Friday, June 29, 2007

I Am Random

Well, as my readers know, I do tend to go off on my tangents – and no one does random like I do. So for this Friday, I give you yet another look inside the mind of Redhead (you might want to hold onto something…not THAT):

-Referring to myself in the third person – still fun!

-I keep having this urge to go blonde for the summer. Sure my mom would kill me if I did it, it would probably fry my hair, and I can only guess how shitty it would look with my pale ass skin, but…I don’t know. I still kind of feel like a change. Fuck it – I have a massage appointment at the spa this weekend (which is right above the salon where I get my hair cut), maybe I’ll just do it.

-Speaking of massages, I can’t wait for mine. This is something NY Guy is no good at (although he does get points for trying). I honestly think he’s taking out all of his pent up frustration at me when he rubs my back (although he’d never admit to it); in other words, it hurts like a bitch. But a professional massage – guaranteed to make me want to purr. Fuck. Yeah.

-My top 10 iPod songs this week (I’ve been feeling kind of mellow): Have You Ever Seen the Rain? by CCR; Hero of the Day by Metallica; I’ll Be Your Lover Too by Van Morrison; Lake of Fire by Nirvana (actually, the whole Nirvana Unplugged album’s been getting a lot of play recently); Black by Pearl Jam; Deserted by Blind Melon; Redemption Song by Bob Marley; Behind Blue Eyes by The Who; Feeling Good by Nina Simone; Hard Headed Woman by Cat Stevens.

Oh shit, there’s no Sublime on this list. OK, let’s throw in Badfish from 40 Oz. to Freedom.

-There’s this scene in The Wedding Planner (that piece of shit movie with Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey that’s ALWAYS on TV) that has totally ruined M&Ms for me – which I’ve decided is just criminal. And I need to vent about it for a second so bear with me: In the movie, McConaughey’s character is being charming (or at least I’m assuming that’s what they were going for – I clearly don’t agree), and he goes to this movie with Lopez’s character. Anyway, as they sit down he pours a bunch of M&Ms into his hand and starts to discard all the candies that aren’t brown. When Lopez asks what he’s doing, he explains to her that “they have less artificial coloring because chocolate’s already brown.” Cue my head exploding. Um, dude? Isn’t your character a fucking DOCTOR? Shouldn’t he be smart enough to know that ALL M&Ms (yes, even the brown ones) have a candy shell over the fucking chocolate? The brown have just as much artificial coloring as the rest – because the candy shell isn’t made of chocolate. You fucking incompetent moron. And the worst part? That I think of this shitty scene every time I’m eating M&Ms. And it pisses me off.

-I’m going to be out of town next week (sitting by a pool, trying not to burn – don’t worry, it’s being considered a ‘working from home week’ so I’ll still be checking in and probably posting; I’ll just be doing it in a bathing suit), and I’ve decided to do John a favor. Now hear me out: I have tickets for a Yanks game next week (my season seats), and I’m not going to be around, so I’m just GIVING them to him (he already knows everyone who sits around me anyway). So, he gets to take his dad to a game (something he’s been wanting to do for a while) AND sit in my awesome seats. In exchange, I get to continue to avoid ‘The Talk’ AND avoid the torture of watching my team continue to suck. (Note: This is not entirely true since I will – of course – still watch the game. I’ll just be doing it in relative privacy – which is probably for the best. What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment.) Anyway, fair plan right? Tickets in exchange for continued avoidance? Everybody wins?

-This is the transcript of a conversation I had with my friend Linda last night:

(Note: I was watching TV the entire time – which is something I often do when I’m on the phone with someone – and hadn’t really been paying attention. Anyway, the gist of the conversation was that Linda had been on a date and I was getting the post-mortem.)
Linda: You would have loved this guy.
Redhead: Why’s that?
Linda: Oh, he had the gentleman thing down pat – he was on time, insisted on paying, pulled my chair out for me, the whole nine yards. Then, at the end of the night he hailed me a cab, held the door open for me, and put his hand on my elbow to help me get inside.
Redhead: Did you immediately get down on your knees and thank him properly?
(Silence.)
Redhead: I’m kidding!

And you wonder why my friends keep me around.

-I think avocados may be one of the best foods ever – they’re all buttery and rich and soft in your mouth…yum. Who doesn’t like avocados? I’m hungry.

-I hate Dave Matthews. See, I had a roommate freshman year of college who was legitimately psycho, and every time she cheated on a boyfriend (which was always about a month after she left her previous guy for him), she would blast Dave Matthews while she was getting it on. So picture this, me minding my own business (shut up, it’s possible) while trying to avoid The Roommate, and then burying my head in my hands when that fucking whiny ass voice came on her stereo. Which happened every month and half or so.

Now I wasn’t a huge Dave Matthews fan before then, but it’s safe to say I positively loathe him now. Like, ‘my skin is crawling turn that shit off’ loathe him. And guess who loves Dave Matthews? Yup, John. Yet another reason to add to the list of why I can’t ever touch him.

-I think every Starbucks should have a special line for their regulars. My Starbucks – near my office – has been especially crowded lately, and I’m not happy about it. (Know what I don’t want to do in the morning when I’m waiting for my coffee? That’s right, stand in line for 10 fucking minutes!) I mean hell, they already know what I’m going to order; they should have an express line for people like me. I’m special damnit! Fuck, I need a vacation.


And with that, I’m done for now. Feel free to comment on any of this, throw your own random thoughts at me, or kiss my ass. Whatever you’re up for.

Have a great weekend.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

A Friend in Need

Well, it’s happened. My friend Christine has taken the leap from using me to torment her roommate (I mentioned her situation here), to calling me up and threatening to…you know, kill him. So, it seems it’s time to hunt for apartments (or find her a really, really good lawyer), and guess who’s been recruited to help? That’s right – Redhead.

Now, I don’t remember Christine helping me search for apartments when I last had to move, but apparently (as she’s explained it) I owe her – according to her I’ve been blowing her off to ‘hang with the boyfriend’ lately. To this I would like to point out that A) That’s bullshit – I don’t blow her off any more now than I ever did (which admittedly is a lot), and B) Even if I was, this isn’t fair! I call this cruel and unusual punishment – I HATE looking at apartments. It’s tiring, most of them are depressing as hell (and ridiculously fucking expensive), the market in Manhattan is always competitive and stressful, and (let’s be very clear here) I HAVE NO INTEREST IN IT! Some people like doing shit like looking at apartments and picking out paint colors and talking about decorating. I am not one of those people. If I could have made my friends go look at apartments for me (and pick one for me), I would have – hell, I would have paid them to do it. But noooo, I didn’t. Why? Because I’m awesome, that’s why…and they’re not stupid enough to have agreed. (Oh, and FYI – if Christine asks me to help her pack, our relationship is over.)

Having said all that, I can be guilted into things. Including apartment hunting (apparently). But together – I have my pride. Or I did, until last night. Last night I became…I don’t know, Christine’s assistant? Her gopher? Her bitch? This is what happened: I got home from work yesterday and was minding my own business, trying to decide whether I wanted to have an ice pop (orange) or a Red Bull (sugar free) for dinner – I seriously need to go grocery shopping – when my phone rang. I answered it (mistake #1), cautiously said ‘sure’ when Christine asked if I would do her ‘a favor’ (mistake #2), and then didn’t hang up once she explained what that ‘favor’ was (mistake #3).

