buh-bye

this morning when i ended a call with a male customer service rep from Serius, i caught myself saying "buh-bye."  softly, and to a man.


then i realized -- i say that to EVERYONE on the phone!  i've been doing it for years, without putting any thought into it.  in the office, to family and friends, in customer service situations, with complete strangers.  i never thought twice about it until today.


"Okay, thanks again, buh-bye."  


"Buh-bye now.  Buh-bye."


is "buh-bye" weird/inappropriate/too gay?  do i need to make an effort to stop saying it?  or am i making a mountain out of a gayhill because it's my first day off in, like, months, and i'm already a little bored?


LMK, guys.  


   

post(ing) secret(s)

playing catch-up

hey erryboday! what's new? 


i wanted to check in and mention that i haven't stopped posting; i'm just busier than i've ever been in my life, basically.  even busier than law school finals or studying for the bar exam.  but not the bad kind of busy.  just busy.  full of energy, but still collapsing at the end of the day.


so here's an update.


first of all, my favorite Postsecret this week is:

i've wished for years that i were a Hebe, mostly because of lovely traditions/rituals, but also because of 9 days of gifts and no student loans. in related news, HAPPY CHANUKAH/HANUKKAH/MAKEUPYOURMINDS,JEWS!  this is night one!  boop boop! wish i had a Menorah to light.  i'd also enjoy the shame and guilt of being Jewish while dating my Muslim doctor.


second of all, i haven't been up to much aside from work.  but things have been good.


D's birthday a couple weeks ago was pretty fabulous.  we spent a beautiful, sunny and cold Saturday touring Maryland's wine country.  you didn't know Maryland has a wine country?  nor did i...

it was a beautiful day.  i imagine the four vineyards we visited will be even more beautiful when there is live vegetation growing thereon, rather than empty dead vines. yeah... so...  

the wine was still delicious, and we came home with multiples bottles in tow.  


i started the day as DD of our big rented van but ended the day as a passed out passenger as D's lover safely guided our Enterprise ship home to Balimore.


since then, life has been mostly work.  tonight i got home before 7 PM for the first time in almost two months, and it was glorious.  instead of going to the gym after work, i hauled ass home to clean the house and have a glass of sauv. blanc.


what else?  well, T's annual holiday mix CD arrived in the mail recently, so my head and car have been filled with lots of lovely Christmas music.  if you haven't heard Justin Biebs sing "Silent Night," you simply have not lived.  have not felt.  have not been a pedophile like i --- wait, isn't he legal now?  i think he is. to vote, i mean.


last night after dinner, the doctor gave me a really lovely Christmas gift that, upon returning home, i promptly Googled and then felt sick about how much he spent combined with the fact that i've still gotten him nothing.  my excuse was going to be that i didn't want to offend him (see above), but now it'll just be a belated gift that, "i kept forgetting to bring over" until right after clearance sales coincidentally begin.


finally, i should admit to you that my face is currently covered in honey that is slowwwllyyyy dripping down onto my shirt and into my mouth-hole.  i work with a really gay organic aesthetician (as he would refer to himself -- well, maybe he wouldn't include the gay part, but there's no hiding it) who has convinced me to do yogurt masques and honey masques on my skin.  you may laugh and call me a flaming idiot, but my skin looks fantastic.  serious, y'all.  meanwhile, Atti keeps trying to lick the honey off my arms and neck, but i won't let him.  i think that's bad for cats.  but good for infants.


what's new with yinz?
  

important firsts, part II

first fight -- or, more importantly, first make-up.  


so the doctor and i had our first fight during the past week.  first weirdness.  first emo moments, though thank Buddha they were mostly via text (the adult way to cop out of an awkward situation!), and finally, first make-up talk.


what's the solution when a really stupid situation arises out of the blue and complicates otherwise simple, straightforward, and uncomplicated relationship?  pretend it didn't happen.


that's exactly what we did last night, over gummy bears:


