I've always admired writers. Easily pulled into a story and the life of fictional characters, I often close a book feeling sad these characters are no longer "part of my life", imagining their future, somehow affected by whatever experiences they went through. I still have the rare skill/curse of reading a book cover to cover in a single sitting, ignoring all people and responsibilities around me. With this adoration for the written word, I always had a secret desire to be a writer. I sadly lack the creativity and imagination to create characters and a storyline, which is coupled with a shyness that would likely prevent me from ever attempting to publish a book, but I love writing. I find I can express myself on paper in ways I sometimes can't while speaking, allowing myself the time to think and edit words / thoughts before shared.
I've been lucky enough to land in a career that's evolved into a lot of writing and editing, which I find very fulfilling, but sometimes leaves me with the desire to write my own thoughts as well. Hence, the blog. I'm in no way a consistent writer; I write when the mood strikes, ideas are top of mind, or I just have something I'd like to share. Sometimes I start writing, stop, and never go back to the draft because my interest in the subject or mood has changed and I just can't get back into it (Clearly, I am not novel-writing material, but maybe there's an untapped Carrie Bradshaw type quality there - without the fabulous wardrobe and poor husband choice).
I recently came across an old journal - circa immediately post-college years. To be honest, I was a little scared to read it. I know those weren't my happiest years. I had no money, hated my job, a lot of uncertainty about life, was in a meh relationship, and I distinctly remember writing mainly out of sadness or frustration. Sounds like a riveting read right?
Since my curiosity won the best of me, I spent Sunday morning reading my 22 year old words. First sentence; first entry: "I am sad". Woof. The journal spanned two years and at times while reading, I wanted to hug younger me; she really was sad. I can vividly remember some of the boyfriend fights, work issues, and money woes, but I was shocked to find I'd sort of rewritten history a bit in my brain. This was pretty shocking because I am the girl who remembers EVERYTHING. I can tell you what other people wore 10 years ago. I'm really baffled that my mind played such tricks on me and I remembered things in completely incorrect orders or left out key details.
I also can't believe how trapped I felt at 22. (22!!) I was so scared of everything; leaving a relationship I knew wasn't the right fit (not one to preach, but don't move in with your boyfriend at 22. It likely won't work, you'll fight about things you have no business fighting about at that age, and you'll regret it when you're 29 and living with your Real Person and feel like you sort of robbed yourself of having this experience with him first), quitting my job, moving back home (the absolute right choice when you are drowning in bills. Seriously, fuck that it sucks being home. It's better than moving home at 30 for the same reasons).
The thing is, everything I was afraid of happened at some point. The relationship ended (I was fine; better for it and based on my entries, realized this pretty quickly thereafter), I moved home and paid off most of my credit cards (though still no savings. I'd advise 22 year olds to save money in addition to not living with boyfriends), I left my job (and the one after that, and the one after that), and I lived somewhere completely new (my mom moved back to her hometown when I was in college, so moving home meant moving somewhere I'd never lived).
This brings me to something I remembered a little differently. I remembered being lonely when I moved home; I do not remember being so lonely in my relationship. When I read those entries it was honestly painful - and really unnecessary. The friendships that were born or strengthened post-breakup were 99% with people that lived down the street from our apartment. Why did it take me moving two hours away to find them? I'm digressing a bit, but the message in my trip down memory lane was that things happened the way they were supposed to. It's corny, but Garth Brooks is right, thank GOD for unanswered prayers. I am not supposed to be in Newport (took me one more move to figure this out for good). I am not supposed to be dating that person who contributed to me being so sad. Who, by the way, was not a monster, but instead the sweetest boy. The thing is, he brought out the worst in me - brought me down instead of encouraging. Was complacent at a time when it was SO important to reach for goals and a future. Life was harder with him, and I learned a lot in that timeframe, but it was not what my life was supposed to be long-term.
I haven't kept a journal since that journal. Every time I thought about it, I thought about how sad I remember my thoughts being. It was interesting/ somewhat cathartic to read through, but I never want to read it or feel it again. What I've found with a blog, is that everything I write is fairly positive. I'm sarcastic by nature, so that's not disappearing, but I really try not to publish negative thoughts or energy. Part of this is just a karmic /The Secret type belief that you should put out to the world what you want to receive in return, part of it is the resistance to publicly post such personal negative feelings as I'd freely write in a journal.
The other part, which I knew, but maybe needed a little knock on the head to remember, is how much happier I am now. I literally have everything I so desperately wanted at 22 (and knew I would get by the way) - I have the job, with the much better paycheck; I own a house (still pinching myself on this one); I am with the person I am supposed to be with who drives me b-a-n-a-n-a-s, but is the perfect match to my personality and (usually) correctly handles my overwhelming, sometimes crazy, thoughts and actions; I have friends whom I love so much; and I know who I am. 22 year old me was really fucking confused about a lot of things, but she knew she wasn't happy and it was up to her to change that. I'm so grateful for the little pushes I received and bumps I stumbled over that made me make the decisions I did and landed me where I am now.
So, two days and I'm guessing about 3,000 words later, this why I blog. I don't know who reads this, it's not linked to any of my personal social media sites, I'd maybe even be embarrassed for some "Facebook friends" to see it, and I don't send out alerts when I've rambled on about something new, so this has literally been my journal for the last two years. This entry turned into something I didn't expect, and I guess that's a weird benefit of writing too, but the point is, this is my outlet. This is me - random musings, the occasional rant about the opposite sex, stories about my dog, and recently, house updates my friends are for sure sick of hearing about in person. To anyone reading, that's pretty much all I've got.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Why Am I Tripping Over Your Shoes?
This question is asked at least three times a week in my house. When we lived in a 700 sq.ft. apartment, it was frustrating, but I got it. We had no real entrance way, our "hall" closet held coats, off-season clothing, brooms, a vacuum, laundry baskets, holiday boxes... the list goes on. Our pub table slowly turned into a coat rack and Reed was always good for at least two pairs of shoes strewn across the living room on a given day. BUT...now we have a 2,8000 sq.ft. house. Why am I still tripping on shoes and finding coats on the kitchen chairs? I'll even fess up here and admit I've hung a coat or two on the counter stool - seems silly to put a wet coat in a closet with 10 other dry ones, or hang up a jacket you know you'll wear again in an hour.
A few weeks ago, in my mission to rid our "new to us" 29 year old house of every inch of floral contact paper (is there ANYTHING grosser than old, sticky, stained paper under your pans and food?) I decided to tackle the pantry. (Disclaimer: This picture is from the previous owners. I do not and will never have multiple bottles of fake maple syrup or keep onions on a dirty old floor)
The pantry is somewhat oddly placed, as it's not exactly in the kitchen, but in the little cluster of 1/2 bath, laundry room, garage entry. We also use that area as Murray's room when we're gone, so a pantry there would be a little too tempting for him and very annoying for me to open a dog gate every time I need cornmeal.
As I was swearing over contact paper and what used to be a lovely manicure, I thought "Why am I even doing this?". Our kitchen has ample cabinet space; I'm even ignoring an entire cabinet because the contact paper is especially stubborn and I temporarily gave up to avoid crying on the kitchen floor (also dirty, linoleum, and does not have a long future in this house). So I said "Fuck it" and asked Reed to come get the shelves and dump them in the basement, where removed doors, old shelves, and paint cans now live. As I stared at the empty space, it occurred to me this should be the jacket, boots, winter accessories dumping ground. We are never going to use the front door, so the hall closet there can happily accommodate the less-worn coats and guest jackets, but this space was perfect to remove the everyday outerwear before you even reach the kitchen.
So, the project:
We bought this house sort of unplanned, first planning to rent, then buy a no-maintenance brand new 1 bedroom condo (Thank God for unanswered prayers on that one), and somehow ended up in a 4 bedroom house on 1.2 acres in need of some cosmetic updating. Reed was a little overwhelmed; I was overexcited with naïve beliefs in my skills, thank you HGTV and Pinterest. When I came up with my brilliant mudroom idea, I searched Pinterest for "closet mudroom" and found every plan seemed to include a very handy husband, of which Reed is neither. It occurred to me I always see IKEA Hacks on Pinterest, so I went to the IKEA website for some ideas and voila! My mudroom was born.
Materials:
Paint
IKEA KALLAX shelving unit: $59.99
Coat Hooks: $7 each
Foam pads: $8 each
Fabric: $29
As we've just bought a house requiring 8+ rooms of new paint, we had a few stray buckets lying around. I used the same color as our living room (Glidden French Grey) and painted what were the supports for the old shelves white (Benjamin Moore White Dove), which is the same color I used on the trim throughout the house. I'd already painted the doors, but decided to remove them as the garage door and dog gate hit them anyway and I don't envision closing them again. They've retired to the basement as well.
