tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75825642115630667212024-02-20T09:51:37.421-08:00Falling...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-49944423885697843932010-11-29T19:00:00.000-08:002010-11-29T16:10:37.939-08:00"Always wear expensive shoes. People notice."Monday, November 29th, 2010<br /><br />Units of alcohol over the weekend:<br />Friday: A lot (Hartford, CT). I don’t know how much a lot is, but enough to cause me to fall at Black Bear (yes, again). This time onto the stage. Yes, I really wish this was a joke. Anyway, I will be suing Hartford Black Bear for making their floors too slippery.<br />Saturday: 1 beer (Ale and Mark’s)<br />Sunday: None. God, I’m not an alcoholic. <br /><br />Calories:<br />**On Thanksgiving break**<br /><br />Weight:<br />I couldn’t say. <br /><br />Food consumed today:<br />Carmal Brulee Latte, Non-fat, No whip (Starbucks). Unfortunately, the non-fat ones still have about 300 calories.<br />Turkey Sandwich<br /><br />I’m hoping to loose about 20 lbs before tomorrow.<br /><br />Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account:<br />-Sparkly headband<br />-Sparkly belt<br />-Sparkly life<br /><br />P.S.: I’m only buying sparkly items for the rest of my life.<br /><br />"Don’t text him. AMANDA, I’m serious. Whatever you do. Wait for him to contact you," Effie says sternly.<br /><br />"Okay, I won’t! God. Give me SOME credit. I have at least an ounce of self-respect."<br /><br />“Good. You deserve a guy who will call and text you all the time. Not some lawyer who is perpetually busy and condescending."<br /><br />"I know, I know. Okay, I have to go do laundry. Talk to you later."<br /><br />Click.<br /><br />You are worth more than this, I think to myself. You are a smart, pretty, intelligent young woman, who does not need to stoop to obsessing over a guy who is sub-par (albeit, with mass amounts of earning potential).<br /><br />Remember what your therapist said. Distract yourself.<br /><br />I paint my nails.<br /><br />I eat lunch.<br /><br />I contemplate shopping. <br /><br />Ugh, stupid credit line. Credit really should be unlimited.<br /><br />I decide to organize my closet.<br /><br />Ugh, I have nothing to wear ever again. Nobody will ever date me with these clothes.<br /><br />I contemplate shopping again. Maybe if I call and tell them there has been an emergency, and I have to immediately book a plane ticket and fly to Upstate NY, they will extend my credit?<br /><br />I glance at my phone.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />I pick up my phone and start texting.<br /><br />"Hey! What’s up?"<br /><br />Delete. <br /><br />Do NOT do it Amanda. Remember, play hard to get.<br /><br />God I hate playing hard to get. I pick up my phone again.<br /><br />"Hi! What are you up to?"<br /><br />Delete.<br /><br />Stop being crazy. You can’t control everything. Just let whatever is going to happen, happen. You don’t need to talk everyday. If you don’t hear from him for 24 hours, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.<br /><br />"Hey!!! How’s it going? So anyway, are you avoiding making plans with me or are you really this busy?”<br /><br />Send.<br /><br />Fuck.<br /><br />They really should have text messaging recall.<br /><br />I wait 5 minutes.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />10 minutes.<br /><br />Nothing.<br /><br />Another failed (almost) relationship.<br /><br />It seemed so promising.<br /><br />A lawyer, with a beach house, and an apartment in Manhattan.<br /><br />(I see a Vineyard wedding in the Hamptons. Navy and white. Elegant, yet understated Vera Wang dress.)<br /><br />Our first date was lunch at a tapas bar in West Hartford. <br /><br />Finally a guy who doesn’t take me to play pool and sip BL’s on the first date. I, of course, order a salad, dressing on the side. <br /><br />As I’m eating I’m trying to envision that it’s a Big Mac. This works until I take the first bite.<br /><br />“Is your food okay?”, he asks.<br /><br />“Yes, it’s great!” <br /><br />And when I say great I mean that I’m going to eat as little as possible so that I can get a large extra value meal on the way home.<br /> <br />While he is talking about his boring job, I find my mind drifting...<br /><br />I wonder...<br /><br />...if salads were bad for you would I like them more? Would I be craving salad instead of french fries?<br /><br />Nah.<br /> <br />Lunch is pleasant enough and we leave and go to an Irish pub. <br /><br />We each order a beer and 4 minutes later just as I am about to polish off my first pint I realize that he has taken about 2 sips of his.<br /> <br />Damn Ireland.<br /> <br />In Ireland 90 year-old men were drinking me under the table. Consequently, in the U.S. I can shotgun a beer faster than an Ed Hardy t-shirt wearing frat boy.<br /><br />Not that classiest impression to give on a first date.<br /><br />I milk my last sip for another 30 minutes until finally he finishes his pint and the date comes to an end.<br /><br />As I am getting on the highway I get a text asking if he can see me again.<br /><br />OMG I’m getting married!<br /> <br />The following week he decides to take me on a picnic.<br /> <br />Cute, right?<br /> <br />When he said picnic, I thought me meant a gorgeous spread of aged wine and cheese on a Burberry blanket.<br /> <br />Apparently he meant a trip to Panera Bread and a fleece blanket in a soccer field.<br /> <br />In November.<br /> <br />PS- We live in New England, buddy.<br /> <br />As I’m sitting in pitch black, 30-degree weather and trying to eat my chicken noodle soup without spilling it all over my cashmere cardigan, I begin to sense that maybe this guy isn’t for me.<br /> <br />Maybe heels weren’t the right choice for this date?<br /><br />My teeth chattering, I have mascara running down my face and I’m contemplating feigning a life-threatening illness (migraine, anyone?) when my date states, very matter-of-factly that he is planning on making his future wife sign a prenuptial agreement.<br /> <br />I choke on my soup.<br /> <br />Seriously?<br /><br />He already doesn’t trust me with his money?<br /> <br />How is that even possible? <br /><br />He hasn’t even seen my wardrobe and collection of Swarovski crystal jewelry.<br /><br />The date ends and then...<br /><br />nothing.<br /><br />No texts, no calls.<br /><br />3 days later...<br /><br />I call Ale.<br /><br />He tries to remind me that I never even really liked this guy, and that his only positive trait is that he has the ability to support my shopping habits.<br /><br />In fact he is somewhat pretentious and boring. <br /><br />As Ale is talking, I think about where things must have gone wrong. He was so into me. What happened? What’s wrong with me, that I couldn’t maintain his interest for more than a few dates?<br /><br />"Mandy, I have to go watch Real Housewives. Bye."<br /><br />"Wait Ale! What am I supposed to do now?" I shout, as I hear the dial tone answer me back.<br /><br />"Ale?!?" I shout again.<br /><br />I burst into tears. I recall something someone told me earlier in the week.<br /><br />Buffy (my friend who clearly has no difficulty obtaining men due to her size 2 jeans, and blond hair) told me that dating is like trying on shoes. You might try on a pair, and they look AMAZING. You know exactly what dress you'll wear with them. But, after 5 minutes of dancing in them, you want to kill yourself. Others might be a little boring (e.g., flats) but you could dance for hours in them, without falling or blisters. <br /><br />Then there's the pair that are boring AND hurt you so much that you want to kill yourself after 5 minutes.<br /><br />You probably shouldn’t buy that pair.<br /><br />But sometimes, just sometimes, you convince yourself that the boring, painful shoes are better than no shoes at all.<br /><br />Except that they aren’t.<br /><br />You can’t really expect everybody to like you, just like you can’t expect every pair of shoes you try on to fit. Some people just don't click. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t pretty enough, smart enough, or funny enough. It doesn't even mean that your feet are too big. It doesn’t have to mean anything other than, it wasn't meant to be.<br /><br />I realize that all these shoes I’m trying on are a build up to the best pair of shoes ever. They are probably worth more than a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s.<br /><br />In the meantime, Mom, can I have a pair of Manolo Blahnik’s for Christmas?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-6740485291797024512010-10-18T18:04:00.000-07:002010-10-23T04:01:43.238-07:00Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.So in keeping with my newfound confidence I have decided to rename my blog and take a break from blogging to write my book (see New York Times Bestseller list in 2011). <br /><br />In order to get a book deal and become a multi millionaire princess by the age of 28, I have decided that my blog needs a new, more concise title.<br /><br />Some of you may be upset by this, however I felt it was a necessary change as my life has changed immensely in the past year.<br /><br />For example, now that DB is out of my life I hardly cry at all...<br /><br />except when I get my credit card bill in the mail.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-48758189254581273872010-10-10T17:09:00.001-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.807-08:00"That boy is a monster."Tuesday, October 12th 2010<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Units of alcohol over the weekend:</span><br />Friday: 1 glass of wine. What?!? I’m on a diet. Ale’s and Mark’s (Middletown, CT).<br />Saturday: 1 vodka soda (still on diet). 5 beers (oops) Archie Moore’s (Wallingford, CT).<br />Sunday: None!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Calories:</span><br />Oops. 8,000. Give or take a few thousand.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Weight:</span><br />-4. But I was +5 the week before, so really +1. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Food consumed today:</span><br />beef jerky<br />trail mix<br />carrots<br />avocado<br />salsa<br />ice cream.<br /><br />Kate Moss, here I come!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account:</span><br />-a shirt.<br />-a ridiculous head band<br />-GYM CLOTHES. Ugh.<br /><br />Being the insightful, reflective person that I am, I am starting to realize that things can change a lot in a year. <br /><br />And when I say “change,” I mean improve.<br /><br />For example, you might go from being married to a total DB, to having your dog be an agility all star. <br /><br />Just saying.<br /><br />So, my fellow shop-a-holics/Asti lovers/a few random guys who were coerced into reading this blog...<br /><br />This Sunday was the 1 year anniversary of the day DB told me that he was a total DB. <br /><br />I am a more worldly, confident (i.e., skinnier) individual. At a size 12, I know that even though I am a little chubby, I am beautiful. At least, that's what O Magazine tells me.<br /><br />With the right hair, clothes and accessories I am starting to think I deserve more than tattoo artists and serial killers as boyfriends.<br /><br />Although, they have their strong points, too.<br /><br />I now know I deserve new Swarovski Crystal accessories and spa treatments each month, and french fries every few weeks (or hours).<br /><br />This past year has reaffirmed that I have the best (skinniest) friends in the whole world. They don’t judge me for watching Desperate Housewives, eating Taco Bell, or being in debt. They love me the way I am.<br /><br />If this blog were about them, I would go into more detail.<br /><br />But it’s not.<br /><br />I have realized that if all else fails, there is nothing like PlentyofFish.com to make you feel like a princess.<br /><br />So what if half the guys don’t have a car, and still live at home? True love is not based on material items.<br /><br />I can just imagine it now: A wedding at his parents house! How quaint. With daisies, sundresses, and hamburgers.<br /><br />Ugh, how dreadful.<br /><br />So, looking back, it was super thoughtful of DB to come out of the closest as being a DB (and whatever other implications coming out of the closet may bring with it) on a holiday weekend. <br /><br />After DB told me that he was in love with another girl, I was clearly forced to take the week off from work to dwell in my sorrows.<br /><br />Since it was a holiday weekend, I was able to use only 4 sick days at work, instead of 5, when I was in the midst of my mental break (and when I say "mental break," I mean shopping, sleeping in, and drinking cocktails with my mother). <br /><br />It was perfect. This saved vacation time, allowed me to take a trip to Ireland the following March, and meet the real love of my life (i.e. fling), Colin.<br /><br />Luckily, DB did not let the 1 year anniversary of his "mistep" (see "affair") go unacknowledged. In true DB fashion, at around 10 am on Friday, while I was sitting quietly as my desk doing whatever it is I do at work, my blackberry vibrated. <br /><br />I look down, and I see an email from DB titled "juuuuust like read ittttt. ok thnx byes.”<br /><br />Three thoughts run through my mind. <br /><br />1. English anyone?<br />2. I thought I had coordinated with Google execs to block any emails from him.<br />3. Why did he have to interrupt me when I was just about to check MSN.com for interesting headlines.<br /><br />Whatever.<br /><br />I guess I'll read it.<br /><br />As I'm reading DB's heartfelt letter about how he “fucking loved me,” and how he's having "the worst summer of my life," I begin to wonder how low his IQ actually is.<br /><br />Does he really think I care about his summer? And how horrible could it have been, if he was out meeting 18-year-old, future girlfriends at Boy Scout Camp?<br /><br />Actually, that does sound horrible.<br /><br />I continue reading, until I get to the part where he calls our marriage, “this thing that we had.”<br /><br />Daisy threw up a little when she read that.<br /><br />This is course for pause, as I begin to think about our marriage. <br /><br />I wonder what it feels like to be in a relationship where you don’t always wonder if the other person really loves you? <br /><br />What does it feel like to not have that feeling of anticipation that they may walk out of your life at anytime?<br /><br />I realize that I will have that someday. And that I already have it with my family and friends.<br /><br />As I’m reading this email I <span style="font-style:italic;">almost</span> feel bad for DB. It must be hard to know that the people in your life can’t depend on you.<br /><br />The more I think about DB, the more I realize that it really is an odd feeling to think that you know somebody, only to realize that you don’t know them at all.<br /><br />Although to this day, I can’t believe I knew (and/or married) someone who wore extra small T-shirts, and ripped jeans every day.<br /><br />My bad.<br /><br />Maybe it’s better that he isn’t the person that I thought. Maybe he has gained a sense of style, and now shops at Brooks Brothers instead of Hot Topic.<br /><br />But I doubt it.