At the ripe age of 24, I have passed the era of proms, cotillions, formals, and the like. In my post-college life, there have been a few black tie events to attend, but I always had a significant other, a dress I could repeat, and no issues.
Yet on this Saturday night, I find myself 6 days away from an important gala I have to attend and completely dateless. I think I'm feeling sorry for myself and blogging about this will make me feel better, or at least help me find some humor in the situation. Here's the details:
The event is the Syracuse BasketBall, sponsored by coach Jim Boeheim and his wife. It benefits the American Cancer Society, takes place at a casino, and current and former players like Carmelo Anthony are on the guest list. My Mom was hired as the event planner and thus I have to be there to fill her table and admire her hard work. I am really proud of my Mom for landing this gig, her event planning business has really taken off. I just wish I had a date. I also need to mention that attending this event includes staying overnight at the casino. I told my Mom to get me a room with two double beds...awkward moment.
I think the sleepover aspect is the main reason securing a date has been so difficult. I need to either invite someone I don't mind hooking up with, or who I know will not try to hook up with me. There are plenty of dudes who I know would say yes and be really excited for this opportunity; but I also know after a night of drinking and going back to an empty hotel room, I'd end up fending them off and I'm not in the mood for that.
I thought of my ex boyfriend because hey, it's not like I haven't shared a hotel room with him before! But he's going to be in Arizona. Next was my friend Rare Gem, a huge Syracuse fan who I knew would really appreciate the night and maintain platonic standards. Unfortunately, Rare Gem said yes and had to cancel due to a family commitment. I pondered my situation for a few days before deciding to ask Shy Ry Guy. He's been a good friend for a number of years and I knew he'd follow my lead and go with the flow. Only Shy Ry Guy's going to be in NYC. WTF PEOPLE?!
I thought about asking Club Champ, which I was advised is a really bad idea if I have any interest in his roommate, Mr. Wellness. Spending one on one time with Club Champ decreases my chances of one on one time with Mr. Wellness, but Club Champ owns his own tuxedo and for last minute purposes is looking pretty good. I called Club Champ today and after two rings he hit ignore and it went straight to voicemail. I interpreted that as a bad omen and hung up.
I actually went through my Blackberry contacts this afternoon trying to find a date. What is the world coming to? I will admit I forwarded the same text message to three different guys asking if they had plans for next Saturday night. The responses ranged from, "I would really love to go but I coach lax early on Sunday morning 4 hours away" to "haha maybe!!" Wow, I feel pathetic.
So as it stands at this moment, I'm waiting for my friend, Rotel Lover, to get approval from his girlfriend to be my platonic date. The text exchange went something like this:
Me: Will she let you?
RL: I do what I want. Let me check my schedule and get back to you
5 hours later
Me: Need to know your answer
RL: I need more time
Enough said. Perhaps it's time I start thinking about asking a girl? Or better yet, posting an ad on craigslist.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The More Attractive Friend
My friend ZB joined this group on Facebook yesterday entitled "You're Cute but Who's Your Friend?" I found this quite interesting because I am currently in one of these "you're cute but who's your friend" situations.
It all starts at the gym. I kept bumping into this guy, we'll call him Club Champ, who I knew from college. We were the same major, had some classes together and some mutual friends, but we never really hung out. In a school of only 3,000 students though, everyone is somewhat of an acquaintance. So, I did the polite thing and friended him on Facebook when we had classes together. Or maybe he friended me? Anyway, we have been Facebook friends for years, but not real life friends. That is until I kept seeing him at my gym and we started talking in person.
After weeks of out of breath small talk where I was only half listening so as not to fall off the treadmill, he asked me out for a drink. I agreed and we met that Friday night at this Mexican restaurant downtown. In my opinion, I was meeting an old college friend for a drink and to catch up on each other's lives, but as the night progressed it was obviously more in the date category to him. This didn't bother me because I was having a great time and he was making me laugh. And when he asked if I wanted to hop to another bar a few blocks away to meet up with some of his friends I thought it would be fun.
That is where I met Mr. Wellness.