Turns out, I had unwittingly agreed to walk 7 blocks in the 95 degree heat (and humidity), to go look at a 6th floor walkup for her. Alone. She was ‘stuck’ in a meeting downtown (I suspect this was a lie), and didn’t want to miss out on what sounded like a good deal (it was a reasonably priced one-bedroom in Manhattan – not an easy find). And since I live nearby (damnit), I could easily go check it out (they were having an open house) and give her a call if it was worth trecking uptown. (What…the…fuck?) Yeah, I know – amazing, right? Who agrees to this shit?

Quick sidenote: Christine has decided that if she lives closer to me, we’ll go out more (less of a chance of my complaining and using the ‘lazy’ excuse when she wants to get together). AND, it stands to reason that we will have more of an opportunity to meet hot guys the more often we go out.
One more sidenote: Christine has decided that I’m about a month away from dumping NY Guy, and therefore has concluded that it’s not wrong to plan ahead for my single days. As she put it, “I look forward to the day when you finally fall in love – I really do. I can’t wait actually. I intend to call you whipped and mock you at your rehearsal dinner. But let’s be honest – you’re not there yet.” Ooookay…

Fuck. Anyway, that’s all just a lead in to how I found myself climbing a seemingly endless set of stairs in an unairconditioned building last night. (WTF? Why do stairs never seem to have any bearing on how much you exercise or how in shape you are? I thought I was dying by the time I reached the top floor – yup, the top floor.) Somehow I made it to the top without spontaneously bursting into flames, turned to my right, and was faced with the horror – it was fucking packed. Guess what you don’t want when you’re hot and cranky? That’s right, a crowd of people around you. Yet that’s what I got.

But being a good (nay, awesome – yes I just wrote ‘nay,’ shut up) friend, I soldiered on. Slipping through the door and retreating into the bedroom area, I finally looked around. And it was…adorable. High ceilings, air conditioning (thank God), a loft over part of the living room with an old-fashioned winding staircase leading up to it – it was completely unique and charming. I knew I had to call Christine. Fast.

So after ordering Chris to get her ass in a cab, immediately, I went to work. There were too many people there, many of them asking to fill out applications. And the super was trying to shut down the open house early – he had plenty of interest after just the first 20 minutes. Now the women were a lost cause – they would have torn me limb from limb if I tried to slow them down, but the men could be momentarily distracted. And the super could be sweet-talked. In the 15 minutes or so that it took Christine to arrive, I somehow got one of the last applications, borrowed a pen from a fat guy who hadn’t yet filled out his own application, and tied up the super in a discussion about his dog so he wouldn’t lock up. I also talked two other guys out of the apartment and did everything short of tap dancing to buy Christine some time. Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty – it was the longest 15 minutes of my life.

But she made it (pretty damn quickly actually), and immediately agreed with me – the apartment was perfect. Thank fucking God. Handing her the application and pen, I promptly collapsed in the corner of the kitchen and tried to fend off the fat guy who had (admittedly) been so nice to me.

Isn’t looking for apartments fun?!

Anyway, as I was contemplating how I would make Christine pay me back for this debacle, she finished up her application and we got ready to leave. As we started to troop down the stairs, I zoned out a little. And then it happened…Christine lost her footing. (Note: She does this shit all the time – totally makes her worth hanging out with.) There we were, me going down behind Christine (thankfully), when she misjudged the next step, and WHOOSH! Down she goes – and kept going. Down what was, quite literally, I’m going to guess about half a flight of stairs. Hard. It was…fucking brilliant.

PLUS, she was wearing a dress, and the skirt totally ended up around her waist (woo hoo pink thong!). And…I tried to keep it together. I swear, I really did. I tried to choke out an, ‘Are you okay?’ before completely losing it. And I sort of succeeded. She seemed dazed, more than a little embarrassed, but otherwise okay, yet still I waited for a mumbled ‘I think so’ before completely collapsing. (That’s right – Friend of the Year!)

The super ran out to see what the commotion was and found Christine on the landing below STILL with her skirt about her waist, me sitting on the stairs laughing so hard I was crying (and possibly snorting a little), and a smallish crowd of apartment hunters staring at us in horror. (The fall really did look bad, and my reaction couldn’t really be considered…typical/concerned/kind – but I’m not kidding when I say she does shit like this ALL THE TIME.) Finally, Christine righted herself, stumbled up the stairs to retrieve me – still crumpled on a step hysterically laughing – assured the super she was okay (and wasn’t going to sue) and mumbled something about me not really being insane (blatant lie). Then she tugged me down the rest of the stairs and out of the building.

So, in the end I think I hurt more than helped Christine’s chances of getting the apartment, but what can I say – I’m a loose cannon. Thankfully she didn’t seem too concerned about it one way or the other, and we decided the plusses way outweighed the minuses – Christine finally saw a worthwhile place, I got a REALLY therapeutic laugh out of the whole thing (and so did she after I recounted her fall over and over and over again), and we stopped for beers and got frozen yogurt on the way home (a yummy dinner if ever there was one). All in all, I give last night’s field trip two enthusiastic thumbs up. Did anyone else do anything even remotely interesting?

Monday, June 25, 2007

Monday Ponderings

-There’s this guy at work who’s a total loser (kind of chubby, short, dresses badly), which is fine in and of itself. But the problem (as far as I can see it) is that Loser Boy doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo concerning his status in the world. On the contrary, I suspect he’s (somehow) convinced himself that he’s the shit. (It’s something in his walk – he struts.) Anyway, this bothers me (what doesn’t), and so I’ve taken it upon myself to handle the situation. Mainly this just means I’m a complete bitch to him for no real reason (don’t worry, he’s just some glorified temp that I don’t work with – it’s important to never torture a person just for kicks when it might affect your career), while wondering A) Why do I care about this guy?, and B) Just how quickly am I going to be sent to hell when I die? Hmmm, Mondays.

-I was at a wedding this past weekend, and I’m pretty sure the dad of one of my friends was hitting on me. I would normally say I must be mistaken (seriously, I’ve known this man since I was in the third grade), but let me lay out the evidence and let you decide: 1) He (after only one drink) got my attention when I was talking to some groomsman by yelling out ‘Red,’ and walking towards me. (Note: This is a man I STILL refer to as Mr. Lastname, and up until Saturday he’s always referred to me by my first name – which is not Red), 2) He actually lifted up a lock of my hair as I chatted with him and started to rub it between his fingers, 3) He mentioned how good I looked SEVERAL times, and 4) He suggested I join him on a business trip he's taking next month to Ireland. Yup, I have the heebie jeebies.

-Speaking of awkward, I think I may have a problem on my hands. As my regular readers know, I have this platonic friend named John who I’m very close to. He’s great – a Yankees fan, smart, stable, kind, funny. Just a good buddy that I’ve known for years. And except for some weirdness last year, we’ve always been on the same page concerning our relationship. Mainly, we don’t have sex.

And this has always worked for us. I’ve dated other guys (and talked about it), he’s dated other girls (and talked about it), and we've never dated each other. Sure I always flirted with him (sometimes mercilessly), but it never meant anything – it was all just fun practice. John was my friend. And honestly, (after a fucking decade of friendship) I thought he had accepted that.

Sure, there were clues that I may have been deluding myself – like the fact that ALL of the women I’ve ever introduced him to have come back to me with some variation of: ‘He’s so great – cute, smart, funny. But you realize he’s in love with you, right?’ Or my mom’s near constant reminder of ‘Redhead, you have to make sure you don’t lead John on.’ But you know what I say? Ignorance is bliss, if it aint broke don’t fix it, and…whatever other platitudes might work here.

