How Fitting. What a Terrible Day.

So, I've been slacking lately. Not on purpose, not out of boredom, not from a lobotomy. But I've been really busy- as I'm sure you are. Scatterbrained to the fullest. I'm lucky if I remember to put mascara in the morning. 

But man, what a terrible day today. 

I got a threatening feeling letter about something I didn't realize I was doing, got accused for hitting a car I didn't hit, my brother is sick with something and I want to fix him, I forgot to send a wedding gift, and I wasn't aware how to properly use my ebay account so I could receive the birthday present purse I bought for myself in time for my birthday. Which I won't. Oh, and it's my birthday week. Which means I'm getting older. Which naturally makes me anxious. Yuck all around. 

Wait...He's Married?

I make quite a few comments about The Marrieds (married people deserve capitalization due to their significance in my life). Despite what I may say, I really have nothing against them nor marriage. I am sure I'll be married some day, I mean stranger things have happened. Lifelong commitment won't be as daunting when life is already half over. It'll be more like, "Hey, let's hang during our downfall. If I'm going to go down, why not go down with me?" How romantic. But what really kills me is when characters from your life get married. You know what characters are? They're people who aren't your friends anymore, but played a part during a memorable period of life. Thus you recall them as only stagnant characterized beings.

So I'm strolling through facebook and see that my college guy friends are married. What? They aren't supposed to get married! How can they? These guys are the guys who have several kegs in their home, live with 18 guys, take home random girls, and buy me shots in basement house parties. And I'm supposed to believe they are married now? Impossible I say. Inconceivable. And then it hits me. I'm like the mom who thinks her boy is still her little boy and packing his lunch and doing his laundry and suddenly she realizes he is actually 45 years old with a severely receding hairline. As if she froze him in time to preserve her own inability to get past his growing old and away from her. Am I in some kind of denial about my age? Are my old college buddies finding me on facebook and wondering, "What the hell? She isn't married yet? Something f'd up must of happened with her. Maybe she turned schizophrenic or something. That happens in your twenties you know."

Why is Everyone Around Me Getting Lucky Breaks?

I used to work at an incredibly dysfunctional establishment. I'm sure you're thinking "yeah, join the club sister"- but this particular place of employment went way beyond traditional workplace dysfunction. CEO's were fired like we were on Donald Trump's "The Apprentice", it wasn't uncommon to be asked to come in at 2:00am in the morning, and it wasn't uncommon for me to be asked if I would dress up as a genie and fly on a magic carpet for a promotional spot. I'd work no less than 60 hours a week, many people called me Veronica which wasn't my name, I'd be scheduled for 4 meetings at once that were mandatory, and I'd often run from people to hide. Oh, and while our bathrooms routinely were shut down- it was okay, because we weren't provided with drinking water anyway. But we did get commemorative rocks. 

But such conditions force friendships. Friendships in coping. The people I worked with were like family, because really I spent way more time with them than anyone else. Such ridiculousness creates strong bonds amongst the tragically affected. We all felt equally abused, misunderstood, and down right depressed at times. But the light came in the joys of absurdity. Because we really saw some absurd things.

But this was a few years back. Now, many of us have moved on. Many of which were forced to leave in sweeping lay-offs. Myself, I was lucky enough to have the strength to leave on my own terms. Ah, the empowerment. The crazy thing is that lately many in this pathetic little clan of misfits have come into some pretty incredible fame and fortune. What are the chances? It began with one co-worker getting on a reality show that actually pushed his career into the real heights he wanted. Another, against all odds, became a real working model in NYC. And yet another has found fame on arguably the most well respected and popular reality show on television. All from my tiny little abused work-o-sphere. As if the harsh conditions actually paid off!

So now I can't help wonder...is it my chance? Do I have a lucky break waiting to be cashed in?! Does suffering really pay off in the end? 

I'm The Control Group

A few nights ago a group of us dressed up and went to the premiere party for a friend of mine's reality show debut (a good reality show requiring talent of the contestants). Fun was had by all in the form of various fruity concoctions. Storytelling, great conversation, laughs, wasabi covered peas...everything you need for a great night out. As we pit-stopped to pick up another guest on our way to the final bar stop of the night, the following announcement was made to our stunned guest whom had just endured a 5.5 hour drive to step into a car full of very happy glam'd up people, "Come on in! We've got three married ladies and a guy in here!"