I found the KALLAX shelves measured almost perfectly the same width as my closet. I'm aware this was a pure stroke of luck, but I have to imagine even a few more inches off is worth not fighting with your husband/boyfriend/self in Home Depot and back home when measuring and cutting wood. I also know it's much less money than buying wood, more paint, and the proper saws, not to mention time saved. I ordered the shelves and they arrived in 5 days, requiring 20 minutes of assembly.
I decided making a cushion for the bench was within my realm of capabilities and much easier/less expensive than stalking HomeGoods, Pier1, etc. for the perfect size cushion. Word of warning: the Jo-Ann Fabrics cutting table, if you don't frequent it, is possibly the most intimidating location ever. I asked for the wrong measurements first, broke into a sweat, and fumbled off to the back corner to collect myself and re-evaluate when the cutting lady told me foam is "very expensive" and they'll only cut the length for me. This was after spending a solid 30 minutes deciding on fabric. As I sulked to the back corner, still sweating, I found a wall of foam in various sizes, thickness, and (yes, quite high) prices. In another stroke of luck, I found 2 inch chair pad foam which was 15 inches wide, meaning 4 would perfectly fit on the new bench. Since we'll only sit on the bench to remove boots etc., I was more than happy to save a few bucks and decided to use hot glue to create the proper sized cushion. The fabric, which of course was not on sale, came to about $29 for 72 inches and the foam cushions were $8 each, totaling $32. The cashier also had a 25% off coupon, which made my day, but the moral of the story is if you're a bit savvier in the crafts store than me, you can do this even cheaper with coupons, sale fabric, and when foam goes on sale (which I'm told, does happen. Just not now. Woops.)
I successfully hot glued the four foam pads together, fitting nearly perfectly over my bench. The pads were a bit wider than the bench, but I just scooted the bench forward a few inches to make it look even. Again, this isn't a couch, so since it will get such minimal seat-time, I was happy to make a few accommodations for appearance and to save money.
I had every intention of sewing the fabric for the cushion, but in a last minute Pinterest search "how to sew without a sewing machine when I haven't sewn a stich since 8th grade" I found a no sew cushion tutorial (In MY Own Style), instructing me to wrap it like a present and use safety pins. SOLD. I actually like this option better because I can easily switch the fabric when I inevitably get sick of it.
I bought three coat hooks from Home Depot ($7 each, but again, I spent more as I wanted the brushed copper hardware I'm using throughout the house. They had much cheaper options in plastic or nickel). I also had baskets from IKEA shelves elsewhere in the house and borrowed from there for winter accessory storage.
So, that's it. Here's the finished product. I absolutely LOVE how this came out:
This project was SO easy, SO quick, and much less expensive than a custom built in mud room. It's just the two of us and a dog for now, but if / when there are other, smaller occupants of the house I can dig up one of the shelves in the basement, finish scraping off the dreaded contact paper, and put it in the top with cute baskets for additional storage.
A few weeks ago, in my mission to rid our "new to us" 29 year old house of every inch of floral contact paper (is there ANYTHING grosser than old, sticky, stained paper under your pans and food?) I decided to tackle the pantry. (Disclaimer: This picture is from the previous owners. I do not and will never have multiple bottles of fake maple syrup or keep onions on a dirty old floor)
As I was swearing over contact paper and what used to be a lovely manicure, I thought "Why am I even doing this?". Our kitchen has ample cabinet space; I'm even ignoring an entire cabinet because the contact paper is especially stubborn and I temporarily gave up to avoid crying on the kitchen floor (also dirty, linoleum, and does not have a long future in this house). So I said "Fuck it" and asked Reed to come get the shelves and dump them in the basement, where removed doors, old shelves, and paint cans now live. As I stared at the empty space, it occurred to me this should be the jacket, boots, winter accessories dumping ground. We are never going to use the front door, so the hall closet there can happily accommodate the less-worn coats and guest jackets, but this space was perfect to remove the everyday outerwear before you even reach the kitchen.
So, the project:
We bought this house sort of unplanned, first planning to rent, then buy a no-maintenance brand new 1 bedroom condo (Thank God for unanswered prayers on that one), and somehow ended up in a 4 bedroom house on 1.2 acres in need of some cosmetic updating. Reed was a little overwhelmed; I was overexcited with naïve beliefs in my skills, thank you HGTV and Pinterest. When I came up with my brilliant mudroom idea, I searched Pinterest for "closet mudroom" and found every plan seemed to include a very handy husband, of which Reed is neither. It occurred to me I always see IKEA Hacks on Pinterest, so I went to the IKEA website for some ideas and voila! My mudroom was born.
Materials:
Paint
IKEA KALLAX shelving unit: $59.99
Coat Hooks: $7 each
Foam pads: $8 each
Fabric: $29
As we've just bought a house requiring 8+ rooms of new paint, we had a few stray buckets lying around. I used the same color as our living room (Glidden French Grey) and painted what were the supports for the old shelves white (Benjamin Moore White Dove), which is the same color I used on the trim throughout the house. I'd already painted the doors, but decided to remove them as the garage door and dog gate hit them anyway and I don't envision closing them again. They've retired to the basement as well.
I found the KALLAX shelves measured almost perfectly the same width as my closet. I'm aware this was a pure stroke of luck, but I have to imagine even a few more inches off is worth not fighting with your husband/boyfriend/self in Home Depot and back home when measuring and cutting wood. I also know it's much less money than buying wood, more paint, and the proper saws, not to mention time saved. I ordered the shelves and they arrived in 5 days, requiring 20 minutes of assembly.
I decided making a cushion for the bench was within my realm of capabilities and much easier/less expensive than stalking HomeGoods, Pier1, etc. for the perfect size cushion. Word of warning: the Jo-Ann Fabrics cutting table, if you don't frequent it, is possibly the most intimidating location ever. I asked for the wrong measurements first, broke into a sweat, and fumbled off to the back corner to collect myself and re-evaluate when the cutting lady told me foam is "very expensive" and they'll only cut the length for me. This was after spending a solid 30 minutes deciding on fabric. As I sulked to the back corner, still sweating, I found a wall of foam in various sizes, thickness, and (yes, quite high) prices. In another stroke of luck, I found 2 inch chair pad foam which was 15 inches wide, meaning 4 would perfectly fit on the new bench. Since we'll only sit on the bench to remove boots etc., I was more than happy to save a few bucks and decided to use hot glue to create the proper sized cushion. The fabric, which of course was not on sale, came to about $29 for 72 inches and the foam cushions were $8 each, totaling $32. The cashier also had a 25% off coupon, which made my day, but the moral of the story is if you're a bit savvier in the crafts store than me, you can do this even cheaper with coupons, sale fabric, and when foam goes on sale (which I'm told, does happen. Just not now. Woops.)
I successfully hot glued the four foam pads together, fitting nearly perfectly over my bench. The pads were a bit wider than the bench, but I just scooted the bench forward a few inches to make it look even. Again, this isn't a couch, so since it will get such minimal seat-time, I was happy to make a few accommodations for appearance and to save money.
I had every intention of sewing the fabric for the cushion, but in a last minute Pinterest search "how to sew without a sewing machine when I haven't sewn a stich since 8th grade" I found a no sew cushion tutorial (In MY Own Style), instructing me to wrap it like a present and use safety pins. SOLD. I actually like this option better because I can easily switch the fabric when I inevitably get sick of it.
I bought three coat hooks from Home Depot ($7 each, but again, I spent more as I wanted the brushed copper hardware I'm using throughout the house. They had much cheaper options in plastic or nickel). I also had baskets from IKEA shelves elsewhere in the house and borrowed from there for winter accessory storage.
So, that's it. Here's the finished product. I absolutely LOVE how this came out:
This project was SO easy, SO quick, and much less expensive than a custom built in mud room. It's just the two of us and a dog for now, but if / when there are other, smaller occupants of the house I can dig up one of the shelves in the basement, finish scraping off the dreaded contact paper, and put it in the top with cute baskets for additional storage.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Transformation Tuesday!
As previously mentioned, Reed and I decided to dive headfirst into a 30-year commitment to each other and bought a house. I was planning to post a blog about the first few days in the new house, how weird it was to know we moved, but not really feel like it was ours yet (despite the stack of signed paperwork stating otherwise)...but, I was tired. And covered in paint. And my computer was either dead, hiding somewhere, or when I actually sat down it was for boring work not blogging.
So, now that it's been almost a month since we closed (is that possible?), and we've gotten ourselves somewhat situated, I'm going to take a minute to show off our hard work. At this point, it's really just paint, and what feels like every spare dollar spent at HomeGoods, but I'm very happy with our progress thus far and feeling very blessed for the reason my back aches, my hands are blistered, and my nails haven't seen a manicurist in a month.
Family Room (Fireplace Room? Sitting Room? Not sure what to call this yet...)