Or I did say that. Now I think all this denial has finally caught up with me. I’m fucked.

See, John was at the wedding on Saturday, and NY Guy wasn’t. John wanted to dance – I was drunk enough to comply. John wanted to fetch me drinks – I wasn’t going to stop him. John suggested we get together for dinner next week (just the two of us) – I said that sounded great. John commented that he didn’t want to hear any more about NY Guy (when I started talking about him) – I said no problem. Everything was fine. It was all good. And then…it wasn’t.

There we were, sitting down towards the end of the night while I ate his cake (I love cake), when John leaned in and said, ‘I got a hotel room for the night. You could stay with me instead of going home.’ (Choking…can’t breathe.) Wait, what?! Where the fuck had that come from? My parents were there for fuck’s sake – they were giving me a ride home. What did John expect me to do, tell them ‘No thanks – instead of going home and sleeping in my own bed, I think I’d rather stay in a hotel room with John, let him have his way with me, try to act like the thought of him touching me doesn’t freak me out, and then do the walk of shame in MY BRIDESMAID’S DRESS tomorrow morning!’ I don’t think so.

So I opened my mouth to crack a joke, maybe pretend I didn’t know what he was saying (even though I did), and…nothing. What do you say to not hurt and/or embarrass the other person in this situation? I’d never rejected anyone that I really cared about. What do you say when you know that the wrong words or tone can literally destroy a friendship? I mean, he looked so sincere and (shudder) vulnerable.

Well, I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, I just know what I did. And what I did was mumble some gibberish (seriously, I’m not even sure it came out sounding like English) about my parents (hey, you’re never too old to use your parents as an excuse), before throwing in an awkwardly worded sentence that roughly translated to: ‘Let’s talk next week at dinner.’

So, now I need to have something to say by the time we go out for dinner (since I think my evasive maneuvers are finally getting old). Right now, I’ve still got nothing. And I was hoping my readers (especially the males) might have some suggestions. Otherwise I’m seriously screwed (I don’t pull off sweet and understanding well – especially when ad libbing). So, um, save me.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Today’s Topic: Porn

You all suck! I asked for a little help coming up with something to write about, gave you a perfect opening to ask me anything, and all I got was ‘show us your breasts’ and ‘how do women feel about porn?’ What the fuck?!

Well, since none of you are ever going to see my breasts (seriously, let it go dudes), I chose to share my thoughts on porn instead. So let’s have at it.

As some of you know (and some of you don’t – go check it out), this topic came up on onthevirg’s blog yesterday – one of his friends had been caught by his wife/girlfriend…um, ENJOYING porn on the Internet. This led to a discussion (at least in the comments section) on whether this sort of thing bothers women. I jumped right in with my opinion – it’s a fun subject, what can I say – and now I’m following through with more information at virg’s request. (Although I don’t have a poll of my friends handy right this second – sorry.) Still, this is something we have discussed in the past (after all, every man likes porn) – so I’m going to take a go at it anyway.

On the subject of women catching their men surfing porn sites/watching porn: If a woman has any sense of humor/grasp on reality whatsoever (and seriously, run if she doesn’t), she just doesn’t care if you’re watching porn. As long as it’s nothing truly unusual – ie. men, young boys, VERY young girls – chances are she’s going to be unsurprised to hear you’re a viewer, and downright amused if she stumbles upon you in the act. You masturbate, we get it. We masturbate too – get over it. Orgasms are fun.

Now, if you want to know if women like porn themselves…all I can say to that is it really depends on the woman. Almost all of my friends (wait, no, all of them) has had a boyfriend or husband (and yes, we discuss these things with each other), whip out an adult film during sex. Do we get off on it? Some of us, yeah. Do we get offended by it? No, as long as it doesn’t become a necessity EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Scientifically (from what I’ve been told – God knows I’m no scientist), men are more visual than women. That’s why pictures and videos can be more stimulating for them. But that doesn’t mean women don’t like to look. And it doesn’t mean watching other people have sex doesn’t turn us on. I think it just means (generally) we don’t seek it out the way men do. Now if we happen to stumble upon it…

A story: A friend of mine and I were discussing buying new vibrators (agh, I can’t believe I’m telling you this), and we went online to do a little research. Anyway, we happened upon this site called adameve.com that has EVERYTHING sex related. And in the midst of some VERY entertaining conversation (seriously, there’s comedy gold in there if you’re in the right frame of mind), our browsing turned to buying. So we’re getting ready to pay for our…um, toys…and this little window comes up – we had just qualified for free gifts with purchase. Oookay. What were our choices? Well, most of the choices were actually DVDs. Adult DVDs. There were some other options too, but we weren’t really into those. So, long story short I ended up choosing a fine ‘film’ with a title that made me laugh out loud, and my friend chose something with Jenna Jameson in it – mainly because that was someone she’d actually heard of.

Now, the question today becomes: If my film hadn’t been a freebie – if they’d, say, simply offered me a really good deal on it while I was checking out, would I have then purchased it to…ahem, have around just in case I ‘needed’ it? Hmmm…nah, I don’t think so. I mean, I’d spent my entire life up until that point without owning a porno, and I can’t say I missed it.

Why? Well, most porn – for me at least – is more funny than hot. I think I see it like most women do – that is to say, I think too much when I’m watching it (unless I have company). I don’t get lost in the sex and ignore everything else. Often the ‘everything else’ is what I’m most focused on. I mean, I’m sorry but I really do need a story (I’m not even talking about the godawful acting/writing here) – so the films that are just one sex scene after another with nothing holding it together? Way too boring for me. Plus, the clothes are so bad, the women all sound like they’re faking it, and the guys generally don’t do it for me.

Still, having said all that, I truly don’t hate it. It is what it is, and men love it. And that’s great – all the more power to them. (Talk about a safe – and in my mind totally acceptable – way of seeing other women naked.) So to sum up, if you’re wondering whether porn bothers me or my friends, the answer is: Obviously not. I can’t imagine it bothers most modern women. But if you’re wondering if we enjoy it, the answer is: I don’t know. That’s where things get complicated. Honestly it really does depend on the woman; I imagine some women get really into it. Others may simply enjoy it in a very different way than men do.

Either way, all the guys out there who are worried about being ‘found out’ should calm down – women aren’t as easily shocked as you think we are (and we aren’t stupid). So relax and just enjoy yourselves.

And with that, I’m going to stop talking – I think I’ve shared enough for today. Have a great weekend everyone.

Update: It just warms my heart to see that (now) when people google things like 'porn' and 'women fuck women,' my lovely blog comes up.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Tomorrow

Update: The dude in my office who never did anything but stare at my chest - fired! That my friends is justice (although I never actually said anything to anyone about it). So fine, let's call it karma.

Anyway, I'm feeling lazier than usual (who even thought that was possible?), and have decided to make you guys do some work for once (please, please don't let me down - I hate having to think when I don't want to).

OK, here's your job: Email/post comments stating what you want me to write about. Now it can be a question and answer thing (you ask me whatever you want - I decide if I want to answer you) or it can just be you suggesting a topic that you want my opinion on. Use your imaginations. After all, you must be curious about something - me, life, the universe, whatnot. (God knows I find myself fascinating.)

