much time with anyone but The BFF.)

We met Friday, we texted Saturday, we brunched Sunday. We talked about music, he mentioned the Allman Brothers' concert at the Beacon, I expressed interest. (I'm an Austin hippie at heart, what can I say?)

He bought tickets Monday, we had a great second date Tuesday.

Of course the fear of leaving the house much less going to a concert - a pretty big test of compatibility in my book - was mildly crippling. But like I said, it was great. We were both equally into it, which is important. We laughed at the hilarious characters, aka 60 year old dads, pirate-clad gays, and wasted frat boys, that surrounded us. We danced (jam band classic rock dancing is my specialty, I'm not even joking). We kissed.

(Our first kiss was actually at the end of the first date in front of Bro J's Union Square where I was meeting my friends to watch that horrible Texas game on Sunday. We were in front of the window where apparently my friends were seated directly behind. Of course. Then after he left - to be a real person and do work - I couldn't get the restaurant door open. Because I'm a moron. I'm pretty sure they're still laughing at me.)

So yeah, we'll see what happens. All I can ask is that the weather clears up...and maybe a third date.

Proud Mary

So I normally don't really write about stuff I lurve on this blog mostly because that's not really it's focus (and also because a lot of things I buy are from Forever 21 and so yeah I'm really credible), but a few weeks ago I stumbled on this company Proud Mary via a great lifestyle blog YOU + ME*.

And from there I went to the website and I saw this purse. And then I was all I must own that purse!!

{image via proud mary}

And now I do. And I love it.

Bold colors and crazy prints are so in this spring. (Is what someone who isn't full of crap might say).

But either way, the stuff is great, and oh, bonus points, buying it made me feel good.

P dot S: (The two friends who started the company are super nice and send personalized emails with your shipping info. Love that.)

Adult Spring Break Should Be Mandatory

I've been so freaking ready for Spring. Daylight Savings was a tease. Friday's 70 degree weather was cruel. But now, today, it's officially here. So please warm the hell up. Thanks.

We're currently in that awkward transition period where people are dressed in varying degrees across the outerwear spectrum. Some still bundled up while others are walking around practically naked. (Practically naked, in this case, means without tights. Gasp.)

Of course you know me, the eternal optimist, I'm embracing the future. And finally, after months of hibernation, lethargy, and down jackets, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Thank God.

But it's not just the weather. It's the spring mindset I've been craving. The break. That mandatory breather after a long winter; a time to escape the real world and let loose. I could have really used that this year.

The city has been full of Spring Breakers for the past few weeks. And I'm jealous. Especially because spring break is something that I've missed since entering the "real world." And when my tourist radar starts lighting up at times like these, it makes it worse.

(Side note: The BFF and I took our first trip to NYC together during our junior year of high school spring break. Even though it was so cold, we fell in love. Awww.)


This is prob how I'd feel if I went on
actual spring break.

But this year I've been a part of it. Spring break by proxy. Last week I went to dinner with my old yearbook advisor who was in town with a group of students. It was so great to catch up but wow did I feel so old.

While I'm always up for a throw back to the past, I wouldn't choose high school to relive. I mean, it was great and all, but college still reigns supreme.

So when a family friend reached out about her friend's daughter - a sophomore at UT - needing a place to stay for a night, I acquiesced. (Granted, if you know me, you might have guessed that after this initial agreement for karmic brownie points, I of course immediately began to whine about having to be nice to someone.)

Luckily, though, from the second we met, we hit it off. Girlfriend's got a girl crush. K is super cute, we have a ton of stuff in common, and we speak the same language. "My best friend and I go out to HH - hottie hunt."

OMG ME TOO. (Well, before when The BFF was still single.) 

K had spent the rest of the week with her family, but Friday night she met up with me and my friends. We went out. Throwback to college style. Stay out till 5 in the morning style. Feel like death all day Saturday style.

K was a great wingwoman, we both met some cute guys (even though I was wearing my gay circus ring leader jacket, proving The BFF's hypothesis that it was total man repellent wrong), and I'm so excited for a new friend.

Even though I haven't left the island, it's still been a great spring break. Now when can I bust out my sundresses and sandals?