Before & After:
Living Room
Before & After:
Before & After:
Eat in Kitchen Area
Before & After:
Before & After:
Guest Bathroom
Before & After:
Master Bedroom
Before & After:
Boy's Room / Office
Before & After:
Monday, August 11, 2014
i.am.old.
I think I am currently / still dealing with a two day hangover. From 3 drinks and 2 shots. That used to be called a pregame. Now it is my demise.
Reed and I spent Saturday packing. Or I packed and he watched Miss Congeniality. Whichever. We then got dressed like adults and went to dinner with his friend, where we discussed our new house, his pregnant wife, friends' weddings, and how to lay hardwood floor. Very grownup.
Then we went to Down. Down is a nightclub in Boston. I looked like a conservative old lady in my maxi dress, sipping my drink and judging the 21 year olds in their belly baring outfits. ( Okay, I half judged, half wished I wore something sluttier.) Just as I thought I'd successfully survived a nightclub with one drink, peer pressure reared it's ugly head. Shots. I tried to walk away. I tried to drink a sip then put it down. 8 sips later, tears streaming down my face (Fireball is no joke when you have sinuses), and multiple gags, I successfully placed the shot glass back on the counter...where a much larger one was waiting for me. A Red Headed Slut. I can't. 5 more sips and a water later I got it down. And then we went home and went to bed. Because we were tired. And old.
I awoke Sunday to ready myself for a baby shower - because when you're 29 and accidentally hungover you without fail have an adult commitment that day - and thought I was okay. I quickly learned I was not. It took me two hours to get ready, drink half an iced coffee, and eat 3 bites of a croissant. I thanked the Gods when I learned our table at the shower was closest to the door (and bathroom). Mini golf with Reed followed, with me fat-girl style plopping down at every bench I could find, whilst internally debating whether a 29-year old in a pink dress should blame a hangover or fake pregnancy if she happens to puke in the bushes in front of all those families. Fast forward 8 hours and I am STILL sick, in fetal position on the couch, unsuccessfully trying to keep down Goldfish crackers. Fast forward another 12 and I have a splitting headache while trying to get through a Monday at work, tie up loose ends for our mortgage closing this week, and attempting to wrap my brain around how I am STILL hung fucking over.
I am DONE with surprise hangovers. The bachelorette, wedding, birthday party hangovers are still awful, but at least you see them coming. The random hangovers you didn't expect because you forgot you don't have 24 year-old-you's tolerance are brutal. I hate losing a day of delicious meals, nausea-free movement, and actual activities. I can't stand wasting a Sunday on the couch now, previously my favorite weekly pastime. I feel so old and I am so okay with that. Please God, let me be able to wake up tomorrow feeling like a human being capable of morning spin class, work, a little laundry, and dinner with my friends. These are the dreams of a 29 year old.
Reed and I spent Saturday packing. Or I packed and he watched Miss Congeniality. Whichever. We then got dressed like adults and went to dinner with his friend, where we discussed our new house, his pregnant wife, friends' weddings, and how to lay hardwood floor. Very grownup.
Then we went to Down. Down is a nightclub in Boston. I looked like a conservative old lady in my maxi dress, sipping my drink and judging the 21 year olds in their belly baring outfits. ( Okay, I half judged, half wished I wore something sluttier.) Just as I thought I'd successfully survived a nightclub with one drink, peer pressure reared it's ugly head. Shots. I tried to walk away. I tried to drink a sip then put it down. 8 sips later, tears streaming down my face (Fireball is no joke when you have sinuses), and multiple gags, I successfully placed the shot glass back on the counter...where a much larger one was waiting for me. A Red Headed Slut. I can't. 5 more sips and a water later I got it down. And then we went home and went to bed. Because we were tired. And old.
I awoke Sunday to ready myself for a baby shower - because when you're 29 and accidentally hungover you without fail have an adult commitment that day - and thought I was okay. I quickly learned I was not. It took me two hours to get ready, drink half an iced coffee, and eat 3 bites of a croissant. I thanked the Gods when I learned our table at the shower was closest to the door (and bathroom). Mini golf with Reed followed, with me fat-girl style plopping down at every bench I could find, whilst internally debating whether a 29-year old in a pink dress should blame a hangover or fake pregnancy if she happens to puke in the bushes in front of all those families. Fast forward 8 hours and I am STILL sick, in fetal position on the couch, unsuccessfully trying to keep down Goldfish crackers. Fast forward another 12 and I have a splitting headache while trying to get through a Monday at work, tie up loose ends for our mortgage closing this week, and attempting to wrap my brain around how I am STILL hung fucking over.
I am DONE with surprise hangovers. The bachelorette, wedding, birthday party hangovers are still awful, but at least you see them coming. The random hangovers you didn't expect because you forgot you don't have 24 year-old-you's tolerance are brutal. I hate losing a day of delicious meals, nausea-free movement, and actual activities. I can't stand wasting a Sunday on the couch now, previously my favorite weekly pastime. I feel so old and I am so okay with that. Please God, let me be able to wake up tomorrow feeling like a human being capable of morning spin class, work, a little laundry, and dinner with my friends. These are the dreams of a 29 year old.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Something New
I haven't blogged in a while. Again. Whoops.
I'll just jump right in though...
I'm moving. Reed and I are buying a house. In New York (less city, more country). And I'm scared.
I'm scared of moving away from my friends. I'm scared of moving to the honest to God middle of nowhere (Fucking middle of nowhere was perhaps screamed by me in a recent "discussion", but we're feeling better about things so I've cleaned it up a bit.) I'm scared of working from home full time, for both work and social reasons. I'm scared to be further from my family and closer to Reed's. I'm scared Reed and I will kill each other, together 7 days a week, without any besties in sight. I'm scared of mortgage payments, taxes, appliances that will break, and how to pay for the list of home improvements I'm planning.
BUT...
I'm also excited. I'm excited to buy a house. I'm excited to finally paint and pick furniture and make something ours. I'm excited for Murray to have a yard. I'm excited to pay my mortgage, not someone else's. I'm excited for this next step in our relationship.
And I'm hopeful. Hopeful we make friends (quicklyyyy). Hopeful my current friends will visit. Hopeful I can find a Barre class and a spin class. Hopeful I can deal with rivers and lakes instead of ocean. Hopeful Murray calms down and we can get him a friend. Hopeful we're making a smart investment that is indicative of more intelligent financial decisions in the future (adult, boring, blahh). Hopeful we're putting down roots, starting a life, and we'll look back in 5, 10, 20 years and just be incredibly happy.
So...my life is about to change for realz. And with that, I thought my blog needed an update. I'll no longer be a girl from Rhode Island in Boston. I'll be a girl from RI, who loved her time in Boston, that's moved on to New York. And I think it will be okay. And I'm making this choice for love. It sounds so sappy, but that's what it all comes down to. Love really is life. Your family, friends, and your Person. That's your life. That's all that matters.
I'm thinking of doing #100happydays on my instagram when we move. I want to really focus on the positive and the new. I LOVE my life right now, and I am so sad to leave it, but I'm going to make a choice to love my life going forward as well. I'll take any positive energy from my invisible audience as well. As that fool Danielle from Real Housewives of New Jersey said, "Love and Light."
I'll just jump right in though...
I'm moving. Reed and I are buying a house. In New York (less city, more country). And I'm scared.
I'm scared of moving away from my friends. I'm scared of moving to the honest to God middle of nowhere (Fucking middle of nowhere was perhaps screamed by me in a recent "discussion", but we're feeling better about things so I've cleaned it up a bit.) I'm scared of working from home full time, for both work and social reasons. I'm scared to be further from my family and closer to Reed's. I'm scared Reed and I will kill each other, together 7 days a week, without any besties in sight. I'm scared of mortgage payments, taxes, appliances that will break, and how to pay for the list of home improvements I'm planning.
BUT...
I'm also excited. I'm excited to buy a house. I'm excited to finally paint and pick furniture and make something ours. I'm excited for Murray to have a yard. I'm excited to pay my mortgage, not someone else's. I'm excited for this next step in our relationship.
And I'm hopeful. Hopeful we make friends (quicklyyyy). Hopeful my current friends will visit. Hopeful I can find a Barre class and a spin class. Hopeful I can deal with rivers and lakes instead of ocean. Hopeful Murray calms down and we can get him a friend. Hopeful we're making a smart investment that is indicative of more intelligent financial decisions in the future (adult, boring, blahh). Hopeful we're putting down roots, starting a life, and we'll look back in 5, 10, 20 years and just be incredibly happy.
So...my life is about to change for realz. And with that, I thought my blog needed an update. I'll no longer be a girl from Rhode Island in Boston. I'll be a girl from RI, who loved her time in Boston, that's moved on to New York. And I think it will be okay. And I'm making this choice for love. It sounds so sappy, but that's what it all comes down to. Love really is life. Your family, friends, and your Person. That's your life. That's all that matters.