"I've decided that you and I haven't seen each other for a week."
me: "What do you mean?"
"Well, I've been away.  And you've been away. We haven't spoken in a week, and I really missed you."
me: "Oh. Right, you were in Iran or somewhere, right?"
"You're racist. Learn geography."
me: "I can't be racist, I'm dating a man of color."
"Fine. I was visiting family in Africa.  And you were visiting your mother in Kentucky."
me: "I missed you, too.  How was your week?"


dig holes in sand.  insert heads. 


dangerous? ...meh.  it's working for now.  and i don't think i'd do it if the fight/misunderstanding were at all important, but trust me -- this one was just stupid.
  

my morning smile

any time you need a pick-me-up, come back here and watch this.





thanks for sharing, Patrick.
  

post(ing) secret(s)

this made me laugh.

because i've done that so many times, and it makes me feel like an idiot every time i do it.
  

posting no secrets

i was disappointed this morning to find that Postsecret has not been updated yet today.  that's just crazy; it is new every Sunday morning, like clockwork.


oh, right.  today is Saturday.  i've had off yesterday and today, so my mental clock is out of whack.  i guess Postsecret isn't malfunctioning after all.


at any rate, i'd like to inform you that i've done something great with my two days off -- like a hiking trip, or sailing on the Chesapeake, or a tour de museums of DC -- but that's just not the case.  aside from a raucous night out on Thursday, drinking with some old and some new friends, i haven't done much of anything.  


sure, the house is clean, and i'm caught up on American Horror Story and Once Upon a Time, but that's pretty much all i can say.  last night was expected to be a date night, but i accidentally fell asleep last night before i was supposed to go meet the boy (his fault for working such unreasonable hours).  rescheduled for tonight.  at least that's something that i'll be able to say i've done over my "weekend" away from work.


since i can't impress you with all the great fun that i've had over these couple of days, i'll leave you with this:





that kid's hair is disgusting, but the crescent dogs are amazeballs.  Danielle made them last night, and i've declared them the official food of our house.  at least until next week, when something else covered in cheese and fried and taking less than 2 minutes to warm up comes to my attention. 


i'm allowed to eat such crap, because i've been going to the gym religiously.  i think once i turn 30, i might become a vegan.  that seems like the healthy, forward-thinking thing to do, doesn't it?  until then, i'll just work out and eat animal fats.  


  

some video about something

people keep posting this on Facebook and stuff, so i thought i'd post it here.


i don't even know what the video is about, because i'm so focused on the cute actor.  but watch it anyway, and let me know what the purpose of it is.  k, thanks.

post(ing) secret(s)/my morning smile

Happy Drunksgiving

11:20P.  omg need to go to bed.  2 more people stopped by.  lovely to see them, but i cannot watch any more 'Love Actually' deleted scenes. everybody (except T) needs to go home and let me sleep.  it turned out to be a not-too-drunk-sgiving.  great success.  


9:09 P.  "Oh, no. That is so inconvenient." i feel you, Prime Minister; love can be just so inconvenient. oh, um, watching 'Love Actually'... obviously.

8:42 P.  coincidentally, once i began washing dishes and banging pots around, everyone woke up!  crazy timing, because i was hungry for dessert and M2 was ready to make whipped cream for his pies.  pies sure wake people up.  so does egg nog, but eventually that makes them all pass out again.  

7:20 P.  people are droppin' like flies, yo!  er'body be fallin' asleep.  i told an old friend who lives in DC that i'd meet up for a drink while he's in town visiting family, but my resolve is growing weaker.  'Chicago' is on a movie channel; perhaps because i know how this story ends, i am not on the edge of my seat.  i am on the verge of saying goodnight to the half-asleep gang.  what happened to Drunksgiving? no one has even had any nog.


5:00 P.  during the meal, we went around the table and each shared what he or she is thankful for this year.  as i shared with my friends, this year i am most thankful for happiness and stability.  i've been happy every day since moving to Baltimore, and life here feels very stable.  when it was D's turn to share, she said that i took her answer.


4:40 P. so much good food.  now all i want to do is nap.  it's kinda late to nap, though, right?  i think that if i nap after 2 pm, then either my night's sleep will be ruined or i'll be unable to wake up and will just sleep until 4 in the morning.  like that Gwen Stefani song.  which reminds me, i love this Gwen Stefani song and haven't heard it in a while.  the video is great.