Seems like a very normal statement, doesn't it? The problem with this proclamation of car inhabitants is there was one other, apparently unidentifiable person, squeezed in the way back. Me. There were three married ladies, one guy, and Me.

This dismissal of my attendance, based on the fact I am neither married nor male, made me wonder if I'm some kind of control group now. The Single Girl control group. Throw together a group of individuals with the "treatment" of marriage, being the one male in the group, and then the control girl who still remains the same pathetically socially unaltered girl (no marriage, no kids, no pets) and see what the scientific experience of the night can unravel. Comparing the results of the treated (aka married) group to a wild night out and the control group (aka not married) girl is essential to rule out imagined effects of the night. For instance, dancing in a bar full of 21 year-olds. By comparing the treated (married) group with the control group (me)- the results would determine there are no differences in reaction and both groups participated in the same way.

Lending my body to science. Sigh. 

I Feel Sorry for Kourtney Kardashian's Unborn Child

Wow. Talk about a girl throwing up her personal life all over the media. So apparently this girl, Kourtney Kardashian, got pregnant. By accident. And she realized after splitting up with her moron boyfriend. And of course this all conveniently happened right while promoting her new reality show. Amazing how that happens! By becoming illegitimately pregnant and being on the media circuit- she's taken liberty in explaining all the details of her ups and downs of the surprise pregnancy. She's told us it was a total accident because she missed her pill a few times. And how she considered abortion because she knew once she had the baby she wouldn't be able to sleep in anymore. Wow. That's one LUCKY baby. I'm sure it'll be great going to elementary school and having people laugh and point at him saying, "Your mommy didn't want you!" And what can he come back with? What will his slammin' retort to his fellow rugrats be? "I know, it's on Season 1 of Kourtney & Khloe Take Miami." How special will this kid feel?

Really people, some things can be left private. Be like the rest of us and just keep it a hidden secret between you and your best friend your whole life.

When Something Doesn't Feel Right: What Separates Instinct from Paranoia?

Some people are freaks. They think the worst of the worst all the time. They are convinced the end is near, people are bad, accidents await, and generally behind everything lies a secret pitfall. On the otherside are the completely oblivious- wandering through life in naivety and ignorant bliss. Often getting taken advantage of, these poor chaps, as they would never suspect what hits them.

But what about when you just have a feeling something is off? Or you don't believe someone...but you have no idea why? Is this instinct or paranoia? Or, are they one and the same? I've always been a follow-my-instinct girl. Which is just a flowery way of saying I stick to my guns. If emotion or logic or the meeting in the middle of both feel an urge towards something, I go with it.

But with age and wisdom and eyes being forced wide open is my instinct slowly chipping away? Can instinct survive with the heavy weight of life experience in my pockets? For instance- take the multiple times I was promised a raise/wage in my career and didn't actually get it until I was forced to take action. I think this has happened four times already in my career. One time my former boss hadn't even told HR he promoted me! This experience has me not really believing when a boss has any conversation with me about wage. I'm not falling for the whole "here's more responsibility and I'll increase your pay" trick. Is this fair? This isn't based on instinct- but facts collected in my past. Which in turn leads to distrust and inability to spot the good from the bad.

What do we do? Trust our intuition or trust our past? Or say to hell with it and have a glass of wine?

When People Humiliate Themselves, On Purpose

I don't see clearly why people open themselves up to humiliation for a slice of fame. And I'm not talking even about real fame (like the chicks hooking up with that stupid Jon Gosselin dude), although those people register on a complete new scale of idiot. I should author that scale now that I think about it...

Just this morning I was listening to a local radio station where listeners were allowing the DJ's to read through their email inbox live on air. You'd THINK the people allowing for this public revelation to take place would clean out their emails or be sure there is nothing embarrassing. Nope. Instead they allowed the live reading of things that only belong in private. And for what? The chance to have their name on the radio. The radio! That's like the lowest rung of media these days...but still with a big enough local audience driving through rush hour sipping on some coffee thanking the heavens they didn't turn out so desperate for attention that they must resort to cheesy DJ jokes. What are the odds the same girl revealing her emails also has a sex tape leaked on the internet? I'm guessing at least an 85% chance yes.