I'm thinking of doing #100happydays on my instagram when we move. I want to really focus on the positive and the new. I LOVE my life right now, and I am so sad to leave it, but I'm going to make a choice to love my life going forward as well. I'll take any positive energy from my invisible audience as well. As that fool Danielle from Real Housewives of New Jersey said, "Love and Light."
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
I'm Heeeeeerrre
So. It's been a while. Somewhere along the way I forgot to blog and now it's been almost a year. I just spent the last hour reading through my posts (is that narcissistic? I can't decide) and it's amusing to see how things changed over a year. Here's a quick recap of what we missed:
I forgot to blog about Reed and I moving in together. Probably because I was busy trying not to kill him during the process.Or trying not to cry over leaving my Roombud Bestie to live with a smelly boy and smelly dog.
I didn't discuss the adjustment of moving a country dog to a city, having him nearly die first from eating non-food items, then learning he hates other dogs (especially the 200 or so in this building) and has the energy of a 6-week puppy when cooped up in a 700 square foot apartment. And I have to make him home cooked meals. And pay a dog-walker half a car payment to feed him and take a stroll twice a week.
I skipped over my brother's wedding. Somewhat of a trainwreck (Think Teen Mom meets bad prom) that taught me I officially do want a small wedding, done right, with my besties and family to celebrate with. Roombud Bestie can officially rest easy that I won't disappear to elope one random Thursday.
And I failed to mention one of my best friends, Mick Bestie, having a Mick Baby. An unexpected occurrence that led to the first bestie baby and what I anticipate to be a beautiful new friendship (once I'm not scared of her anymore).
I think those are the highlights. Nothing else exciting to report, so I anticipate the blog entries to fall back to the regularly scheduled programming: Why are boys dumb? Why did Carrie pick Big over Aidan? Why can't I have a puppy?...those types of things.
I forgot to blog about Reed and I moving in together. Probably because I was busy trying not to kill him during the process.Or trying not to cry over leaving my Roombud Bestie to live with a smelly boy and smelly dog.
I didn't discuss the adjustment of moving a country dog to a city, having him nearly die first from eating non-food items, then learning he hates other dogs (especially the 200 or so in this building) and has the energy of a 6-week puppy when cooped up in a 700 square foot apartment. And I have to make him home cooked meals. And pay a dog-walker half a car payment to feed him and take a stroll twice a week.
I skipped over my brother's wedding. Somewhat of a trainwreck (Think Teen Mom meets bad prom) that taught me I officially do want a small wedding, done right, with my besties and family to celebrate with. Roombud Bestie can officially rest easy that I won't disappear to elope one random Thursday.
And I failed to mention one of my best friends, Mick Bestie, having a Mick Baby. An unexpected occurrence that led to the first bestie baby and what I anticipate to be a beautiful new friendship (once I'm not scared of her anymore).
I think those are the highlights. Nothing else exciting to report, so I anticipate the blog entries to fall back to the regularly scheduled programming: Why are boys dumb? Why did Carrie pick Big over Aidan? Why can't I have a puppy?...those types of things.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Boys. Are. Children.
How is it, that no matter how old a male individual is, they still lack enough traits to qualify them as true adults? This is of course based on the males I know. Perhaps there are males out there that indeed are adults. Anyone? Does anyone know one? Bueller? I thought not...
Source of my current rant: My boyfriend's complete INABILITY to pick up after himself. I swear, he is a tornado. Mess follows him. His cleaning abilities were stunted somewhere around the age of 8, where he realized if he took long enough, or did something wrong enough times, he could convince someone else to clean up for him because it was easier than nagging him to do so. Fast forward 19 years and I am still fighting with said 8 year old, he's just taller and much more sarcastc. His mother actually pulled me aside one day to apologize to me for him being such a slob. "I don't know what happened to him Ally May; I don't know where I went wrong."
I love Reed with all my heart, but when I see the growing pile of dirty laundry, coffee grinds across the kitchen counter, clean laundry spread across the floor rather than moved to the closet or a drawer...I have to remind myself that his good qualities far exceed this beyond annoying bad quality. "He makes you coffee every morning. He takes you out to dinner every night and never lets you pay. He remembers everything and is beyond thoughtful. He can have adult conversations about your future and money and has a very good career and head on his shoulders...blah blah blah." This is the internal dialogue going on as I simultaneously consider burning his house down so the mess bothers me less.
So, what's a girl to do? Clearly, I am not breaking up with an otherwise near perfect match just because he can't figure out what a vacuum cleaner is for. But I also don't want to fight about dirty laundry every weekend. I've tried a few approaches to this dilemma, with less than impressive results.
First, I tried imprisonment (the adult version of grounding?): We are not going anywhere or doing anything until this house is clean. I went "Gloria" on him, (Reed's favorite knickname for me when I start waving my arms around and yelling like the crazy Columbian wife on Modern Family). I dictated every move as we cleaned the house from top to bottom. I ended our successful session with high hopes and positive affirmation. "Now you just have to maintain it; just do a quick clean once a week." Fail.
Then I tried Ninja Warfare. I'm not saying a word or picking up a single thing; he will have to live in his own filth until he's so sick of it he does something about it. Major fail. He didn't even notice.
Last, I tried the Mom approach. He's not going to do it to my standards and I'll just have to do it again anyway, so I may as well just clean it myself. Fail Fail Fail. He still didn't notice and I became silently resentful until I blew up. This is also a quadruple fail because now I'm just feeding into the other tool he learned at a young age: delegation. Another tidbit I learned from his mother - Reed's elementary school teacher informed her one day that he had mastered the art of delegating responsibilities to other children. While this has worked well for him in life, as he owns his own company, for me, it seems nothing more than an uphill battle. We met in college; assigned to the same group for a project in Accounting class and guess who did all the work (though he swears up and down he killed it on presentation day, and that's why we got a good grade). Six years later he's delegating household chores and we don't even live together. In the words of his people; OY VEY.
My current approach is trying to walk a fine line of cute "reminder" notes, constant nagging, cleaning here and there, and the occasional outbursts resulting in him escaping to walk the dog and the laundry basket staring me down from the kitchen table (we're currently in this situation; not speaking over a basket of sweatpants).
Suggestions and sob stories from other frustrated girlfriends/fiances/wives will be received with open arms.
P.S. For you male readers who are thinking you're the exception to this post because you are, in fact, truly a grown up: I'd bet anything that you will still do anything to see boobies (even for a second) and you still think farts are the funniest thing ever. So, I rest my case.
Source of my current rant: My boyfriend's complete INABILITY to pick up after himself. I swear, he is a tornado. Mess follows him. His cleaning abilities were stunted somewhere around the age of 8, where he realized if he took long enough, or did something wrong enough times, he could convince someone else to clean up for him because it was easier than nagging him to do so. Fast forward 19 years and I am still fighting with said 8 year old, he's just taller and much more sarcastc. His mother actually pulled me aside one day to apologize to me for him being such a slob. "I don't know what happened to him Ally May; I don't know where I went wrong."
I love Reed with all my heart, but when I see the growing pile of dirty laundry, coffee grinds across the kitchen counter, clean laundry spread across the floor rather than moved to the closet or a drawer...I have to remind myself that his good qualities far exceed this beyond annoying bad quality. "He makes you coffee every morning. He takes you out to dinner every night and never lets you pay. He remembers everything and is beyond thoughtful. He can have adult conversations about your future and money and has a very good career and head on his shoulders...blah blah blah." This is the internal dialogue going on as I simultaneously consider burning his house down so the mess bothers me less.
So, what's a girl to do? Clearly, I am not breaking up with an otherwise near perfect match just because he can't figure out what a vacuum cleaner is for. But I also don't want to fight about dirty laundry every weekend. I've tried a few approaches to this dilemma, with less than impressive results.
First, I tried imprisonment (the adult version of grounding?): We are not going anywhere or doing anything until this house is clean. I went "Gloria" on him, (Reed's favorite knickname for me when I start waving my arms around and yelling like the crazy Columbian wife on Modern Family). I dictated every move as we cleaned the house from top to bottom. I ended our successful session with high hopes and positive affirmation. "Now you just have to maintain it; just do a quick clean once a week." Fail.
Then I tried Ninja Warfare. I'm not saying a word or picking up a single thing; he will have to live in his own filth until he's so sick of it he does something about it. Major fail. He didn't even notice.