2:30 P.  we were supposed to eat 30 minutes ago, but otherwise everything is going smoothly.  D asked me to "say grace" before the meal, so we'll see if i can come up with something nice and non-offensive to any christians who may be hiding within earshot.  everyone likes the punch, and since nobody has eaten yet, it's quite effective.


1:02 P.  the fizzy vodka fruity punch is great.  in perfecting the recipe, i've had about two drinks, and i haven't even started my famous egg nog yet.  also, our second import from Philadelphia just arrived, dressed up and looking hot. i was just informed that we're all "dressing up" for the meal today.  just now.  thanks for the heads up, guys.  what to wear? 


12:05 P.  we just gave one of the cats a bath so that she'd be fluffy and pretty for our guests.  i don't have the patience/strength to bathe Atticus, and i have a lot of work to do anyway.  what to wear? what to put in my fizzy vodka drink? what to wear? just ate a banana, for the K.


11:10 A.  still on the phone with Ma, who advises me that i'm waking up to "Charlie horses" and muscle spasms because i need potassium.  "You need to eat bananas," she says.  i'm so tired, i almost blurt out, "Bitch you don't know my life!" but catch myself at the "B---" and end up saying, "But I ate an entire bunch of bananas this week."  i really did.  and why does that woman start every sentence with "You need to..."?  


11:00 A.  everyone is awake.  turkey is going into the oven soon, with absolutely no help from me.  i did vacuum, though, and have been talking to my Ma on the phone forevz.  this call is longer than usual.  because it's a holiday? i know i should be home.  my brother's home.  i just couldn't make it this year.  oh, cool, someone left the patio door open all night.  that explains the frostbite.  and i really liked my toes (but only the ones on my right foot).


10:30 A.  awoke again, this time not due to a muscle spasm, but rather panic: no one is awake yet!  everyone was out partying last night, so the house is sleeping in.  but that bird isn't going to cook itself, and the meal is scheduled for four hours from now.  i just want to sleep. someone else please wake up.


7 A.  [Interior (even though it's so cold it feels like i'm camping)]  rough start this morning.  got to bed at 2:30 (not too bad), but woke up to the horrible pain of a muscle spasm. rubbed leg. now can't sleep.  guess i'll check Facebook.


  

my morning smile

pizza, tv OnDemand, and in bed by midnight = the perfect weeknight date.  *swoooon*

   

baila pa' tu papi

so many things to tell you.  where do i begin, considering my lack of posting lately?


1. work.  going great.  so busy, but mostly enjoyable, and a great excuse for not going home for Thanksgiving this year (every year i find a new excuse).


2.  Thanksgiving.  this year, since i have only one day off, and my housemate is in the same boat, we're having an intimate Friendsgiving with 5 or 7 lovely people.  the turkey has been purchased, the house is full of food just waiting to be cooked, and i'm in charge of nothing but cocktails.  sweeeeeeet!


i'm thinking of concocting a vodka-cranberry-fizzy-punch thing that everyone will love and that no one will be able to tell is 50% vodka.  i'll begin testing proportions today while i do laundry.  now where's my punch bowl?


3.  car.  somehow in my hectic life juggling work, an eating-disordered cat (who is on meds and is doing much better), finding time for dates with the busy doctor, and trying to get to the gym as often as possible (twice a week is pretty good, right?!), i bought a car.


i haven't had or wanted a car for several years.  why would i want a depreciating hunk of metal that will require expensive and time-consuming maintenance for the rest of our time together?  i didn't.  i don't.  but i'm living in a city where everyone has a car, and for the time being i have a commute, so it just had to happen.

that's not my actual car.  i obviously did not take Papi the Jetta to a scenic hill for a few glamour shots.  if you want to see my actual car, i'll text you a horrible photo that my Ma insisted on taking, or an embarrassing one that Cass took on the day that i got the car.  picture me draped over the hood, smizing and cooing.  why do i still let her talk me into shit like that? we're not 19 anymore.