So let loose - hit me with your best shot (fire away). Fuck, that song's going to be in my head for the rest of the day now.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

More Matches

So, after some time off from match.com to deal with my ghastliness (I’m looking awesome today by the way – NY Guy looked ecstatic when he saw me this morning!), my hiatus came to an end yesterday. With an email from Christine. The subject of the email: Help! The body of the email: Be the bad guy for me, please!

Hmmm, okay. What do I need to do? (Yes, I really am that willing to do her dirty work.) Turns out that since Saturday Christine had gotten 26 emails/winks on Match. And she felt like she should reply to everyone (because she’s a nice person). I am not a nice person, and had told her in no uncertain terms DON’T do that. So now she needed me.

No problem. I can play the bad guy (easy peasy). I’d just go on and delete all the losers, and then she could reply to anyone I’ve left to her heart’s content. Just call me the All-powerful Dating God! (Shut up.)

So I logged on to her Match account and started to weed through the guys (it took forever – if I’m going to put in this much time, shouldn’t I be the one getting laid in the end?). Anyway, my process was: a) Delete everyone who didn’t pass the picture test immediately – it doesn’t make sense to waste time reading the profiles of people who we would never, ever, ever want to see naked (no matter how good their personalities may be), then b) Read the profiles of everyone left over. Be picky – with 26 guys responding every 3 days or so, Christine (I) can afford to be picky. If I don’t have a little bit of a crush on him by the end of his profile, he gets cut.

In the end, that left Christine with 5. (And let me just say that no, I’m not living vicariously through Christine right now. I just happen to be better at this whole Internet communication/writing/flirting thing than she is…fuck. Fine, I may be enjoying this more than I should. And yes, I do want 2 of her guys for myself – so what?)

However, since I’m always thinking of my readers (do you guys notice how often I lie to you at this point?) I did take notes yesterday. For your entertainment. Hell, I even copied and pasted some lines from the profiles I particularly enjoyed. That’s what you’ll find below – actual quotes from profiles (I didn’t edit these AT ALL), along with my thoughts. (Oh, but the first two are just general observations that I had to share with someone.) Anyway, enjoy:

-Is every guy’s favorite food sushi? I swear out of 26 guys, 24 of them put sushi underneath Favorite Things. Is there a hidden meaning to this, or do all men just really like raw fish? Fuck. Never mind.

-There is not bigger turn-on to me than the ‘strategically placed tattoo’ option under Body Art. Yes, I have a thing for tattoos (that’s well documented), but the idea of a STRATEGICALLY placed tattoo just kills me – it makes me think about having to go looking for it. Oh, and the fact that Christine doesn’t really like tattoos – not taken into account at all yesterday.

-Favorite Hot Spots: Anyplace with a beat you can dance to.
Redhead: Cheesy. Possibly sincere, but cheesy. Also, that’s just not going to work for Christine. She’s…clumsy (to say the least – it cracks me up). The amount of alcohol required in getting her to dance (badly) is substantial. And if she dated someone who liked to dance…well, let’s just say Christine’s liver deserves better. (No joke, the last time I saw her dance she’d had so much to drink that she also almost agreed to have a threesome with a friend of mine and his girlfriend – and that is NOT Christine’s style.)

-For Fun: Punch out Bush supporters.
Redhead: Okay...funny. Also weird and extreme. My thoughts here: Being politically aware and having beliefs is great. Making comments like this ON A DATING SITE is strange. Couldn’t the same thing be accomplished by simply clicking the ‘liberal’ option for himself and his potential dates on the right hand side of the screen? I thought so.

-I’d like to start off by saying I’m much better looking in person than my pictures would indicate.
Redhead: I actually read some variation of this a few times. My thoughts: The pictures you have were enough for me to take the time to read you profile. So shut up! What are you, a girl? Are you the type to spend more time getting ready for a night out than I am? Is your ego that fragile that you felt the need to add that clarification? Wuss. Pass.

-On the weekends I enjoy grabbing a few spirits (thats another word for cocktails!) with friends.
Redhead: ‘Really? Is that what ‘spirits’ means? Because I wasn’t sure – it’s such an unusual word. I mean, wow! You’re so smart!!! (High-pitched squeal.) Of course, you’re not smart enough to know ‘thats’ is spelled ‘that’s’ but whatever. Fuck it. I want you!’ AND…scene. (I wanted to kick this guy’s ass.)

-I am seeking a woman who is smart, atteractive, funny, and elegant with a strong sense of virtue.
Redhead: Can’t…stop…laughing. Where to begin? Well, I am curious what ‘atteractive’ means (why did he not explain it like the previous guy?), but I’m thinking it wouldn’t matter anyway. You see, he requires a woman with a ‘strong sense of virtue,’ and while I love Christine (I do!), she…um…doesn’t really fit that description. Neither do I though! (Thank God.) Ah well. Moving on…

-Hi Gals, thanks for taking the time to read this. I am looking for someone who continuously lies to me, treats me bad and tells me I am ugly… (NOT) If you her, thanks but no thanx.
Redhead: Funny…NOT. (The fact that he actually pulled the ‘NOT’ thing – which I hadn’t heard since elementary school – was actually pretty amusing. In a sad, pathetic way.) But the real gem of this (besides the whole ‘I’m funny, I am! Please like me and find me witty!’ tone) is the end. ‘If you her’ mixed with a ‘thanx’ – fucking priceless. It makes you wonder if this guy is lazy or stupid. Wait, why choose one?

-I like a woman who is secure with herself, although I dislike arrogance.
Redhead: Damnit, that sucks! Why do all the guys dislike arrogance? Wait, do you think it was a bad idea to put down ‘I’m arrogant, self-centered, and a complete bitch…(NOT)’ in Christine’s profile? Shit.

-Love to…spend time w/ my family & friends because they’re extremely important to me heck knows where i’d be without them.
Redhead: Agh…the editor in me can’t take it! OK, first of all, ‘heck?’ Really? And is it possible that he doesn’t realize ‘I’d’ ALWAYS has a capital I in it? These family and friends – did they not send him to school? Is he a story of child abuse just waiting to come out? Because I’m thinking that ‘without them’ he might have learned how to form a grammatically correct sentence. With them…

-I am attracted to women that enjoys being thier own special selves...not trying to be someone they are not.
Redhead: I don’t even know what this means. And I’m not getting into the whole plural/singular thing either (that’s the least of my worries here). But…I know it’s touchy-feely crap and all, but I still don’t get it. What is he saying? I don’t understand!

-I have been described as a smart, funny, unsuppressedly youthful, a great dancer and good kisser.
Redhead: …OK, I’m good. Needed to have a quick chuckle there. Now let’s get to it – um, well, I’m glad he’s been described as a good kisser. That must have been nice for him. And it is very kind of him to share that with the rest of us. I guess. But seriously, let’s get to the important shit: What the fuck is ‘unsuppressedly?’ No, wait – that’s not the most important thing. The most important thing is WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? Where did they come from? I mean FUCK – if I wasn’t worried about the state of the educational system in the U.S. before, I certainly am now. Jesus.

-Hi…I like snowboarding, girl and beer…thats pretty much it.
Redhead: What could I possibly add to this?

-So anyway, me with 200 characters…Sounds more like my last big birthday party than my personal intro.
Redhead: And…we’re done.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Shut Up

OK, I’m going to continue to slack off and give you a half-assed post today. And if you don’t like it, you can bite me. I’ve officially been pushed to my limit.