Next Season of Rachel-orette

After an on-again-off-again relationship with The Bachelor, I embraced this season with open arms. Blame it on The BFF's new acceptance for crap TV, but we became mildly obsessed (Team Emily). 

My camera is being lame and won't let me upload pics.
Go ahead and assume our Bachelor finale was as classy as this.

Like maybe I was so obsessed that I bought some long-stem red roses to hand out to our friends who came to watch the finale. Because I secretly want to be Chris Harrison.

But since I can't really do that (because duh no one can do what he does but him, it's his gift) I have a new one-day obsession: Applying to be on the show.

I'm a realist and understand that there are obviously some cons to this genius plan.

Read the above in Brad's accent. Haunting, right?

(As a realist, I also recognize I'm super lazy and the chances of me actually doing this are not high. But you never know with me, I am full of surprises, even for myself.)

Let's break it down:

Pro:

• I could meet the love of my life. Woo. Clearly I'm having no luck with that in New York, so I'm willing to try a new alternative method. Like, you know, national TV. And based on last night's muy awkward reunion show slash therapy session, I have a 1 in 20 chance of marrying him! 
• Speaking of, if we did get married, ABC would totally pay for a super sick wedding. And then Chris Harrison could officiate. Amazing.
• If I'm not The One but I do muster up the ability to be charming, then maybe I could be chosen as the next Bachelorette. Me and 25 guys? I think we all know that's my ultimate dream.
• No matter what happens on the show, I'm pretty sure that being a contestant gets you into some weird Bachelor club where you meet a lot of new friends (and hottie rejects from previous Bachelorette seasons). Sounds kind of fun (in a moderately trashy way or really really trashy if you go on Bachelor Pad).
• Consolation prize: Great blog material.

Con: 

Of course the biggest con
is that I would be soooo
awkward on camera.



• I am a fairly competitive Crazy Girl. I cannot imagine this ending in my favor. (Unlimited booze will not be my ally).
• I do not look cute when I cry. 
• I have a healthy self-esteem and know I bring a lot to the table, but what I bring is not in my bathing suit top. So unless they have Bachelor Winter/Anti-Pool Party Edition, I'm screwed.
• IAAB and going to hell, but dayum Chantal, does O stand for "Open your mouth and eat your feelings?" Also  I'm 100% sure that would be me. Freshman Bachelor 15 here we come.
• General shame and embarrassment for those who know me. 

So if you're keeping track, it definitely seems like a great idea. Plus, while doing a little research today, I found out they're having a NYC casting call in June.

Please come with me. 

"Rachel Texas Kumo Sushi"

As much as I love girl time (e.g. brunch with some of my fave ladies on Sunday, minus the repeated disappearance of our waitress and all the eye candy being married, grrrr), it's fun to do co-ed activities. 



Of course it's super key to have equal numbers (or have the odds in your favor), which requires having a stocked guy friend inventory. Enter The BFF's bf and his cute/fun roommates. How convenient.



I will let you guess which one of us

just got back from a month in Costa Rica.

So in honor of our friend Laurel's return from an extended vacay, The BFF planned a fun dinner at Kumo, the best of the many "all you can eat/drink sushi sake bomb" venues in our neighborhood. Why yes, it is a disaster and a half, well worth the $40. (They literally bring you pitchers of sake and pitchers of beer. And four pairs of chopsticks in the off-chance you drop them each time you do a sake bomb, not that I do that...) I swear they must have to hose the restaurant down each night. 

We couldn't get a table until 10pm, and of course it wasn't ready for awhile because no one is really jumping to leave when the free booze is flowing. While we waited outside, I decided that maybe we should invest in a 5 Hour Energy shot to support the proposed plan of going to Meatpacking after dinner. (Because why wouldn't you want to wear a sexy dress when you're pregnant with a sushi food baby, and let's be honest, I have no self control so I knew I'd be carrying twins.)

Unfortunately the closest bodega was sold out of 5H so instead I bought this weird 25 hour energy spray. Yes, energy spray. How could that not end well?

Since the table still hadn't been vacated yet, we had to make our own fun (energy spray placebo effect had kicked in). Laurel also decided to turn the table on guys on the street and use all the horrible pick-up lines we get thrown at us. After talking about the weird "bless you" movement that's been going on, she went up to a guy and said, "God bless America." And it got her some digits. Or maybe it was due to the fact she's ridic hot. Whatever either way, patriotism.