<br /><br />I am not mad DB fell in love with someone else. <br /><br />I’m mad that he spent my parents wedding fund on a really fun wedding that I can’t post pictures of anymore. <br /><br />I mean, I don’t have a problem posting pictures where Brad Pitt’s face is glued over DB’s, but I think other people may find it awkward.<br /><br />Especially future boyfriends.<br /><br />I am mad that he still has my Tiffany’s vase, when everybody knows that people with $500-a-week paychecks CANNOT afford Tiffany’s vases.<br /><br />I am mad that an email from him somehow got through the filtering system I set up on Google. <br /><br />And I am the most mad that DB, with his bad haircut and stonewashed jeans, still thinks he is relevant. <br /><br />Because I promise him, he isn’t.<br /><br />Either way, on the 1 year anniversary of the day my life changed, I was at my first ever agility competition with Daisy winning first place. <br /><br />I have decided that winning first place in an agility competition is a sign that it is okay to be single and love yourself. It is not always easy, but it is better than relying on someone else to give you that confidence. <br /><br />It dawns on me, as I stare at Daisy's blue ribbon, that things really do happen for a reason. <br /><br />If it wasn’t for DB, I would not have Daisy.<br /><br />Or alimony.<br /><br />Oh wait, I only have 1 of those.<br /><br />Fuck.<br /><br />Now, how am I going to pay for the $573 in clothes that I just put into my BlueFly.com “Shopping Cart”?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-53197425261183353532010-09-26T18:55:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.911-08:00Shut it down.Taking a couple weeks off...be back October 12th with some brand new stories...and possible a new husband!<br /><br />Love and light.<br /><br />AmandaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-12652833049984715092010-09-14T17:22:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.919-08:00“Diamonds are a girls (and tattoo artist’s) best friend."Tuesday, September 14th 2010<br /><br />Units of alcohol over the weekend:<br />Friday: 3...no 4. 2 Martini’s and 2 Guinness. Feng and The Tavern (Hartford, CT)<br />Saturday: 2 Blue Moon’s. Sheas (Manchester, CT)<br />Sunday: None!<br /><br />Calories:<br />Super skinny! Sushi on Friday night (Crab Rangoon counts as Sushi, right?)<br /><br />Weight:<br />+/- 0. <br /><br />Food consumed today:<br />2 cups of coffee<br />a diet coke<br />oatmeal<br />3 mini muffins...fine 4.<br />salad<br />2 pieces of pizza<br />a cupcake<br /><br />Fuck...well that looks way worse than I imagined, now that I see it typed out in front of me.<br /><br />Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account:<br />September 1st-14th<br />2 new skirts<br />tights<br />a fabulous (very understated) headband<br />2 shirts<br />8000 skinny pumpkin spice latte’s<br /><br />So, I know I said I'd blog about “The Bachelor Party,” but tensions are still a little high following a major blowout on (perhaps near) the dance floor at the Scorpion Bar at Foxwoods. So I'll hold out until after the reunion episode of <i>The Real Housewives of Central Connecticut</i> tapes, before I divulge all the happenings.<br /><br />But let’s just say, Danielle, Tereasa, and Caroline have NOTHING on my friends.<br /><br />Anyway, so the quest for husband #2 is well under way. Thanks in NO part to online dating.<br /><br />How I despise you, "winking," "ice breakers," and "top 5's!" Yet I can’t stay away from you. Kind of like the gym (actually, no, I can stay away from the gym fairly easily).<br /><br />So, I thought I bring you a new guide: my do's and don'ts of online dating websites:<br /><br /><b>eharmony</b>: Member since November, 2009. 1 year subscription: $230.00 (sacrificing 3 new outfits, a new tube of Lady Gaga Mac lipstick, and a bottle of Asti). My mother signed me up when she decided that I should start my search for husband #2, some five hours after my separation from husband #1.<br /><br />eharmony has produced zero dates so far, and 2 phone calls (both from creeps, which I promptly ignored). eharmony's shtick: extensive personality testing. The site was invented by Dr. Neil Clark Warren, who supposedly has 35 of years experience, and a doctorate. <br /><br />However, he RETIRED in 2006, which by my calculations makes him 103, and I suspect he has a Ph.D in something like 18th Century Slavic Literature.<br /><br />Some of the adjectives that came out of my personality report: “able to cope,” “flexible,” “modest,” and “private”.<br /><br />Oops, did my alter ego, that I never knew existed, take the test?<br /><br />eharmony doesn't even let you email your matches until AFTER you go through this really boring process, where you answer generic (boring) questions back and forth with your matches about 86 times.<br /><br />Essentially, the site doesn't work well for girls who've been on Ritalin most of their lives.<br /><br />It would appear that I also screwed up on the question: “Do looks matter?” I must have put, “Not at all.” Generally, my matches are quiet, shy men with backgrounds in actuarial science. Men that have wedding receptions in “vanilla” banquet halls, and honeymoons at Sandals.<br /><br />Can you picture me at a Sandals?!?<br /><br /><b>JDate</b>: Jewish online dating website. As I stated before, I am TOTALLY willing to convert. So Charlotte. So <i>SITC</i> (Sex in the City).<br /><br />However, in the 30 days I've been on this site, I have yet to find someone who I am willing to wear long sleeves on my wedding day for (let alone knock on a Ranbi's door 3 times for).<br /><br /><b>Plenty of Fish</b>: Free online dating website. Emphasis on <i>free</i>. Basically, the guys who can’t afford the other dating sites.<br /><br />Now, do you really want to marry someone who won’t pay 35 dollars a month to meet you? These are men who have wedding receptions in, well, they don't have receptions because they aren’t the marrying type.<br /><br /><b>Zoosk</b>: Lame and weird. Don’t do it.<br /><br /><b>Match.com</b>: Definitely, most of my results have come from Match.com. Also great if you like creepy, 50 year old men messaging you every once in a while.<br /><br />Some of my "successes" with Match.com include Mr. two-dollar date, and a nice young man named Shawn.<br /><br />Shawn (a.k.a., Hep. C)<br />Age: 28 years old<br />Profession: Tattoo Artist, or homeless person, not exactly clear on that.<br />Date: Sunday, 9:30pm at Rookies, Cromewell, CT.<br /><br />Now, for those of you who don’t know about Rookies, picture the biggest dive bar you have ever been to. Add 4 pool tables, and a crowd of bearded, 50 year old men. Lastly, imagine that each one of those guys is undressing you with his eyes.<br /><br />Welcome to Rookies.<br /><br />9:28pm: I park my car and wait. Fuck! Why am I always early!? I look WAY to eager. I debate driving back home and back. I reapply my lipstick for the 800th time. <br /><br />I call Ale.<br /><br />Text Kelly.<br /><br />BBM Effie.<br /><br />9:29pm: Turn on 95.7.<br />9:29pm + 15 seconds: Turn off the radio. Sit in silence.<br />9:30pm: Check Facebook.<br /><br />*ring ring*<br /><br />Shawn: Hey Amanda, it’s Shawn, I’m here.<br /><br />Me: Okay! I just pulled in! I will meet you out front.<br /><br />As I approach the entrance to Rookies, I see a child (maybe 13 or 14?) with sleeve tattoos, weighing in at 115lbs (at the most).<br /><br />“Please, no. No, no,” I think to myself.<br /><br />“Hey, Amanda!” the young boy says, as he approaches me, and gives me a hug.<br /><br />All I can feel are his ribs.<br /><br />Fuck.<br /><br />I really hate it when my dates weigh less than I do. How do I find these men, whose jeans wouldn’t fit around my left leg?<br /><br />I glance at his “sleeves” (yes, he has tattoo’s everywhere), and wonder about the cleanliness of the needles he works with.<br /><br />We go inside, and he buys me a drink!!! Already, the best Match.com date EVER (see “Two-Dollar Date”). We start chatting, and I begin to realize that he is monopolizing the conversation. <br /><br />I’m supposed to me monopolizing the conversation! That’s what I do! Doesn’t he know it’s not about him? It’s about me.<br /><br />This already isn’t going to work.<br /><br />I feel my phone vibrate.<br /><br />“Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.” I walk slowly to the bathroom, trying not to trip, while simultaneously trying not to get my heels stuck in puddles of old beer. Why didn’t I wear wedges?<br /><br />Text (1) Mom: “amanda all tattoo artists probably have hep c. there is NO CURE for hep c!!!”<br /><br />Right. <br /><br />Reapply my lipstick.<br /><br />I return to my bar stool. He starts talking, and my eyes glaze over. God, I REALLY have to pee, but I can’t get up again! Why didn’t I go when I was in there before?!?<br /><br />“Blah, blah, blah, trailer park, blah, blah...“<br /><br />Me: “Huh?”<br /><br />Shawn: “Oh, I was just saying how my mom lives in a trailer park with her abusive boyfriend.”<br /><br />UM. What?!<br /><br />Me: "Right. Of course. Sorry, continue.”<br /><br />In the next 10 minutes, I learn the following:<br />Hep. C's dad is a deadbeat father, who he tried to beat up at his sister’s wedding.<br />Hep. C used to do drugs, but nothing “really bad,” like heroin. Just pot, ecstasy and coke.<br />Hep. C used to live in the Caribbean, so he could party all the time, and not work.<br />Hep. C has money problems, and can barely afford his rent.<br /><br />Shawn: So, you are divorced?<br /><br />Me: Yup.<br /><br />Shawn: Do you still have your rings?<br /><br />Me: Yah, I was going to have them made into something else, or sell them, but I haven’t gotten around to it.<br /><br />Shawn: Oh, I hope they aren’t blood diamonds. I don’t really believe in diamonds or marriage anyway.<br /><br />I choke on my Bud Light. Surely, it's not because he can’t afford diamonds or marriage.<br /><br />Me: “What?!?” I sputter.<br /><br />Shawn: “Yeah, why do people even get married? It’s all for show.”<br /><br />Me: “Yeah, I totally agree. Do you want to come over for a drink?”<br /><br />Certainly, in retrospect, this evening probably should have ended differently.<br /><br />As we drive (separately) to my apartment, I begin to think that things might be looking up with Shawn.<br /><br />I call Ale.<br /><br />Me: “So his family seems a little, um, sketchy. And he doesn’t seem materialistic. But I think I like him.”<br /><br />Ale: “What do you like about him?”<br /><br />Me: “Uhhh. Well, he talks a lot! Oh, and he likes animals!”<br /><br />Ale: “Animals? So, you like him because he likes animals? Hmm. That’s kind of pushing it, isn't it?”<br /><br />Me: “Shoot."<br /><br />I describe the rest of the evening to Ale.<br /><br />Ale: “Why do you think he asked you about your engagement rings?”<br /><br />Me: "I don’t know, because he was curious..."<br /><br />Oh, wait.<br /><br />Me: “You don’t think he wanted to steal them?”<br /><br />Ale: “That just seems like a 2nd date kind of question to me.”<br /><br />We get to my apartment, and I offer him a drink. I tell him that I’m going to the bathroom, and I quickly throw my jewelry box into the dryer (fab hiding spot ladies!).<br /><br />As I'm wondering if I shouldn't leave some decoy jewelry out, to throw Shawn off, it occurs to me that maybe I need to be just slightly more selective with husband #2.<br /><br />Then I realize that Shawn's still a big step up from DB (but really, who isn’t?)!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-67482449191832526372010-08-31T18:08:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.927-08:00"Eternal nothingness is okay if you're dressed for it."Tuesday, August 31st, 2010<br /><br /><b>Units of alcohol over the weekend:</b><br />Friday: None! God I’m skinny.<br />Saturday: Can’t remember. Casino for Ale and Mark’s Bachelor Party. <br />Sunday: Ow.<br /><br /><b>Calories:</b><br />WHY did I eat a chili cheese dog at 1am on Sunday morning at the casino?!? Do I even LIKE chili cheese dogs? (The answer is yes, yes I do.)<br /><br /><b>Weight:</b><br />-2 lbs. <br /><br /><b>Food consumed today:</b><br />1 cup of coffee<br />1 granola bar<br />apple<br />lean cuisine<br />popcorn (butter, obvi)<br />turkey dog (quantity to remain secret)<br />edamame<br />half a Frosty<br /><br /><b>Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account:</b><br />August 25th-31st:<br />Groceries<br />My overdue library book<br /><br />So, after one too many "winks" from creepy, serial killer-types on JDate (I'm happy and willing to convert), I decided I should be on the lookout for a new venue. Granted, there really <i>aren't</i> many alternatives to online dating, now that arranged marriages have fallen out of vogue. But I recently stumbled across something hip, that I thought I should try:<br /><br />Singles.<br /><br />Yoga.<br /><br />Even if I don't meet my second husband, I figured, at least I'll burn some calories.<br /><br />So, on a lovely Tuesday evening, I screeched into the singles yoga parking lot, with Kiss 95.7 blaring on my radio, and me screaming the words to "Better off alone."<br /><br />Very namaste.<br /><br />"God, I just hope they don't want me to sit quietly the whole time," I think to myself. "Why did I ever think this was a good idea?"<br /><br />I take a deep breath, and open the car door. I stare up at the building in front of me, with a feeling of both dread and excitement.<br /><br />"How did I even get here?" I wonder out loud.<br /><br />It all started with ... hmm. Actually, I have no clue how it started. Certainly with a sense of desperation, and probably a lot of boredom. I may accidentally have stumbled across the advertisement while searching “Missed Connections” on Craigslist.<br /><br />Like much of my memory, the details are hazy, but somewhere I saw an advertisement for a $10 Singles Yoga class in Glastonbury (fancy).<br /><br />At some point, I also decided it would be a good idea to drag two of my friends with me.<br /><br />However, I’m pretty sure I picked the 2 worst people to bring EVER. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love my friends, and would do anything with them. But, generally I'd prefer to not be competing with them for hot, shirtless, single men!<br /><br />I approached Buffy with the idea first. I told her that she needs to get out, expand her network of friends, and try something different. Unfortunately for me, Buffy <i>actually</i> works out at my gym. As in, instead of sitting at the smoothie bar, waiting for prince charming to come along (and offer to buy her an extra dietary supplement), Buffy actually works out.<br /><br />For 2 hours a day.<br /><br />5-6 days a week.<br /><br />She kind of has the most killer body EVER. Not exactly someone you want to bring with you to a class where you are trying to meet your second husband. <br /><br />Then there is Carrie. Ballet, tap, and jazz dancer. Also swim coach. She also runs 5k’s. And she probably doesn’t eat at Friendly’s every other weekend (or every other weekday). What was I thinking?<br /><br />On the positive side, I know I have my sense of style, and Lady Gaga lipstick.<br /><br />Because, who doesn't wear lipstick to yoga?<br /><br />Carrie and I walk up the steps (I'm already winded) and cautiously walk through the door. Oh good, we are the first ones here! We wait at the counter, while a girl decorates a billboard with upcoming yoga announcements. All the while ignoring us.<br /><br />“Um, hello?” I finally say.