Last, I tried the Mom approach. He's not going to do it to my standards and I'll just have to do it again anyway, so I may as well just clean it myself. Fail Fail Fail. He still didn't notice and I became silently resentful until I blew up. This is also a quadruple fail because now I'm just feeding into the other tool he learned at a young age: delegation. Another tidbit I learned from his mother - Reed's elementary school teacher informed her one day that he had mastered the art of delegating responsibilities to other children. While this has worked well for him in life, as he owns his own company, for me, it seems nothing more than an uphill battle. We met in college; assigned to the same group for a project in Accounting class and guess who did all the work (though he swears up and down he killed it on presentation day, and that's why we got a good grade). Six years later he's delegating household chores and we don't even live together. In the words of his people; OY VEY.
My current approach is trying to walk a fine line of cute "reminder" notes, constant nagging, cleaning here and there, and the occasional outbursts resulting in him escaping to walk the dog and the laundry basket staring me down from the kitchen table (we're currently in this situation; not speaking over a basket of sweatpants).
Suggestions and sob stories from other frustrated girlfriends/fiances/wives will be received with open arms.
P.S. For you male readers who are thinking you're the exception to this post because you are, in fact, truly a grown up: I'd bet anything that you will still do anything to see boobies (even for a second) and you still think farts are the funniest thing ever. So, I rest my case.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Cosmo, You Cray Cray
So I went to a wedding this weekend. On the beach. In Montauk, NY. At the end of October. Brrrr. Being that it was a Fall wedding, I was a bit perplexed as to what I should wear. So, when I found a charcoal dress in July for under $50 I scooped that baby up. Score right? Nope! Reed was in the wedding and learned months later his suit was the exact same charcoal color as my dress. Since he is NOT a proponent of us dressing alike, and his outfit was pretty set in stone, I was kindly (??) told to buy another dress. But I looooved my dress. So, being the resourceful chick that I am, I went online and found the same dress in another color (also on sale), and had it shipped to my house. Crisis averted. Except, I bought it a size smaller, meaning it no longer fit as perfectly as the charcoal dress (may she RIP). This inspired frantic googling of "how to lose weight in a week". Which brought me to Cosmo's website. Which leads me to the real reason for this post.
Never a huge fan of the poorly written articles or somewhat ridiculous messages to females, I probably haven't read a Cosmo mag since Freshman year of college. So, when I stumbled across their Drop 5 Pounds in a Week article, and it actually provided some healthy strategies, I thought maybe I needed to give Cosmo another chance in my adult life. So whilst on the phone with Reed last night I thought it would be fun to peruse the Relationship Advice section together. After reading 9 Signs He Likes You and finding out he does, in fact, like me, I let him pick a category. Shockingly, he picked Sex & Love (emphasis on the Sex obvi. He is a boy after all.). First article - 16 Homemade Sex Toys You Need to Try. Reed: "What the hell is a homemade sex toy?" Me: "Maybe this will inspire you to participate in arts and crafts." (I've been begging for pumpkin carving for three weeks; we've only gotten as far as purchasing the pumpkins as Reed continues to stand his ground on not participating in creative projects. But I digress.) We quickly learned DIY sex toys meant finding things around the house and bringing them to the bedroom. Basically ensuring you should never have a dinner party again, because spoons and spatulas apparently have alternative uses. Me: "Imagine if I was reading this on my own, and thought these were great ideas? What would you do if all of a sudden one night I came to bed with a donut, clothes pins, and an electric tooth brush?" Reed: "You'd quickly be leaving the bed with your donut, clothes pins, and electric tooth brush." Welp, turns out we're not DIY sex toy people. It also turns out that Cosmo is still the crazy magazine it's always been. While it certainly provided amusing conversation between Reed and me, and the quizzes are entertaining on a hungover Sunday with the girls...ladies, I BEG you, do not take this shit seriously. I'm thinking Cosmo should not be the expert on your relationships just as much as they shouldn't be giving Career & Money advice (actual category on the site). And if you're going to do the 31 Days of Hot Sex Challenge, I suggest you do it with someone you are more than casually dating, and I HIGHLY suggest you fill him in on your challenge, or he's going to be really confused when you get to Day 26 and try to make him pose naked so you can sketch him.
Never a huge fan of the poorly written articles or somewhat ridiculous messages to females, I probably haven't read a Cosmo mag since Freshman year of college. So, when I stumbled across their Drop 5 Pounds in a Week article, and it actually provided some healthy strategies, I thought maybe I needed to give Cosmo another chance in my adult life. So whilst on the phone with Reed last night I thought it would be fun to peruse the Relationship Advice section together. After reading 9 Signs He Likes You and finding out he does, in fact, like me, I let him pick a category. Shockingly, he picked Sex & Love (emphasis on the Sex obvi. He is a boy after all.). First article - 16 Homemade Sex Toys You Need to Try. Reed: "What the hell is a homemade sex toy?" Me: "Maybe this will inspire you to participate in arts and crafts." (I've been begging for pumpkin carving for three weeks; we've only gotten as far as purchasing the pumpkins as Reed continues to stand his ground on not participating in creative projects. But I digress.) We quickly learned DIY sex toys meant finding things around the house and bringing them to the bedroom. Basically ensuring you should never have a dinner party again, because spoons and spatulas apparently have alternative uses. Me: "Imagine if I was reading this on my own, and thought these were great ideas? What would you do if all of a sudden one night I came to bed with a donut, clothes pins, and an electric tooth brush?" Reed: "You'd quickly be leaving the bed with your donut, clothes pins, and electric tooth brush." Welp, turns out we're not DIY sex toy people. It also turns out that Cosmo is still the crazy magazine it's always been. While it certainly provided amusing conversation between Reed and me, and the quizzes are entertaining on a hungover Sunday with the girls...ladies, I BEG you, do not take this shit seriously. I'm thinking Cosmo should not be the expert on your relationships just as much as they shouldn't be giving Career & Money advice (actual category on the site). And if you're going to do the 31 Days of Hot Sex Challenge, I suggest you do it with someone you are more than casually dating, and I HIGHLY suggest you fill him in on your challenge, or he's going to be really confused when you get to Day 26 and try to make him pose naked so you can sketch him.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Boys. Boys. Boys.
Dear Almost 30-Year-Old Gentlemen,
My apologies in advance for the aggressive tone here, but... Why the fuck are you still acting like boys? Why are you still living in an apartment that looks like a college dorm? Still not looking for a girlfriend because you're afraid it will end your social life? And why the fuck are you not calling girls back whom you clearly like and have mucho in common with? Essentially, why are you still being a ManChild?
**For the record, I am not discussing Reed (he's gotten wind of this blog, so I may as well give credit where credit is due). Though the boy can't seem to fathom the ideas that you have to wash a bathroom weekly or that eating out (or at Mom's) every night is not acceptable, he is actually extremely adult-like when it comes to our relationship, his career, and his overall ability to have grown-up conversations. I've even had a few moments where I accidentally "girl-rambled" about the future, and he hasn't run away. Side note to all boyfriends: every girlfriend has your future planned out, including what you'll be wearing at the wedding. Also, the NameGame was played prior to your first date. You're welcome & Get over it.
So, moving back to the direction of this post, this is referencing the boys my Besties are still forced to deal with, and the boys I am happy to no longer be dealing with (as long as I don't continue to yell at Reed incessantly for the coffee spilled three days ago on the kitchen counter). With input from said Besties, we've compiled some ManChild behaviors, and some quick modifications, that could help all of us going forward:
My apologies in advance for the aggressive tone here, but... Why the fuck are you still acting like boys? Why are you still living in an apartment that looks like a college dorm? Still not looking for a girlfriend because you're afraid it will end your social life? And why the fuck are you not calling girls back whom you clearly like and have mucho in common with? Essentially, why are you still being a ManChild?
**For the record, I am not discussing Reed (he's gotten wind of this blog, so I may as well give credit where credit is due). Though the boy can't seem to fathom the ideas that you have to wash a bathroom weekly or that eating out (or at Mom's) every night is not acceptable, he is actually extremely adult-like when it comes to our relationship, his career, and his overall ability to have grown-up conversations. I've even had a few moments where I accidentally "girl-rambled" about the future, and he hasn't run away. Side note to all boyfriends: every girlfriend has your future planned out, including what you'll be wearing at the wedding. Also, the NameGame was played prior to your first date. You're welcome & Get over it.
So, moving back to the direction of this post, this is referencing the boys my Besties are still forced to deal with, and the boys I am happy to no longer be dealing with (as long as I don't continue to yell at Reed incessantly for the coffee spilled three days ago on the kitchen counter). With input from said Besties, we've compiled some ManChild behaviors, and some quick modifications, that could help all of us going forward:
- If you don't want a girlfriend, just say it. Some girls don't want a boyfriend either. Just be honest, so you don't make the poor dame fall in love with you. Bonus for you: This will make your life easier. If you tell her upfront you don't want a relationship, and she still wants to see you, you're never going to be in trouble for that. Because her friends (if they're good friends) will either tell her to evacuate immediately or defend you later on.