at any rate, i like the car a lot, and it's the second Jetta i've owned.  it wasn't my first car choice.  i made sure that the first song i played in my new car was J.Lo's PAPI.  i don't even like the song that much, but i had to play it in honor of the Fiat that i so badly wanted but didn't buy because it's ridiculously small (also, two guys told me i would look so gay driving it; one of them said he'd break up with me).  listen to see if you catch the part in the song where J.Lo pays tribute to Willow Smith.





the video features J.Lo's acclaimed acting skills and reminds me of the little-known 1992 film Love Potion No. 9, starring a young and much less attractive, diamond-in-the-rough Sandra Bullock.  now you know.


4.  Twilight.  the series drags on, and unfortunately i am committed for the long haul.  if you haven't yet seen Breaking Dawn, here's some advice: drink beforehand.  it is so awful and hilarious, what with the cartoonish talking dogs and Edward chewing a demon baby out of Bella's womb (oops, i should've said **Spoiler Alert**. my bad!), that i wish that i'd had some vodka-cranberry-fizzy-punch to make the film seem less ridiculous and maybe less memorable.  the final film (what number are we on, now, the seventh?) will be released in a year.  just let it end already.  just --- enough.


on the upside, we finally see our beloved idiot characters having sexual relations, and it looks absolutely nothing like this:

that is not R.Patts' body, not even close.  the promos for this film all deserve Photoshop Emmys. also, the sex scenes are laugh out loud funny.




and there you have it.  this has been an in-depth, multimedia update on my life.  tell me what's going on in yours?


also, i'll be live-blogging the Drunksgiving shenanigans on Thursday, since i'm not doing any of the cooking or other hard work.  stay tuned.
  

post(ing) secret(s)

less-guilty pleasures

now that i have so little time to watch television, i've been forced to make difficult choices.  


this fall i've traded in my guilty pleasure CW shows (i bid you adieu, Gossip Girl.  i'll miss you most, Vampire Diaries) for a few new guilty pleasures that just happen to be more adult.


okay, Once Upon A Time is pretty embarrassingly girlish, but American Horror Story is ridiculously entrancing and even a bit scary, and best of all is Revenge.

are you watching Revenge?  it's so good (and believe it or not, it has nothing to do with the shirtless guys.  they always wear shirts on television). 

 

our Sunday rituals

used to be church.  now just hangovers and brunch.


speaking of brunch, which one of you called the author of this piece and told her everything about my life? 

oh, your life also? what's with us?

HOW TO GO TO BRUNCH 

Wake up moderately-to-completely drunk from the night before. Think to yourself, “I’m never drinking again, unless it’s right now.” You think this because you know drinking is the best hangover cure – though that isn’t necessarily true, is it? You’re not so much “curing your hangover” as you are “getting drunk again,” and god knows that once you’re wasted, you’re not one for multitasking. PEACE OUT, HANGOVER. See you tomorrow! 

Roll out of bed and assemble the brunch squad. Wake up roommates/bedmates. Call people. “You’re still in bed? Well, haven’t you heard? We’re brunchin’ it up! Get your ass in gear or we’re making decisions without you. You have 20 minutes to get over here, we’re all dying of hunger. No admittance without beer, sowwy, byeeee.” 

Once your key players are in place, argue about where you’re going to eat. You want the place with the drink specials, they’re tired of the chicken salad there, you tell them to be more creative with their order, they say, “Jesus, you’re obsessed with that place. Can’t we go somewhere else for once?” And you’re all, “Fine. YOU pick a place where we can get plastered for a flat rate of $25 and I’ll consider it,” just do that until everyone is too hungry and murderous to disagree with you. 

Put on your brunch shirt. You know, your brunch shirt. It’s the shirt you somehow manage to wear every weekend, without fail; essentially it’s the easiest shirt to find/ coordinate with/ look cute in when you’re drunk. Often, it resembles something you’d sleep in and disguises stains well enough. Plaid button down? Kurt Cobain t-shirt that was once black but now rocks that proud “I’ve survived over 2,000 washes” gray? The too-small hoodie you had to cut half the sleeves off of, just to make it fit again? PUT IT ON. YOU’RE GOIN’ TO BRUNCH. 