What’s the story you ask? Fine, I’ll tell you quickly just to gross you out (since you all should be tortured just like I have). Where to start…well, as of Saturday my eye wasn’t really much better than it had been on Monday last week. So I was (not surprisingly) setting new records in pissiness. And in an effort to avoid my boyfriend (who was just trying to help but was starting to get on my nerves) I went into Jersey to visit my parents (I had been planning on going home Sunday for Father’s Day anyway).

Long story short, my mom (upon seeing me when I got home) knew something was very wrong. Like seriously wrong. And I’d like to point out at this point that this was more than my fucking doctor (the bitch who hates me for being a smoker) had deduced the day before. That bitch had told me to simply continue soaking and putting ointment on the fucking eye, and eventually it would heal.

Moron. Incompetent, fucking, moron. (Guess who’s no longer my doctor?)

Anyway, my mother knew better. She (the one without the medical degree) took one look at me, and immediately got on the phone with an ophthalmologist friend of hers (after making the obligatory grossed out noises over my appearance of course). Yes, I let my mommy take care of the problem – fuck off.

So her ophthalmologist friend gets the picture that this sounds like it’s an emergency (or at least that my mom is not going to leave him alone until he agrees to see me) and has us meet him in his office a half-hour later. Five minutes after arriving and taking a close look at me, he proclaims me hideous (yay, that’s the word I had used too!) and…well, I won’t go too into it now, but I ended up needing surgery. ON MY EYELID. The spider bite had gotten infected (don’t ask), and he needed to go in and clean the infection out.

And here’s where I pose the question: Have you ever gotten a shot in your eye? Looked up and seen a needle coming at your eye? Anyone? Anyone? WELL FUCK YOU. I have.

It hurts.

But I’m over it (total lie). And now that I’m (thankfully) no longer crying tears of blood (which was AWESOME by the way), I think the worst is (finally) behind me. I’m told I’ll even be back to looking normal in a week or so. And this time I actually think it might be true!

In the meantime, I need help coming up with another word to describe myself – hideous seems a little overdone now. I’m thinking: Revolting; Unsightly; Gruesome. I don’t know – feel free to offer up your own suggestions. As for me, my grody eye and I are going to try to get some work done (can you believe I’m in the office today?). Yes, I may be the best employee ever (another lie).

Happy fuckin’ Monday.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Christine’s ‘Match’

How did I not realize the sheer entertainment value of Internet dating sites until now? I’m telling you, 1 bottle (OK, magnum) of wine, a good friend, and match.com are all you need for roughly 3 hours of solid laughter. No joke, my stomach was killing me by the time Christine left – about the same time NY Guy came over to find me completely smashed (with eye ointment all over my face). I know – how I haven’t been dumped at this point really is a mystery for the ages.

Anyway, back to match.com. Let me just say it now: I was wrong. I did not have high expectations when it came to Internet dating. I thought last night would be a chore. I thought virtually pimping my friend to random strangers around the Web would be weird and/or boring. But I was wrong. It was AWESOME!

So okay, the story – narratives are good grasshopper. (Yes, before you ask, I am a little loopy today.) Um, well, Christine came over to my apartment last night (as you know), with wine (score), and only spent about 40 minutes making fun of my (still deformed) face before we got down to business.

We opened the wine, discussed some incredibly intimate things that I’m sure NY Guy didn’t want me sharing, and waited for my laptop to update itself (Christine always does that when she’s over because I never get around to pushing the update button on my own). And then…we were ready to match.

I (of course) insisted we check out the merchandise before committing to the site – hey, as the commercial says, ‘It’s okay to look’ (wait, did I just make that up?). Either way, that’s what being an informed customer is all about (I am SO full of shit today). Wait, where was I? Oh right, the search.

I guess the most basic search you can do is the gender (male please), age (25-38?), and location (within 20 miles of Manhattan – yes, we’re too fucking lazy for farther) search. I punched it in, and voila! Men. PAGES and PAGES of men. With pictures! This was like the best Internet shopping idea EVER.

I was sold – “Give me your credit card number – we’re signing you up right now.” And I wasn’t kidding. I couldn’t click on these guys and see more pictures until Christine at least filled out a profile. Fuck! How long did that take?

Well, as it turns out, it took me (including drinking time) about 30 minutes – and that’s only because Christine kept censoring me. (Oh, and don’t blame me for taking over – her writing was coming off as too fucking serious. Sincere is fine, but boring is boring.) In the end, I basically filled out everything from her vital statistics (hair – blonde, eyes – blue, turn-ons – tattoos, body piercings, erotica, money…what?) to her ‘About Me’ sales pitch. She got to fill out her ‘Favorite Things’ section after freaking out when I wrote ‘cock.’ (I was just kidding! There’s no way any man would read all the way through her profile to get to that part anyway, Jesus!)

Anyway, eventually we were in. And it was time to play. Oh and I played my friends, yes I did – when Christine fully realizes how many ‘Winks’ and emails I sent out while she kept running to the bathroom (what the hell? – I’m usually the one with a bladder the size of a pea), she’s going to kill me.

So, thoughts along the way:

1) Pictures are fun – more pictures please.

2) Since when did men get so tiny? According to Christine (who heard this from someone experienced in the Internet dating thing), every guy lies about his height (or at least the ones under 6’ do). Apparently, we’re supposed to know to subtract 2 inches from what their profile says. For example, if a guy says he’s 5’9, he’s really 5’7. What does this mean to Christine? Well, in the immortal words of Seinfeld, the majority of the men on Match are “Undatable!” Christine is taller than I am – and she likes heels almost as much. Height needs to be taken into account.

3) If more people knew about these sites, blogs would get less traffic – because this shit is funny (unintentionally of course). I could go and just surf around Match all day. Blogs, you now have competition for my ‘at desk’ entertainment.

4) Weeding out the losers I meet every day on the street should be as easy as it is on these sites. I mean, these profiles are gold. I’m thinking about demanding a writing sample from all potential dates from now on. Some ‘Oh Fuck No!’ mistakes that I saw over and over again:

-Are you a moron? Basic grammar is and should be given at least a passing nod. I’m talking: capitalization (we like to start sentences with a capital letter in the English language); punctuation (I’m not talking semicolons or anything crazy – a period in between sentences will do); contractions (‘thats’ is actually written ‘that’s’ you fucking morons); and my own personal pet peeve – a lot (by all that is holy, will someone teach the world that ‘a lot’ is TWO FUCKING WORDS?).

-The text message/acronym/emoticon/whatever-the-fuck-they’re-called usage must stop. While dashing off a quick message to a friend, I will accept a ‘☺’ or a LOL. But they have no place in a piece of writing where you are presenting yourself to a potential date. So cut it out.

-You know what’s not funny? Constantly trying to be funny isn’t funny. I mean, hey, I’m all for being inappropriate and joking around (especially on a dating site), but even I realize that at some point you have to say SOMETHING real. So stop being too cool for one second – you’re on match.com for christ’s sake.

-Do not ever, EVER, write the words ‘work hard, play hard.’ I don’t care how hot you are, that’s just unacceptable.

-Don’t do what I’m doing here – if you feel the need to bitch and moan, get a blog. A dating site is not the place to complain (this is such a basic rule of dating, yet men kept breaking it in their profiles – no wonder they need help finding someone). Of course most of the world annoys you. Of course it pisses you off when people write ‘alot’ instead of ‘a lot.’ Of course there are lots of things you don’t want in a partner. But why don’t you stick with telling me what you do want. Because you’re starting to annoy me.

-I love the shirtless pictures – I do. But…they are a little cheesy/creepy/too-much-too-soon. Stick with pictures where you’re dressed, and save the nudity for the first date. Kidding!

