Sunday, June 10, 2012


*Note: +1 has more than one meaning in my little circle of friends, which could really provide content for an entirely different entry, but for the purposes of this post, let's focus in on the traditional +1; "Please come to my party and bring a human of the opposite sex with whom you can enjoy a meal, some drinks, and whatever steps you still remember from the Electric Slide".

As a single lady, I am forever rather annoyed by the fact that I get wedding invites without dates. Before I offend my married friends, I do understand the logic behind it. I know what it costs per plate, and the battles You and Mr. You have had over the guest list, and that negotiating my +1 (whom you probably don't know) into the seating chart is the least of your problems. I totally understand that it's altogether easier to have us single girls just travel together, as a pseudo couple. Which is why I said I am only rather annoyed. Buuut for those of you going forward, who have a little extra in the budge, it would be nice to bring a date. Because sometimes it gets awkward to be the three girls at the wedding, dancing with their purses in the middle.

So, you can imagine my elation when wedding invitations arrived in the mail yesterday for Roombud Bestie and me, and guest. Like, we each get to bring one. As in, we're not each others' guest. Wahoo! Then I started to over think things. . . Who to bring? A potential love interest? (Let's just assume, for the sake of the blog, there is one right now) That's a lot of pressure. I really can't visualize any situation where bringing a not-quite BF to meet friends and family wouldn't cause more anxiety than enjoyment. Okay, so definitely bringing a friend. Which leads to a different set of potential concerns.  I have already successfully set up my semi-normal male friends with my semi-normal female ones - quite selflessly it seems, because now I am wedding dateless (goddamn my excellent match-making skills) - which leaves me with my remaining man-child friends. I'm not sure I've officially mentioned this, but the majority of my male friends, ie the single ones, are umm INSANE. Borderline not appropriate around adults, despite their ages creeping closer to the big 3-0. So, this is the pool of candidates I have to choose from to dress up fancy, stay quiet during the ceremony, and make enough of a good impression in front of the grownups that they forgive him when he's ripping shots, taking over the dance floor, and convincing the waiters that yes, he did order three plates of steak.

Luckily RB has the same quality candidates to choose from, so looks like there will at least be four of us single kids, proving to everyone else that yes, single is still fun at 27, so thank you very much for the four hours of free alcohol. One day we will repay the favor. And with any luck, by then the boys we choose to marry will be slightly more appropriate to bring around adults.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012


Okay, I know I said I'm totally against whiney blog posts, but I am going to have a mini little bitch sesh, then quickly follow it up with something that makes me very happy. So hopefully the blog karma Gods will forgive me this little transgression...

Why why why do I always always always like boys that live far away? Without fail. I'm not even saying I'm falling in love with them. But definite like. And for me, falling in like is still pretty hard to come by. Three of the last four boys I actually liked lived three hours away, and the fourth was an hour away so that's not much better. Is this subconscious? Is it me? Do I have an undying desire to complicate my life?

There is a source for this rant. I bumped into one of these someones from three hours away this weekend. BUMPED INTO. And he lives in New York. And this bumping occurred in a bar I haven't been to in three years. In a city he hasn't been to in five. Makes sense right? Fairytale Ally May went directly to the "maybe this means something" mindset, putting me right back where I started a year ago - In like with him, doomed to at some point come to terms with the fact that it doesn't stand a chance. Because I'm not moving. He's not moving. And I don't even know how much like is there since we've technically gone on three dates in six years. Oh and now he has a puppy. Which always makes a cute boy cuter. F.M.L.wahhhhh. grrrrrr.

Now that that's out of my system, and because I'm just so damned happy with myself and want to end with a smile, I present you with this: my little family basement find and now newly rebeautified desk.