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'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.

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.

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.

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:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4.  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?).

This is in no way a "Fuck Boys Tonight" post. I think girls make a lot of mistakes too. I'll even go so far as to say I think some of these mistakes are partially why nearing 30 boys are still acting the way they are. Maybe we'll blog about girl problems another day, but for now here's what it comes down to: Just.Be.Honest - with yourselves and the ladies. If you truly want to be single, that's cool. No one says you have to be on a hunt for a girlfriend. But when you find a good girl - as I believe most of my Besties to be  - maybe give it an honest shot. Because male or female, you don't want to be the last single one standing.

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.” 

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.

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.

+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.

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.

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.

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....