<br /><br />“Oh hi! Are you here for singles yoga?” She says in a smug manor.<br /><br />No, bitch. I’m here to meet my boyfriend. He teaches yoga here, and has the sickest body you have ever seen.<br /><br />“Yes!” I say politely.<br /><br />“Just wait over there! The instructor should be here soon.”<br /><br /><br />Carrie and I walk to a waiting area, where there is one other person waiting.<br /><br />A 20-something. Girl.<br /><br />Great.<br /><br />She is definitely skinner than I am, BUT seems to be wearing some sort of dreadful patterned top, and no lipstick. No competition, I think to myself.<br /><br />She starts talking to Carrie, and I tune out. I wonder how many guys will be here? There is going to be so much sexual tension, I think to myself, when we are all lying down on the mats practicing deep breathing.<br /><br />My phone vibrates. It’s Buffy. She's on her way.<br /><br />All of a sudden, I hear the door open, expecting Buffy. <br /><br />Another girl.<br /><br />Blonde.<br /><br />Ugh. They get all the men.<br /><br />She sits down, and immediately strikes up a conversation with the first girl. They begin excitedly talking about their teaching jobs. Blah, blah, blah.<br /><br />I wonder to myself: what kind of wedding are yoga-type men are into? Beach? I hope not. All that sand and sun. Ugh. Some people just aren’t meant to be tan. Or sandy. Plus, he might want tacky white tuxedos. Pictures are forever, and I don’t want to be seen standing next to a guy in a white tux. Or WORSE, what if he wants to wear Hawaiian shirts? I throw up a little in my mouth.<br /><br />The door opens.<br /><br />In walks the man of my dreams.<br /><br />With no shoes.<br /><br />I take a closer look, and realize he's definitely NOT the man of my dreams. <br /><br />In fact, he's a creepy, less sexy version of Crocodile Dundee. He's 40-something, with a full-on mustache, green cargo shorts, and a toupee.<br /><br />Just as I’m scanning the room for the closest exit, Buffy rushes in. I resist the urge to make eye contact with her, because I know we'll both start laughing about this situation, which is quickly spiraling out of control. She sits down next to me, and starts to smile.<br /><br />I cough loudly 3x, in an attempt to disguise my laughs. <br /><br />Just as I've re-centered my zen, Trader Joe (or Dundee, whatever) launches into the LONGEST SPIEL EVER about “CT Singles,” the group sponsoring the event. He is apparently a representative. And it turns out he's trying to get pro-singles policies on the next Democratic Party platform. <br /><br />Illegal immigration is overrated anyway.<br /><br />He proceeds to tell us that CT Singles sponsors many activities, including glow-in-the-dark mini golf, glow-in-the-dark galactic bowling, and bar outings (how fun would that be if it were glow-in-the-dark, too!).<br /><br />“Those sound dangerous,” Buffy blurts out. I hold back my laughter.<br /><br />Apparently, these singles think they have a better chance if their faces are lit up under blue lights?<br /><br />He asks us if we have any suggestions for activities. Buffy suggests a wine tasting. <br /><br />LOVE it!<br /><br />“OH NO! WE CAN’T DO THAT!!!” Dundee exclaims. <br /><br />“Why not?” she inquires.<br /><br />“Insurance purposes. Someone could get injured.”<br /><br />“But you can play mini golf in the dark?” she wonders loudly.<br /><br />At this point, I can’t hold back the laughter anymore. Dundee gives me a look, as if to say, "I hate you but I’m going to smile anyway."<br /><br />As I try to contain myself, Dundee and the first two girls enter into a deep discussion about glow in the dark activities, and whirlyball (huh?). <br /><br />My phone vibrates.<br /><br />Text (1)<br />Buffy: I get the feeling these girls have never left their houses before.<br /><br />I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, where I proceed to laugh silently for approximately 12 minutes, before returning to civilization.<br /><br />At this point, it is FINALLY time for class to begin. We go into the studio, and it turns out 8 other people have arrived.<br /><br />All.<br /><br />Of them.<br /><br />Are girls.<br /><br />Kill me.<br /><br />The instructor is a 20-something, semi-attractive male. However, it's difficult to take someone seriously who keeps using the phrase “sit spoon.”<br /><br />And he has his nipple pierced.<br /><br />I basically endure the class by making to-do lists in my head, and picking out outfits for the next week (actually, next year).<br /><br />When the class is over, we sprint out to our cars (god, why was that more work than the gym?). Carrie goes home, and Buffy and I drive to the Cromwell Diner. <br /><br />As she orders her salad (no dressing, no cheese, no lettuce), and I order my turkey club (extra mayo, cheese fries, side of chocolate milk), I find myself wondering whether the time I spent blending 3 shades of eyeshadow for yoga was a waste.<br /><br />Namaste.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-37880695952792062682010-08-24T07:23:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.931-08:00"I don't wanna talk anymore"Tuesday, August 24th, 2010<br /><br /><b>Units of alcohol over the weekend</b>:<br />Friday: 2 Rum and Diet's in my apartment with "Buffy." She's my co-worker, who is basically like me, but smarter, less stylish, and healthier (she goes to the gym 2 hours a day, and eats mass amounts of vegetables). <br />Saturday: 3 Rum and Diet's, 1 BL, and 2 Hooker IPA's at Polo in Hartford (gay club) with Ale and Mark.<br />Sunday: None. Kill me.<br /><br /><b>Calories</b>:<br />Not bad. Chinese on Friday. Indian food on Saturday. Taco bell on Saturday (1 am). Friendly's on Sunday.<br /><br />Mmm. Apparently when I said "not bad," I meant disastrous. Actually, I meant delicious.<br /><br /><b>Weight</b>:<br />+3 lbs. WTF?<br /><br /><b>Food consumed today</b>: <br />2 cups of coffee<br />a granola bar<br />a yogurt<br />soup<br />popcorn (butter, <i>obvi</i>)<br />pasta<br />a popsicle<br /><br /><b>Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account</b>:<br />August 19th-24th:<br />$10 pass to a Single's Yoga class (more on this later).<br /><br />Since I've committed to sharing all things "Amanda" with you, I thought I'd let you in on the latest DB developments.<br /><br />So, the other day I receive an email from DB, saying that he'd like to see Daisy (MY dog) "one last time."<br /><br />My response was as follows (well, along with what I actually <i>meant</i> to say):<br /><br /><br />DB,<br /><br />I decided that we should not switch Daisy next week (or ever).<br /><br />Things ended a long time ago, and we both need to move on, and this is prolonging the inevitable. Discussions with my therapist and family (and all sane people I've encountered on planet Earth) have brought me to believe that it's not a good idea for me, Daisy, or you. Every time we switch Daisy, we are pulled back into the drama, and we all take a step backwards (also, her professional agility career suffers, as you make her extremely anxious, and she wants to vomit uncontrollably every time she sees you).<br /><br />I am in no way doing this to hurt you, I am doing this because we need to start our own lives, completely separate from one another (also, my 6'2", 250lb, bodybuilder boyfriend does not approve. He'd be happy to meet with you in person to discuss).<br /><br />Please contact Alejandro, Mark, or Kelly to arrange a time to drop off the rest of my things (which I asked for over 6 months ago, but I'm sure your DB lifestyle is keeping you really busy). Kelly is willing to meet you before class if you email her (though you probably shouldn't leave your car unattended, because she probably wants to slash the tires on your DB Prius. Assuming that it hasn't been repossessed yet). Do not respond to this email or call me (actually, go for it, I'm about to change my phone number, and block all email addresses that are relevant to you in any way, shape, or form). If you need to contact me for any reason, you may contact Ale, Mark, or Kelly (though, they probably have no interest in talking to you, so good luck!). It is not fair to either of us. I will do the same (also, thanks for the engagement ring: the diamond makes a beautiful pendent necklace, and the platinum band fetched quite a price on Ebay!).<br /><br />Sincerely (Ciao!),<br />Amanda<br /><br /><br />So, I go to sleep feeling empowered. I know that I have made the right decision, and that even DB will agree. Any person in their right mind will realize that this charade has gone on far too long.<br /><br />And really, the drama is inferring with my busy social schedule. For example, the last time we did a switch, I was LATE for Ruby Tuesday "Thursday's" with Ale. And another time, I was FORCED to forgo a manicure, because I only had time for a pedi.<br /><br />Unacceptable.<br /><br />The next morning, I wake up with the conviction that DB will have taken the high road, and that he will not have written me back. I just know he realizes the importance of being mature and moving on.<br /><br />Until my Blackberry goes off.<br /><br /><br />Inbox (1)<br /><br />From: DB@aol.com<br />To: amandathemostawesomegirlalive@gmail.com<br /><br />fuck you<br /><br />Sent from my (DB) iPhone<br /><br /><br />That was insightful, I think to myself. I couldn't even get a capital letter? Maybe a PERIOD?<br /><br />Perhaps, he just couldn't find the words. I mean, he did score a 400 on the SAT Verbal. Whatever, I let it go, and drive to the mall.<br /><br />As I'm standing in the H&M dressing room, admiring a pair of sequin leggings, I realize that I've had it all wrong.<br /><br />Really, you can't rely on a DB to make you happy. No, you have to count on the sure things in life: like glittery, shimmering, understated sequin leggings!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-82961526543183507822010-08-18T13:49:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.944-08:00“One martini is alright, two is too many, three is not enough.”Wednesday, August 18th, 2010<br /><br />Units of alcohol over the weekend: <br />Friday: 5 BL's<br />Saturday: 2 glasses of Chardonnay<br />Sunday: 2 G&T's<br /><br />Calories: Horrible. I went home to visit my family in Buffalo, NY and partook in Mighty Taco (i.e. Taco Bell's better half) and Tim Hortons daily.<br /><br />Weight: WHY DO I WEIGH THE SAME AS WHEN I STARTED THIS BLOG? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?<br /><br />Food consumed today: <br /><br />3 cups of coffee<br />a granola bar<br />a yogurt<br />a lean cuisine (Aldi style..."Fit and Active")<br />Ruby Tuesday soup and salad bar<br />a popsicle<br /><br />"Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret" or "Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account.":<br />August 11th-18th<br />-a diamond pendent necklace (i.e. my engagement ring recycled)<br />-a cute strapless dress from Macy's<br />-Benefit face brightener from Sephora <br /><br /><br /><br />So, I'm at the therapist's office, and I stumble across an article in Glamour: "36 Things Every Single Girl Must Do Before She Settles Down."<br /><br />The article includes things like, "go to a movie alone," or "volunteer." And, "date the creeps, you will really value the nice guys afterwords."<br /><br />I decide to take on the task of accomplishing each of these 36 items, and blogging about them along the way.<br /><br />For the complete list, go <a href="http://www.glamour.com/sex-love-life/blogs/single-ish/2010/06/36-things-every-single-girl-mu.html">here</a> (any suggestions on what I should do next are welcomed): <br /><br />I scan the list, and I'm immediately drawn to Number 25: "Sit at a bar by yourself and drink a martini. Cool."<br /><br />Sounds cool.<br /><br />I picture myself in a trench coat and sunglasses, sitting at the bar, sipping my martini, while a dark handsome stranger gestures to the seat next to me, and asks (in his husky voice) if it is taken. I say "no," and he proceeds to sit next to me, and order a martini as well. We discuss vodka vs. gin martinis, and he asks me to dinner, where we immediately fall in love, etc., etc., you get the idea. I picture a 3 caret, emerald cut diamond, destination wedding (Turks and Caicos). Honeymoon in the French Rivera. Our children will be called Madeline and Harrison, and they'll attend boarding schools in Germany, and continue onto Cambridge and Oxford.<br /><br />So I make arrangements to execute this plan. I decide that Thursday will be the day. I figure I have the best chance of not looking like a complete alcoholic on a Thursday.<br /><br />Location: Plan B, Glastonbury. Perfect location to scope out prospective husbands, who work in the insurance industry, since it is only 10 minutes from Hartford.<br />Outfit: Black pencil skirt, with a bright turquoise top with cute little buttons, and black peep toe heels. <br />Time: 5pm.<br /><br />I pull up to Plan B at 5pm on the dot. I've never been there before, and I realize that the windows are tinted, and one cannot see inside to scope out the situation.<br /><br />Fuck.<br /><br />What if I walk in and nobody is there, except for busboys and waitresses standing around waiting for the dinner rush?<br /><br />I realize this is an exercise that is supposed to be building my confidence. So I turn off the car, reapply my "Viva Glam Gaga" lipstick, and confidently get out of the car, and walk through the door.<br /><br />I spot the bar, and do my best runway walk, as if I've done this a million times before. <br /><br />Thank god, there are other people here.<br /><br />I even see a 40-something lady who's clearly read the same article, because she appears to be doing the same thing I am. <br /><br />I sit down and order a "dry martini with extra olives" (I did my martini research beforehand).<br /><br />I get it, take a sip, and almost throw up all over myself.<br /><br />UGH. What was I thinking?!? I hate liquor. I'm more of a champagne girl.<br /><br />I choke down a few more sips, thanking god that I ordered extra olives. <br /><br />All of I sudden I hear, "Is this seat taken?"<br /><br />Just like clockwork! I wonder for a second if it's possible to book flights to Turks and Caicos on my BlackBerry.<br /><br />I flip my head around, and see an 80 year old man with a beard, who appears to be working the "hippie" look.<br /><br />"No," I say friendly, but defeated.<br /><br />My new bf proceeds to ask the bartender about the beers on tap. He comments that he hasn't had a drink in a long time, although I suspect by "long time," he actually means about 5 minutes. After getting numerous samples of free beer from the waitress, he finally settles on the Sam Summer. I get the feeling that he does this regularly.<br /><br />He then turns to me, and asks if I've ever been to California. <br /><br />"No, I haven't," I reply.<br /><br />"Don't ever go there," he tells me ominously. "I have been there, and I got chills when I was in the movie studios. I could feel the evil. "<br /><br />Me: "Oh."<br /><br />"I can tell you have a beautiful spirit. And if you go there, it will be ruined. The evil and materialism will overcome you."<br /><br />Me: "Oh. Thanks." (Clearly he hasn't noticed my Swarovski crystal cuff.)<br /><br />I suddenly hear a voice to my left, "Is this seat taken?" I look up, and see a certifiably handsome man.