Letters to The BFF: Recycling Gossip

Dear BFF,

How are you? From the number of random celebrity-gossip filled emails I've gotten from you in the past few days, I assume you're doing well.

What have I been up to? Hmm, let me see. Attempting to be a real adult, which is gross. If you were here, you would definitely be making fun of all the professional clothes I just bought at Ann Taylor. I don't know if I've ever spent that much at one time, and ew, on suits. I know, right?

What else, what else? Speaking of acting like a responsible real-person, last Friday night I stayed in and cleaned out my room. Six bags of crap trotted to Salvation Army later, I felt instantly lighter. You would have been proud, although you're probably reading this saying, "Of course you just went and bought a bunch of new stuff." Duh, I did, you know me so well.

Besides recycling clothes, I've also been recycling guys. You know me, I'm so green. Like how it seems to happen every few months, the same trio of guys has popped back into my life once again. (I think maybe something about moving has made me welcome nostalgia more so than usual, but I promise I won't get carried away.)

Oh, and for some additional guy-recycling-gossip, you should know that there's a new-old guy back on the roster. A certain individual, who after a fun few months about dating, freaked out about the blog. You're right, it probably is a bad idea to write about him again. Oh wait, I don't care. Ah the joys of I'm-moving-to-a-foreign-country-so-nothing-matters indifference.

So how'd this all come about? Well, after not hearing from him for months, he forwarded me a screen shot from his Facebook, which apparently has a new security feature if you're logging on from a remote computer. It shows you a friend's pictures and asks you who they belong to. Of course his showed mine...and of course one of those photos was a random child on a leash. Because I am weird. Which apparently he finds endearing because in his message he said he missed me. Sucker.

Anyway, I wish you were here to gossip and be judgmental about him since that's what you do best about guys I like. It's not the same without you.

Love,
Your Loyal Wife

PS: Since this update was so boringly mature, I leave you with these gems. Man, we were fun back in our "youth."

Miss you. 

Surreal-ity

In May when I was presented with the offer to "move" to Berlin for a few months, I immediately accepted that this was the next step in my life. Duh, great opportunity.

But then everything sat on the back burner for awhile. The thought that it would actually happen floated around me, but it was not front and center. I got caught up in real life. Plus, like most business deals, there were a lot of loose ends out of my control. I had no idea if it would actually happen.

Well, this past week, things changed. Life got busy, anxiety-ridden and exciting.

On Tuesday I started my German lessons. Ich heiβe Rachel. Iche komme aus Texas. Ich wohne in Manhattan. I'm sure in five weeks when the course ends I'll be totally fluent. I am rather bright after all. Oh wait.

On Wednesday I had to go to Police Headquarters to get a "good conduct certificate" for my visa. I was hoping it would be a really exciting field trip but alas it was not. At all. But now I can say I've been finger printed by the NYPD. Have you?

On Thursday I booked my one-way flight to Berlin.

And on Friday I made a trip to the German consulate to start my visa application. (Yes, that probably should have been done a month ago, but like I said, lots of loose ends on the business side of things.)

So there you have it, a crazy week. And I have a feeling that's how they'll all be for the next month. What was once surreal is now becoming a reality. Fingers crossed it all works out.

Blast from the Past

Last week my ex boyfriend from senior year of high school was in town with some friends. I'm not sure when the last time we saw each other was, but I'm fairly certain it was at some point when I was dating the College BF. Aka it was probably a little uncomfortable.

(This ex also happens to be the *only* ex - to my knowledge at least - who reads the blog. So hi!)

In terms of my ability to reunite with people who I haven't seen in forever and have it not be that weird, I'd say I'm pretty good. Which is fairly shocking since I'm the queen of awkward interaction.

We met a bar in my neighborhood, caught up on our families, lives, jobs, etc. Everything was going fine. Until he told me I looked fat. Of course those weren't the words he used - or probably even his intention - but that's how it came off to me.

And so now I remember, sometimes it's better to keep the past in the past. Unless of course you used to be ugly and now you're really hot. Because, duh, why not flaunt it.

Clearly this isn't the case for me right now, but it IS my plan for Future Rachel. You see, when I imagine myself 10 years down the road, I see my face ...but on Kate Middleton the Duchess of Cambridge's body with her hair. Because that's normal. And/or realistic.

In the words of my friend Mere, "Please let me live the dream."