The question is- why? Are we influenced and motivated into complete self degregation by our neverending consumption of reality television stars? Watching Lauren Conrad's "career" makes me wonder if being a total moron in public is beneficial. After all, she probably has enough money for the material things I'm still trying to figure out how to gain (a white Porsche, a person to blow-dry my hair daily, and person to manage my mail). For her, I can kinda see it. Look at her hair extensions! They're perfect. But for the people just doing humiliating things to get on local radio- there is no pay-off. Crappy tickets to a crappy concert? Really?

I Apologize if this Blog is Boring

I was told the other night that my blog has become boring. I could look back at my recent posts and analyze them with an ultra scientific test most likely on facebook that will take each thought written and categorize it as "entertaining" vs. "boring"- but I'm not sure I'd like to expend the effort. Because, in truth, maybe I'm just thinking about boring things lately. It's not as if I've bored down my life. I'm still going out, laughing, seeing crazy things. In fact just last week I took the dare of wearing whatever was bought for me at a county fair- resulting in a wardrobe of a pink tank that said "Sexy" and a matching pink cowboy hat with a blinking tiara seen from miles away. That is not boring. It was a study in human reaction. And I got a lot of human reaction. I kinda felt like I was a Playboy Bunny walking around in uniform, only I don't look like a Playboy Bunny and my uniform was much more embarrassing.

But possibly I need to be more inspired? My thoughts on gender roles are too dull and outdated? I wonder what I could do to get more interesting...begin channeling Lindsay Lohan? Start internet dating? Wear leggings? I guess I'll have to think about this.

For now I'm going to pack up and go to my job. Now, telling you about that would certainly be boring. I do have somewhat of an edit system.

What Happened to Good Ol' Gender Roles?

I'm starting to think gender roles provided greater equality to women and men, rather than the popular assumptions...

Think of it. In the old days (the exact historical dates confining the old days are unknown to me) women were expected to be mothers and housemaids. They cooked, cleaned, and in general made life pleasant for the man. She may have been encouraged to be smart if she was lucky enough. Yet the man was in charge of making the money, making the family decisions, and driving the family to success. Things were pretty black & white, or male & female.

It's coming to my attention that this dismissal of gender roles has yes, given women more power, but now we're expected to do everything. And men are starting to do less & less. Now that they can feel free to explore hair products without getting ridiculed it's as if all their male duties have been tossed on over to the female area. As if a collective male sigh has been let out, "Ahhh. Freedom from standard responsibility!"

I mean, women in their twenties are expected to make a lot of money- and men are starting to judge us on this in their standard "potential mate" package rating. I hear guys all the time talking about women who make money and how she's more of a prospect. What happened to being judged solely on our looks? Now we have to be gorgeous, naturally thin (as we should be able to eat whatever he wants us to), a giving caretaker (coddling him when he has the sniffles), great in bed, a potential fantastic mother (in case things get dangerously serious), a skilled cook, a housemaid, and the majority breadwinner. All in one. Oh, and we can't spend more than 40 hours max at this job providing us with such a stellar income because that affords less time to massaging him and lining up the TIVO record.

I'm just saying- give a girl a break. Sometimes a few gender roles are good. Keeps everything equal.

And, Now What? (Twiddle My Thumbs)

Are you ever hit the the case of "what's nexts"?

I'm hit with this affliction often. Job's going well enough, family seems somewhat stable, love life is fine...but what next? The stifling and suffocating hold of potential opportunity, ideas of the future, new territories to explore. Only I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is I'm craving next. Perhaps I just need a goal? Like, a real goal. I've never had some deadline induced goal where I must complete X by day Y. I'm not really sure this practice accomplishes anything but making one feel as if they gave themselves an attainable goal so they can boost their self-esteem (perhaps my goal should be reviewing and mastering proper English, as I'm quite certain my use of "one" and "they" is all very wrong). The problem with this unsettling syndrome is I start to lay my life's components under a microscope of scrutiny. Everything is fair game, all is up for negotiation. How exhausting. And what's to come of all this analyzing?

No clue. I must wonder with all this agonizing if I simply need to buy a plant or something.

Why Men Move On (Much Quicker)

Good old MSN dating and relationships brought another topic to mind today. Of course, my opinion is quite different from theirs. Why is it that men seem to move on so quickly? From breakups that is. They don't move on from most things that occur in their twenties for a really really long time. Possibly never.