<br /><br />"No, of course not," I reply.<br /><br />"Rough day?" he asks.<br /><br />Oh right, I'm drinking a martini alone. <br /><br />"Haha, yes."<br /><br />Dumb, dumb, dumb. I couldn't think of anything witty?<br /><br />"ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER?" I heard the old man blurt out.<br /><br />My face turns about 40 shades of red, as I way-too-quickly and way-too-loudly blurt out, "NO. No, of course not!"<br /><br />"Oh. No offense or anything!" I quickly offer to my new second husband.<br /><br />"What do you do?" I say nervously (crossing my fingers for "insurance").<br /><br />We continue to talk for at least 30 minutes. <br /><br />Before I notice it.<br /><br />The ring.<br /><br />See, I usually notice these things immediately. However, when I'd glanced before, his arms were crossed.<br /><br />I should have realized sooner.<br /><br />Married.<br /><br />Me (2nd martini): "Sooo, you are married?" <br />Him: "Oh. Yeah."<br />Me: "Congrats! How long have you been married?"<br />Him: "2 years."<br />Me: "Oh well, that's awesome! That's kind of a long time!"<br />Him: "Yeah! Longer than the first one."<br /><br />Huh?<br /><br />He proceeds to tell me that when he was 26 years old, his wife (of 12 months) pulled a total DB, and they got divorced. They had been together for 7 years when she did this.<br /><br />Uh. Did he just tell my story? Did I meet my male equivalent?<br /><br />We continue to talk for another 45 minutes about our experiences with divorce and dating. I start to realize that even though this conversation is bizarrely inappropriate for someone I just met (not that I have any boundaries), that it's one of the best conversations I have ever had.<br /><br />He leaves to go have dinner with his wife (what, did you think I would hook up with a MARRIED MAN?), and I leave feeling reassured that everything does work out for the best.<br /><br />As I'm lost in thought, I suddenly hear, "Don't take offense, because I'm saying this like I'm your grandpa, but you have the most beautiful hair, skin, and eyes." I turn to see my older bf gazing into my eyes.<br /><br />I don't recall my grandpa EVER telling me that. On the other hand, it sounds vaguely familiar. Like something from "Silence of the Lambs."<br /><br />"I tell all the young ladies this. Don't settle for just any guy. You deserve someone who will treat you like the princess you are."<br /><br />Is 80 years old too old for me?<br /><br />Why did I have that 2nd martini?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-15663032501049632862010-08-14T15:52:00.000-07:002010-11-29T16:01:05.155-08:00"Remember as far as anyone knows, we're a nice normal family."7:00 am: *ring, ring* (actually, more like my Lady Gaga ringtone).<br /><br />I look over at my cell phone. It's my Mom.<br /><br />Ignore.<br /><br />7:01 am: *beep, beep* (I've got a voicemail).<br /><br />7:05 am: *ring, ring*<br /><br />Mom.<br /><br />Ignore (again).<br /><br />*ding*<br /><br />Text (1) Mom: Where are you?<br /><br />I go through this process about 50 more times, until I think it’s an acceptable hour to get up and begin my journey to Buffalo, NY (around 2pm).<br /><br />To spend 4 days with my mother and step-father.<br /><br />My mother is perhaps one of the least sane people I know. She has her Masters in Social Work, and worked in the field for about 3 days, until she met her 4th husband, who happens to be a psychiatrist. She now devotes her time to charity work (does it get more WASP than that?), and splits her time between America and their new castle in Ireland.<br /><br />If you are wondering where I get my poor boundaries, impulsivity, and shopping addiction from, your curiosity will dissipate once you have met my mother.<br /><br />So that brings me to Buffalo, NY.<br /><br />7 hours from civilization (specifically CT). <br /><br />The drive consists of one farm, after another farm, after another one. <br /><br />“GOD why is this so far?” I think so myself. I glance at the clock, and realize I've been driving for about 10 minutes.<br /><br />6 hours and 50 minutes to go.<br /><br />FML.<br /><br />Halfway through the drive I stop at rest area...mmm...McDonalds. I haven’t had a Macwrap in, oh god, give or take about 24 hours. I order about 15 dollars worth of food (all of course while pretending it’s for my “family” and make my way back to to the car.<br /><br />As I am carefully carrying my 2 bags of McDoanlds and large DIET coke back to the car I feel my grasp slip on my soda.<br /><br />“No, no, no,” I think.<br /><br />*crash!*<br /><br />I drop the soda. <br /><br />As I realize in horror my pink tutu (what else do you wear on a 7 hour car ride?) and sparkly flip flops and sopping wet I pick up the empty container and stand up to see a crowd of the hottest men I have ever seen in my entire life staring at me.<br /><br />That was subtle.<br /><br />To continue on the route of subtly I sprint back to my car and peel out of the parking lot at 80 miles per hour.<br /><br />I arrive 4 hours later in Buffalo, NY. <br /><br />The locals drink Genesee beer (or Labatt's if they are feeling classy), and may or may not be missing some teeth.<br /><br />So here I am. Stuck in the house with my mom and step-father for 4 days.<br /><br />I walk in the house. Rip of my tutu and put on JEANS. Ugh. I immediately sprint to an undisclosed location and retrive the hidden stash of alcohol (see, sister, ex-wino). <br /><br />I make a G&T and sitdown to relax.<br /><br />*Ring. Ring* My cell phone.<br /><br />Seeing that I don’t recognize the number I promptly ignore the call.<br /><br />*ding!* Voicemail.<br /><br />I begin to listen to my voicemail, and suddenly I choke on my G&T. “Hi Amanda, this is Lauren. I know you hate me, but I just thought I would tell you what DB did to me and what and asshole he is. I just thought you would find it amusing. Call me if you want to.”<br /><br />I listen to it again. Did the love of DB’s life, the girl he left me for because he had never felt this way about anybody just call me to tell me what HE did to HER?<br /><br />I resist the urge to call her...for now. (More on this later)<br /><br />I pop a couple Xanax and focus on online shopping.<br /><br />At this point I’m about 4 minutues away from a complete mental break. Oh I hope they send me to Betty Ford. God I will need a whole new wardrobe. I would definitly meet my 2nd husband there. It would be so glam. Him a recovering coke addict, me there for some much needed “rest”. Our wedding would have to be dry but that would be okay because we could just tell everybody about our amazing journey together in recovery. Him from coke. Me from psychotic phone calls.<br /><br />I google Betty Ford.<br /><br />Fuck. <br /><br />$26,000 for 30 days. God that is like...a lot of Swarvoski Crystal cuffs. Maybe if I sell everything I own I could afford it? It would totally be worth it because my future husband will be rich if he can afford it. Unless he spent it all on coke and his parents paid for it.<br /><br />Plan B. The bar.<br /><br />I never thought a drive to the local bar could sound so heavenly, when my mother suggestes that we go out for a "night on the town".<br /><br />We get into to the car to leave for the bar and start driving.<br /><br />We arrive 2 and 1/2 minutes later.<br /><br />Well...that's convienent.<br /><br />I drop my mom off because she sees someone she simply "must" catch up with, darling.<br /><br />I pull up to the bar and see a Tiki Bar set up on the grass...oh I hope they have Peach Sangria!<br /><br />I realize there is no valet. I consider offering 5 bucks to the 50 something year old guy who is standing outside of the bar and appears to be drinking something out of a paperbag to park the car, but think better of it.<br /><br />However, he does politly inform me to park "in the back" aka on the lawn that also homes somebody's cozy trailer.<br /><br />I drive slowly to "the back" and realize that I have now made quite a walk for myself, in heels.<br /><br />I begin the walk to the bar. Each step I feel my heels sinking deeper and deeper into the grass. Until finally I realize I am barefoot. My left shoe has gotten stuck in the mud and slipped out of my foot.<br /><br />Fuck!<br /><br />My pedi!!<br /><br />I gracefully (and when I say gracefully, I mean without falling) bend over to retrive my heel. As I stand up I realize there is a game of 20 something hotties have stopped their game of horseshoes and are now staring at me.<br /><br />As I survery the scene I realize that in retrospect, 2 coats of my Lady Gaga lipstick may have been wasted to go and watch the locals drink Genesee and play horseshoes.<br /><br />I see my mom at the bar (duh) already scoping out single men for her single daughter.<br /><br />Just as I'm about to I tell her that her body launguage is making me nervous she whips her head around and immediatly begins chatting up the seemingly single 20 something male, who has approached the bar.<br /><br />In something out of a bad social skills training group she bluts out, "Do you know the name of the band?"<br /><br />"Uh, no. I think there are flyers floating around somewhere."<br /><br />"This is my daughter Amanda."<br /><br />At this point, unlike my mother my body language is very closed. It basically says, "if you talk to me I will politly repsond while thinking about shopping and waiting for the apporirate time at which I can excuse myself to use the restroom."<br /><br />Come to find out, reading social cues are not one of his strong points. Which is surpirsing given the amount of time he appears to have spent getting wasted in local bars being rejected by women.<br /><br />He buys me a Bud Light, which in Upstate New York is practically an engagement ring and persistantly chats me up.<br /><br />After a few more beers I find myself talking candidly to this nice young man (MIke? Mark?) behind a shed. Am I at a bar or a frat party? All of a sudden in a very bad Sandra Bullock romantic comedy but not way he says, “I’m going to kiss you” and does. <br /><br />At one point in the evening I glance over to the local band and I THINK I see my mom on stage playing an insturment and dancing, but I'm not sure (aka praying I am delusional).<br /><br />As I leave the bar with my mother, in the backseat of a car that is being driven by a homicide detective, I realize that Betty Ford doesn’t hold a candle to Buffalo, NY. <br /><br />Except that my heels probably wouldn’t be ruined if I was at Betty Ford.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-57256413699960484642010-08-09T13:33:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.955-08:00"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." Except Shrimp.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think it has to be said that my apartment complex is basically college, round 2. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm pretty sure half the people who occupy the pool at 2 am with cans of "PBR" are not residents.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I'm pretty sure the taco bell garbage that Daisy is always eating isn't mine (for once). </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However, if like me, one of your favorite pastimes includes judging 20 somethings (or 30 somethings for that matter) with frosted tips, tribal tattoos, and Ed Hardy bathing suits, then you might want to consider Middletown Brooke for your next "stay-cation". I can put you up for the night. Plenty of room in my 10 sq ft apartment.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Moving on. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now that I am single, and have to make an attempt at my appearance, I have begun exercising and watching what I eat. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After the whole DB debacle, I proceeded to not eat for about 3 weeks, and lose 20 pounds. Divorce is probably the BEST DIET EVER. At one point, my father was actually force feeding me McDonald's Chicken Nuggets (who would have thought that day would come!?!).</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here I am. Size 12. Apparently, according to the LATimes.com, the average American woman is a size 14. I am so skinny!!!</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Although, I did have to search for that statistic, since I am frequently encountering articles quoting a size 8 as average (can I vomit?).</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So now the challenge is to maintain my size 12 body, even while eating fast food daily, and binge drinking weekly. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've managed to maintain that number for the last 10 months. But not without the help of some creative interventions.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like, did you know that some models buy shrimp and put it on a windowsill, so that it goes bad? And then they eat it the day before a fashion show. This is guaranteed food poisoning, so that they can throw up those 2 extra pounds that they haven't been able to shed form their persistent diet of coffee, cigarettes, and cocaine.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, I go to Stop & Shop and approach the fish counter.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "I'll have 15 shrimp."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lady at counter: "Oh, are you having a party?"</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Oh, yes, actually." (Uh, what kind of party would include 15 shrimp? A party of one!)</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I go home, and proceed to put the groceries away. At which point, I realize I don't even have a window ledge. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also realize I have cocktail sauce.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Best shrimp cocktail ever.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyway, since the shrimp diet fell through, I decided to join a gym. "Work Out World" (WOW). UGH, how dreadful. Next you know, I will show up with bleach blonde hair and orange skin, in my Juicy Coture sweatpants. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, anyway. I show up for my first workout sporting a side pony tail, wearing the standard yoga pants, pink sports bra and matching tank, and KangaRoos shoes. Oh, and my signature shade of Mac lipstick, "Viva Glam Gaga." </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I look around nervously. This is always the awkward part. I wasn't paying attention during the introductory "tour," and now I don't know where any of the equipment is. For some reason, all I can find are the free weights, and machines that look like they are from the future.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I decide this is a good time to visit the ladies room. I walk in, and pretend to redo my hair, and set up my iPod. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This kills about 30 seconds.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Figuring it would be super embarrassing to leave (since I had just walked in a minute and a half ago), I decide to give it another go.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I walk out, and immediately bump into a 6'1" cute boy. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">OMG, it's "Cowboy" (my sexy, upstairs neighbor)!