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The day I had to beg

I was reflecting the other day about how people tend to add more details to stories and explanations when they are lying. It is as if we think that by adding what kind of soup you were picking up for your Grandma will be the final bit of information needed to convince the other party that your excuse is genuine. Any time somebody does add this kind of detail, a pleading element is introduced, begging for the recipient to just accept the lie and move on. So anytime I am about to craft a tiny enhanced version of the truth I make sure to keep it brief. And, moreover anytime someone goes into a long-winded explanation about something, I mildly tune out, immediately accepting the statement as false.

Then I recalled a particular instance, which mildly debunks this theory. It was early spring, before I had moved into the city and I was racing to Grand Central for an early morning train to CT after crashing at a friend’s the night before. I was hosting a Mother Daughter cocktail party that evening and I NEEDED to make this train in order to make a bevy of appointments and errands I had arranged prior to the event. I arrived to the terminal essentially profusely sweating, sporting a minor upgrade from pajamas, and a head of hair that looked days un-brushed, with barely five minutes until the train’s departure, when I realized I am without the wallet that houses my money, credit cards, and train ticket.

I was at a junction where I could take one of two paths. I could either accept that I would miss my train and delay my day by a few hours or alternatively I could ask for help. I decided to ask for help. I hadn’t exactly gazed in a mirror, but I am fairly certain I was a site for exceptionally sore eyes. But I am a nice girl and I think I look pretty honest so I asked the first man I saw if I could perhaps borrow 3 dollars due to the fact that I only had 8 dollars in my pocket and I just needed three more to make my fare home to see my family.

I mean… it’s pretty much a textbook example from the panhandling handbook, but I continued on to explain that I had been staying with a friend and forgotten my wallet. As if adding these additional tidbits made me more human and less… insane. I saw the man look me up and down and hold up a hand to stop me. He gave me the money, more to shut me up than anything else, and when I asked for his address to send him the money he declined in a way that clearly indicated that he thought I would murder his family and pillage his home if I had my hands on that piece of information

When the janitorial staff of Grand Central think you are a street dweller it is a slight blow to one’s ego, however seeing that kind of fear in a complete stranger’s eyes is quite thought inspiring. All of these times when folks have just needed a few more dollars for bus fare to get home to see their families or get a little gas for the broken down car, or to get a metro card, maybe that is all they really did need. I still don’t give money to people when they spin the kind of tale I did, but I guess I should think twice, considering I still owe $3 to the karma pool.

Happy New Year!

This time of year is one that is particularly dichotomous. People are left riddled with guilt due to poor holiday decision making, over-indulgence, and overspending. There is a mild depression that sets in at the start of the long months of winter and a general sense of finality. And after a respite of brief celebration and jubilance, January 1st is invariably somewhat of a let down. However, this thick darkness is combated with the optimistic hope that this year will be better than the last.

In order to make sure that this is the case, we all make resolutions that we vow to keep to improve our lives and our environment. These can range from specific, “Drop 1 tenth of second on my mile” to general, “survive”. I personally like to go the vague route as, I don’t think it is healthy to script one’s life, but additionally that way I am not entirely held accountable when I fail. So in the spirit of looking forward, versus falling prey to the winter blues, my resolutions for 2010 are below.

1. Be nicer
2. Be healthier
3. Be calmer
4. Exhibit restraint

Of course there are certain specifics required to accomplish these goals, however I refuse to ruin my false sense of hope by micromanaging my plan to self-betterment. My only specific is that I give 2010 my best. So 2009, it is with mixed emotions that I am writing to let you know it is over. I have tried to reconcile our past during a period of self-reflection during the recent days and I have come to terms that our relationship has run its course.

Although there were some wonderful moments, I cannot continue with our unhealthy relationship any further. I have to believe that 2010 has bigger plans for me than you did. I have to at least believe this until it is warm enough for me to reconsider hurling myself over a ledge. So until then- show me what you got 2010! Happy New Year all!!!

Why? Whyyyyy

Something horrible is happening all around us and I am not sure if anyone is truly ready for it. Winter has settled in. For a brief moment this past weekend when I was frolicking along Compo beach basking in the golden glow of the unadulterated sun, I thought maybe it was spring. Families were playing Frisbee, jackets were sporadic, and I am pretty sure I saw the crowning of a newborn crocus on someone’s lawn. But alas, the bitter winds have taken warmth away from us and replaced it with the harsh reality that winter is here until March 20th. So everyone should settle in for three long, horrible months, until we will be able to enjoy a few mediocre ones that will bring us back to the glory of summer. To help guide this journey, below are a few reasons why I love box wine.

1.3 bottles? One box? Hello!
2.They fit perfectly into my freakishly small fridge
3.They are environmentally conscious- we all know I am all about reducing my carbon footprint! If I need to continue to drink box wine in order to save the environment, then I will just have to do it!
4.They are extremely portable and perfect for a picnic or a long subway ride.
5.They come complete with a spigot for easy pouring and sealing.

I hereby pronounce box wine as eggnog’s replacement and the single item that will get me through winter. That- or we could figure out how the whole hibernation thing works.