Me and The BFF at da' club for the
first time in ages. We realized we have
a short window of warm weather
before it turns into
Summer Intern/we feel old season.

Then it was my turn. A group of guys fought their way out of the crowded restaurant and I started talking to one of them. Ten minutes later he was "intrigued by me." Also for some reason I thought it was a good idea to have more people potentially die from my bodega energy enhancer.

After he left, a good textual banter exchange ensued - this has not happened lately - and now I'm intrigued. He just finished law school and is moving here this summer. Normally this would be grounds for dismisal, but he was cute. Like real cute. And meeting cute guys on the street doesn't happen every day. (Oh wait, maybe it does.)

In case you're curious about what I consider good texting, I've decided to share our conversation (plus he doesn't know my last name and prob won't see this). While reading, keep in mind that the only other text I got from a guy I met later in the night consisted of "Ur hot rachel cameron." (His name). Fail.

JT Sake: Have fun in there. Don't be a stranger ;) - JT

Me: haha if we both don't die from that energy spray...

JT Sake: Yeah thanks for the meth spray. I'm f*ckin charlie sheen'd out. How about next time we go more traditional and just have drinks.

Me: Fingers crossed we turn out better than him, unless you're into living with a couple of porn stars. And yes to drinks, lemme know when you're back in town.

Next day:

"Sake, sake, sake all over your lap" would be a better cheer
than "sake, sake, sake bomb"...

Me: Did you survive the night? Are you Winning?

JT Sake: Barely. Sake bombs took effect and I accidentally insulted a NY Knicks player @ provocateur. thats what happens when you bang 7 gram rox bro. How was the kumo frat party? 

Me: Hope it wasn't Melo, he's the future. At brunch, which is a miracle since I'm half dead. Kumo was good, ended at Avenue, only insulted regular people.

JT Sake: I insulted renaldo balkman. I didn't know he got traded to the knicks. I was like nahh man ur still on the nuggets. Still don't believe him haha. That's what happens when you drink tiger blood all day n nite.

Me: PS you're in my phone as "JT Sake"

JT Sake: You're "Rachel texas kumo sushi"

Classic. This will be a great story to tell at our wedding (when I become "Mrs. JT Sake").

What are the Odds?

I'm approaching 1300 Facebook friends. Yeah, I'm one of those girls. If you're thinking, "Rachel, you sit around with The BFF, there's no way you actually have that many friends," then your right. I have like three.

Instead I think they should rename it Facebook "Acquaintances and Other Randoms Whose Paths I Once Crossed." And they should probably also add back in categories, but make them more like this:



You see, I'm of the "more the merrier" mindset when it comes to my social network because you never really know who you should keep on your buddy list for future stalking. So and So from Highschool got knocked up! Omg. Did you see Whatsherface's wedding? So tacky.

It's also a good way to see mutual connections with new people you meet. For instance, last weekend at the Standard beer garden, my cute friend M had some guys meet up with us - including the dreamiest guy I've met in forever. We chatted, he left with his friends, I somehow managed to remember his name. (It's very similar to the swoon-worthy character's in Sixteen Candles).

The next day on Facebook, The BFF and I stalkerishly looked him up, and because we had two mutual friends, he rose to the top. I love creepy Facebook metrics. (Total sidebar, but can anyone explain to me which friends are shown on your page's sidebar? Does it have anything to do with stalking?)

Anyway, since The BFF and I met when we were like 11 years old, we have a tendency to regress in our maturity pretty much all the time. So I should have known better when she asked to "look at his photos" on the couch. Oh I just asked him to be your friend.

Okay, whatever, a little aggressive but no worries. Later she "Liked" that we were friends. I die.

Anyway, I'm going to have to backtrack - my least favorite thing ever - in order to finish this really important story so please forgive me.

The two mutual friends I shared with The Cutest Guy Ever were two other attractive guys I randomly met at bars under somewhat similar circumstances. As The BFF told me, "Wow you really have met all the guys in this city." Ugh.

So anyway, a few days later at the gym - mind you all of my cute workout clothes are at my beloved laundry place so I'm rockin' the cropped-pant-lesbian style ensemb - I started stretching on the mat next to a cute guy who I've repeatedly seen in the last few weeks. It's been awhile since I've had any gym eye candy on my same schedule, so was happy for the gym'spiration.