Mr. Wellness at first glance is attractive. Tall, in shape, nice eyes and teeth, with a confident yet humble demeanor. I was instantly intrigued. As I continue to chat with Mr. Wellness, I find out he is not only successfully self-employed, but we have a lot of the same interests in terms of fitness, health, etc. I am now more intrigued. The night ends with Club Champion, Mr. Wellness and I getting some late night food and them dropping me off at my apartment, Club Champ in the backseat, Mr. Wellness and I in the front.
A few weeks have passed since this initial night out and Club Champ and I have hung out a few more times, strictly platonic. I think he wanted to kiss me last weekend but was too shy and I provided no assistance. When Club Champ and I are together, Mr. Wellness often comes up in conversation and I feel a bit guilty about my crush on his good friend. Nevertheless, Mr. Wellness and I are Facebook friends now and I am supposed to stop by his practice next week to purchase some vitamins. I guess I should tread carefully because they live together :)
It all starts at the gym. I kept bumping into this guy, we'll call him Club Champ, who I knew from college. We were the same major, had some classes together and some mutual friends, but we never really hung out. In a school of only 3,000 students though, everyone is somewhat of an acquaintance. So, I did the polite thing and friended him on Facebook when we had classes together. Or maybe he friended me? Anyway, we have been Facebook friends for years, but not real life friends. That is until I kept seeing him at my gym and we started talking in person.
After weeks of out of breath small talk where I was only half listening so as not to fall off the treadmill, he asked me out for a drink. I agreed and we met that Friday night at this Mexican restaurant downtown. In my opinion, I was meeting an old college friend for a drink and to catch up on each other's lives, but as the night progressed it was obviously more in the date category to him. This didn't bother me because I was having a great time and he was making me laugh. And when he asked if I wanted to hop to another bar a few blocks away to meet up with some of his friends I thought it would be fun.
That is where I met Mr. Wellness.
Mr. Wellness at first glance is attractive. Tall, in shape, nice eyes and teeth, with a confident yet humble demeanor. I was instantly intrigued. As I continue to chat with Mr. Wellness, I find out he is not only successfully self-employed, but we have a lot of the same interests in terms of fitness, health, etc. I am now more intrigued. The night ends with Club Champion, Mr. Wellness and I getting some late night food and them dropping me off at my apartment, Club Champ in the backseat, Mr. Wellness and I in the front.
A few weeks have passed since this initial night out and Club Champ and I have hung out a few more times, strictly platonic. I think he wanted to kiss me last weekend but was too shy and I provided no assistance. When Club Champ and I are together, Mr. Wellness often comes up in conversation and I feel a bit guilty about my crush on his good friend. Nevertheless, Mr. Wellness and I are Facebook friends now and I am supposed to stop by his practice next week to purchase some vitamins. I guess I should tread carefully because they live together :)
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Horrible Bridesmaid 1
I am a horrible bridesmaid. I have yet to be an actual bridesmaid, but, I've already decided I am HORRIBLE in this role.
My friend (we'll call her Buster) is getting married this spring. We survived high school together in a small town, played field hockey alongside each other for 4 years, and before going off to different colleges, promised we'd be in each other's weddings. Buster got engaged and kept her promise. She called me with the exciting news, and asked me to be one of her three bridesmaids. Of course I said yes and having never been asked to be a bridesmaid before, I was genuinely excited. I went to my local David's Bridal, tried on the dress and ordered it in the appropriate size, well before the other bridesmaid had. I was ahead of schedule and fulfilling my duties as bridesmaid number two.
The Engagement Party was last month. I went solo and brought a silver wedding frame as a gift. I met the other bridesmaids, reminisced with Buster about our high school days, chatted with the groom's parents. There was only one problem. This engagement party conflicted with another party 45 minutes away and running at the same time. I decided I could make it to both. I hate missing a good party. So after a few hours of chatting it up with the individuals who will now be a major part of Buster's life, I politely thanked the hosts, said my goodbyes and explained I had another obligation. All was going smoothly until I approached the groom's mother. She is the epitome of a Jewish mother and there is nothing like a Jewish mother. "You're leaving?!" she asked me. The disapproval was written across her face. I felt horrible, like the worst bridesmaid in history. I was checking out of Buster's engagement party to attend another friend's 28th birthday party. As one of my friends put it, "Buster will only get married once, but the other girl will have plenty of birthdays." Oddly enough, Buster did not mind my early dismissal, she was just happy to have me there in any capacity. That's one thing I always loved about her, she's so easygoing. I rationalized my actions by telling myself, "Well you're not the Maid of Honor, that would be different." I strategically wove my way to the exit through the crowd of party guests and waitresses distributing glass flutes full of Veuve Cliquot. As I slipped out the front door just as the groom's father was about to propose a toast, I cringed. Cringed at what a horrible bridesmaid I am, and because Champagne always makes me puke.