- If you are dating a girl, "forgot" to tell her you were terrified of commitment, and then choose to enlighten her three months and 45 sleepovers later, DO NOT call her anymore. Your sexytime privileges have been revoked. Find someone else to dine with.
- If you like a girl, CALL HER. Don't tell her she's "the coolest chick", or soo beautiful, or that all your friends like her. It doesn't matter if you're rambling this on Thursday night at the bar. Random texts without purpose and daily Words with Friends games don't count as appropriate communication either. Make. A. Move. Reed actually was a culprit of this, and six years later he got the girl - because this time he called. And now he knows better. 27 year olds, if you wait six years to pick up the phone, chances are she's going to be scooped up. And then it won't matter. And you'll be sad.
- If it's a booty call, keep it a booty call. Girls keep some boys around just for bootay too FYI . But don't muddy the waters - this is where you DON'T call her. No texting or Words with Friends on this one either. Because someone's going to get confused and you're going to be in a pickle ... With a lonely pickle (See what I did there?).
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Can I Get A Map Please?
Most non-shocking statement of 2012: I'm a control freak. I am always someone with a plan - or a planned plan at least - and it seems that currently, well, I have no plan. I have everything I want - awesome job, amazing besties, fab BF, happy family that's juuust close enough to see whenever I want, but no idea how to squeeze everything in or how life will transition going forward. So.This is very different for me. Usually I am miserable or overly concerned about the progress in one or two aspects of my life, and have a wonderful plan as to how to become happy or fix what's causing angst. I mean, clearly, I'm a bomb little planner because I got everything I currently want (except a puppy - I still really want a fucking puppy), but now I'm trying to balance it all and not spend my life wishing for everything to be more organized, better planned, and basically wrapped up in a pretty little bow.
Not for nothing, but no one tells you about this part of life. No one warns you. No one tells you there is a short period where you just want to / get to have selfish fun with your friends. And that then you reach a time, approximately around age 27ish, where you start to worry that you're going to grow old alone (if you don't count the 14 cats you'll likely share residence with), so you walk a thin line between loving singledome and wishing to find your someone ASAP. And certainly no one tells you that once you found a someone, potentially your real someone, that you'll continue attempting a balancing act. You're not really choosing one person or thing over another, but there's simply not enough time to always fit friends, family, a boyfriend, and that increasingly demanding, yet rewarding career.
For the record, I am very aware that I'm White Whining all over the place, because these are not REAL problems. Being really happy is not a problem. I am beyond beyond aware that I don't have much to complain about (knock on wood). I'm just...confused? What does one do without a plan and why doesn't anyone older and wiser have a plan I can copy? A road map of sorts? Just some suggestions perhaps? (I'm well aware few older and wisers read this blog, so I suppose that's a bit of a rhetorical question.)
Maybe no one warned me because not everyone gets this. Not everyone gets to have the awesome friend time in their 20s, mixed with career missteps, and an overall sense of non-direction, teaching you valuable life lessons and ultimately landing you in a position where you are surrounded by all the right people and things. Where you feel like you are finally doing EXACTLY what you should be doing when you should be doing it, but now you're not really sure what you should be doing next.
Since no one seems to have advice for this life moment, I guess I'll refer to my girl Carrie, who always seems to have wise input (except with boys, who picks Big over Aidan? Still not pleased about that) . . .
“Sometimes we need to stop analyzing the past, stop planning the future, stop figuring out precisely how we feel, stop deciding exactly what we want, and just see what happens.”
Not for nothing, but no one tells you about this part of life. No one warns you. No one tells you there is a short period where you just want to / get to have selfish fun with your friends. And that then you reach a time, approximately around age 27ish, where you start to worry that you're going to grow old alone (if you don't count the 14 cats you'll likely share residence with), so you walk a thin line between loving singledome and wishing to find your someone ASAP. And certainly no one tells you that once you found a someone, potentially your real someone, that you'll continue attempting a balancing act. You're not really choosing one person or thing over another, but there's simply not enough time to always fit friends, family, a boyfriend, and that increasingly demanding, yet rewarding career.
For the record, I am very aware that I'm White Whining all over the place, because these are not REAL problems. Being really happy is not a problem. I am beyond beyond aware that I don't have much to complain about (knock on wood). I'm just...confused? What does one do without a plan and why doesn't anyone older and wiser have a plan I can copy? A road map of sorts? Just some suggestions perhaps? (I'm well aware few older and wisers read this blog, so I suppose that's a bit of a rhetorical question.)
Maybe no one warned me because not everyone gets this. Not everyone gets to have the awesome friend time in their 20s, mixed with career missteps, and an overall sense of non-direction, teaching you valuable life lessons and ultimately landing you in a position where you are surrounded by all the right people and things. Where you feel like you are finally doing EXACTLY what you should be doing when you should be doing it, but now you're not really sure what you should be doing next.
Since no one seems to have advice for this life moment, I guess I'll refer to my girl Carrie, who always seems to have wise input (except with boys, who picks Big over Aidan? Still not pleased about that) . . .
“Sometimes we need to stop analyzing the past, stop planning the future, stop figuring out precisely how we feel, stop deciding exactly what we want, and just see what happens.”
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
I Want a Puppy and I Want Him NOW
I've decided puppies to me must be what babies are to other girls.
As was discussed previously, I'm not much of a baby girl. I'm not going to coo, I'm probably not even going to touch your brand new offspring unless you make me. I will say my hellos and probably do some awkward finger / handshake until I finally become comfortable around the munchkin or he reaches toddlerdome - whichever comes first. However, you saunter over with your brand new canine baby and I turn to mush.
Hence, my new jealous streak. EVERYONE around me is getting a puppy and I.Want.One. This has to be what the last single girl feels like when all her friends get married and have babies and she can't find her Prince Charming. I just want my Prince Fido. A (large) diamond ring and a condo are always nice too, but I'll wait on those and take the dog today, thankyouverymuch.
Sadly, much like the single girl who can't find a potential mate, force him to settle down, and make babies yesterday, I also cannot instantly morph my lifestyle into one that fits a new puppyfriend.
::Sigh::
In the meantime, I'll be borrowing / dognapping these little furballs who have recently entered my life:
As was discussed previously, I'm not much of a baby girl. I'm not going to coo, I'm probably not even going to touch your brand new offspring unless you make me. I will say my hellos and probably do some awkward finger / handshake until I finally become comfortable around the munchkin or he reaches toddlerdome - whichever comes first. However, you saunter over with your brand new canine baby and I turn to mush.
Hence, my new jealous streak. EVERYONE around me is getting a puppy and I.Want.One. This has to be what the last single girl feels like when all her friends get married and have babies and she can't find her Prince Charming. I just want my Prince Fido. A (large) diamond ring and a condo are always nice too, but I'll wait on those and take the dog today, thankyouverymuch.
Sadly, much like the single girl who can't find a potential mate, force him to settle down, and make babies yesterday, I also cannot instantly morph my lifestyle into one that fits a new puppyfriend.
::Sigh::
In the meantime, I'll be borrowing / dognapping these little furballs who have recently entered my life:
Monday, September 3, 2012
Ladies, Ladies, Ladies
I have a quick fashion complaint, and it centers on the brassiere. Bra straps hanging out, bras under sheer shirts, bras as shirts? When did this become okay? I'm as big a fan of fantastic lingerie as anyone, but ladies... let's cover our ladies. And NYC, I'm not sure what you chicas are thinking, but it is CERTAINLY NOT okay to walk around topless .
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Baby Got Back
Okay, for anyone who knows me...baby don't got back. But baby seems to be trying her damndest to get it. Not someone to ever turn down a meal to begin with, my struggle to say no to delicious treats is only getting harder with a new boy in my life. I've always prided (and cursed) myself on my ability to lick a plate clean, but I have met my match. Reed can go HAM on a meal like I've never seen. Dinners now mandate apps, main course, sides (or a "supplemental meal" as he likes to refer to the extra order of mac and cheese), and dessert. I haven't technically gained weight yet, but I also haven't lost weight and with the quantity of food I am requested (required?) to take in as part of this relationship, it can only be a matter of time. Especially since I am between gyms.
Operation September: Get my ass back in shape. Because I really don't want to be this kid, and right now I feel like I could eat a hippopotamus. Don't worry, I opted for a salad instead. I heart hippos too much to eat them.
Operation September: Get my ass back in shape. Because I really don't want to be this kid, and right now I feel like I could eat a hippopotamus. Don't worry, I opted for a salad instead. I heart hippos too much to eat them.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Thank You Zuckerberg
Ohhhh Facebook...what a gift and a curse you are. Normally a fan of the good book - a wonderful forum to share photos, videos, useless musings, and stay connected with friends - I was unpleasantly surprised to find it bite me on the bottom recently.