Have a beer while everyone meanders around in a hungover stupor. “Guys, I’m starving!” 

Someone/ everyone proclaims. “What did we do last night? There’s like, potato chips everywhere. And hot sauce.” “Where?” you say, I mean you’re not going to eat them or anything, you’re just curious. “Guys. Hold the phone. What did we eat last night? I vaguely recall eating something…” and no one remembers. You never remember. 

Put on your sunglasses and walk to brunch. Link arms with one of your friends and tell her a secret. “I almost texted him last night…” She’ll look at you like you just told her you’re considering ass implants. Then she’ll slap you harder than intended. “Bad!” You keep full sentences to a minimum, at least until noon. 

Arrive at your brunch destination, where everybody knows your name because you’ve announced your arrival every weekend for the past six months. “EVERYBODY IT’S ME, THE FOURSQUARE MAYOR! Y’ALL GOT A MAYOR SPECIAL YET?” Lucky for you, this restaurant hasn’t quite taken off yet so the staff is endeared by your loyalty. Sit down and order a round of mimosas/ Bloody Marys/ bellinis. “What’s a bellini?” a new member of the brunch squad asks, and you’re all “God. Where did you grow up? Guam?” and they’re all, “Yeah, actually. Never mind, I’ll take a Bloody Mary. Prick.” 

Whenever the waiter approaches your table, order another round. Even if no one needs a new drink. Unlimited drinks brunch prefix, this ain’t a game. Speak now or forever hold your empty glass remembering what once was. After polishing off your meal and 904089084396 drinks, begin taking suggestions for what to do next. You all have a default bar in mind, just in case. “There’s some bands playing down the street,” one person offers. This suggestion gets a universal MEH until, “and it’s open bar” is tacked on to the end of it. “Shall we?” You shall. 

Have a nightmare of a time trying to figure out who owes what. The plight of the financially stagnant 20-something. Resolve to make a rich, guilty friend in 2012. “Well, your meal is $3 more because you added prosciutto. Sorry to be the bearer of the bad news.” “Um, whatever, because you two shared a side of bacon so, hi! We’re even!” “Not really, because I paid .90 cents more on the cable bill this month, so get over yourself. Cheap ass.” Cell phones are drawn (to calculate the tip). The newbie brunch squader rescinds her membership. I mean, brunch isn’t for everyone.

in other news, i'm so hung over today, and neither my roommate nor i know what happened during the final two hours of last night. it was a perfect day for brunch, and i'm so happy that the above is what i found on my Google.  i suddenly feel so not-alone in this world.   
  

post(ing) secret(s)

my morning smile

this stupid comic made me chuckle and reminded me of something.  well, of two things:


1.  when i was young, i couldn't get enough of The Far Side comics.  for hours i could sit alone in a library or bookstore (where i grew up, that was called Wal-Mart. gross.) and chuckle at the books of comics.


2.  i also spent a lot of time as a child looking for Waldo.  i had so many Where's Waldo books that -- wait. that means they still must be somewhere in my mom's house.   i have to find them the next time i go home. for old time's sake.  for the child/nerd in me.

neruda says...

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

 

krakauer says...

So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.

 

post(ing) secret(s)

my secret is that i don't judge this person or think that he/she is a bad person; in fact, i recently said something to this effect to a friend.  


of course i don't wish devastation or destruction on any specific peoples, but -- geesh, it's getting pretty crowded around here.  and hot...


does that make me a bad person? 
  

jobs says...

You tend to get told that the world is the way it is, but life can be much broader once you discover one simple fact: and that is that everything around you that you call life was made up by people no smarter than you. Once you learn that, you’ll never be the same again.