A breakup for a woman is usually a big deal, unless she found her new beau before dropping the old one. Men participate in this practice just as often- thus we'll cancel the entire phenomena and return to the topic at hand: men drop women like fantasy baseball drafts. They size up and rate all the eligible players, generally go for the high profile picks (think hot flirty types who like to do body shots and are a good ten years their junior), commit to their pick, and as soon as there is the slightest hint of faltering (like she dares to ask him if he is serious about her or if he ever wants to get married) and then he drops her from his team and looks for a trade (for the girl who started flirting with him via text as soon as he committed). And it's done and they move on as if nothing ever happened.

Meanwhile, the girl who got dropped is at home SOBBING. Wondering what went wrong? The ratio is a woman tends to mourn a relationship demise for at least a week per day the male even entertained the breakup in his mind. He's out partying with his friends (Tony Romo) as quickly as he can get to a bar (and of course, his friends LIVE for breakups so there can be quality girlfriend-free male rallying) while she's feeling down and out and has no desire to be in public where she must endure groups of sloppy drunk men rallying because they are single and free.

Why is this?

MSN blames it on men not liking to be alone. Which, yes, I agree with. Men are big babies. But you know what? It's our fault, because women love to baby them. It's nature. Is it because men care less? I would love to say so, but I've had too many male friends have their heart's broken and know firsthand it's possible for a man to feel just as depressed about a break-up as a woman.

Alas, I have no answer. All I know, is with shows like Entourage on HBO it's a wonder all men don't pack their bags and move to LA on the idea that there are horny women everywhere looking to lay down with the slightest nod their way.

If you feel like reading the MSN article

Thanks Vacation for Making Me Want to Do Nothing

There's something about a vacation that makes you want to do nothing for the rest of your life. Makes you desire even more to be a socialite (this has been a dream of mine ever since I was introduced to Paris Hilton and how massively one can screw up opportunity). Makes you unable to concentrate on work and everyday duties of life like paying bills and laundry. And I didn't even go on a real vacation, in fact, it was more like a retreat. A 4 day retreat in the woods with 40 of my closest non-family members. Complete with herd-like meal feasting. No, I did not go to summer camp. But somehow this non-vacation vacation allowed me to relax more than I've been able to on real vacations. And now, come Monday and work, I can't even think. Aren't vacations supposed to refresh you and energize you to return joyously back to service for pay? Yeah, it doesn't really work that way. Instead I just want more vacation.

As You Get Older, You Care Less

The good thing about getting older is that I no longer give a F about certain things. Not that I've given up on laws or morality or human interaction or liking babies, but I have come to the conclusion some of the unique perceptions/tendencies I hold that people criticize- I simply do not care. So I'm different from the "mass" ideas and opinions? Good. Things like:

1) I think Michael Franti sucks. Yeah, you heard that right. His songs are lame and remind me of karaoke on spring break.
2) I think coffee for breakfast, edamame for lunch, some jicama and hummus for snack, and a bottle of champagne for dinner is a perfectly acceptable diet. You just wait, I'll be writing the next best-seller, "The Skinny Healthy Drunk Diet"
3) The movie Hangover is not that funny. Zoolander kicks it's ass.
4) Speaking of movies, Pirates of the Caribbean made me feel like I was stuck in a coma while forced to watch the same scene over and over again for 2.5 hours while I silently died from boredom.
5) I like super skinny and beautiful Hollywood actresses & actors. If I wanted to see average people I'd just go to the State Fair.

Feels good to just let that all out.

Deep Thoughts By Girl Twentiesh

Sometimes you just feel like an idiot. Today, I feel like an idiot.

Post Party Depression

Do you sometimes feel anxious, worthless and fatigued? Unmotivated, dehydrated, and the compulsive urge to eat unhealthy fare? The inability to see the light in the Monday to come? The excitement of a party weekend can trigger a multitude of powerful emotions from happiness to glee to drunken high-but it can also result in something you may not expect. Something no one talks about yet often experience- Post Party Depression. It's an illness, and it's real. I know, because I Girltwentiesh am a sufferer.