My friend (we'll call her Buster) is getting married this spring. We survived high school together in a small town, played field hockey alongside each other for 4 years, and before going off to different colleges, promised we'd be in each other's weddings. Buster got engaged and kept her promise. She called me with the exciting news, and asked me to be one of her three bridesmaids. Of course I said yes and having never been asked to be a bridesmaid before, I was genuinely excited. I went to my local David's Bridal, tried on the dress and ordered it in the appropriate size, well before the other bridesmaid had. I was ahead of schedule and fulfilling my duties as bridesmaid number two.
The Engagement Party was last month. I went solo and brought a silver wedding frame as a gift. I met the other bridesmaids, reminisced with Buster about our high school days, chatted with the groom's parents. There was only one problem. This engagement party conflicted with another party 45 minutes away and running at the same time. I decided I could make it to both. I hate missing a good party. So after a few hours of chatting it up with the individuals who will now be a major part of Buster's life, I politely thanked the hosts, said my goodbyes and explained I had another obligation. All was going smoothly until I approached the groom's mother. She is the epitome of a Jewish mother and there is nothing like a Jewish mother. "You're leaving?!" she asked me. The disapproval was written across her face. I felt horrible, like the worst bridesmaid in history. I was checking out of Buster's engagement party to attend another friend's 28th birthday party. As one of my friends put it, "Buster will only get married once, but the other girl will have plenty of birthdays." Oddly enough, Buster did not mind my early dismissal, she was just happy to have me there in any capacity. That's one thing I always loved about her, she's so easygoing. I rationalized my actions by telling myself, "Well you're not the Maid of Honor, that would be different." I strategically wove my way to the exit through the crowd of party guests and waitresses distributing glass flutes full of Veuve Cliquot. As I slipped out the front door just as the groom's father was about to propose a toast, I cringed. Cringed at what a horrible bridesmaid I am, and because Champagne always makes me puke.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Lindsey Vonn vs. Shaun White
I absolutely love the Olympics! Winter games/Summer games, it doesn't matter, I will mark my calendar and make sure to watch a majority of events. I also mark my calendar for Shark Week on Discovery Channel every July. Love those Great Whites.
Last night was exciting for all Americans with the hype around Lindsey Vonn in the Women's Downhill and Shaun White in Men's Halfpipe. I was glued to the TV, rooting for both of these amazing athletes and silently chanting U-S-A in my head. I have to admit though, while I think Lindsey Vonn is an amazing skier and I could never even attempt to do what she does, (well, I could attempt but would be seriously injured or die in the process), I don't think I care for her as a person. She really annoyed me and unfortunately, this almost ruined my excitement for her amazing 1:44.19 Gold Medal run.
Let me start at the beginning: I've been following Lindsey Vonn's back story since promotional commercials and newscasts for the Winter Olympics aired. I know she suffered a nasty crash in Torino in 2006, I'm aware that she hurt her wrist, and her shin, and her legs were bothering her, and she didn't get to do a full trial run in Whistler. I realize this 25 year old girl has had to face some adversity to achieve her dreams...but, isn't that what it's all about? Did anyone ever think that winning a Gold Medal in an Olympic event would be easy? That there wouldn't be bruises and pain and suffering, oh my! I rooted for Lindsey Vonn and she dominated that course, but the first thing I noticed was that all the other female skiers had their height and weight posted before their run, except Lindsey. I thought this was strange, especially because earlier in the day I read an article on yahoo! stating that she is 5'10'' and 165 lbs. Did she request that her height and weight not be posted? At 165 she was one of the heavier skiers in this event but it's obvious that weight is part of the reason she's able to propel herself down that mountain. So why were her stats not shown? I could be completely wrong, but it seemed a bit prima donna to me. I also was mildly freaked out when I saw her imagining the course in her mind. I get the whole "visualize the success" mentality, but the way Lindsey Vonn did it was creepy, like she was having a bad dream or needed an aide of some sort.