 

idle autumn morning

Tuesday morning.  the house is silent.  i'm posting to say that i'm having a great week and that i feel lucky to have great friends like T, who came to visit last night (and brought me Tina Fey's "Bossypants" on audiobook [!!!]) and who is still sleeping like a lazy kitten, at 10:45 AM...

last night we made mulled cider with rum and watched a truly terrifying film that gave me nightmares as a child and that i still found disturbing while re-watching as a 29 year old man.  Return to Oz.  so.  scary.

if you haven't seen it, i recommend that you watch it between now and Halloween.  'tis the season.  

it's pretty dark, compared to The Wizard of Oz.  basically, Dorothy ends up in a mental institution for some electro-shock therapy (because she's a lesbian, i assume, and that really is what they did to gays back then); she escapes; she flies to Oz, which has been decimated beyond recognition since her previous, sparkly visit.  some old bitch with interchangeable heads captures Dorothy and wants to steal her youth (kind of like the film Hocus Pocus, and Madonna).  then a lot of other scary stuff happens, but i don't remember because i fell asleep last night halfway through the movie.  oops! my bad...

i blame the rum, but also i woke up at 4:30 yesterday morning after foolishly staying awake until after midnight.

in other news, today i'm test-driving a new car -- that is, if my guest ever gets out of bed.

in re: double dates

tonight the doctor and i are going on a double dinner date with my roommate and her lover.  reservations are made, and i'm excited for The Brewer's Art (which, i found out on Friday night, you can't just walk into and have dinner, unless you're willing to wait for more than two hours for a table). maybe i'll write a review about it -- though since i only have a couple Baltimore readers, that might be a waste of time. 

in honor of the occasion, i looked up an old post i wrote about double dating.  yeah, that's right.  i have nothing original to share here, so i'm recycling old thoughts.  wanna fight about it?

in other news, it has been a beautiful, autumnally perfect weekend in Baltimore, and my favorite guy, Bryce, came for a short but fun visit.  all is right in the world.

  

   

post(ing) secret(s)

palahniuk says...

That's the best revenge of all: happiness.  Nothing drives people crazier than seeing someone have a good f*cking life.

 

post(ing) secret(s)

to go out or not to go out?

there's a topic that i've been discussing with friends and acquaintances for the past few days, and i want to know what my blog buddies think about it: going out with the person with whom you're going out.  in other, more sensical words, is it weird to go out drinking with your boyfriend/girlfriend/person who you're dating?


obviously it's normal to go out to dinner and drinks with the object of your affection; that's just a date.  but some people think that it's very strange, almost inappropriate, to go out drinking and/or dancing with that person.  what do you think? 


i started thinking about this last week when D asked me, "Do you think [the doctor] will ever come out drinking with us?"  


"I'm not sure.  Probably," i guessed, considering that the dance floor is where we first met.  then again, a dance floor isn't the place for the get-to-know-you romance involved in courtship.  for most of us, the bar is where we socialize, catch up with friends, and drink away the week's problems.  for some people, the dance floor is a place for sluttiness and for others, friendliness.  but it's certainly not the place for quality time with someone you care about.  


unless, as D and i decided, you're with a group of friends.  a group, by the way, has to be more than three people.  i've only had one serious relationship that involved going out together often, and it was almost always with a group of people who i invited over to my house to have cocktails before going to the bars in my hood.  in other past relationships, i tended to either become a homebody with the boyfriend, or to separate my social and romantic lives and go out only with friends.  based on my experience, i think that the you + me + our friends model seems to work best.   


last night i tried just that with the doctor for the first time.  usually, due to his 14-hour days and my general laziness, our quality time together is one-on-one in restaurants, always followed by television or sleeping.  i decided that it's about time that we start hanging out with other people -- finally go public, if you will.  i met up with D and two of our friends at a divey pub in our neighborhood, and i invited the doctor, who said he would bring along his co-worker (who D and i had met previously).  the pub was lively, and our group was getting along swimmingly.  i was having a nice time talking and laughing with everyone, while also discreetly holding hands with my guy under the bar.  it was nice seeing friend circles mix and seeing my two, separate free-time worlds come together.  then somebody suggested dancing.