Post Party depression can develop after any party, not just a party weekend. The risk increases if:
-You saw grown men race red tricycles
-You indulged in several Suck and Blow shots
-You saw 40 lobsters inhaled by a group of drunk and exhausted adults from Beer Olympics
-A gorgeous pool and/or boat were involved
-You successfully* drank 4 martinis at opening ceremony (*the means without becoming ill or obnoxious)
-You were asked the same question by the same people no less than 5 times but didn't care because you also couldn't remember
-You've experienced post party depression in the past

There are no specific causes for post party depression. Physical, emotional and lifestyle factors may all play a role:
-If your friends suck, you have a 0% chance of contracting the illness
-Great alcoholic beverage choices, in unlimited quantities, increase your risk substantially
-If you hate your job, be very cautious, as you may have a hard time handling even the slightest PPD
-If you experience difficulty in remember your actions during the party, seek emergency attention. Flashbacks and repressed
memories can be detrimental to your recovery

While PPD is difficult to recover from, treatment is available. The most common cure of post party depression is planning another party. IMMEDIATELY.

When the Weekend Scares You

One thing none of us can deny is that the older we get, the less stamina for college-like partying we have. Irrelevant of actual age, things like jobs & responsibilities slow us down. Kids and husbands for some. Pets and plants for others. No longer is the girl who could stay out at the bar until 2:30am and wake up to take her finals the next morning. Back then it helped with my stressing out. Now I dial it way back and go out until 11pm (going out consists of two glasses of wine). This is still pretty good though. I know people who go to bed at 9pm. On weekends. I also still know people who do go out until 2:30am on weeknights. Believe I'm a respectable in-between. Sometimes average is good.

But as my fun weekend rears its' head, I admit to being slightly scared. Two days with promised partying environments? Scheduled activities revolving around the consumption of alcohol? Actual Beer Olympics. Am I ready for this? I'm no slosh, never have I been the wasted girl saying inappropriate things acting all Tara Reid. I'm no "Wild On" host. But I participate, and wow am I competitive. Take alcohol and pair it with a competition and things could get scary. And it's not that I'm worried about the actual events to be attended- I'm worried about the aftermath. I'm worried I won't be able to go for a run on Sunday. I'm worried 2 days of partying could make my mind mush when it comes to Monday job requirements. Pathetic.

Yup, I'm definitely getting older. Or, is it wiser?

Why Wouldn't You Get Engaged?

On this week's season finale of The Bachelorette (yes, I watch it, for research purposes of course) lucky giggles girl Jillian had not one, but three men vying for her hand in marriage! Wowsa. Just when she thought she'd have to date a lumberjack in the woods of Canada, in the short filming period of her reality show she got three men to fall madly deeply in love with her. And because television rules the world, she had to decide which man she would marry on strict programming deadline. Myself I'd be a bit skeptical. Even if I had three handsome, chiseled and seemingly sweat-hearted men professing love...I might have a hard time committing to the sacrament of marriage under such pressures and time constraints. I mean, I can't commit in front of the world and then back out! I'd look like a total b*tch.

But then I saw the ring she gets. Neil Lane bizillion carats. Why the heck not accept the proposal? In fact, she should accept all three. Then when she breaks them all off she can take the rings, sell them, and move to the french countryside where nobody watches reality shows.

UPDATE: Love this. Read this.

When Relationships End Due to Scheduling Conflicts

Come on.

I love how when celebrity couples split, like the recent relationship demise of Kim Kardashian and Reggie Bush, they blame it on schedule conflicts. As if love is an appointment on the day's to-do-list. Basically Kim's saying her mani and pedis are more important to her than lifelong love? I'm sure it was hard to build a meaningful relationship with her intense schedule of nightclub appearances and spray tan appointments. And I'm sure the choice was a devastating one to make- choosing her promising reality television career over love. And I'm supposed to believe they had a real passion for one another? That'd be like me claiming I found "the one" only to break up with him because it was too stressful to have to coordinate my fanatical fitness routine with his affinity towards car detailing. Our star-crossed love just couldn't survive my sweat and his wax! Whose schedule would fit into Kim Kardashian's in perfect harmony? Her dog's? Perhaps a paparazzi? Either these people are that selfish, that stupid, or just don't want to admit they broke up because of reasons real non-celebrity people do everyday. Like they hated each other.

Girls Are Saps

But you know what? We know what we're talking about. If you've ever felt sappy and reflective about relationship woes...you might like this.