</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Oh, hey!" I say, way too enthusiastically.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Him: "Hi."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Have you been going here a long time?" I awkwardly stutter.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Him: "Yeah, about 5 years."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Oh."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I quickly try hatching a plan to get him over to my apartment. Country wedding, anyone? But I draw a blank.<br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Me: "Uh, well I'm having a party tomorrow night, if you are around, you should stop by. Uh, with whoever."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Him: "Okay cool. I have to work till 2 am, but if you are still up, I will stop by."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Right. Kill me.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Somehow, in this madness, I notice the stairs that lead up to the cardio equipment. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">SCORE.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I immediately make a beeline for the elliptical (the "fat girls treadmill"), put it in the "manual" setting, turn it as low as it can go, and start pedaling. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everything is going well, until I see a 5'8", tan, 105lb girl, with her hair down, wearing nothing but a sports bra, and short-shorts. And she's quickly approaching the elipcal machines.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"No, no, no," I chant to myself silently.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Apparently my karma is not so great today, because although there are 5 machines in a row, ALL of which are empty except mine, she proceeds to get on the one right next to me.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dumb bitch. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am huffing and puffing, while silently hoping her shoelace gets caught in the machine. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It doesn't. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She proceeds to stay on the damn elliptical for an hour. Meanwhile, I have gotten off the elliptical, and I'm pretending to stretch, do push-ups, and the ab machine. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I'm leaving, I notice she is STILL on the machine, with her hair perfectly positioned, without one ounce of sweat dripping down her forehead.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thank god for the smoothie bar.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-58985763736486715982010-07-28T05:13:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.959-08:00"Heaven help me."<div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e4e4e; line-height: 20px;"></span><br /><div style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Wednesday, July 28th. 2010</span></span></span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Units of alcohol over the weekend:</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Friday: 2 Bacardi and Diet Cokes (rough week).</span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Saturday: 4 Guinnesses, 2 Bacardi and Diets (Irish Festival and Rookies).</span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />Calories: Not horrible. Minus the late night Taco Bell run. </span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />Weight: I had lost 4 pounds, and I only gained 2 this weekend. So really I'm still in the negative.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />Food consumed today: </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span><br /><ul style="line-height: 1.4; list-style-type: disc; margin: 0.5em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 2.5em; padding-right: 2.5em; padding-top: 0px;"><li style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">a cup of coffee</span></span></span></li><li style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">special K</span></span></span></li><li style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">tacos (taco night!)</span></span></span></li><li style="border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">2 of those flavored ice things in the plastic that we used to eat when we were little (what are those called?)</span></span></span></li></ul></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Thanks to Mark, who recently said to me, "You should discuss how you recently found out how credit cards work, and that you have to pay them back," I've decided to add a new section to my blog!</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">It's entitled: "Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret" or "Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account." Of late, these include:</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">-Swarvoski Crystal "Cuff": $270.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">-Swarvoski Crystal ring: $130.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">-10 (15?) new dresses, 15 (25?) new tops, 2 pairs of jeans, 4 pairs of shoes, and all the other everyday clothes I'm leaving out, that I have already forgotten about, and shoved in the back of my closet: $2,000.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">-Victoria Secret bathing suit $160.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">-A case (12 bottles) of Skinny Girl Margaritas: $175.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So, the other day I'm internet stalking my current crushes on Facebook, and I realize one is missing.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">That's interesting, I think to myself. No, couldn't be. Could it?</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">It takes a minute for the pieces to fall into place. A quick search shows that he's still on Facebook. But he isn't on my friends list.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> I'm dumbfounded. Have I been <i>un</i>friended?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The first thought that pops into my head: OMG, my blog! I'd just updated it the night before. And I'd been trying to hide it from prospective suitors (need I say why?), but maybe I messed up? </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Yup, I forgot to block him.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Oh. My. God.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">He must have read my blog and unfriended me!</span></span></div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Alejandro tries to comfort me, "Uh, Amanda that relationship was on a fast track to nowhere."</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So, our relationship </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">went something like this: he </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">"winked" at me (on Match.com) about a month ago. He seemed intelligent, well traveled, attractive, and funny. </span></span><br /><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">His first e-mail was as follows: "I was going to address you as Queen Elizabeth, because she has Corgis, and you have a Corgi, but I decided against it."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Right.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Delete.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">But then I hear all the voices inside my head (not in a crazy way) of my friends and family, telling me to go against every instinct I have ever had when it comes to men. Because, well, duh.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So I emailed him back. I made some clever jokes, and started planning our wedding (vineyard ceremony and reception, tent, white lights, purple and grey, "Faithfully" by Journey for our first dance).</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The email exchange went back and forth for a while, until he suggested that we talk on the phone. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The part I dread the most.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">My last Match.com phone conversation went like this...</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "You talk like a rich girl."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "What?"</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "I mean, like a valley girl. But you're smart. It's weird."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "Uh, thanks?"</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Right. So, the phone rings, and I obviously wait 3 rings to answer.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">"Hello," I say in my sexiest, non valley girl voice.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">"Hi, Amanda. It's Peter, from Match."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Oh, he's got a sexy voice.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The conversation seems to go well, until we hit a bit of a rocky patch.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "So, how did you get to travel to all these amazing countries that you referenced in your Match.com profile?"</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "Well, it's kind of a long story."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Awkward pause.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "Okay."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Another awkward pause.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "Well, I kind of used to be a Catholic missionary."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Really long awkward pause.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Oh, fuck. What do I say to THAT?!? What IS a missionary? Are those the people that go to poor countries, and try to convert everyone? </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "I was going to be a priest, but I decided it wasn't the path I wanted to follow."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "Oh, well, that's cool! I went to a Catholic school, and was confirmed and all that. I don't really practice though. It would be nice to go to church, but there are just some things I don't agree with. Like, you know the whole gay marriage thing? Well I have a lot of gay friends, and I think if two people love each other, they should be able to get married. I don't see what the big deal is. So, anyway, it just kind of bothers me that..."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "Amanda."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "...they can't get married."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Him: "Amanda. We don't have to talk about this."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Me: "Oh. Uh, okay!"</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Ok. Kill me.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">WHO TALKS ABOUT GAY MARRIAGE ON THEIR FIRST PHONE CONVERSATION?</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I awkwardly end the conversation with Father Peter.</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Now, don't get my wrong. I have no problem with religion or church or God. BUT, I'm just not sure that someone who was 40 seconds away from being a priest forever is the best match for me. Don't they take vows of poverty? Or is that just the nuns? Well either way, I'm pretty sure Swarsoki Crystal cuffs don't blend in at 9:30 mass.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">However, I have already purchased my Vera Wang dress, so I decide to pursue things further.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Throughout our next conversation I discover that he is an aspiring opera singer (gaydar, anyone?), and that he "doesn't approve of the melonchoy lifestyle in Ireland."</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">What does that even mean?</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Yeah, I know, it was dead on arrival.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">But, do you think I can get my Vera Wang wedding gown made into a cocktail dress?</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Pray for me.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-2431285930698144862010-07-20T14:59:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:52.991-08:00"If you don't have a car and you're walking..."<div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">July 20, 2010</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Units of alcohol over the weekend:</span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Friday: 5. No, 6 Bud Lights. 2 shots of whipped cream vodk (Party in my 1 bedroom apartment!).</span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Saturday: 6 Bacardi and Diet Cokes (Wedding at Anthony's in New Haven. Yay for open bars!).</span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Calories: So this weekend was worse than last. I think I may or may not have visited 3 drive thru's. In 1 day.</span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Weight: Gained 5 lbs. Ahh! But don't worry, I was down 2 lbs., so REALLY it's like I only gained 3 lbs! </span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Food consumed today: </span></span></span><br /><br /><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">10 gallons of water</span></span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">2 cups of coffee</span></span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">a strawberry</span></span></span></li></ul></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Given my successes in the dating world, I've decided to list the top 10 (well, 12) dating dos and dating don'ts for those of you wishing to find the love of your life (or your 2nd husband). These are sure to snatch you a handsome, rich man who'll give you a Tiffany's ring, and who'll never leave you (unless he's really old and dies, and lists you as the sole executor of his estate).</span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><ol style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li><span style="font-size: small;">When on the first date he says, "What would you say if I told you I had a closet full of dead bodies, and they're all little pale brunettes that look like you," definitely make arrangements for a second date. </span></li><li><span style="font-size: small;">Never eat on a date. Order a salad (hold the dressing), and push food around your plate for 2 hours. You are definitely not hungry anyway, because you had two extra value meals (super-sized) before he picked you up.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When he says his favorite musical artists are Madonna, Lady Gaga and Jewel, and he is wearing sequins, definitely marry him.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When you have him over to your apartment for the first time, make sure the garbage in your bathroom does not include tampons. </span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If he seems overly interested in your diamonds on the first date, you probably shouldn't bring him back to your apartment. </span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When you do bring him back to your apartment, hide all your jewelry. And your dog.