Thanks and Praise

I recently had a holiday gathering at which I planned to almost solely serve eggnog and since apparently nobody really likes I it I am left with a plethora of excess nog. Since I pretty much only have eggnog in my fridge currently after I recently polished off the jar of cornichons I have been munching on, I have exclusively been drinking eggnog on a nightly basis post holiday extravaganza. And I have discovered that this little elixir is intoxicatingly delicious.

Who invented this magical concoction? What genius decided that blending eggs, milk, and sugar would make such a perfect treat? It has completed my winter nights as I doze off to sleep in front of tube and it has been a surprising addition to my morning coffee. It is also a splendid portal for consuming large quantities of alcohol. Why are we limited to eggnog just one time per year?? Will the day ever come that this could be a year round delicacy?

I still have a few more cartons, so I won’t panic just yet, but I am fearful of the day when I have to put the mug down and step away from the eggnog. What comforting beverage will fill its void? To the creator of eggnog- thank you. My challenge to you now- send me something to wean me off its sweet sweet nectar.

Fin

I envisioned this online dating venture as a thrilling topic of blogging. Since most aspects of my life chart me in the fast lane, I figured this would be the same. I pictured numerous dates per week, doubling up on certain days, confusing people’s back-stories and having wild tales of stalkers and obsessive compulsive prone perverts to bring to the girls at work. I was also looking forward to obtaining exceptional blogging material.

However, it is now that the sad truth is beginning to present itself. My forte in life is most likely not online dating. I am awful at small talk, I don’t get online chatting, and crafting a witty e-mail is not really my game. Most of all, I hate talking about myself to people I don’t know. Due to my distaste for this rather integral cornerstone in socialization, I am essentially no good at meeting new people. I thought it was just in person, but as it turns out this extends to the online world as well.

Somehow I have made it pretty far in life for being almost entirely socially awkward, so I am going to just pray that the above is not completely true. Maybe I just haven’t gotten the knack of dating online, need to devote a bit more focus, or I need a new site, but in order not to bore any of my loyal readers, I am going to hold off on any further updates until I have some that is actually interesting to share.

The day I began to fail at online dating.

So I survived my night of taking it offline- but I have overall failed my mission of taking the Internet by storm. It started off wonderfully. He checked in online to confirm the date and the day of our big date I got a friendly little text about the night. I was looking my best after spending a frantic two hour period prior to the date arranging the perfect first date outfit. And I feel like I followed first date etiquette.

I asked a lot of questions, I seemed interested in the answers. At least I think I did- I at least TRIED to seem interested in the answers. I made eye contact, I laughed. At least I am pretty sure I made eye contact and I definitely laughed. It was hard to remain entirely focused because an adorable French bulldog was patrolling the premises and I did become mildly distracted by his presence.

There were subtle touches, references to future hangouts, and complimentary feedback. I left the night feeling like I was the star of online dating. I nearly felt like I could write a book on the subject with a solid level of expertise. I sent my obligatory follow up text and drifted to sleep with the notion of romantic picnics in spring and drives to the countryside dancing in my head.

So imagine my surprise when three days later, my follow up text is still dangling in the wind unanswered. And imagine that surprise exponentially increasing when I discovered that my date removed himself from Okaycupid entirely! Not only is he not interested in seeing me ever again, but also I have officially caused him to drop out of online dating completely. At first I felt mildly depressed by the thought that I caused a perfectly nice stranger to distrust the Internet, however that was fleeting. I have merely decided to continue on as if this never happened and I have launched into the newest portion of my online dating career. It is not entirely over with Okay Cupid, but chemistry.com- here I come!

The day I continued Online dating

Per the recommendation of my own fabulous resident online dating expert and the fire of yet another engagement under my ass, I have launched into the second chapter of my online dating novella. I have expanded my dating repertoire to a wonderful little site called okaycupid. Here I can answer questions on whether or not I will date a soft drug user or if I think it is acceptable to burn the American flag.

I can also mention that I am looking for a 25 -30 year old single male in NYC and that my favorite food is pretty much anything. And it is sensitive to my emotions and fear of rejection by only alerting users once they have selected each other. It isn’t entirely devoid of online awkwardness. For example this evening a 47-year-old grey haired dude wrote me a message that simply called me a “Geek.” I have also been told I have a nice neckline and also been subject to some pretty awesome pick up lines.

My favorite one was indicating that because my profile picture included a life preserver, I was intended to save the sender. Unfortunately, I sensed some ax-murderish tendencies from his profile so I deemed him a non-match. There was also the match that I was sent named CreepyMarriedude69. So far online dating is slightly like living in Southern Florida, however, there is one seemingly nice interesting single person within the range I selected so I am opting to take it offline this Thursday!

I have alerted my emergency contact of my location and timing so in case I go missing they will know from where to follow the breadcrumbs. So far I am basically a professional online dater. Stay tuned!