All of a sudden mid-hamstring stretch he interrupted me to ask if I went to UT. Why yes I did, did you? No, but we met at a Longhorn basketball watching party last fall. OMG he's the mutual friend! I didn't even recognize him!

Small world. 

Also small world because this guy is just as awkward and over-sharey as me and we had a lovely talk about our workout schedules, jobs, and taking public transportation to Meatpacking because we both live near the L train.

And then two days later, I randomly ran into him on the street! Another awkward convo ensued about our weekend workout plans. Since it was nice weather, he was going to run outside. Good to know, otherwise I would have been concerned about his lack of commitment. 

I know what you're thinking, and you're right, he probably is my soul mate.

(Or at least a new incentive to keep up my gym routine.)

Falling Off the (CGS) Wagon

Of all of the dating insight I've forced down people's throats, what I'm most proud of is defining Crazy Girl Syndrome and coining the CGS phrase.

I think by pinpointing and calling ourselves out on our crazy antics, we grow. Or something. But really - and maybe I'm the only one - I think it's done some good. Clearly I'm no therapist, but recognition seems to be a big step in changing your behavior.

I mean, I've definitely had my moments (episodes, really), and I'll always be a recovering Crazy Girl.

(Sort of like how I'll always be a Recovering Nail Biter - it's a hereditary condition, ask Dolo - but I solved that problem with weekly manicures, a glorious perk of my neighb. Unfortunately I can't hand over a $10 bill to help solve this issue so I've had to use willpower instead. Ugh.)

Luckily I've been pretty CGS free for awhile, but about a month ago I went to meet a friend at a bar and one of her guy friends had brought his roommate. No big deal, he was friendly, I was chatty, two hours later I had a crush. Even though our conversation consisted of how he had just gotten out of a relationship and was dating a lot of girls.

RED FLAG NUMBER UNO.

But he was cute, tall, and liked to ski. And I'm an idiot. We parted ways and he didn't get my number. RED FLAG DOS. (This blog not only teaches you about dating; we're also going to be reviewing our basic Spanish. Today's lesson: numbers! Woo hoo.)

I friended him on Facebook. Acceptance followed by Radio Silence. RED FLAG TRES.

A week or two later, I sent him a message about an upcoming concert that - based on our convo - I thought he might enjoy. He responded that he was interested and for me to call him. (I really really hate talking on the phone, especially with guys, but I pulled up my big-girl pants and did it anyway). The talk was good. Come on baby light my (CGS) fire.

He ended up not being able to make the concert due to a friends' show, but instead came to meet up with us after. We madeout. He seemed to be interested. I love you have my babies. 

I did not hear from him. RED FLAG QUATRO.

The next night I embarrassingly drunk text him from the Standard Bingo. (I apparently am the Benjamin Button of maturity, going nowhere but backward.) RED FLAG CINCO.

Two days later we ran into each other for the aforementioned friend's birthday. He proceeded to spend the rest of the evening flirting with my pretty friend. (Granted his roommate spent the entire time talking to me, but whatever.)

I was upset. Like I wanted to cry. (Jameson was involved, maybe that had something to do with it?) But either way, considering my heart is made of stone, this was very unnatural.

RED FLAG SEIS! (It's been awhile since high school, so I don't know if I can count much higher than this.)

So by this point I was discouraged, but then - like a psycho - I thought that orchestrating a run-in might be a great idea! Perhaps he'll be at Fake St. Patty's Day in Hoboken (notorious shit show) I thought. (Note: This is never a good idea when you're recovering from six red flags and him hitting on your friend.)

ROJO FLAG x 100000!!!!

Gurl, whatever you do, NEVER embrace the CGS. Especially when it involves day drinking.

Instead I had an awesome day at The Standard, a good choice considering the next day my newsfeed deliberately enabled me with pictures of him and (yet another) girl decked out in green. (Technology is cruel.)

This little episode was for the best, maybe like a booster shot or something. Just another reminder that crazy is not a flattering shade on me.

P dot S: Sort of as a refresher course, I borrowed a friend's copy of He's Just Not That Into You. Only took 10 minutes before I was up to speed. (Or felt worse about myself and turned it off.)