Letters to The BFF: Governor's Ball

Ed. note: In case you didn't know, The BFF and I have been friends since the first day of sixth grade. During that decade and a half, we've been separated for a few months at a time during the summers while she went to visit her grandma in Lebanon, but nowhere near as long as what we're about to experience thanks to my upcoming Berlin adventure. In an effort not to lose touch, I've decided to start writing her letters about what she's missing out on. And, in an effort to be sufficient with my time, I've decided to publish them on the blog so you can enjoy them too. Genius move, huh?


Dear BFF,

You have only been gone a few days, but I've already forgotten what you look like. Just kidding. There's no way that could ever happen because anytime I get hungry, I'm reminded of your pretty face thanks to our friendship shrine displayed on the fridge. I'm sure the new roommate is a little creeped out.

We make an attractive couple, right?

Speaking of The Replacement BFF (jk!), she bought me some really cute earrings as a new roommate gift. Love. Almost as nice as the time I bought you a giant restaurant-sized bottle of Sriracha sauce that you drained in record time. I'm sure our condiments will barely be depleted in your absence. The loneliness will be palpable.

Yesterday you were definitely missed, but not for that reason. It was Governor's Ball, an outdoor music experience you probably would have bitched about because there were too many hot, young girls. Thank goodness for the handful of obese ones jiggling around in bikinis. Nothing saves your self-esteem like the jello of others, amiright?

Someone special is missing.

It was basically a smaller scale ACL, except, you know, on an island south of Manhattan. The music wasn't really your scene, but I loved it. It dawned on me while I was there: Girl Talk was invented so white people could experience a rap concert. I have a sneaky suspicion I might not have felt nearly as comfortable doing my awkward dance moves while sporting a romper and fedora in a more "urban" environment. Nor should I have.

Speaking of outfits, no matter how you felt about the music or the infantile crowd, you would have had fun for one reason: It was the perfect time to rock your jorts, those tattered AF jeans-turned-shorts-turned-ragged-prized-possessions, among the dirty, sweaty humanity.

Anyway, like I said, you were missed. It's going to be a transition from seeing each other every day to our newly rekindled Internet Relationship but I think it will be good for us. You know, to help with the codependency issues. Or whatever. But change is hard. I mean, just last week I was overwhelmed with the repercussions from the new addition of scaffolding on the street! And there weren't even any real repercussions! It's just different and weird!

Hopefully I will start handling this better in the future. Ha, yah right. "Draft Letter #2: PLEASE COME HOME NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

In the mean time, have fun with your family on your Italian pre-vacation. I very much enjoyed your email wherein you informed me that the Sally Hansen nail polish stickons are really great. You probably didn't need to go to Rome to discover this, but rock on. When in Rome I guess!

(Yeah, I understand that phrase doesn't totally make sense in this context, but you know, how often do you really get to say that when you're literally talking to someone in Rome? That's what I thought.)

MISSSSSSSSSSSSSS YOU . 

xoxo

Your Wife

Please Don't Call Me Princess

Last Friday night, I did something I haven't done in forever. And I'm not just talking about washing, blow drying, and straightening my hair (which I realized does wonders for my appearance, who knew).

No, I went on a date with someone. Someone who I met at a bar. A foreigner. The Turkish guy from a few weeks ago.

I haven't gone out with a random since I met TK back in March. I haven't had the emotional capacity or free time to make it a priority. And I haven't gone out with a foreigner in years. Mostly because of my phobia of stage five clingers. (Seriously, it's either that or pure womanizer, I have never seen a happy medium.)

We had a nice time, he took me to a restaurant from his native land. Unfortunately the long week coupled with work trip took its toll as soon as I got there. I just could not muster up the strength to be charming no matter how hard I tried. Listening to the things I was saying made me more exhausted. Why am I being so boring? I thought.

Luckily he had plenty of stories to fill the three hour dinner. He is the embodiment of the American dream, and it was all very impressive and inspiring. Plus he's very cute and nice, which always helps.

But, after the thirteenth reference to me being a princess, I have concluded he is probably not The One. This was solidified the next day when he texted me that he couldn't stop thinking about me because I was 'so amazing' the previous night.

While I won't complain about hearing that, I do take issue with someone thinking that was a great version of me. That's not what I'm looking for.

I want to find someone who loves me for my awkward stories, for my appreciation of Zeppelin and Hendrix, for my creative cooking concoctions, and for my sense of humor.

Not for my ability to sit, eyes glazed over, looking pretty. (Although he should love that about me too.)

Is that too much to ask for?

Comforting Confessions

I'm only a little bit embarrassed to tell you what I'm listening to right now: Time Warner's 90s Hits music channel. I find Jock Jams intertwined with R&B love ballads to be really comforting, okay? It takes me back to to a day when my biggest concerns revolved around events that took place at the mall.