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Fight all urges to be the first one to text, call, facebook, twitter or show up at his front door the next day.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When you finally cave in, and text him, just delete his number. It's over.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But don't worry! When you decide you want to text him again (since he hasn't responded to your first text yet), just click over to att.com. Your recent calls are archived!</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When he tells you the names of his parents, don't google their address or drive by their house.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When you do drive by their house, to see if they are loaded or not (they're not), don't go 15 mph, go at least 30 mph. Especially if you drive an easily spotted, electric blue Scion hatchback, with a missing rear bumper.</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last but not least, do everything possible to keep him from seeing the blog entry about him.</span></li></ol><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Update: I met a guy! </span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: black; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I will keep you posted. </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-81984766474510256302010-07-13T18:23:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:53.015-08:00"Party in the USA...or Hartford"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">July 13, 2010</span><br /><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Units of alcohol over the weekend:</span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Friday: 2 Bud Lights (Happy Hour at On the Border).</span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Saturday: 4 Bacardi and Diet Cokes (Max's in W. Hartford and The Elbow Room).</span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />Calories: Let's not reflect on Sunday, when I ate a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger AND I went to Joey Garlics, all before 3 pm. Today I was doing well, until I got to Alejandro's apartment and binge ate everything in sight.</span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />Weight: Gained 3 lbs. Fuck. Although not surprising.</span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />Food consumed today: </span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"></div><ul><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">a special K bar</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">light yogurt</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">grapes</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">lean cuisine</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">jello (10 calories)</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">a fun size peanut M&M pack</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">3...okay fine 4 tacos.</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">2 cookies</span></span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">blueberries</span></span></li></span></ul><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Need I continue? No? Okay.</span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So I don't know how many of your are familiar with "independence parties." No, I'm not talking about the 4th of July. I'm talking, my DB husband left me, and I'm totally better off (and skinnier!) without him, so I'm going to throw a party. For myself!</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I decide my independence party will be, where else, but the budding metropolis of Hartford, CT. So I set a date, and book a hotel room at the Hartford Crown Plaza. Although nothing says independence like a night in jail, it would suck to get a DUI (pronounced "dew-ie," for those of us in the know).</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">We arrive at the Crown Plaza. Next thing I know, there is a room full of people, and we are playing Asshole with none other than Effie's "Nudie Cards" (</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">called "The Girls," for those of us in the know</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">). Just an FYI, the girls are all from the 80's, and wearing combinations of leather, lace, and gloves on each card. My personal favorite is a topless girl, sitting under a sparkling, blue, waterfall in Hawaii, with a fresh Hibiscus in her hair. It's a very interesting sociological study.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">We party like college kids. Except, instead of Busch Light and Keystone Light, we've upgraded to Bud Light and Arbor Mist.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Now, APPARENTLY the hotel is not within walking distance of the "Pourhouse" (our first destination). Unless you consider .5 miles, ACROSS interstate 84, in January, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">in heels,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> "walking distance."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So we cab it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">We arrive at the Pourhouse. Come to find out, they have this great thing called "Name Night." They pick a few names each night, and if your name is one of them, you get free drinks all night! This night one of the names was coincidentally (or not) AMANDA!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Free drinks for me! Yay!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Of course, by "free" drinks, I mean buying everybody else drinks, and spending 100 dollars at a DIVE bar in downtown Hartford.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So I have a fabulous time, even though I'm pretty sure I'm wondering around the bar all night by myself. We leave as the bar is closing to find a cab. I walk out into the streets of Hartford (not exactly Greenwich) with Alejandro. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I look across the street, and I see Mark, Kelly, Bruce and Effie at the hot dog stand. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">For some reason, I think this is a good time to start walking with Alejandro (who after 2.5 wine coolers, is far more drunk than myself).</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">We are walking to find a cab. Alone. All of a sudden Alejandro, for no apparent reason, ducks into another bar, leaving me out in the street, sans an acceptable form of identification. Come to find out, I had left my ID at the Pourhouse.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I am standing on the street, alone. Tears streaming down my cheeks in the 5 degree weather, when all of a sudden I hear, "Amanda!" </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I'VE BEEN SAVED.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">It's Mark, Kelly, Bruce and Effie walking down the street with hot dogs. They even brought me one! I shove a hot dog, that I wouldn't dare eat in the light of day, down my throat. Okay, maybe I would. Okay, maybe I'm eating one right now.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Apparently there was a "situation" at the hot dog stand. According to the story, the hot dog vender turned out to be a crack dealer, and was arrested by the Hartford PD as we were leaving the bar. The police were keeping the cart as "evidence," until a homeless person walked over to the cart and started serving hot dogs.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I think that may actually have been a true story.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">As they are boring me with the details of the hot dog escapade, we realize that Alejandro is missing. Figuring he must have his phone on him, I try calling. Mark informs me that Ale left his phone in the hotel room. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Knowing Ale is without a hotel key, I do the only logical thing. I proceed to call his cell 14 times, and leave drunken messages. Actually, they weren't really messages, because a few times I thought his voicemail was actually him talking. I guess those would be conversations, rather than messages.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">We drive up and down the streets of Hartford looking for Alejandro, until the cab driver gets really pissed and takes us back to the hotel.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">As we pull up, we see Ale walking into the lobby, wearing a t-shirt (note: it is 5 degrees outside). Apparently, he didn't have enough money, so he decided to walk back. As he is shivering, all he can say is something about how he had stopped for jerk chicken (clearly more worth his cash than a cab ride). </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">We go upstairs, and nurse Effie diagnoses Ale with hypothermia. I'm not sure what happened next, but he may or may not have taken off all his clothes, and started crying in bed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I go to the bathroom, and realize that I'm extremely sick.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Extremely.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Sick.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I am standing over the toilet, when I loose my balance.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Next thing I know, I hear, "PING! PING! PING, PING! PING, PING, PING!" It's the sound of the shower curtain hooks, ripping off the rod, as I grab the curtain to steady myself. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Unfortunately, I realize a little too late that these hooks aren't very strong, as I fall with a *thud* into the bathtub.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I think I'm dead until I hear Bruce say, "I think someone should help Amanda."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I'm laying in the bathtub for at least 5 minutes, wanting to cry as Effie and Kelly come in and start laughing.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Thanks guys.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">They help me out, and lie me on the floor of the hotel room. As I'm lying there, I hear Ale shivering and saying that they should get me into bed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I hear an argument, and ever compassionate nurse Effie says that they should just leave me, and not move me off the floor, because I'm sick.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I feel Ale grab my arm in an attempt to move me, and all of a sudden I vomit on the floor.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">A lot.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So much so that Effie covers it with a towel, and leaves it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">As I get into bed with Effie, I hear her complaining about the vomit in my hair.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Apparently, it's only an extra 10 dollars to have your hotel room specially cleaned </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">at the Crown Plaza</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">, including shower curtain replacement.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Totally worth it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The next morning, we drag ourselves down to breakfast, looking forward to the "complimentary" breakfast Effie has promised us. We eat (binge on) semi fresh fruit and powdered eggs. And then a check arrives. We realize Effie has confused "complimentary" with "continental."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">60 dollars for powdered eggs.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Totally not worth it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">P.S. Leaving your ID at a bar, and having to go back the next day with mascara smeared down your face, and vomit in your hair, is kind of embarrassing. </span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Independence accomplished. Minus the whole needing Alejandro and Mark to pay for my breakfast.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,verdana,arial,sans-serif;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-70156320626219770922010-07-05T15:06:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:53.067-08:00"I don't wanna be friends"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">July 5, 2010</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">LOST 1 POUND.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I AM SO SKINNY.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So....</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As you've likely realized, I have no filter. What. so. ever. Neither does my blog.</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, it's 11pm on a Tuesday, and I'm in bed watching Drop Dead Diva (on Hulu). All of a sudden, Lady Gaga starts playing. "Ohh ohhh ohhhh caught in a bad romance." I look to my night stand, and realize it's my cell phone. Mildly irritated (it was just getting to the climax of the show!) I glance at the number, figuring it's any number of people, including my mom, Kelly or Effie. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I see a CT number with no name. I realize I recognize the number.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cautiously pick up. "Hello?"</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Hey." It's DB.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I throw up a little in my mouth. Actually a lot.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I immediately ask, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"What's wrong?!?" Fearing (hoping) he crashed his Prius (DB car).</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Nothing, just wanted to see how you and Daisy are doing."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">UM. WHAT?!?</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Uh. Okay..."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"What are you up to?" he asks casually. Too casually.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Um, watching Friday Night Lights."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Oh, last weeks' episode was great. One of the best this season."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Right."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Okay. Is it just me, or am I in some weird dimension where my DB ex-husband calls me and discusses NETWORK TELEVISION?</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Turns out he's called to also give me love advice. At this point, there's nothing I'd be shocked by. I mean, why wouldn't he? </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Maybe if you stopped talking to jerks like Colin you would be better off."</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I gasp. </span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">DB just used Colin's blog name. That's an interesting development.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Well," he stutters, "I kind of read your blog."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Oh."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"I don't know how to get to it or anything, it was on my friends computer and I just saw it."