During her victory interview, Lindsey cried a little which I thought was normal. Her mascara started to run and I wondered if someone would hand her a tissue. She then however, ditched the interview to go hug her husband, but instead of hugging him, she bawled hysterically on his shoulder. Long, drawn out, heavy wails that made me uncomfortable. Her husband even told her to stop crying and enjoy the moment. You just won a Gold Medal damn it! Ugh. I guess her over the top, sappy reaction to victory bothered me. Plus, they shared an awkward kiss which made me wonder if he is her husband or just another athlete/friend. Her sobbing seemed dramatic and almost disingenuous to the point where I sort of wished Julia Mancuso got the Gold because she seemed like a much more down to earth and level headed chick. And her goggles had blue glitter on them.
Either way, what Lindsey Vonn accomplished yesterday was incredible. I respect her as a skier and a competitive female athlete. But, if I were in the produce aisle at Hannaford squeezing avocados for my awesome guacamole, I would much rather run into Shaun White than Lindsey Vonn. Shaun would be so chill and laid back, maybe he would even teach me how to make a new Double Mick Guac that no one has even attempted! Lindsey would probably make a better guacamole than mine, complain and bitch about the process and then let out exaggerated tears when complimented. So annoying, and no one enjoys over salted guacamole.
Last night was exciting for all Americans with the hype around Lindsey Vonn in the Women's Downhill and Shaun White in Men's Halfpipe. I was glued to the TV, rooting for both of these amazing athletes and silently chanting U-S-A in my head. I have to admit though, while I think Lindsey Vonn is an amazing skier and I could never even attempt to do what she does, (well, I could attempt but would be seriously injured or die in the process), I don't think I care for her as a person. She really annoyed me and unfortunately, this almost ruined my excitement for her amazing 1:44.19 Gold Medal run.
Let me start at the beginning: I've been following Lindsey Vonn's back story since promotional commercials and newscasts for the Winter Olympics aired. I know she suffered a nasty crash in Torino in 2006, I'm aware that she hurt her wrist, and her shin, and her legs were bothering her, and she didn't get to do a full trial run in Whistler. I realize this 25 year old girl has had to face some adversity to achieve her dreams...but, isn't that what it's all about? Did anyone ever think that winning a Gold Medal in an Olympic event would be easy? That there wouldn't be bruises and pain and suffering, oh my! I rooted for Lindsey Vonn and she dominated that course, but the first thing I noticed was that all the other female skiers had their height and weight posted before their run, except Lindsey. I thought this was strange, especially because earlier in the day I read an article on yahoo! stating that she is 5'10'' and 165 lbs. Did she request that her height and weight not be posted? At 165 she was one of the heavier skiers in this event but it's obvious that weight is part of the reason she's able to propel herself down that mountain. So why were her stats not shown? I could be completely wrong, but it seemed a bit prima donna to me. I also was mildly freaked out when I saw her imagining the course in her mind. I get the whole "visualize the success" mentality, but the way Lindsey Vonn did it was creepy, like she was having a bad dream or needed an aide of some sort.
During her victory interview, Lindsey cried a little which I thought was normal. Her mascara started to run and I wondered if someone would hand her a tissue. She then however, ditched the interview to go hug her husband, but instead of hugging him, she bawled hysterically on his shoulder. Long, drawn out, heavy wails that made me uncomfortable. Her husband even told her to stop crying and enjoy the moment. You just won a Gold Medal damn it! Ugh. I guess her over the top, sappy reaction to victory bothered me. Plus, they shared an awkward kiss which made me wonder if he is her husband or just another athlete/friend. Her sobbing seemed dramatic and almost disingenuous to the point where I sort of wished Julia Mancuso got the Gold because she seemed like a much more down to earth and level headed chick. And her goggles had blue glitter on them.