-Dude, I don’t want to read your life story. A paragraph is perfect, but anything more than that and I start to wonder why I (well, Christine actually) should bother meeting you – apparently we’ve already learned everything there is to know about you. Brevity people. Brevity. (And yes, I see the irony of ME talking about brevity – but trust me when I tell you I can do it if I try. Now shut up.)

-However…don’t make it too short. I need to think you’re capable of putting SOME effort into something. I guess what I’m trying to say is – as with my grammar point – if you’re going to put that little effort into something that is essentially an advertisement for YOU, how much could you possibly be willing to put into a relationship? I mean, I threw Christine’s profile together in a half hour, and that was with distractions (and alcohol). So stop being such a lazy ass.

-Oh, and we want to know what your income is, so fill that part out and shut up. The hottest women are always the shallowest, it’s a fact of life.

And…

FUCK! Look how long this is. OK, I’m stopping. I may add more thoughts at some later date, but I need to go have a life now. Like, right now. I’m off to Yankees Stadium to scare small children with my hideousness, watch baseball, and drink heavily with my friend John. So talk to you later.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Update: Ugly Redhead

OK, went to the doctor. (By the way, onthevirg – thanks for COMPLETELY freaking me out before I left for that appointment.) Anyway, it turns out that I was in fact bitten by a spider – the doctor even gave me the names of a couple of culprits, but since I don’t know a damn thing about spiders and don’t care to learn (especially now), I didn’t pay any attention to what she said. Basically our entire conversation on the topic consisted of me asking if she could fix me, her assuring me that she could, and me collecting medicine.

Oh, and speaking of medicine – I left the doctor’s office looking worse that I did when I arrived. How is that even possible, you ask? Well, I’m blaming the ointment she slathered all over the eye (and I’m going to have to continue applying). My thoughts upon looking at myself in the mirror – ewww, I’m all shiny and goopy.

On the plus side, she also gave me this really strong form of benadryl (for the swelling), and I’m told I’ll probably be unconscious a lot for the next few days. So, I may just (fingers crossed) sleep through the majority of my ugly time. But follow-up appointment is on Friday, so I should know more then.

One thought: If I still look like this on Friday, I’m having a breakdown. My ego is just too weak and bruised to handle a whole week of this. I mean, when I left work yesterday my boss actually said, “Why don’t you work from home tomorrow? I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.” The non-bullshit translation to this is: You’re grossing everyone in the office out. Stay away until you resemble a human being again.

Sad.

Oh, and since my apartment was being exterminated yesterday (yeah, kill the little fuckers!), I ended up being homeless AND ugly. But that’s what boyfriends are for. (They might as well serve a purpose before you dump them, I say – kidding. Jesus.) Anyway, I crashed at NY Guy’s with my cat (don’t worry, he offered – I’m not that bad). And while that normally would make him my hero and give him lots and lots of points in my book, he screwed himself pretty quickly on that one. Want to know what he did? Sure you do.

Upon my arriving at NY Guy’s apartment, this is the conversation that took place:

Redhead: (Walking in with a greasy/ointmenty swollen eye and NO makeup) I’m hideous, I know.
NY Guy: (This is a direct quote) Aw babe, that’s okay. I can easily go a few days without ever needing to look above your neck.

Yup. Funny? Absolutely. Cute? Kind of, yeah. Bad timing? It would appear so. I made little pissed off noises before collapsing on his couch and passing out. (Note: I normally have a better sense of humor than that. I also believe in laughing, joking, and teasing during bad times. Having said that – I was cranky when I got to his place; so I make no apologies…fuck, okay I do. I apologized to him when I came to – I HAD just gotten ointment all over one of his blankets after all.)

Anyway, I dragged my ass home to my bug and arachnid free (supposedly) apartment this morning, and except for the huge gash I have on my finger – cat freaked out while at NY Guy’s (hey, at least I know she’s had her shots) – I’m pretty good. Still ugly (oh yeah – apparently the swelling reaches its peak at 48 hours, so I’m right there), but good. Well, actually I’m feeling a little nauseous, but the doc told me that’s normal, so I’m not worrying.

Oh, did I also forget to mention that the doc thinks I have a stomach ulcer? Not kidding – and the hits just keep on coming.

It seems that while still only in my 20s, I’ve become a regular little science experiment. The story: It all started with the doctor insisting she weigh me at the beginning of the appointment (why, when it was my swollen face that was the problem, I had no idea). Either way, turns out I’d lost some weight since my physical a couple of months ago. She mentioned it, and I told her it kind of hurts when I eat – so I’ve been eating less (duh). She asked me to describe the pain, I did, and she commented that it sounded like an ulcer. Some home remedies she suggested: stop smoking (I did! Sort of), cut out caffeine (yeah right), and cut out alcohol (is she fucking nuts?!). Long story short: If the pain continues, she can give me some medicine, but I have to try the home remedies first. I’m thinking I’ll just suck up the pain at this point. Seriously – I can’t deal with myself at this point so I’m just going to start ignoring the problems. (Yes, I’m stubborn AND stupid.)

Anyway, that’s all I have for now. I’m definitely doing the whole match.com thing with Christine tonight though, so I’ll have an update on that tomorrow (unless another catastrophe takes place). In the meantime, adios.

Monday, June 11, 2007

I’m A Hideous Freak

Yeah, you’re going to have to wait another day for the Internet dating thing – and don’t even think about complaining. As of yesterday morning, my entire focus has been on not horrifying small children with my ugly, ugly face. And don’t even try to tell me I’m overreacting – you haven’t seen me. My cat won’t even come near me right now.

(Who knew I was so vain? I actually considered calling into work ‘ugly’ instead of ‘sick’ today. But I realized I needed to get out of my apartment – God knows what might be lurking in there.)

What am I talking about, you ask? What happened, you ask? Well, short version of how I went from an attractive woman to a monstrous freak in one weekend:

Upon going to bed on Saturday night, I looked like myself. I’d had a relatively low-key date night with NY Guy, and around 1am we fell asleep. (That’s all the information you’re getting or need – suffice it to say, nothing unusual happened.) Then, Sunday morning came. And when I woke up, something was…off.

There I was sprawled out in bed, minding my own business. Then I decided to stretch and tried to open my eyes. Operative word in that last sentence: tried. You see, my right eye wasn’t opening. At all. And this wasn’t the usual ‘my eyes are kind of swollen and itchy from allergies’ not opening. This was ‘Ow! What the fuck?! My right eye feels like it’s going to explode and I can’t open it’ feeling. Never felt that before? Well, neither had I.

“Something’s not right,” I groaned as I began to prod at my face. ‘Yup, that feels like some serious swelling,’ I thought. ‘Okay, remain calm.’ Yeah right.

Kicking NY Guy, I switched from confused and curious to totally starting to panic. “Wake up,” I said (wimpered). “Something’s wrong.”

“Hmm?” he mumbled into his pillow. That earned him a poke. “OK, what?” he asked, beginning to come to as he rolled to face me.

Then he opened his eyes and actually looked at me – and came fully awake. Sitting up, he studied my face for a few seconds before finally saying, “Um…”

“Um? What’s ‘um’?” No answer. “What’s on my face?” I finally asked (shrieked).

Now I don’t know what I was hoping to hear at this point, but it wasn’t laughter. Only that’s what I got. A lot of laughter. NY Guy…was laughing…at me.