Ah...That Wasn't A Compliment

I had one of those moments this past weekend. One of those moments where someone thinks they are saying something harmless, or even complimentary, but in fact you feel like you were just insulted in a major fashion. Kind of like when John Mayer sent a video of himself to then girlfriend Jessica Simpson's birthday celebration he ditched- he thought he was making her feel special, but instead he was totally dissing her in the most pathetically insulting way. But it's even worse when the perpetrator doesn't know they're insulting you- because that means they really honestly believe in their opinion. Which, is almost worse than an insult. A compliment catapulting through the air and turning to insult as soon as it hits human.

I was out of town in a safe zone. Hanging with family and friends, doing things I would never do in the radius of my social living/breathing/working space. Like karaoke in a basement bar. Totally entertaining when no one is looking. Then a woman, a townie so to speak, came to me to introduce herself. I explained we had met last winter (a weekend she had bought me no less than 5 whiskey-apple pucker shots) and she laughs. Her response? "Oh, I didn't recognize you! Usually you're all glossed up! You could pass for a local in that!"

Um.

That doesn't feel very complimentary. Apparently relishing in the unleashing of my wild hair waves isn't doing me any favors? Just when I thought I had escaped the doom of a hairdryer...but how snotty am I to feel insulted? I better watch some of MTV's "The Hills" to remind myself I'm not as snotty those dumb people.

Just A Slice of Everyday Life

Classical Conditioning on Friends and Family

When we embrace friends into our lives (family we're kinda just stuck with) we are forced to deal with the frustrations of their actions.Why can't everyone just be like you and I? Seriously. When you love someone, you just want them to behave the way you do. We all know as we get older the majority of anger our parents directed towards us were out of worry. I got grounded when the entire high school showed up at my house for a party not because my parents wanted me to be unpopular- but because they worried I would turn into a drugged out kid from some 1980's teen flick. I could have turned out like Winona Ryder in "Heathers" or something. But now I feel those maternal yearnings for my loved ones to just behave in way so harm can stay far far away. 

If only we could take the Pavlov's dogs approach. Classical conditioning to teach them a lesson! Or, the more common tactic used on cats: spray water bottles. We follow our friends or family member around and every time they do something we deem harmful we spray them with the water bottle. Spray spray spray until they huddle in a corner sopping wet. Then, the next time they decide to perform such activity they remember the water bottle brigade and decide not to make such a stupid decision. Then I don't have to waste the energy I should be using on something important to worry about my dumb-ass friend acting like a kicked off castmate from "The Real World."

So there (with love).

Do Chances Expire?

When I was young, I wanted to be an actress. Not for just a year, but from ages 6-16. A good ten year run of an ambitious and quite unlikely profession. Before age six I also wanted to be a nun (so I didn't have to have children) and the president. But while I had dreams of acting, I worked hard. I endured countless plays, musical solos in which I probably was not talented enough to have, and late night rehearsals where I'd cry as I wiped the gobs of makeup off of my face with cold cream in exhaustion. My parents were proud, but not exactly stage parents. They had five children to drop-off to activities, thus they most likely feared I'd start demanding headshots. I didn't, but I do recall my mom taking several staged photos on the deck. Shockingly the only place they landed were a photo album.

But once I became an age when reality became apparent, I suddenly realized the insanity of this dream of mine. At 16, as I played a major character in a play while being assigned understudy for the two leads (for a girl with short term memory problems this was particularly challenging), in my highly pressurized mindset I suddenly realized I had no chance. I looked in the mirror and said to myself, "Listen- you don't look like a supermodel and you don't look quirky. You're never gonna make it." And I quit, cold turkey. Why work so hard at the impossible? Forget the fact I loved it. I also thought I was too small. Ha! If only someone would have told me the size standards in Hollywood...

The possibility of the chance of anything- does this expire? As we get older and go about our paths and lives and jobs, are possibilities left in our dust? Or does cynicism road block? I wonder.  As age makes us wiser, unfortunately, it also makes us more judgemental. We think most is impossible. I don't want to stop thinking of the possibilities. Although my chances of becoming President of something other than the Kettle One Martini Club are slim.

When the Guy at the Gas Station is Your Closest Friend

The guy at the gas station really cares about my day. Everyday that I enter the doors of my preferred station, the young man at the counter smiles like an old friend. He says hello enthusiastically, as if he's quite happy to have me drop by to grab a medium coffee and help myself to 10 mini creamers to bring back to the office (I like to have many flavor choices for varying work related moods). And then I reach the cash register and we catch up. Usually something along the lines of him asking, "So, how's today going to be?" 