And now, as I write this, singing along to lazy-ass Brian McKnight's "Back to One" (the man totally cops out of #4; c'mon, you're better than that, Bri), I'm combating a new-found, perma-anxiety attack about all the upcoming change in my life.

Hell yes, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" just came on. Turn around...every now and then I get a little bit...

Where was I? Oh right, self-pity about upcoming transitions. Also, I think I'm getting sick. Since Friday, I've felt like I've had that pre-cold cloud hanging over my head. Tonight I went to the gym. For literally five minutes. I feel guilty, but I just didn't have it in me.

While you might agree that feeling under the weather is an okay excuse for skipping out on a workout, it doesn't justify the shameful thing I did next.

I bought a romper.

I know, I know. But what can I say? I thought it would be a good Governor's Ball outfit. Plus this season's wardrobe needed its own man repellent.

Ha. "My favorite Mistake" is on...Sheryl Crowe, when writing this song, might you have been inspired by this bad boy?

Between a new outfit, all these sweet, throwback jams... Aaliyah's "Are You That Somebody?" is next!...and the Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches I also (shamefully) bought tonight, things look like they might be turning out okay. Middle school style. Which is fine by me. Because like I said, times were simpler back then. And sometimes simplicity in life is what you need.

(Really, though, the ice cream sandwiches were key.)

Regretting the Regression

The theme of many recent conversations with friends has ended with the sentiment "I can't act like I did in college anymore. I'm too old."

Unfortunately - at least in New York - the opportunity to pretend like you're still carefree and resilient exists at every turn. As I explained to a weekend visitor of my fellow Woo Girl friend M, day drinking is always on the table. 

It's cold/rainy/snowy, there's nothing better to do than go sit at a bar and complain about the weather. It's sunny/beautiful/perfect, there's nothing better to do than go sit outside at a bar and enjoy the weather. 

Unfortunately it was the former that brought us together on Saturday. After Ashley and I participated in our third annual Big Apple BBQ festival - trying to make the most of our Salt Lick while the weather felt like tiny kittens were licking our faces (you know what I'm talking about, that horrible mist rain) - we escaped to the nautical dive bar Rusty Knot just before the torrential downpours hit. 

Following a few signature tiki cocktails (always a good move to start with rum at 3pm!), we moved to another bar where more friends came to meet us - including a girl who I played softball with approximately 100 million years ago. What are the odds? 

And that's when the problem started. Instead of staying in for a low key night to balance out my day, I made the most of The BFF's last Saturday before she leaves. Our last night out together. (I'm still in denial.) Her BF brought his childhood BFF and we had a great night, ending up at the Mondrian Hotel in SoHo. It's a beautiful space that just makes you feel glamorous. That is, until you think about it the next morning when you realize I'm too old for all this. 

Sometimes a little regression to your youthful days of summer is what you need to make the most of the time you have with friends. 

At least that's what I told myself after I realized I would survive. It was a little touch and go there for awhile.

What I've Got

This week has just been one of those weeks. A time when I feel like I can't put on the breaks, where I have no control over slowing down my life. Losing a weekend can do that to you, I suppose. On Monday I flew back from Chicago, hoping to have the afternoon to catch up on things. Instead I worked from home, with Mob Wives providing just enough craptastic distraction in the background.

That night I forced myself to go to yoga, something I've been slipping up on lately. I needed it. I also needed the Whole Foods run to stock up on healthy, fresh food. I don't know who actually "loses weight because of all the travel," but let's be honest, that's not real life. Real life is going to the airport Chili's and shoveling breakfast tacos into your mouth to congratulate yourself for not suffocating to death in the one and a half hour long cab ride to O'Hare like you thought you might. Seriously, who buys Black Ice air fresheners anyway? More importantly, who names one that? Black ice is that hidden, slippery patch of evilness that causes you to fall and break your back. And, now I know, it smells equally as bad.

Tuesday I was welcomed back to the office with more work, stress, and finally some details about my assignment in Berlin. By details, I mean, apparently it's still going to happen. (I've been kept out of the loop on everything, something this Type A planner has not appreciated.) That night I went to Pilates and then The BFF, our friend Laurel, and I watched a train wreck.

The train wreck, in this case, was the DVR'd third episode of The Bachelorette. I was going to write a post about it from the CGS perspective, but it's too hard. It makes me want to cry. All I will say is that it not only ruined any (faux) desire I had to be on the show, it compounded my already guarded attitude toward guys. Having had three morons in the past year tell me they "loved" me and "wanted to marry me," since then I've become wary about anyone's authentic interest. Thanks, Bentley, for mind f*cking an entire country of women. You're a real winner. I hope you get fat and go bald.

