Tag Archives: guys

Wine & Love v.5

15 Mar

Hosted by Nora

This is the longest I’ve ever stuck with any blog theme, so yay for that! Everyone should be doing this, really, so go over and link up with Nora and don’t forget to tell me what you’re loving and w(h)ining about this week!

… Wines …

  • One of my very best friends lost a dear family member this week and I can’t be there to give her hugs. She’s been there for me through pretty much every big family event in the last 12 years; this is the first one of hers I’ll miss. It breaks my heart.
  • I seem to be stuck in this cycle where, when I drink, which is maybe once a week, the drinking extends into hours on end. Then, predictably, I feel like shit the next day – even if I’m just exhausted. Balance really needs to regain its spot as a top priority in my life.
  • Week two where I want to throw all my things away. I wonder how long I should feel like this before I actually do something about it!

… Loves …

  • Love, love, loving all the songs by First Aid Kit. Listening to their country-folk songs inspired me to start listening to Paul Simon’s Graceland album, which is another of my all-time favorites.
  • Spring is here – almost! It’s been super warm and sunny this week in NYC and since we gained that extra hour, I’ve been able to walk home from work! What a treat!
  • I met a boy who actually called me and who actually wants to take me on a date. It’s been a terribly long time since I’ve had this happen without the insecurity of ulterior motives haunting me.
  • Being a vegetarian this month has had some ups and downs, but I finally discovered some meatless recipes I am in love with! I’ll have to share them soon!
  • I’m getting a haircut this weekend! My hair is very fine, so it only grows so long, and it’s at that length now. (Which is to say it’s creeping down toward my elbows. It’s long.) I’m excited to chop off several inches for a new, spring-y hairstyle!
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Flirting Fail

14 Mar

Last week, I introduced you to the concept of the Two Prong Dating Approach, in which – as you know – I am one of the two prongs involved. Aside from the two adventures C and I are planning, I’m also trying to be more outgoing and flirtatious with gents I actually find attractive. (I’m very good at being flirtatious with gents I do not find attractive, which really never works out in my favor. Or theirs.)

Anyway, one evening I find myself at some bar for happy hour with friends. I lean against the bar to order a drink and – lo and behold – the bartender is gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, light eyes … and an accent! I was obviously immediately in love and, since I’d had three Bud Lights, was tipsy enough to have the confidence to flirt completely shamelessly.

I decide the perfect approach will be to highlight my sporty-girl prowess to this Euro-Hottie. And the subsequent (fairly one-sided) flirtation goes like this:

“So, where are you from?” I could already tell he was Irish, but I wanted to play it cool.

Irishness confirmed, I continue, “Are you a football fan?”

Predictably, he asks me to clarify whether I mean “my” football or “his.” Feeling extra cool at this point, I smile and say I mean his. Sadly, he says he isn’t really a fan.

I play out my disappointment with what I’m sure is a charming grin and say, “That’s too bad! We’re going to watch the football game on Saturday!”

Confused, he asks me to clarify what the hell I’m talking about.

“You know, the game! It’s Ireland and Scotland! You should come and help us cheer for Ireland.” At this point, I’m just thrilled with my superior European sports knowledge and pretty much on top of the world.

Until he looks at me with a look that perfectly combines pity, amusement, and something else that suggests I’m about to be very embarrassed.

“Um,” he says, “That’s a rugby game.”

That Time I Skyped With Amazonian Tea Farmers

7 Mar

So, C and I decided back in January that we were going to go on two “out of the box” adventures every month. The point is to meet new people – who are hopefully attractive gents who’d like to date us. We’re calling the plan “The Two Prong Dating Approach, In Which We Are The Prongs.”

For February, one of the adventures was originally a (free) tour of the Chelsea Brewery. Always the creative thinker, C had other ideas for us. “Why don’t we go to this Spanish Speakers Meetup in Brooklyn?” she suggested innocently.

I kindly reminded her that I speak approximately 12 words of Spanish, ten of which are numbers.

“Don’t you think that might be a little awkward for me?” I replied, wishing we could stick to beer, which would at least be in a language I could comprehend.

She’s persuasive, though, and sent me details – something about tea farmers and the Amazon and Skype. At the very least, this would be hilarious. At the most, it would actually be fun. I soon acquiesced, having pretty much no idea what I was getting myself into.

The Saturday in question rolled around and we trekked our way out to Brooklyn. Really, it wasn’t so much of a trek as a 15 minute subway ride, but still. Brooklyn feels far away. It felt even more foreign when we showed up at the address listed on the event website …

If this isn't exactly what you imagine when you imagine a Typical Abandoned Brooklyn Warehouse, then you need to amend your imagination.

Seriously, this place appeared to be some kind of abandoned warehouse. “Whatever happens, this was YOUR choice,” I reminded C, laughing but also confused, curious, entertained, and slightly freaked out.

We walked through the front door and through an unheated, eery-as-hell hallway. I’m talking – there were mannequin torsos and detached limbs strewn about, scraps of fabric and old rugs, dilapidated chairs and tables. Going up the creepy elevator, I was fairly certain we were in some kind of horror movie.