We're way closer than me just answering with the obligatory "fine" response, so generally I elaborate with something like, "Well, it's 7:30 and I'm already going to work..." We're so close he can read between the lines on unspecific responses. 

As I walk back to my car I feel a little bit more supported than pre-coffee me. As if someone really does care if I have a good day! And then I realize that wow, customer service really works. Just because one guy takes the time to act happy I'm in his store, I continue to buy crappy coffee. Whatever. It's a good system and worth the $4.68 I spend a week for a little morale boost. We all could use a little of that.

Toddlers Require Lots of Peanut Butter

Can't blog today. Pray for me, I've been kidnapped by three toddlers. 

Some people may also refer to this as baby-sitting. 

It's impossible to write about dating, the trials and tribulations of adolescent adulthood (the new age category I've appointed to the twenties) when I'm surrounded by constant peanut butter and giggles and swings and spilled milk. 

Hopefully I can return to normal by tomorrow.

The Mathematics of Worth

Do you ever weigh your options based on worth?

For instance, you decide to take a pay cut for a new job in a new field because through the mathematics of your decision strategies you've determined: 

New Job - Pay = New Experience = Higher Pay Eventually. 

I'm sure that basketball player Richard Jefferson must have had an equation for his decision to dump his fiance the day of their wedding: Expensive Wedding - Commitment = Life Long Happiness. 

I ask, because I wonder why no genius has yet to come up with a definite equation for figuring out if your choices will be worth it? Does the Fibonacci sequence cover this? Golden ratio anyone? Can't Apple make an iphone application for this? Decision making would be clearly easier, less prone to drastic mistakes, more reliable. Of course we humans would need to actually think less, which, may not be worth the pay-off. The inactivity of logic exercise could negatively impact our brain functionality. Chimps would rule the world. While I don't feel I've made any detrimental mistakes thus far...for some reason this idea kept me up all night. Wondering why worth weighing couldn't just be simpler? Why'd I take all that math in college if I can't figure this out?

But, it's Friday and this probably only makes sense to me. Cheers to "worth it" decisions all weekend. 

Why is it Always the Girl's Fault?

Did you hear? Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo are finished. Yup, the perpetually pictured love birds had a love that could no longer endure dinners at Tao and Dallas Cowboy football games. Apparently she was pressuring him for the honor of being her second husband. In related news, Jessica's ex Nick Lachey and his girlfriend Vanessa Minillo ALSO suffered a break. This break-up supposedly occurred because Vanessa insisted he buy her a 10 carat engagement ring. This sent Nick back to the 'hood in Ohio to find a girl who believes carats are something you eat with ranch dip. 

The common thread between these break-ups? They both were the female's fault. Obviously. Of course the only reason why couples part is because the woman demands something unrealistic. If a woman would just keep her mouth shut and do as she's told, speak only when spoken to, and take what she gets- relationships would float in a harmony similar to being on Quaaludes. Look at Jennifer Aniston! If only she'd stop demanding her boyfriend of the month make her pregnant. And Jennifer Love Hewitt, she always gets broken up with because she's super needy. Kate Hudson? Her too. 

Gimme a break. When will the media start turning things on the boys for fun? Obviously they have no real idea why these couples split, half the time I'm betting it's a direct order from their publicists. How about the story of John Mayer? I'm quite certain his relationships fail because he requires his sig other to listen to him blab about his personal feelings no less than 3 hours per day while staring at him stare at himself in the mirror. He probably hands them lists of daily affirmations they must read to him throughout the day, like "John Mayer,  you are a God." This would surely sell a US Weekly magazine! In all the various relationships I have had, not one of them have ended because 1) I am too needy, 2) I want to get pregnant, 3) I want to get married. Not one. I'm ready to see a new, make believe side of relationship ends! Otherwise, what do we have to aspire to?

The Four Evil Words To a Single Girl

I really don't need to be asked this ever again. 

I know the intent may be flattery, I know this, but for single women it twists and turns into a declaration of our standing in the world. As you see us glimmering in difference among the landscape of the committed! The weight of a 4 worded question latches on to our consciousness and repeats over and over again in our mind like a wind-up doll. The question?

"Why are you single?"