Either way, what Lindsey Vonn accomplished yesterday was incredible. I respect her as a skier and a competitive female athlete. But, if I were in the produce aisle at Hannaford squeezing avocados for my awesome guacamole, I would much rather run into Shaun White than Lindsey Vonn. Shaun would be so chill and laid back, maybe he would even teach me how to make a new Double Mick Guac that no one has even attempted! Lindsey would probably make a better guacamole than mine, complain and bitch about the process and then let out exaggerated tears when complimented. So annoying, and no one enjoys over salted guacamole.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Seems like a good day to start a blog
I've noticed a few of my friends have blogs. I also watched Julie & Julia on a flight from Liberia, Costa Rica to Newark, New Jersey and decided if Julie can blog about cooking through Julia Child's cookbook, then I can blog about pretty much anything.
When I was 3 years old I had a journal. Not a spiral bound adolescent journal with unicorns on the cover and lined paper, but a real, black with gold trim leather bound, blank bond paper filled, adult-like journal.
Like most 3 year old kids, I was pretty much illiterate except for my name and the word candy that I would scribble in crayon on the magnetic grocery list pad stuck on the fridge. So before bedtime, my Mother and I would sit on the couch, snuggled under an old navy blue and orange handmade Afghan blanket (Go 'Cuse!) and I would tell her what to write in my journal. Unedited, unadulterated, pure and raw 3 year old thoughts. I should add I also had a mullet at this age because my hair didn't grow in on the sides as quickly as it did in the back.
Throughout my journal entries, there were two recurring themes, the phrases; Greetings Good Fellow and My Heart Beats Only For Me.
I picked up "Greetings Good Fellow" from the Count on Sesame Street. I thought this was such a cool way to say hello, and much like the word "Aloha", I would use "Greetings Good Fellow" as both a greeting and closing in my journal and in person with my Kinder-Care friends. I'm not sure who the Good Fellow is/was, but this phrase resonated with my little 3 year old desire to be unique.
After my standard Sesame Street greeting, I would ask my Mother to write "My heart beats only for me" and on occasion proceed to explain why and/or how it beats only for me. My Mom says this marked the beginning of my self-absorption, an attribute I picked up from my Dad's side of the family. I like to think it was my way of asserting my presence in this world, finding my place in the sun and at 3 years old recognizing that I am my own person.
Not surprisingly, 22 years later, my heart still beats only for me. Maybe that is why I am recently single? Just kidding. But, much like my black and gold leather bound journal captured my thoughts and reflections at 3 years old, I suppose this blog serves the same purpose. And while I no longer need my Mom to help me express my thoughts on a particular day, I'm sure she would agree that "my heart beats only for me" is still an applicable mantra of my existence.
When I was 3 years old I had a journal. Not a spiral bound adolescent journal with unicorns on the cover and lined paper, but a real, black with gold trim leather bound, blank bond paper filled, adult-like journal.
Like most 3 year old kids, I was pretty much illiterate except for my name and the word candy that I would scribble in crayon on the magnetic grocery list pad stuck on the fridge. So before bedtime, my Mother and I would sit on the couch, snuggled under an old navy blue and orange handmade Afghan blanket (Go 'Cuse!) and I would tell her what to write in my journal. Unedited, unadulterated, pure and raw 3 year old thoughts. I should add I also had a mullet at this age because my hair didn't grow in on the sides as quickly as it did in the back.
Throughout my journal entries, there were two recurring themes, the phrases; Greetings Good Fellow and My Heart Beats Only For Me.
I picked up "Greetings Good Fellow" from the Count on Sesame Street. I thought this was such a cool way to say hello, and much like the word "Aloha", I would use "Greetings Good Fellow" as both a greeting and closing in my journal and in person with my Kinder-Care friends. I'm not sure who the Good Fellow is/was, but this phrase resonated with my little 3 year old desire to be unique.
After my standard Sesame Street greeting, I would ask my Mother to write "My heart beats only for me" and on occasion proceed to explain why and/or how it beats only for me. My Mom says this marked the beginning of my self-absorption, an attribute I picked up from my Dad's side of the family. I like to think it was my way of asserting my presence in this world, finding my place in the sun and at 3 years old recognizing that I am my own person.
Not surprisingly, 22 years later, my heart still beats only for me. Maybe that is why I am recently single? Just kidding. But, much like my black and gold leather bound journal captured my thoughts and reflections at 3 years old, I suppose this blog serves the same purpose. And while I no longer need my Mom to help me express my thoughts on a particular day, I'm sure she would agree that "my heart beats only for me" is still an applicable mantra of my existence.
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