After another busy day at work, last night I spent the evening catching up with one of my dearest friends Nicki, the one who I met on my European backpacking adventure. (I wish I could pack her in my suitcase this time around too.) It had been forever since we'd hung out - to the point neither of us could even remember the last time - and we both commiserated that time was flying by too fast.

And that's how it's going to be until I leave. Life racing by with a speed I'm not sure I can handle. But I'll have to soak it up - all 97 degrees of it today - because it's all I've got.

Story of My Life

I spent the weekend in Chicago for work, and on Sunday night I attended a cancer fundraising concert at the House of Blues. Since the majority of my time before that was spent either in the sprawling conference center or the adjacent hotel meeting rooms, I was excited to be let out of the cage so to speak. Plus let’s be honest, there is nothing more hilarious than watching middle-aged people get down on the dance floor. (My parents in particular.)

Although, while everyone was ‘groovin’ to the beat, it hit me that my own incredibly awkward dance skillz were made for events such as this because I have the same moves as a 60 year old man. Don’t ever discount the finger snap hip shake, it is a winner.

Speaking of winning, after getting discouraged when the band began to play a slow song (horrible flashback to middle school dances and not having anyone ask me…or you know, that last wedding I attended), we were about to head back to the bar when I spotted something even better: A queso bar. Oh sweet glorious melted cheese, you’re always there for me, aren’t you?

Hello old friend.

I returned to my seat with a heaping plate of chips swimming in delectability (originally I had the silly idea of ‘sharing’, ha) when my colleague’s client asked, “So how did you go on the dance floor and manage to come back with nachos?”

Oh, I’ve known you for an hour and you’ve just discovered the general theme of my life. And the title of my future autobiography:

Where did you find that food? The Rachel Upshaw Story.

The New York Times' Best Seller List better save me a spot.

The Perfect Staycation Slash Vacation

I love having friends visit (cough cough hint hint), but sometimes it can be a little challenging to find activities that fulfill both tourist desires and a desire for me not to hate my life. Luckily since Keaton is a) low maintenance and b) has been to visit multiple times, I knew our weekend would be fun.

Unfortunately, as I already complained, her flight was delayed and she didn't get in until almost midnight on Thursday. Per my occasional bout of 'going out conviction', I was dead set on making the most of the night. We ended up at Bar 675 in MPD where I met a cute Turkish guy who informed me I look super similar to a Turkish actress. Good to know in case I ever want to have an ABC Family movie-esque experience pretending to be famous in Istanbul or something!

I heart photo ops

Friday I learned an important lesson: YOU ARE TOO OLD TO GET THREE HOURS OF SLEEP AND FUNCTION AT WORK. Ouch. Luckily the office closed early and we got a chance to nap.

That night, we decided to see a comedy show at Eastville because we love to laugh. All the comedians were funny and - Bonus! - two were hot. (Of course one of them made a hilarious (inappropriate) joke at our expense. But clearly we love attention so it was fine.) 

Saturday we did some shopping - Justification theme of the weekend: I'm on vacation too! - and then met up with Keaton's friends for dinner and really embarrassing other stuff.

Sunday began what will remain the most times I went to Brooklyn ever streak, starting with a field trip to Coney Island. Spoiler alert: Just as skeezy as you'd imagine! I've only been before to go to the aquarium (which no one would agree to go to with me, so please volunteer if you're interested), but the beach is nasty. Shocking.

Definitely too cute for Coney Island

That night, after some relaxation and How I Met Your Mother re-run watching, we grabbed dinner while witnessing the most awkward open mic rock band night at Brooklyn Bowl. As much as I love watching people who think they're really talented jiggle around on the stage, next time I'll save myself for real bands.

Monday we embraced the BK once again and walked down to and across the Brooklyn Bridge. We even went early enough to find ourselves in a fairly short line for Grimaldi's. Having recently read from one of my fav bloggers Jordan at Ramshackle Glam about how it is totally worth it, we were rewarded with delicious coal oven baked pizza. Followed by a burnt roof of my mouth. Still, though, delicious.

I owe Mother Nature a shout out for not being a total whore this weekend. I'll take Please Ignore The Sweat Dripping Down My Back over Crap I Hate Having to Wear a Jacket weather any day.

Great start to the summer. Thanks, Keaton!

Why yes, she is adorable.