a pub is one thing, but going dancing -- not to mention at the same club where we initially met -- was another; i foresaw awkwardness.  i suggested that we stay in the cozy pub.  "Oh look, it's pouring outside," i warned.  no one seemed to care.  the crowd was a mix of eager-to-dance and indifferent-and-easily-convinced.  D quietly assured me that she always has a great time going out dancing with her lover, which, i pointed out, is quite different considering they're heading toward their 2-year anniversary.  unfortunately, it was the doctor's friend who suggested dancing.  this early on, i lack standing to overrule his friends; i could argue no more.  so we danced.   i had a few drinks, which always helps in an awkward situation because it either relaxes everyone so that there's no awkwardness, or it just helps me to ignore and forget the awkwardness.


friends, it was a little strange.  i was self-conscious about my dance moves.  i didn't know whether to touch or not touch, whether to dance with my friends or with him.  it wasn't very fun, so despite having braved the rain and paid a cover to dance, i suggested calling it a night fairly early.  this time, no one objected.  


after parting ways with everyone but my roommate, then eating pizza and french fries (i really wish that restaurant weren't on the walk home...), i texted the doctor to say good-night and to tell him i'm looking forward to spending time with just him this weekend.  he responded that he felt the same way and was thinking just that on his way home.  


maybe it is just too soon, or maybe we're just not the type of couple that likes going out together.  in that way, i mean.

 

some Sunday thoughts

i've had a bad week, but i'm not in a bad mood.
i'm in pain, but i'm not focusing on the injury.
i'm laying low for now, but there are high times ahead.
the friends i've made are nice, and soon i'll be making more.  
old friends are coming to visit, which gives me incentive to heal and to get ready to party.  
it's all about perspective. this could've been much worse.
i am the luckiest.   


  

the most ridiculous word of the day

to date, that is.

post(ing) secret(s)

seeing a doctor

due to a series of unfortunate and painful events involving a wooden shelf crashing into my face, i spent the morning in the emergency room.  


i currently look awful, with bloodshot eyes and a huge bandage on my bloody, gnarled face.  see Exhibit A:

the most ridiculous part of my awful day is that i'm not as upset about the pain or the damage to my gorgeous face as i am that i had to cancel a fun date with my doctor guy tonight.  i've lost count on which date it would have been, but we had fun plans because, for once, he wasn't going to be on call starting at 5 AM tomorrow.  and no, he can't see me this way.  this is totally different than that time i canceled a date because of a zit.  this is serious, people.


for days i've been excited to see the doctor, but the ER wasn't what i had in mind.  


  

"doesn't mean i'm lonely"

yesterday on Facebook Kelly Clarkson "leaked" her next single, the title track of her album coming out in 19 days.  it's better than any feel-good, pick-yourself-up track that Gaga has released, and KC's vocals are strong.  


needless to say, i.  am.  excited.  

in the mealtime...

the excitement of wandering around my new city has worn off, and i'm officially bored.  my long-time readers (all three of you) know what happens when i'm not working and boredom sets in: i cook.  when i'm snowed in, i cook.  when i have nothing to do on a rainy Sunday, i cook. and in other circumstances for which i do not have past blog post links, i cook.


i'll be the first, and sometimes the second, to offer that i'm not a great cook, though i'm a fairly successful baker.  i'm better with sweets than savory.  my savory palate must be immature, because meals often backfire on me; however, that doesn't stop me from wandering around the supermarket aisles and praying to Ina Garten for culinary inspiration.  


this week, with the onset of autumn weather and the taste of fresh butternut squash soup lingering in my memory from Saturday's autumnal dinner party, i decided to finally make a dish about which i've been curious for a long while: spaghetti squash.


with a little help from Martha's video tips for making a spin-off of the classic spaghetti and meatballs, i got started with plenty of time to roast and prep before my new roommate D got home.  in case you don't know, the spaghetti squash is in the squash family and somehow can be turned into a substitute for spaghetti.  i know, i'm like Wikipedia.  so much useful information shared on this blog.  


first i seasoned a sliced and disemboweled gigantic squash with olive oil, salt and pepper.  next, i roasted the squash for exactly twice the amount of time that Martha told me i would need to roast it.  (what kind of space oven are you using, Stewart?)  fortunately, D was late getting home from work.  