This weekend was the wedding of two fab friends who are fab for each other. (Unfortunately, I find this is not the norm, but that's another post for another day.) Said event is also the wedding referenced in my previous + 1 post , to which I was elated to learn I could bring a date (further proof this couple is bomb). As someone who did not have a +1 in my life, I asked my friend Texy to join me and called it a day. Of course, in true Ally May fashion, I decided to get a boyfriendishness person shortly thereafter and complicate things. Not one to break a date (even with a friend), and certainly one to avoid introducing a new person to everyone from my childhood, I explained the situation to all parties involved and kept my original +1. There was some light teasing from Reed (probably easier than referring to him as my boyfriendishness person), but he knew it was poor timing and Texy was just a friend, so it was all good in the hood.
Enter Facebook. When I say this wedding was awesome - it was awesome. Like any normal 27 year old, when awesome things happen, I post them on Facebook. And helllooo, there was a photo booth. That's getting posted and tagged - STAT. Well, poor Reed, who lacks my enthusiasm for the book, was bombarded with questions .5 seconds after posting. And as a boy who tells me everything, he openly shared the parade of comments from his sister, college friend, business partner, etc. I was quickly assured, "I'm not mad at you, I'm just annoyed I have to answer questions because of Facebook." What the Hell do I do with that? There's nothing to fight about so that's not the solution. Can't defriend his people, that's not a good look and I'm not trying to hide anything.
Bottom line - Not.Cool.People. Sneakiness rule #1 - If you're going to be shady, you don't post your activities on social media sites. In other words, I'm not being shady. We've got a good thing going here - we're honest with each other, we're making the long distance thing work, and we get.each.other. Please don't make the one time a day I get to see him be accompanied with a shmoopy face and a grumpy mood that I didn't cause and I can't fix. And it's really not your fault Zuckerberg, but you didn't help much here either.
This weekend was the wedding of two fab friends who are fab for each other. (Unfortunately, I find this is not the norm, but that's another post for another day.) Said event is also the wedding referenced in my previous + 1 post , to which I was elated to learn I could bring a date (further proof this couple is bomb). As someone who did not have a +1 in my life, I asked my friend Texy to join me and called it a day. Of course, in true Ally May fashion, I decided to get a boyfriendishness person shortly thereafter and complicate things. Not one to break a date (even with a friend), and certainly one to avoid introducing a new person to everyone from my childhood, I explained the situation to all parties involved and kept my original +1. There was some light teasing from Reed (probably easier than referring to him as my boyfriendishness person), but he knew it was poor timing and Texy was just a friend, so it was all good in the hood.
Enter Facebook. When I say this wedding was awesome - it was awesome. Like any normal 27 year old, when awesome things happen, I post them on Facebook. And helllooo, there was a photo booth. That's getting posted and tagged - STAT. Well, poor Reed, who lacks my enthusiasm for the book, was bombarded with questions .5 seconds after posting. And as a boy who tells me everything, he openly shared the parade of comments from his sister, college friend, business partner, etc. I was quickly assured, "I'm not mad at you, I'm just annoyed I have to answer questions because of Facebook." What the Hell do I do with that? There's nothing to fight about so that's not the solution. Can't defriend his people, that's not a good look and I'm not trying to hide anything.
Bottom line - Not.Cool.People. Sneakiness rule #1 - If you're going to be shady, you don't post your activities on social media sites. In other words, I'm not being shady. We've got a good thing going here - we're honest with each other, we're making the long distance thing work, and we get.each.other. Please don't make the one time a day I get to see him be accompanied with a shmoopy face and a grumpy mood that I didn't cause and I can't fix. And it's really not your fault Zuckerberg, but you didn't help much here either.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Hakuna Matata?
Welp. Remember how I bumped into the boy from three hours away? In a bar neither of us ever go to? In a city where neither of us lives? And remember how I WAS NOT going to go down the "maybe this means something" path? And I was going to stand my ground and be realistic because he owns a business three hours away in the middle of nowhere, and I love my job and my city, so this can't go anywhere? Yeahhhh ...so I didn't actually do the whole "being realistic" thing. Instead, I think I have a boyfriendishness person (I think that's what grownups call it).
I blame Disney. My entire childhood was spent watching ridiculous love stories between mermaids and princes, beasts and beautiful book nerds, street rats and princesses, two lions for God's sake. I mean, talk about relationships that shouldn't work. But they live happily ever after. In a castle, most likely. Sounds fantastic to me.
It's a fairly well-known fact that I love a good story. Any situation becomes better if there's a good story as to how you found yourself there. Coincidence, intuition, fate, deja vu, karma...these are a few of my favorite things. So, when a boy you liked six years ago, whom you've had multiple missed connections with, comes up to you in an extremely random place and says "Ally May?"; you take notice. When you realize he has the same ridiculously random, sometimes awful, music appreciation; you take notice. Same over-the-top love of dogs? Notice. Same hippyish/somewhat snotty/pretty chill/sometimes uptight/doesn't make sense at all personality? Notice. And when you finally realize he's absolutely hysterical, you give up trying to fight it and just go with it. And all this, on top of a great six-year story.... I know what you're thinking. I didn't stand a chance. Silly girl.
So, a big thank you to the Wonderful World of Disney, because you have turned me into a very dumb girl, who believes in fairy tales, and now has a boyfriendishness person, and is completely ignoring geography.
Another big thank you to this guy, because you were absolutely used as bribery in getting this little long distance thing sparked up again.
I blame Disney. My entire childhood was spent watching ridiculous love stories between mermaids and princes, beasts and beautiful book nerds, street rats and princesses, two lions for God's sake. I mean, talk about relationships that shouldn't work. But they live happily ever after. In a castle, most likely. Sounds fantastic to me.
It's a fairly well-known fact that I love a good story. Any situation becomes better if there's a good story as to how you found yourself there. Coincidence, intuition, fate, deja vu, karma...these are a few of my favorite things. So, when a boy you liked six years ago, whom you've had multiple missed connections with, comes up to you in an extremely random place and says "Ally May?"; you take notice. When you realize he has the same ridiculously random, sometimes awful, music appreciation; you take notice. Same over-the-top love of dogs? Notice. Same hippyish/somewhat snotty/pretty chill/sometimes uptight/doesn't make sense at all personality? Notice. And when you finally realize he's absolutely hysterical, you give up trying to fight it and just go with it. And all this, on top of a great six-year story.... I know what you're thinking. I didn't stand a chance. Silly girl.
So, a big thank you to the Wonderful World of Disney, because you have turned me into a very dumb girl, who believes in fairy tales, and now has a boyfriendishness person, and is completely ignoring geography.
Another big thank you to this guy, because you were absolutely used as bribery in getting this little long distance thing sparked up again.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
+1
*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.
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
Wahhh
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.
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.
Friday, May 18, 2012
I Held a Baby Today
I know I know. What's the big deal? The big deal is that they TERRIFY me. So breakable. Not sure what to do with them. Would generally prefer to avoid them. It's pretty common knowledge that if given the option between a baby and a puppy I'd choose the puppy 10 times out of 10.
Let me take a hot minute to defend myself for anyone that now thinks I'm an evil baby-hater. I will someday have babies because I LOVE children. Love love love, have to restrain myself from squeezing adorable children on the street, love. But babies? What do you do with them? I don't get it, never have. I've always assumed somewhere around age two is when the fun starts, and I'll just have to get through the baby stages with my own children. BUT today a seven month old made an appearance at work and I jumped right up to grab her and wasn't scared AT ALL. And I was very scared of her when she stopped by shortly after her birth. So, in summary, my future children stand a chance. Perhaps not a light bulb moment to the rest of the world, but to me these are some seriously big steps. In the words of Mick Bestie, "Good Job. Maybe by the time you have your own you'll be okay with a brandy new one!"
Let me take a hot minute to defend myself for anyone that now thinks I'm an evil baby-hater. I will someday have babies because I LOVE children. Love love love, have to restrain myself from squeezing adorable children on the street, love. But babies? What do you do with them? I don't get it, never have. I've always assumed somewhere around age two is when the fun starts, and I'll just have to get through the baby stages with my own children. BUT today a seven month old made an appearance at work and I jumped right up to grab her and wasn't scared AT ALL. And I was very scared of her when she stopped by shortly after her birth. So, in summary, my future children stand a chance. Perhaps not a light bulb moment to the rest of the world, but to me these are some seriously big steps. In the words of Mick Bestie, "Good Job. Maybe by the time you have your own you'll be okay with a brandy new one!"
(Just a little unrelated baby humor for ya)
Saturday, May 12, 2012
When Did This Happen?