But then it all transformed! We walked into a cozy (still warehouse-y, still very Brooklyn) open space that clearly served as several offices/headquarters. But it was heated! And not creepy!

And…everything was in Spanish. I smiled and nodded and laughed along with the crowd until someone started asking me questions and all I could do was stand there. Mute. Because, you know, when you go to a Spanish Speakers Meetup, everyone assumes you speak Spanish.

SHOCKER.

Anyway, C did her best to translate and I was actually quite entertaining to most people as I stood, grinning and mute, in the middle of the room. We got to Skype with legit tea farmers in Ecuador, which was hilarious to me only because I could understand none of what they were saying.

We drank the tea and even got to take a box home for ourselves. I flirted shamelessly with the company’s founder (in English) before I found out he was living with his girlfriend. C chattered coherently to everyone but me in her fluent Spanish.

And so we launched our Two Prong Approach – in which we are the prongs – in an old warehouse in Brooklyn drinking tea virtually hanging out with Amazonian tea farmers.

I’m calling it a success, since I couldn’t understand a word anyone said. I assume they all loved me.

In Which I Become a Heap of Girly Hysteria

24 Feb

In the four years I’ve lived in New York City, I’ve only ever had to kill a full-size disgusting cockroach once and it was after NYC basically flooded for three days so no one was that surprised. When I killed the roach (in a bath towl, dripping wet, with a 90-second spray of hairspray, BY THE WAY) I was shaken up. I felt gross and creeped out. But I was glad that nasty little giant thing was dead.

Recently, I tweeted that I saw a mouse in my bedroom. I saw the mouse once, and then twice, and then three times.

#MouseTweets

After almost a full week of knowing there was a furry little rodent scampering around my bedroom, I emailed my landlord. He plugged up a hole under my radiator and set a trap in my bedroom. He set one in the kitchen, too, but that one’s still there. I know you know where this is going.

Four days after he set the trap, I reclined onto my bed to have a chat with C on the phone. I leaned into my pillows, felt my muscles relax and then – I shrieked and hung up on C.

There, just under my radiator, was the back half of the furry little gray rodent. It was clearly dead. The trap worked. I should be happy, right?

Not so much. I burst into what I call Girly Hysteria, but might better be likened to Kristen-Bell-with-a-sloth only on the TOTAL OPPOSITE END OF THE FEELINGS SPECTRUM. Big fat tears rolled down my face while I laughed maniacally. I curled up onto my bed, half crying, half laughing, rocking back and forth wrapped in blankets.

I mean, I turned into a complete crazy person.

Here’s the thing: I’m not scared of mice. Quite the opposite, actually: I had a pet rat when I was little! Her name was Squeaker and she was my very first pet that wasn’t a fish and I loved her so much. I blame Squeaker (and Adam’s rat, Nibbles) for my hysterics. All I could think of was how the mouse had suffered and how his potential family didn’t have him anymore!

Really, those traps are terribly inhumane, but I am sane enough to realize I could not have a mouse just chillaxing under my heater/dresser/bed for all eternity.

Boy-roommate was a remarkably good sport during this ordeal; I give him a lot of credit. He cleaned up the dead mouse even though he was totally grossed out and didn’t want to do it. He found my reaction hilarious, which made me laugh harder and cry less.

After I calmed down, I told him we were bound for life. He replied eloquently,

“Yeah. Shit just got real.”

Your Boyfriend’s Not Invited

17 Oct

Maybe it’s because it’s birthday season. Maybe I’ve been organizing more RSVP-needed events lately. Maybe I’ve just been attending more of them. Whatever it is, something weird has been happening…

It all started when I had my birthday party a few weeks ago. A close friend of mine sent in her affirmative RSVP … and included her boyfriend. I’d met this particular boyfriend just twice, though they’d recently moved in together. In what I think is an understandable reaction, I was pretty put off by this presumption. He hadn’t been invited, nor did he actually know any of the other guests attending – including me!

He ended up being out of town and, anyway, my birthday party was an absolute blast. I’m sure I’d have had just as much fun had he attended.

But then it happened again. And again. And lately, every organized event has culminated in some girlfriend being unable or unwilling to leave her boyfriend at home!

Here’s the thing – he wasn’t invited. Not only was he not invited, but he also doesn’t know any of the other people going. On top of those things, these are Reservation Required events – random people can’t just tag along, even if the random people are serious boyfriends.

But you know what the real problem here is? It’s not that these girls have become units with their boyfriends – something that inherently drives me nuts. It’s the presumptuousness of it all!

Living arrangements and relationship status makes no difference, really, though the pattern as of late has been the girl with the newly-moved-in-boyfriend.

If you lived with your parents and you were invited to a birthday party, would you bring them along without asking? Do you automatically invite your roommates everywhere you’re asked, even if they have never met the other parties?

Even when you have a friend new to town and you want to introduce her to all your amazing, wonderful, engaging friends – don’t you first ask if it’s ok that you bring her?

The thing that upsets me – no, it actually enrages me! – is the presumption attached to the “Oh, I’m bringing so-and-so.”

So, friends, please – when you get an invitation and it doesn’t have some version of “the more the merrier,” go ahead and ask whether it’s ok if you bring someone else.

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