Standard Times with The BFF

Do you ever sometimes wish there was a time machine to take you back to college? A place you could go full of cute, fratty guys where you're guaranteed a good time? (Except sans Keystone because obv our beer palates have progressed since those days.)

Done. Standard Biergarten. See you there. Bring your A game.

This was the location of one of the most legen-wait-for-it-dary days of last summer, otherwise known as The Time The BFF Got Kicked Out For Her Aggressive Ping Pong Skillz.

Fishbowls are classy when they're
crystal.

Anyway, the cold weather has kept us away, but The BFF has had a longing in her heart, one thought on her mind.

Last week she had her dreams come true. Twice.

Reunited and it feels so good.

The first stop was on Sunday night for Bingo. Being the grandmas that we are, you have no idea how painful it was to agree to an eleven pm event on a school work night. Ouch. But old people love bingo! So it worked out and was definitely worth the Monday exhaustion. Mostly because The BFF ended up looking like this:

Nothing like being dressed like a school girl while sporting a painted-on hipster beard... Wait, why was she dressed like a school girl?

So a little backstory. First of all The BFF and I are basically Romy and Michelle. We are special. And that's the reason we end up in quite a few situations that leave onlookers thinking who are those girls and why are they so weird? And sometimes this involves us wearing costumes when no one else is.

For example, a few months ago we were invited to a "fashion" themed Columbia Business School mixer. Were we the only ones dressed up? Fo sho. Did we look awesome? Fo sho. Did all the guys flirt with us while also asking somewhat demeaning questions like, "You don't go here, do you?" Fo sho.



Romy & Michelle. Romy looks
especially pasty, which hopefully will
change soon. Yeah right, who are we kidding.



Similar experience at bingo, minus B-school boys. The theme was S&M and for some reason I own a dress that could fit the theme (it was on sale from H&M, stop judging). The BFF dressed like a school girl because she just wanted to. Clearly the two of us are still going through frat party withdrawals. I love theme parties.

Anyway, the night was a good time as promised, but the highlight was when The BFF won Bingo. Except someone else did too. And The BFF had to have a dance off against him. The BFF is a phenomenal dancer. In a similar way that I am a phenomenal dancer. So clearly it was amazing.



So amazing that when the weather warmed up to a sunny 60 degrees on Saturday we were drawn back in.

And it was just as glorious as it was last summer. The beers were a flowin' and the boys were a-dorable.

Now all I can think of is more spring Saturdays at the Standard, especially when 60 degrees seems really cold.


Seriously with the exception of this pic we were flocked by
cute guys. It was awesome.

Match.com vs. Match.mom

There is nothing subtle about my mother's desire for me to move to Austin.

Quit your job! It's totally fine! No worries, it'll be great!

And while I have some reservations about

Apparently Seth Rogen And I Are The Same Person



Chubby Seth is a lot cuter than Chubby Rachel.
(Also, side-by-side comparison pics are really cruel.)



Oy.

Thanks to The BFF for this:

Seth: "I'm slowly outgrowing all the clothes I bought last year. It's a sad thing. I gave away all my fat clothes, thinking 'I won't need these anymore,' but I do." Moral of the Story: Always keep a fat outfit or two in the back of your closet, because getting fat again feels bad enough without being forced through the indignity of shopping mall fitting rooms."

Don't I know it.

(At least living in New York keeps me far away from malls, which I would be fine never stepping foot inside again considering I spent approximately 85% of my middle school career creeping around them - with The BFF of course. Glad we've gotten way cooler since then...)

I See You Up There

Have you seen that Virgin Mobile commercial with the crazy girl in the tree talking about how her cheap data plan totally enables her CGS?

Did you think of me when you saw it? Because my friend Lauren did. (Although she said it was because she thought I would think it was funny, not because I am that insane. Allegedly.)

And I do think it's funny. And frightening. But mostly funny. Because the depiction is (sadly) not totally off base.

Girls can be that crayzay. And having the ability at our nimble lil fingers to "research" our newest crush makes it hard not to. I mean, back in the day, my mom and her college roommate (my fairy godmother!) had to actually look up my dad in the phone book and physically stalk him. (Turned out he lived directly across the street, how convenient!) But still, I'm exhausted just thinking about how much effort that must have been!