So I went on my date, which is so not worthy of an entire blog entry, but to sum up, my previous post about my dating behavior was once again, pretty dead on. I was a nervous wreck up to and during most of the date, despite the fact that I knew almost instantly I wasn't interested. This potentially just proves that I'm crazy, because I truly did not find the experience enjoyable and would have easily escaped after five minutes with him, could I have figured out how to do it politely. That being said, I still think it's "good for me" (famous last words) so I'm going to keep trying and just cross my fingers that my dating attitude and skills improve. If nothing else, it's providing entertaining stories for my friends and I am certainly learning what I don't want.
Okay, now onto the most interesting little nugget I learned during this date...apparently girls these days are SUPER aggressive. He told me girls approach him, buy him drinks, and even ask him out... umm WHAT?! Normally I would seriously question that the pretentious dork I was sharing a drink with gets that much female attention, but this sentiment has been mirrored by too many male friends to ignore it. My mind is officially blown. More importantly, I am officially screwed. As the girl standing in the corner of the bar, waiting for nice, tall, cute, funny boys to flock to me, I clearly don't stand a chance. When did this even happen? Are guys really okay with this cultural shift? From what I'm hearing, apparently they are. They even like it. I guess I should be proud of my fellow ladies, for not giving a shit and just taking the initiative to go after what (who) they want, but I can't help but find it a little disappointing. I like to be "chased", I like to know when someone is interested and see them putting in the work to show me that. Go figure, I'm high maintenance.
The compromise. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm fully aware that I'm the other extreme and it has been said that I'm borderline inapproachable. Roombud Bestie recently shared the following article with me, 10 Ways to Get Men to Approach You, which I'm sure was meant as mere entertainment, rather than a not-so subtle recommendation (Right Roombud Bestie??). I then shared this article with my friend Chase. Chase is one of my biggest critics when it comes to my lackadaisical approach to the opposite sex and instantly began identifying the things I would "never" do from this list. His attack was fair I suppose. I generally head out with at least three other people, leaving little opportunity for strangers to interject, and since I have been asked multiple times why I look "miserable" in bars, I guess I could work on the eye contact and adding a few more smiles into my repertoire. While I know for a fact that I will never be the type of girl elbowing my way in to spark up conversation with a boy, I suppose this is just another glaring opportunity for me to TRY. And by TRY, I mean try to put off starting my cat collection just a little longer.
So with all that said, I suppose I should start making myself stunningly beautiful so I can find a park where I can wait for boys to make eye contact with, shoot megawatt smiles at, and ask if I can pet their cute dogs. Instead of that, because it's my birthday, I'm going to finish making my 15,000 jello shots, create the best dance music playlist ever, slip on my highest heels and shortest skirt, and party my ass off with 40 of my closest friends. Tonight I am going to scream unapproachable. I guess I'll do the park thing another day.
Okay, now onto the most interesting little nugget I learned during this date...apparently girls these days are SUPER aggressive. He told me girls approach him, buy him drinks, and even ask him out... umm WHAT?! Normally I would seriously question that the pretentious dork I was sharing a drink with gets that much female attention, but this sentiment has been mirrored by too many male friends to ignore it. My mind is officially blown. More importantly, I am officially screwed. As the girl standing in the corner of the bar, waiting for nice, tall, cute, funny boys to flock to me, I clearly don't stand a chance. When did this even happen? Are guys really okay with this cultural shift? From what I'm hearing, apparently they are. They even like it. I guess I should be proud of my fellow ladies, for not giving a shit and just taking the initiative to go after what (who) they want, but I can't help but find it a little disappointing. I like to be "chased", I like to know when someone is interested and see them putting in the work to show me that. Go figure, I'm high maintenance.
The compromise. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm fully aware that I'm the other extreme and it has been said that I'm borderline inapproachable. Roombud Bestie recently shared the following article with me, 10 Ways to Get Men to Approach You, which I'm sure was meant as mere entertainment, rather than a not-so subtle recommendation (Right Roombud Bestie??). I then shared this article with my friend Chase. Chase is one of my biggest critics when it comes to my lackadaisical approach to the opposite sex and instantly began identifying the things I would "never" do from this list. His attack was fair I suppose. I generally head out with at least three other people, leaving little opportunity for strangers to interject, and since I have been asked multiple times why I look "miserable" in bars, I guess I could work on the eye contact and adding a few more smiles into my repertoire. While I know for a fact that I will never be the type of girl elbowing my way in to spark up conversation with a boy, I suppose this is just another glaring opportunity for me to TRY. And by TRY, I mean try to put off starting my cat collection just a little longer.
So with all that said, I suppose I should start making myself stunningly beautiful so I can find a park where I can wait for boys to make eye contact with, shoot megawatt smiles at, and ask if I can pet their cute dogs. Instead of that, because it's my birthday, I'm going to finish making my 15,000 jello shots, create the best dance music playlist ever, slip on my highest heels and shortest skirt, and party my ass off with 40 of my closest friends. Tonight I am going to scream unapproachable. I guess I'll do the park thing another day.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
I Think We Should Probably Date More
As I was driving through the North End today with two of my besties, we passed a restaurant I recognized and I said "I went on a date there". This was followed by me trying to recall who I went on said date with, with Roombud Bestie reminding me "You went there with Reed." This was quickly followed by Blonde Bestie's sarcastic comment, "Because you go on so many dates, it's hard to keep track". She quickly followed this with the statement "I think we should probably date more." As the two of us combined could probably count our "first dates" on one hand; I fear she is correct. This revelation, in partnership with today's viewing of the new RomCom "Five-Year Engagement" (highly recommended BTW), was enough to cause some slight Sunday Scaries and inspire a little self-evaluation.
I'm just gonna say it. I hate dating. The whole situation causes me anxiety. A little glimpse into my date preparation process:
Is he going to ask me out? I hope he asks me out. Shit he asked me out. Now I have to go out with him. Where are we going? What do I wear? What if I don't like him? I hope he's cute since I last saw him in college / this is a blind date and I'm basing this primarily on Facebook pictures / I met him at a dark bar where I was most likely on cocktail #3 and not in a position to select ideal future mates. Speaking of cocktails, I should make one while I get ready, just to take the edge off. Now I'm running late because the perfect outfit I planned is actually atrocious on and I had to change six times, pausing between wardrobe changes to sip wine, which in retrospect may not have been the best idea since I didn't eat all day in order to look my skinniest for the evening ahead. Fuckkkkkkkkk.
I haven't left my apartment and I've already given myself a headache, a stomach ache, a slight buzz, and turned my bedroom into a war zone. How to escape from the date if it's truly awful is a whole other bag of issues we haven't even explored yet.
Under normal circumstances, the obvious answer is to just avoid the things you hate. Peanut butter, scary movies, Dave Matthews Band...all things I regularly avoid with relative ease. But, given the fact that I do actually want to meet my Mr. Right someday (preferably in the near future), steering clear of dates doesn't appear to be a viable option. So with that said (and after years of trying to kick and scream my way out of this), I'm going to TRY. It's occurred to me that many of my friends actually love dates and I seem to be missing something here. Let's be honest, free food, a new restaurant, and something to do mid-week are all things that normally make this girl very happy. Add in the opportunity to be amused and potentially play the name game with someone new - maybe it's worth giving this crazy ritual another shot. Here's hoping, because I think I have a date next week and I can already feel the apprehension building....
I'm just gonna say it. I hate dating. The whole situation causes me anxiety. A little glimpse into my date preparation process:
Is he going to ask me out? I hope he asks me out. Shit he asked me out. Now I have to go out with him. Where are we going? What do I wear? What if I don't like him? I hope he's cute since I last saw him in college / this is a blind date and I'm basing this primarily on Facebook pictures / I met him at a dark bar where I was most likely on cocktail #3 and not in a position to select ideal future mates. Speaking of cocktails, I should make one while I get ready, just to take the edge off. Now I'm running late because the perfect outfit I planned is actually atrocious on and I had to change six times, pausing between wardrobe changes to sip wine, which in retrospect may not have been the best idea since I didn't eat all day in order to look my skinniest for the evening ahead. Fuckkkkkkkkk.
I haven't left my apartment and I've already given myself a headache, a stomach ache, a slight buzz, and turned my bedroom into a war zone. How to escape from the date if it's truly awful is a whole other bag of issues we haven't even explored yet.
Under normal circumstances, the obvious answer is to just avoid the things you hate. Peanut butter, scary movies, Dave Matthews Band...all things I regularly avoid with relative ease. But, given the fact that I do actually want to meet my Mr. Right someday (preferably in the near future), steering clear of dates doesn't appear to be a viable option. So with that said (and after years of trying to kick and scream my way out of this), I'm going to TRY. It's occurred to me that many of my friends actually love dates and I seem to be missing something here. Let's be honest, free food, a new restaurant, and something to do mid-week are all things that normally make this girl very happy. Add in the opportunity to be amused and potentially play the name game with someone new - maybe it's worth giving this crazy ritual another shot. Here's hoping, because I think I have a date next week and I can already feel the apprehension building....
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