Sometimes, elaborated on as, "Why in the world would someone like you still be single?" 

It's a question with an infinite answer. It started from day 1 of dating and ended right now, a series of interactions and people and making out that when thrown together in what is my past didn't meld into marriage or whatever else would qualify me as "not single." Um, I don't know, maybe start with the obvious...because I haven't met the right person? Maybe because if I let any jack out there claim me for his own I'd face a life of being bored to tears? Maybe because there hasn't been anyone worth it? Maybe a "girl like me" needs to find the perfect "guy like him?" But believe me, trying to compliment me by saying I'm a great catch and staring at me like I'm the hidden wonder of the world is not as flattering as you think. My little niche, my community, we're small but know what's up. Keep this wondrous question to yourself, or, just tell me I'm awesome. That always works. But after growing up in a state where people deem marriage the right of passage at 22, I'm simply bored of the question. 

Why We All Love Crappy Shows Like The Bachelorette

We actually eat cheese with this show. You have to in order to put up with the extreme amount of cheese filling up the billions of colorful pixels. Can’t beat em, join em. But why oh why do we love it so much? Men and women alike? I even love watching this show despite the fact I squirm uncomfortably at the awkward small talk and forced make-out scenes. We all like it because those smart suits over at ABC know what we want to hear. Well, women anyway. They know what men want to see.

Take last night’s episode. To get to the men, lots of Jillian the Bachelorette parading around in short shorts. Lots of making out. Even an oil massage scene on a rose covered bed with slow music softly orchestrating the intimate moment. Lots of Jillian’s legs wrapping around men. At this point the probability of the male gender even listening is slim, rather just admiring the sexy images and off in la-la land thinking how it could potentially turn into a pornographic primetime reality show. Scenes like these have led me to believe Miss Jillian has hopes of being the next character to rock The Young and the Restless. Scenes like this have men wondering why every girl doesn’t wear shorts every day.

And the women, of course, love to hear these men beg for the girl who squeals every 5 seconds (I dare you to play a drinking game taking shots each time that chick screams- you’ll be wasted). She grills them with all the important questions you must ask a man you’ve been gang dating for 2 months. Like, “Would you ever marry me?” And of course these men, as they don’t want to lose, shower her with phrases every woman on earth wants to hear. Things like, “I’ve never met someone as amazing as you.” And “The last date we had was the best night of my life.” Of course it was the best night of your life! You were in Spain in a helicopter where you landed on a mountain where you did some sort of extreme sport and then were whisked away to an amazing dinner with a scantily clad mistress and all the booze you could handle. Oh, and producers telling you you’re the greatest. I bet it was the best night of your life.

So where does it leave us, mere unreality stars stuck in the reality of life love & dating? How can we get in on a little of goodies going around on The Bachelorette? If you’re a girl, just shower men with lots of attention and bare skin. If you’re looking for a man, pretend. Pretend dating is like a rose ceremony. Guessing you’ll be a lot pickier.

 

And Then I Got Puked On (Literally)

Lately I've been a bit unsatisfied with my life assets, and I've publicly disclosed some of those details for ya'll. The dissatisfaction has led to a life portfolio review- scrutinizing the bits and pieces and wondering what to toss, what holds investment value, and what is pure gold. I was starting to feel pretty good about the process.

And then I got puked on.

One of hundreds standing in a crowd of enthusiastic outdoor music attendees, I couldn't help but notice the amateur drinking hour around me. I myself had enjoyed a couple beers, as we living in the unfortunate arctic zone of the USA usually do when we are able to actually enjoy the outdoors, dancing along to some music in a collective crowd while getting lightly drizzled on. The rain didn't bother me, in fact, it probably served me well for the unforeseen event about to occur.

Just as I turned to keep eye on the wild couple beside me (who appeared to be just barely pass legal drinking age) the boy swiveled around and sprayed the contents of his stomach. On me. Before I could even begin to react, he ran like Speedy Gonzales out of there. Lucky boy indeed, as most likely I would have punched him. I, however, was less lucky. I had to wipe puke of my arm. 

I stood there, stunned in the rain. Was this karma? Out of all the people in the crowd, why me?Did I somehow deserve this? I myself have made some selfish decisions as of late. I've done some immature things as of late. I think there are people mad at me. Did I deserve to have immaturity puked all over me?  

Or maybe I am just really unlucky.