Deciding against yelling at him (yet), I got up and went into the bathroom. And that’s where I saw it for the first time. Painful, swollen, red, ‘baseball eye’ (as I’ve taken to calling it). I literally looked (look actually – it hasn’t gone away) like I was hit in the face with a baseball. (Or a fist if the sympathetic looks I was getting on the train this morning were any indication.)

“What is that?!” I screamed, wetting a towel with cold water and holding it to my eye. “What happened last night?”

NY Guy (having regained control of himself), calmly yelled into me “I don’t know. Come back in here and let me have another look.”

Not actually suspecting he was to blame (but wanting to give him a hard time for the laughing), I walked back into the bedroom and asked point blank, “Did you elbow me in the face while we were sleeping?”

He didn’t even bat an eye – NY Guy already knows the trick with me is to ignore me half the time – instead he shook his head and pulled me down next to him. “You’re insane,” he pointed out as he began to poke at the eye. “What are the odds that you wouldn’t wake up if I hit you THAT hard?”

Damnit, good point. Plus, if one of us was going to hurt the other one in their sleep, the hurter would most likely be me (he would be the hurtee). I tend to get very protective of my space while sleeping.

So then what was it?

Well, the overriding theory is it’s a spider bite. Both NY Guy (not a doctor) and my mother (giving her diagnosis over the phone) think that’s the most logical explanation. (NY Guy wants me to go to a real doctor today – fat chance, I’m still mad at mine.) My thoughts? Well, I don’t really have any on what could have caused this. But if I have some mutant, killer spider in my apartment that can do shit like this to my face, I need to move.

So let’s be clear here – I’m horrifying. I look like some cartoon version of an ugly person. And I’m embarrassed to be me right now (call me shallow – I don’t give a fuck). I even put my sunglasses on while on the train this morning (yes, I was THAT person). And I don’t care. I’m allowed to feel very, very sorry for myself right now. (Any comforting words you may have for me would be much appreciated – but be warned, any sarcastic and mean commenters will be yelled at.)

So for today, no Internet dating or Christine stories. I am going to just sit at my desk and think good, non-swollen thoughts. Feel free to offer up miracle cures if you have any.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Horror Show

Not many women in the history of the world have had worse luck with men than my friend Christine. I mean that – this chick should write a book. My issues with men are nothing compared to hers (mainly because mine are almost exclusively in my own head). Hers are warranted. Some examples of what I mean:

1) As many of my readers know, Christine and I were roommates in college. Anyway, during our second year living together, her boyfriend got drunk, came over to our apartment, and threw our phone book at the sliding glass door to our balcony. Glass everywhere. Then, he had the nerve to act surprised when she wouldn’t let him come over ever again. For weeks after that, we were kept up night after night while he pounded on the door, begging to be let in.

2) The very same boyfriend from #1 (Guy #1 and #2 if you will) also had the annoying habit of hitting on me. (She doesn’t know about this.) The first time he did it, he actually tried to convince me that all he wanted was to see me naked – I ‘could shower’ and he would ‘just watch.’ I said no. The next time he got drunk and actually tried to touch me. I didn’t let him. The third time he finally just came out and begged me to have sex with him. I turned him down and told my boyfriend what was going on. Guy #1 and #2 stopped bothering me after that.

3) Right before we graduated from college, I introduced Christine to a guy who I thought was a sweetie. (Well, he came over and fixed the vacuum cleaner for me once, and he would watch really bad movies with me when my boyfriend wouldn’t – that kind of meant he was a nice guy. Right?) Anyway, he and Christine really seemed to hit it off. Or at least they did until he slept with her and then kind of disappeared. Turns out he’d had a girlfriend I wasn’t aware of (oops – holy bad reconnaissance, Redhead). BUT, he did end up breaking up with that girlfriend. To be with Christine. So it all worked out. Sort of…

4) 4 years later, Christine was still dating Guy #3. He was in law school, and she was in business school, and they seemed to be on their way to getting married. In fact, when he was offered a job with a firm in San Francisco, Christine turned down an offer from a company in New York to be with him – this was something they had discussed.

Anyway, it was around that time that they went on vacation – she paid since she had more money at the time – and for 2 weeks, everything was great. She called me from the beach to check in and mentioned how well they were getting along. They shopped. She bought him gifts. And then, on the last day of the trip, he broke up with her. Without warning. Big time. I believe the words ‘I think I can do better’ were actually used. Oh, and he mentioned that he had been planning to end things before they had even left on the trip – but I guess he decided to let her pay for him to get away first. (And the worst part of this story? She then had to sit next to him for the entire 10-hour flight home.) Yeah, not surprisingly they never spoke again.

5) Upon returning home from The Dumping, Christine turned to her friends. One in particular was really great – a guy from business school who did wonders for her (understandably) bruised ego. (He’d had a crush on her for over a year and saw this as his opportunity.) He said everything right: He told her she deserved better. He pointed out what a jerk Guy #3 and #4 was. He said he would never have done that to her. He said there were guys who would kill to be with her (and he made himself Example A). And you know what? It helped. Christine bounced back. And finally, after a few months had passed, she gave in and started dating him. All was good with the world. Until about 3 weeks after they ‘consummated’ the relationship, that is. Then the shit hit the fan.

Christine went to class one morning at the business school and was told the fresh gossip. It seems that Guy #5 had been a very naughty boy the night before. With another girl from their class – one of Christine’s friends (or course). In front of everyone. At a bar. Before they left together. So what did Christine do? She confronted him. (That worked out well.)

Christine learned a lot during that conversation. Some Guy #5 gems: a) I never promised you anything, b) I want to continue seeing [the other girl], c) I still think you’re The One – I just don’t want that right now, d) I’m sure I can get you back once I’m finally ready – remember how persistent I was the last time around? And I got you, didn't I? You’ll see.

(Shudder.)

6) After graduating from business school, Christine moved to Chicago for work. And she didn’t know anyone there. So when she met this guy – good looking, rich, charming – she was thrilled. He seemed great. He treated her really well. He called all the time. Seemed really open with his emotions. Even told her he loved her after just 2 months together. (Note: This freaked me out, but Christine thought it was sweet.) Anyway, after the ‘I love you’ bombshell, she started to think he was serious (silly girl). Then… Picture this: 2 weeks later, it’s New Years Eve, they have plans to go to a party, and Christine is all dressed up to go out. Her phone rings. It’s Guy #6. He’s calling to say he’s not coming over. Ever. Sorry, but she’s (and I’m not kidding about this quote) ‘not in his league.’

Take a moment and think about that. Yup.

Guess who spent their New Years Eve on the phone with her? That’s right – Redhead (see, not heartless).


Anyway, that was all just a lead-in to tomorrow’s post on Internet dating. You see, Christine is coming over tonight, and we’re signing her up for match.com – I figure she can’t do any worse than she’s done in the past. I predict drinking, and me filling out most of the stuff for her tonight. I can’t fucking wait. You’ll get my impressions tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Update: Alright, Christine and I couldn't get our acts together on Thursday. We'll be dealing with the whole Match thing over the weekend, and if you check back on Monday you can get my thoughts on Internet dating then.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Quickie Update

Let’s keep this short and sweet (for a change). Here’s an update at on where things stand today:

-It seems I slept with a mosquito last night. Now the bites are itching like a bitch – one behind my left knee, one on my left wrist, two on my right ankle, and the mother of them all right between my shoulder blades – in fact, I think I just threw out a shoulder trying to scratch that last one. If I catch that little fucker in my apartment again, I’m going to kill it twice.