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Right."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Don't worry I'm not offended by anything, if that's what you are thinking."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yes, DB. That's exactly what I'm thinking.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I tell him I have to go do the dishes (and by "do the dishes," I mean shop at JCrew.com). As I hang up, I shake my head in disbelief.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Speaking of, would you consider a $1400 sequin dress frivolous?</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh, and PS- If you are reading this right now...in your childhood bedroom....on the computer than I paid for..."I'm so embarrassed for you."</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-74717897219811544572010-06-28T15:18:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:53.102-08:00"I like Ireland because it means I'm near France."<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">J<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;">une 28, 2010<br /><br /><br />****NOTE: "ALEX" HAS REQUESTED THAT HIS NAME BE CHANGED TO ALEJANDRO, WHILE "ERICA" WOULD LIKE TO BE REFERENCED AS EFFIE FROM HERE ON OUT.*****<br /><br /><br />Units of alcohol over the weekend: Friday- 4 Bud Lights (Cookout at Alejandro's and Mark's apartment). Saturday 4 Miller Lights (Irish Festival, North Haven). Sunday- 1 SGM, 2 glasses of Pinot Grigo (at home with Daisy).<br />Cigarettes: 1 Thursday night (non-smoker). First time since college. Yup. Still hate it.<br />Calories: Over the weekend I know it must have been at least 10,000. Give or take a few thousand. (And when I say give or take I mean give...)<br />Weight: Gained 3 lbs and lost 2 lbs. YES!<br />Food consumed today: a medium iced hazelnut coffee w/ skim milk and splenda<br />a croissant<br />a lean cuisine<br />an apple</span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;">and a 10 calorie jello<br />Dinner- TBD (I'm thinking PIZZA. I deserve it, for doing so well today!)<br /><br /><br />Real life excerpt from Match.com email:<br />"That's sounds like fun to have Daisy in your life. I have four exotic pets. They are two boy rats named Rory and Roy, and two girl rats named Raven and Reggie. I love them like family and treat them like family. "<br /><br />Uhhh...seriously?? WHO tells a girl about PET RATS in the second email...or ever.<br /><br />I give up.<br /><br />Match.com subscription officially canceled (for the 1,205th time).</span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;"><br />Anyway.<br /><br /><br />Setting: The Field Cottage, Leenane, Ireland (very picturesque). March 2010. Me, Effie and Alejandro decided to take a vacation together.<br /><br />Day 2 of a week long vacation with 2 friends.<br /><br />You may remember that Effie is single, Alejandro is engaged (likes Lady Gaga and Justin Beiber), and I am quiet obviously single.<br /><br />Number of fights we have gotten into since leaving Logan: 45 (or 46, depending on what you consider a "fight"). Number of rental car accidents: 1. Number of pints: 10 (per day).<br /><br />Now picture a little cottage that is modern, yet, in the middle of nowhere.<br /><br />Effie is in the shower and I hear her yell, "Amanda, uhhh, the water just went out."<br /><br />Fuck.<br /><br />Next step: Force Effie to call the Irish plumber, Colin, to come fix the water. He agrees to come out at 8pm. Really? Is that the soonest?<br /><br />After sneaking bottled water past Alejandro so that I can wash my hair I hear a knock on the door. I answer and there stands the man of my dreams...<br /><br />actually not really.<br /><br />...there stands a 275 pound, 6'2", red headed Irish man, who according to some may or may not be universally unattractive (but still better looking than DB).<br /><br />I fall instantly in love with Colin's irish charm and boisterous personality. We agree to meet up later at the pub. Effie, Alejandro and I walk into this local pub and everybody stops in stares. We are clearly not one of the regulars. Finally Colin arrives and we talk all night until the pubs close. Effie, Alejandro, another local Irishman that lives near by, Colin and I decide to split a taxi home. We are riding in the cab and yada yada yada Colin comes back to the cottage with us.<br /><br />I wake up in the morning realizing who is next to me and immediately freak out.<br /><br />I may or may not have started crying.<br /><br />Seriously!? What was I thinking?! An unattractive, plumber???<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;"><br />We meet up the next night at the club and I wake up the next morning to same thing.<br /><br />Will I ever learn?<br /><br />APPARENTLY NOT. Because history repeats itself 2 days later.<br /><br />At this point I'm thinking maybe this could work. I've already fallen in love with him and am planning my Irish wedding (think castle and a lot of drinking). So what if I would have to stay home and raise our 8 children? I could do it. I could TOTALLY live on a farm. My pink rain boots with my Swarovski crystal cuff (to dress up the rain boots) would be PERFECT. Very understated.<br /><br />I say a tearful goodbye to my future husband a couple of days later and accept that I probably won't hear from him until my next trip to Ireland.<br /><br />And then the phone calls start.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;"><br />Every. Day. Multiple times a day.<br /><br />Luckily I'm a girl who loves attention so this is working for me. We talk for hours about our lives, families, friends and our future together.<br /><br />And then one day the phone calls stop. Inexplicably.<br /><br />I immediately go into stalker mode...which is really hard to do when the guy doesn't even have an email address.<br /><br />Finally he calls. I address the whole, what have you been up to very casually by immediately demanding if he has a girlfriend.<br /><br />I finally get him to tell me that he has met someone and that she approached him at the nightclub and they are now dating. My heart is broken. What did I expect? Him to wait for me to visit? Ummm YES. It's TRUE LOVE. It concurs ALL.<br /><br />So at this point I realize our "fling" (as I come to realize it as) is probably over.<br /><br /><br />Until the phone calls continue...<br /><br />Every. Day.<br /><br />As Colin continues to profess his love for me I'm starting to think maybe he's not such a great guy after all. However (in all my recklessness), I continue to talk to him.<br /><br />Why?<br /><br />Because I like attention. Colin is VERY charming. He knows exactly what to say to make me happy...and I like this.<br /><br />Maybe you are wondering if I felt bad for his girlfriend. I did. However, at the same time I had decided that I'm the love of his life and he is only dating her because he can't have me. One day we would still be together.<br /><br />I lived in this bubble for a couple of months.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;"><br />Until I discovered that Colin had actually been dating his "new" girlfriend for 8 years and they own a house together.<br /><br />I guess the wedding is off. Fuck. I was really attached to that whole castle idea. I even had my dress (Vera Wang) picked out.<br /><br /><br />I'm starting to think my life is stranger than fiction.</span></span></span></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-10854900218101966002010-06-20T16:31:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:53.210-08:00"The Two Dollar Date"<div>Okay. So APPARENTLY...the dentist is married and has 4 children. Not. Even. Kidding.<br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Oh and he moved to California last Friday. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sooooo</span> there goes THAT.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So anyway, back to my crazy life.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>I've been a member of Match.com since the "incident" with my ex-husband. I thought it might be a good idea to date as many guys as possible and this seemed like the best way to make it happen. And honestly are all those couples on the commercials not the happiest people you have ever seen? What they don't tell you is that the REAL people on Match are high school dropouts and aren't nearly as attractive as the people on the commercials. Oh, and some of them tell you about their pet rats in the second email.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Day 1 of joining Match: I receive about 1000 emails. I get completely freaked out and cancel my account immediately.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Day 2: Reactivate my account.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Day 3: Receive "winks" (the internet equivalent of buying someone a drink) from 48 year old divorcee's with children and male pattern baldness.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Day 4: Cancel my account.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Day 5-90: Reactivate my account. Casually talk to a bunch of guys. Write a few emails back and forth and then ignore them. Even set up dates with a few, which I then cancel 5 hours before the date is about to go down. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So, finally I get a "wink" from <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">DTM</span>...which is his Match.com screen name. He emails me and sounds super awesome and normal. According to his pictures he is actually kind of hot AND is getting his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ph</span>.D in Pharmacology at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">UConn</span> (Range Rover and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Prada</span> here I come!). So we "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">BBM</span>" back and fourth about a million times before our first date. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Now for those of you who don't know about <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">BBM</span> let me fill you in. It's like text messaging but it's unique to Black Berry users. It is the perfect tool for a stalker such as myself. It not only sends the text but it also allows you to see when the person has read the text AND when the person is replying. So here I am (already a little psycho) analyzing how long it takes him once he has read my text to respond. At this point I'm planning our wedding (I'm thinking black tie, vineyard in September) prior to actually meeting him. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So he tells me he wants to take me to play pool for our first date. I am immediately horrified. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO WEAR? You can't really wear a dress to play pool. So I go with jeans and a cute top and heels. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>I arrive at our date and he is actually super cute in person. The date goes well and we end up spending 6 hours together and take turns buying rounds of drinks (not my preference, but I will let it go this time). So we finally leave and I get a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">BBM</span> telling me he had a great time and to let him know when I get home. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Um. HE LOVES ME.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So the next night we are both doing nothing separately and decide to get together. He comes over to my apartment and we conclude that we should grab something to eat. I give him a choice of all the restaurants in the area and he chooses Chili's. Mm. Wrong answer...but okay, after all he is a grad student.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>We go to Chili's. The check comes and just to be nice and prove that I am not high <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">maintenance</span> I offer to split it with him. Now OBVIOUSLY I didn't really want to split it. He should have said "No, of course not, I've got this."</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>What he actually said was "Okay."</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>I think my jaw visibly dropped to the floor. Not cool. Yet somehow this doesn't cause me to throw my drink on him and march out of the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">restaurant</span>. So he comes back to my place and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">yada</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">yada</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">yada</span>, I've just managed to reinforce this behavior of not paying as acceptable. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>The problem is I kind of like him/the attention (I haven't figured out which one at this point) and the prospect of being a rich, stay at home mom running (and when I say running I mean driving my Range Rover) around in Lily Pulitzer dresses that match my daughters. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So we hang out the following Friday. He asks me if I want to see Eddie Money at the casino with him. I agree, because really, does it get any better than "Take Me Home Tonight"? I ask how much tickets are and he tells me it's a free concert. I feel a stab of sorrow for Eddie Money as I lament on the fact that has been downgraded to free concerts at the casino. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Due to timing issues we decide to meet at the casino. I'm already a little grumpy that he isn't picking me up. But whatever. I get there and I valet my car (2005 Scion <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">xA</span>) because honestly, who doesn't valet at the casino? </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So I give the valet guy a $5 tip and he goes "Thanks miss, I'll keep it in VIP." I literally almost laugh in his face. Like, seriously? I'm reflecting on this situation as I see my Scion being parked next to a Bentley and a Mercedes. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Whatever. I rush into the casino to meet my future husband and find him lurking near a bar next to the concert arena. It is clear that there are no seats at this bar, which is prime real estate for the Eddie Money concert. I announce this to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">DTM</span> and he proceeds to tell me if we wait for a seat at this bar (which has video poker) we can get free drinks.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>Okay. For real?? I'm not kidding he makes me stand there in heels and a dress for 15 minutes waiting for a seat and in the meantime doesn't offer to buy me a drink. Finally I let out a big sigh. "Are you getting antsy", he asks me. What I want to say is, "Is that a real question?? Of course I'm <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">f'ing</span> antsy. I've been standing here trying to make awkward conversation with you and I don't even have any alcohol!". But I say "Oh well, a little, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">haha</span>."