The time I almost did Internet dating

As my friends begin to get engaged and married I have decided it’s about time I meet my soul mate. Since certain statistics indicate I won’t be meeting said person out on the town and I haven’t yet achieved this goal, I am hitting up the Internet. I was told that it is free to look so I recently ventured over to E-Harmony to fill out my personality profile. 150 million hours later I am convinced that the only people that have found love on this site are that business owner and artist named Jake or Tom from the commercial.

The reason I believe this is because the personality profile is fairly bogus. I know some Doctor invented it and it is supposedly fairly comprehensive, however in this case comprehensive merely means long versus in depth. Essentially, the insight gleaned is that I think I am fabulous, witty, and gorgeous and I am looking for a nice, intelligent, and handsome man. Shockingly I had several matches immediately based on this intense analysis. I am all for the net, as long as it’s not some rapey type of chat room, but with the formula they apply the chances that a self proclaimed awesome person finds others that find themselves awesome are slightly skewed.

The fact of the matter is, I do find myself to be amazing and I think I should find someone great, but I am thinking E-harmony is not the spot. Considering the fact that I do not often welcome harmony into other sectors of my life, why would I find harmonious Internet love? I know that everyone knows somebody that met his or her future spouse on the E-Harm, but I am thinking I am not sweet enough to meet my match in this forum. I feel that I need a slightly grittier Internet outlet. Plus, word is they hate the gays, so that clearly will not work out. I feel that I have taken the first step in Internet dating, by ruling out one site. Now the task is to find more and then actually join them. Stay tuned- Internet boyfriend to come.

West Coast Balla Reunion

So I’ve received some requests to hear a little bit about my recent vacation to the West Coast. First of all shout out to Jeremy at Auberge! I know this mention isn’t as great as the televised broadcast from Chelsea Handler, but our visit was part of a magical time in California. For those that don’t know, last week I enjoyed a glorious interlude outside of New York City. During my travels to Napa/San Francisco, I experienced the splendor of gay bars, old friends, and wine tasting and for a few short days I was treated to a world of joy and perfection. With no e-mails and emergencies to deter me, I was able to fully dedicate myself to a weekend of awesomeness.

The entire trip embodied perfection, but it was after an idyllic day, sampling the sweet god given nectar of the vineyards, it was determined that I am going to need to immediately win the lottery so that I can move to the West Coast and open a winery of my very own. My dreary New York existence has run its course and it has become clear that rather than devote myself to an office on a day to day basis, I should be strolling through my own plot of vines, plucking ripened fruit, meeting with cheese vendors, and sampling barrel upon barrel of vino.

Within moments I am skipping through rows and rows of trellised grapes of my very own in my mind. I have selected the perfect piece of bucolic bliss and designed the perfect contemporary farmhouse. I have planted vegetable gardens, installed window treatments, and hired a staff. Just as I am about to harvest my 2009 Cabernet Sauvignon, I am torn from my reverie by the need to move on to our next winery. As disappointing, as it was to realize I was in actuality not a vintner at all, but still a tourist, our following destinations somehow continued to outperform the previous.

All in all it was a perfect getaway. The sun was a little brighter, the air a little warmer, and the people just a touch nicer. Although, I am East Coast through and through, it was sad to leave behind my little slice of heaven. I will miss all the wonderful little San Franciscans, the elusive hilliness, the fabulous day drinking, and the enviable lifestyle. Most likely I will remain in NYC for the foreseeable future, but do know that the moment I hit gold, I will be returning to proliferate the Brady Vineyard empire.

I am a hot streaky mess

To celebrate my oldest best friend in the world’s birthday this weekend, I decided I wanted to look extra snazzy. Due to the fact that I am essentially translucent, a large part my party preparation included a hefty application of self-tanner. So on my thrilling Friday evening between the washing and drying cycle of my laundry I busted out my newly procured self-tanning lotion. I figured an hour would be enough time for me to acquire the desired level of bronzness so I put on some trashy entertainment TV and got to work.

It seemed easy enough. The lotion was tinted so I could see exactly what I was doing to avoid streaking and the bottle did mention that it wouldn’t stain my clothes post application. “Perfect!” I thought to myself . It seemed foolproof. “What kind of a self tanning novice could screw this up?: It was just what I needed in order to gain a hue darker that white chalk. Minutes later I was shimmery and bronzed just like a Greek Goddess in my professional opinion. The bottle didn’t mention anything about drying time so I preemptively waited about a half an hour for good measure and merrily proceeded along with my evening.

I fell asleep in my newly cleaned apartment with dreams of a gloriously tanned future. So imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning amidst an orange sticky mess. Slowly I opened one eye to notice a giant orange splotch to my right. In horror I tore off my sheets only to notice orange streaks down the entire length of my body. Orange splotches covered my innocently by standing stuffed rabbit. I jumped up in a panic. Orange prints blanketed nearly every surface of my apartment, as I made my way to the bathroom frantically to gaze at my carrot hued face. The sexy glow I was seeking has gone to the wayside and I now more closely resemble my orange striped cat. I am hoping to be able to bleach and exfoliate away this mess but in the event this is not possible, I am sorry Andre! Happy Birthday!