-I have a new commercial that makes me want to hurt someone. It’s that Avis commercial for their GPS system – the one that’s almost constantly playing on ESPN (so many of you have probably seen it). You know the one: There’s this loser driving, and the GPS automated woman comes on and tells him there’s traffic ahead. He’s then so overcome with appreciation that he begins to list everything she’s ever done for him – like finding him a great Chinese restaurant – and this all leads up to his telling the fucking COMPUTER IN HIS CAR that he’s in love with her. And, to top off the skin chilling horror, this annoying song ‘Turn Around’ comes on and plays. You know what I say to this piece of shit commercial? From now on, I will go out of my way to never use Avis and will recommend that all of my friends do the same. Advertising at its best my friends.

-Well that didn’t take long. Um, so it seems I have a crush on someone who is not my boyfriend. Now before you call me a whore (or after, whatever), let me explain. This crush is not a new thing. You see, in New York there exists this thing that I like to call a train buddy: A person who gets on the train at the same station as you, gets off the train at the same station as you, and seems to be on the same schedule as you. So, that basically means you see this person (who you’ve never spoken to and don’t really know), almost every day. And you get used to seeing them.

As it turns out, my train buddy is a hot guy. (Shocker.) And I am VERY attracted to him. (I know, I know, I need help, blah, blah, blah.) And while I still have never talked to him, I don’t really think of him as a stranger – I see him too often for that. He’s more like my own personal eye candy that I share glances of acknowledgement with every morning. But today…today, he smiled at me. And my stomach fluttered.

Now you may be thinking: A smile? Are we back in high school? Well…yup, I guess we are. Because I melted. And after all the ignoring I’ve gotten from my train buddy in the past – except for the glances of acknowledgement each morning, he’s always essentially ignored me (which intrigues me no end) – I couldn’t believe the sparks.

The story of what happened is pretty boring – we got on the same train like we always do, and we were standing on opposite sides of the car facing each another. But when I glanced up at him our eyes met, and instead of looking away he held my eyes for a long beat before giving me this shy smile. And that was all it took. I was gone. I now officially have a crush on my train buddy – it was that easy.

Now what?

Monday, June 4, 2007

DC Weekend

OK, so I went to DC last weekend. And it was fun – different than what I’d expected, but fun. So here’s a quick (hopefully) recap.

The drive down was fairly uneventful, and you may be surprised to hear that I managed to keep it together throughout. No complaining, and (being the bad road trip partner that I am) a lot of sleeping. Upon arriving, I dropped my stuff off at my sister’s and (because of a late start) we immediately headed out for dinner. We were meeting up with Alex, Hannah, Hannah’s boyfriend, and DC Guy in Pentagon City. (Note: Yay, military men EVERYWHERE.)

Everyone had chosen a pub that they went to often, and we immediately started pounding beers. On one TV in the corner, the Yanks game was on. Guess where I insisted we sit? Yup, we spent the whole night in that corner of the bar. And thanks to the way the game went, I even managed to remain relaxed and carefree.

Of course, conversation turned to A-Rod and his little marital slip-up, and this is where I managed to shock everyone with my c’est la vie attitude. Um, I guess I should point out that my views on cheating (when married – don’t call me a hypocrite) are pretty strict. I don’t really see gray areas on this issue – or many others now that I think about it – so after saying ‘if I were A-Rod’s wife I would have his balls in a bag right now,’ (sorry old guy sitting beside me who turned purple at that comment), I just gave the whole thing a shrug. This prompted everyone to tell me I had ‘gone soft.’ (Damn, it’s nice to be surrounded by people who know you and can call you on your bullshit. I miss having those guys around.)

Anyway, we kept the night pretty low-key. Alex and I ripped on Hannah’s boyfriend for a while (who took it really well, I’ll give him that), and then a group of us decided to stop at the new (for me at least) Air Force Memorial to check it out. It was all lit up, and the Air Force Band was there playing. Really, really cool. I do wish the memorial had more info about the Air Force (when/how it was founded, big moments in history, etc.) worked in, but I still enjoyed all the inspirational quotes they had carved into the display. All in all, it satisfied my DC memorials/monuments jones for the night.

Confession: I’m a huge dork about the memorials, monuments, museums, and history all around Washington. I seriously love them and want to see something new every time I’m down there. Essentially, I’m a total tourist and make no excuses or apologies for it.

Oh, you probably want to hear about DC guy: He’s great. Cute, as funny as he seemed on the phone, and very flirtatious. But the spark just wasn’t there. I blame myself. Much as I thought I could cheat (hey, cheating while dating is not a castrating offense, even in my book), it turns out I couldn’t. I just wouldn’t be able to respect myself in the morning. Cheating is for the weak, and I’m not weak. (Plus, NY guy is much hotter. It just wasn’t worth the loss of self-respect.)

Anyway, back to the story. So Saturday came (I hate sleeping on sofas), and we dragged our asses to Starbucks before heading out to Arlington. I wanted to see the cemetery – 90 degree weather be damned – so we got our caffeine and then got ourselves out there to walk around. For hours. I think I was literally melting by the end. But it was so amazing. I recommend it to anyone visiting DC (considering the sheer number of people who were already there, they don’t need my endorsement, but there it is). Then came showers, lunch, and the dog park for Hannah’s boyfriend’s dogs. (Two really cute mutts that make meeting guys too, too easy.)

So blah, blah, blah, then came Saturday night (we WILL NOT mention the Yanks-Sox game that yes, I did watch). We went Mexican, which basically meant lots of margaritas. I’m not sure how many I had, since we were working with pitchers, but I was pretty blasted before we headed into Georgetown and the waterfront. There we hit a bar on the water that was packed. Hannah’s boyfriend was having trouble getting the bartender’s attention, so I took over. All it takes is a low-cut shirt (check) and some leaning over the bar and making eye contact (check and check). We had our drinks within two minutes.

Anyway, from what I remember I started out talking to DC Guy, but then a cutie from the Air Force came over (have I mentioned that I LOVE all the military boys in DC), and I broke off from the group. Air Force Cutie and I talked for a while (and drank – not my fault, he kept buying them), and eventually my sister came over to check on me (got to love older sisters). It took her about three seconds to realize I was officially drunk off my ass. So what did she do? She promptly regaled everyone with Drunk Redhead stories – some you’ve heard here before, some you haven’t. (On second thought, older sisters are mean.) Everyone loved them. My pain = high comedy.

It was around this time that I was removed from Air Force Cutie’s company (probably a good thing since he was both a Lakers AND Mets fan – I couldn’t help but mock and dislike him for these loyalties), and we headed out. Bye bye Air Force Cutie.

Don’t remember much after that, but the hangover I woke up with on Sunday was epic. It made the drive back to NY more than a little painful. Upon arriving back at my apartment (and one pissed off cat), I crashed. The only reason I even came to before Monday morning was that my boyfriend (yes, I guess NY Guy is finally getting the boyfriend tag) stopped by to check on me. So sweet. Shit. Glad I didn’t cheat on him.

Note: I don’t think flirting is ever against the rules. Not only do I flirt with everyone (it’s just fun, innocent practice until significant body parts start touching, I say), but I think it keeps things interesting.

And that’s it. Overall, a fairly uneventful weekend. My liver is pissed at me, but what else is new? And I’m still a good, trustworthy girlfriend. (Shut up.) So how was everyone else’s Saturday and Sunday? Good? Anything really interesting happen?