</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>He proceeds to make me walk around the casino and find ANOTHER free bar where we can drink. We finally find one and at this point I'm ready to inject vodka right into my veins. We sit down and he starts playing poker. Whatever. I do the same. I loose my money in 30 seconds and he keeps going FOREVER. </div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>So at the end of the night he goes to cash in his 10 dollar winnings and I congratulate him. His response?</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>"Oh thanks, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">buuuut</span> I had to pay for our tips, gas money to get here and I also stopped at McDonald's on the way here...<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">sooooo</span> I'm actually down about 2 dollars."</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">FML</span>.</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-54922610414080999692010-06-06T13:44:00.001-07:002010-11-21T11:58:53.282-08:00The Dentist<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(41, 48, 59); "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Units of alochol: None! Yaay! </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Calories: 515. UM I rock. Although this doesn't include dinner.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Weight: +1 lbs</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Food consumed today: </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Guiltless Santa Fe Chicken Wrap with Veggies: 610 calories (BUT I only ate half, so really that's like 305)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Edy's individual ice cream (fudge brownie) 210 calories</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">That 1 pound really freaked me out.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">SO ANYWAY...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I kind of forgot to go to the dentist for the last year and a half. It always seemed so unnecessary and frivolous and annoying. Although I'm sure my parents would disagree with this point after spending thousands of dollars on braces to give me the beautiful smile that we all know and love today. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay. So I finally made an appointment. I walked in to Cromwell Dental and all I see are granite countertops, a espresso machine and supermodel hygienists walking around. AND, I kid you not. They offered me an espresso and a cookie.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">I politely (against every instinct) declined, I was convinced this was some sort of test. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">I went in expecting a cleaning, a free toothbrush and a lecture about flossing. What I got was a free recyclable shopping back, a mug, a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and told that I would need to come back later that week for a root canal.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">WHAT?!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have barely had any cavities in my life. A root canal?! Am I 80 years old? Who gets/needs those?! I had arrived a confident person and left in shame convincing myself it was no big deal I reminisced about all the horror stories about root canals. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flash forward to Thursday at 4:45 pm. I walk in and was offered water. What!? No cookies?? As I'm sitting there waiting to be called in I realized that I forgot to take a Xanax. Crap. Finally the hygienist came to get me and lead me to the room where the procedure would take place. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know how they say you will meet someone when you least expect it? Well I have to be honest. I never least expect it. I am ALWAYS expecting it. I am frequently trying to look cute while walking the dog, going grocery shopping, even at the gym, because hey, you never know. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">So this was probably the one time in my life when I was least excepting it. I was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and flip flops from GapKids...and in walks the man of my dreams. I gasp and then I quickly glance at his left hand, nope, no wedding ring. Can we just go over all that is wrong with this scenario...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">A. I am dressed like a 15 year old</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">B. I decided not to redo my makeup because, hey, who cares! It's a root canal.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">C. I AM GETTING A ROOT CANAL. How embarrassing is that?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kill me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you know how hard it is to flirt when you have dental tools shoved in your mouth? I think I did an okay job, I laughed at all his jokes. Which, by the way, were the corniest jokes ever. At one point he grabbed the spit sucker and said, "wow, this sucks". Ha (okay it was kind of funny). </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">The best part is when he was injecting the novocain and caressing my cheek. I think we almost made it to second base.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">So after an hour of prodding he informed me that I would have to come back next week so he could finish. HA, yeah right. Some excuse.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;">Can we say destination wedding?!</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, 'Times New Roman', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7582564211563066721.post-24261892173820703652010-06-03T18:42:00.000-07:002010-11-21T11:58:53.328-08:00Part 1: One divorcee's story about love, finding herself and wracking up massive amounts of credit card debt along the way.<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of my wedding day. I had a notebook where I would write down all the details. In this notebook I included such details as listed below: </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Location: Inn on Lake: Canandaigua NY </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Color Scheme: Pink and Purple </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Number of Guests: 60 </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Maid of Honor: My little sister (6 years younger)</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Bridesmaids: Frequently changing but usually consisted of some combination of whichever girls in my group of friends I wasn't in a fight with.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Honeymoon: Florida </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Music: I Can't Dance and Butterfly Kisses </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Husband: Christian Slater </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I imagined that this marriage would last forever and that we would have 2 kids and a big house in the suburbs. </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It's funny how life works out. The wedding went more like this: </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Location: Esperanza Mansion, Penn Yan, NY </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Color Scheme: Apple and Champagne (gross) </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Number of Guests: 150 </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Maid of Honor: My little sister. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Bridesmaids: Two college friends, a high school friend and fiance's sister. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Honeymoon: Florence </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Music: Such Great Heights- The Postal Service Don't Stop Believing- Journey </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Husband: Andy (aka "DB") </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Instead of a house in the suburbs it was more like an apartment in Groton, Connecticut. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Oh, and we got divorced...11 months later </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">....So here is where I leave off. Single (8 months post breakup), living in Middletown, CT and working for Social Security Disability (what?!). Still trying to figure out how this happened. But for now let me introduce the main characters in my life (names have been changed to protect me when this turns into a multimillion dollar book deal)... </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Me (Amanda): Single, 27 year old, female, boy crazy, shopaholic. 5'1" and 1/2 (I recently was told by the doctor that I wasn't 5'2" like I had previously thought. Dark brown hair (although this may or may not change), blue eyes, size 12 (ugh!). Somewhat spoiled as a child, as par for course when your parents are divorced. Obtained my first full time job at the age of 26. Dreams of being celebrity event planner/Broadway star. College graduate (Master's degree in Counseling...mostly useless). Live in nice 1 bedroom apartment that I can't afford. Writing this on a MacBook...that I also probably couldn't afford at the time...good thing my mom bought it for me. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Family...(not unlike the "Bluth" family) </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mother, "Lindsay": On marriage number 4. Currently (and when I say currently I mean for the last 10 years) has not worked. Stays at home and takes care of "Mr. Darcy" (his real name) her Pembroke Welsh Corgi and makes frequent trips to Ireland and Malawi. Calls me everyday, multiple times a day....oh I call her too though. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Step-father, "Richard": Lindsay's 4th husband. Child Psychiatrist, ex Peace Corp volunteer, also frequents Malawi and Ireland..you get the idea. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Father, "John": Currently on marriage number 3. Father. Retired for most of my life. Lives in Upstate NY. Also stays home and cares for recently adopted dog "Rocky". Does a lot of home improvement projects. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Step-mother, "Linda". Married to John. Recently made a career change and is now a Minister in Upstate NY. Also cares for Rocky (which is very draining). </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Sister, "Danielle": (Susan's daughter with her 3rd husband). 21 years old, ex-wino, lives with her boyfriend Jesse in Upstate NY. I'm not sure how they afford to live since I'm pretty sure they are both unemployed. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Friends... </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Kelly: Bride to be! I am the MOH (bride speak for maid of honor) at her wedding. She is getting married next May to Bruce (he is a legit lumbar jack). She is the kind of friend you can tell anything to (and not be embarrassed) because you know she has similar problems. She is also one of the funnier people I know, and crazy like me. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Brenda: Longest friend (14 years). Most frugal person I know, loves to steal money from me. I was in her wedding last year. She is married to Dan (school teacher). I can call her a million times a day and she won't hate me. Not that into fashion. In fact, I am only friend's with her because in middle school I had a crush on her boyfriend and tried to steal him. On our first sleep over I kept her up all night and made her read fashion magazines. Used to watch Jenny Jones and eat Lunchables before tennis practice in high school. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Alex (best friend from college): Likes Lady Gaga, Justin Beiber ("the voice of our generation") and Polo Club in Hartford. Shops at JCrew and has been my best friend for 9 years. Only falling out was when he refused to talk to me after I started dating my now ex-husband. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mark: Alex's fiancee. Recent pharmacist graduate, work at the VA. From what I can tell doesn't really have time for Alex. Mark is brutally honest, but I can tell he still loves me. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Erica: Fellow singleton, fashionista. Enables me to spend all my money shopping and drinking. Also brutally honest. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Other... </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:arial, serif;font-size:medium;">Grace: Therapist. I see her for weekly sessions so I can talk about ME! It's awesome. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Daisy (her real name): My insanely anxious dog. Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Age 4. Agility Champion (well...almost) </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So now for the men (currently) in my life.... </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:arial, serif;font-size:medium;">"DB": Ex-husband. We were together for 5 and 1/2 years. Did some really DB (douchebag) things and now we aren't married anymore. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Colin: First hookup after DB. We talk every day and he is funny and really likes me. Just two problems, he lives in Ireland and has a girlfriend. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"DTM": Most recent boy toy. Met on Match.com. Come to find out...he was really cheap and yada yada yada I ended it. OH and he call me high maintenance. Seriously!?! </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Cowboy: Upstairs neighbor. Works second shift so I don't get to see him a lot. We go to the same gym, and I am working on a plan to seduce him as we speak (it may or may not involved "accidentally" backing into his car while wearing a sexy dress so I can give him my phone number). </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So anyway. Those are the main characters. I am thinking about doing this Bridget Jones Diary style. So... </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">June 3, 2010 </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Units of alochol: 2 Skinny Girl Margs </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Cigaretts: 0 (non-smoker) </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Calories: Mmmm...can't be good...I know there was definitely ice cream and starbucks involved. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Weight: HA. Nice try. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Food consumed today: Grande Iced Skinny Vanilla Latte Reduced fat cinnamon coffee cake 2 bananas </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a cupcake (opps) </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">6 inch turkey sub </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">baked lays </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a fun size butter finger </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a veggie egg roll </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">sesame chicken </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">2 SGMS (skinny girl margarita's) </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">edy's ice cream </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mmmm...apparently when I cry I eat way more than a fry...fuck. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To be continued...</span></span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3