The thing I don't like about these commercials, though, is the portrayal that only girls have harnessed the power of digital sleuthing.

Spoiler alert: That's false.

I have proof that guys are no better than us. Guys I've gone out with read this blog (hello!) and guys I've dated look through my Facebook albums. How do I know? Sitemeter. And phrases like "Your brother's wedding looked fun." I mean, I know I don't remember everything about the night of the wedding, yet I'm fairly certain The Russian was not in attendance.

But I'm not passing judgment. The content I share online is in the public domain for just that reason. I want you to know and/or care about what I'm up to. Because it's really interesting. Or entertaining. Or makes you feel better about your own life.

Just please don't sit in a tree outside my window while you catch up on my Tweets. K thanks.

(Unless of course while you're in the tree you're also trying to conduct Round Two of Science Experiment Night. Because I'm still holding out hope it might actually work. Even though cell phones are so cheap now, apparently.)

Cool As a Cucumber

I'd like to think I'm a fairly good "token single friend" based on the fact that I can talk to almost anyone, and if the occasion calls for it, act remotely charming. (Booze helps.) And if we are friends in real life and you live in New York, chances are you've set me up with a guy you know.

The FoFs (friends of friends) mutual connection provides an "I'm not a total random psycho" buffer, which is always appreciated. Plus saying "Hey do you know any cute, single guys you can introduce me to?" is a lot easier than signing up for online dating sites (which seem like so much work but maybe I'm just really lazy?).

Anyway, after three years, I would guestimate I've been on 20+ FoF dates, none of whom were The One (clearly) and most of whom I don't see on a regular basis (fine by me).

But since the city is haunted, I know that anyone of them could pop up at any minute. And how you handle it matters: You can either be a Cucumber or a Pickle.

There are a LOT of weird things that come up when you
search for images of pickles and cucumbers. This is
German which for some reason makes it seem less awkward?

Cucumber: You're cool, you're breezy. Oh, heeey. How you doin'? Ain't no big thing it didn't work out. "Say hi to your mother for me." (The BFF and I insisted on saying that every time Mark Wahlberg was shown at the Oscars. It's still funny.)

Pickle: At one time you were cool, but now you've been fermenting in vinegar, making you sour and crunchy. Also, you smell. You reek of awkwardness. Please go away, you're making this unpleasant.

While I am utterly uncool in so many situations, the post-dating run-in is something I've mastered. (Unless of course I am able to duck into a nearby grocery store and escape it all together.) Mostly it's just because I'm indifferent about most dates I go on.

Anyway, this weekend conveniently provided me with examples of the two different former FoF encounters.

The Pickle: On Friday night The BFF and I went out and ended up at a sports bar. Although she had assured me it was "totally a girls' night," her new boyfriend and his friends ended up meeting us out, including his friend who I went on one date with a few weeks ago - the not-quite-real person. Anyway, apparently I managed to make quite an impression on him (what can I say, guys who don't really have a sweet clue about city dating seem to flock to me. Because of my wisdom, I'm sure.). Since I had previously been told this, I was mildly uncomfortable, but I was perfectly nice. But he couldn't handle it. He left after 10 minutes. Which, whatever, until I found out that he was still upset about it the next day. IT WAS ONE DATE, let it gooooo. Now I have a bad taste in my mouth.

See above. Also, don't take this to mean that
I hate pickles.

The Cucumber: Saturday night I went out for my Texas friend Alexandra's bday (happy bday!) where I was warned a guy I semi-dated last fall might show up, The Native New Yorker. "The guy with the cat?" The BFF asked. Yes, the one with the cat. He's cute, nice, whatever, but also a consultant who travels four days a week (he turned into the Pen-Pal), with a Jewish feminist mother. It was never going to work. Although I wasn't psyched about the idea of the run-in, it was totally fine. He was friendly, I was charming. We talked about his upcoming trip to Austin (everyone and their dog is headed to SXSW but me, frowny face). Easy breezy. Refreshing. Just the way it should be.

The lesson from all of this? Keep it cool. Don't make it a big Dill.

In related news, I am on a huge cucumber cocktail kick while The BFF's current drink of choice is a homemade "martini" aka pickle juice + vodka. I think that says something about us. She will probably disagree.