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?