next i went totally off-recipe and made my own meatballs.  MS's recipe involved fresh herbs and ground turkey.  i've learned my lesson with ground turkey, and i no longer even try.  i can't tell you how many times i've bought the lean, healthy alternative and been unable to use it because even when it's perfectly fresh, i think it smells rancid.  three times.  i just threw it away, fresh from the grocery store, three times.  i guess i could tell you how many times.  i think it smells like vomit every time i encounter it.  last night i opted for super lean beef and whole grain bread crumbs instead.  i also forgot to add parmesan cheese, but retrospectively decided, and told D, that i had opted for a lower calorie, still-delicious meatball.  

once roasted to fleshy softness, the innards of the squash can be shredded with a fork and scooped out onto a plate, where upon far inspection they look like a pile of pasta.  the roommate's late arrival allowed me to slow-cook the meatballs for approximately forever in a delicious sauce made by Ragu and very much tweaked by me.  

the result was a meal that was good -- so good that i had eaten half of it before i was able to snap a blurry photo -- but that will never pass as pasta.  D very much enjoyed it, and we both felt proud and healthy for choosing the low-carb, low-dairy, high-fiber alternative.  as expected, it simply wasn't as satisfying as real spaghetti and meatballs.


in the end, i'm reminded of what the Bible says about food, "Life simply isn't as good without carbs."  


on the other hand, a simple pasta dish couldn't have kept me busy for 2.5 hours on an otherwise lonely and boring night.  thanks for that, spaghetti squash.


 

quote of the week, thus far

"Honey, I'll gladly go out with you."

-a very small, very old woman working at Harry & David yesterday, in response to my telling her that i came in "looking for dates."  then she handed me a scone hot out of the oven.  she and the scone made it well worth wandering into the store.


FYI, H&D does not sell dates.  


  

pub urinal message from the gods

last night i was enjoying my fifth date with a guy who's turning out to be really great, when a trip to the men's room left me reconsidering the whirlwind relationship in which i seem to have gotten caught up in the last few weeks.


my date and i had some time to kill before a movie, so we stopped for a bite and some heat in a pub (as is typical of Northeast U.S. weather, Friday was still Summer and by Sunday morning everyone was wearing a winter jacket).  while standing at a urinal, i looked up to find that someone had left me (?) a message in this bar in which i had never before been:

i'm not usually one to be superstitious or to read great meaning into insignificant things (fine, i AM), but the message caught me off guard.  i wish someone had left it as "F MATT," rather than to cause me to question whether i was being told to slow down and to just be friends with my date.  "Friend MATT!"  that exclamation point is just so --- so -- harsh.  if there were a comma (i.e. "Friend, MATT!") i probably would have called the whole thing off already.  fortunately, drunk guys in bars aren't super concerned with grammar.  and for that i thank them.  i like the wiggle room on this one.  


to make matters more thought-provoking, during the course of our evening together, my date told me that there's a chance that he'll be taking a position with a hospital in a different city in the new year.  just a chance, but a great enough one that he felt the need to mention this early on.  and while i haven't known him long, i already know that i'll be devastated if he leaves -- that is, unless i heed the pub urinal message, wind back the dating, and have a "just friends" talk with this really great guy.


do i take it as a word of caution, or do i ignore it?  am i being crazy? is the universe speaking to me?  you tell me.




in other news, the Anna Faris film "What's Your Number?" is laugh-out-loud funny yet surprisingly serious for the leading lady, considering her customary slapstick roles.  as a fun rom-com, especially for purposes of a date, i highly recommend seeing it.

i should be ashamed

D: You were listening to music in bed last night.  
me: I do that sometimes when I'm really drunk...
D: You were playing "Skyscraper" on repeat.
me: I just -- needed to hear it. 

change of scenery

i decided to take a leap.  make a change.  abandon ship -- the ship being my life in Philadelphia.  6 years was long enough.


as i write this, i'm sitting on my bed in my new apartment in Baltimore, Maryland.  after two months of back-and-forth, spending weekends in Baltimore so that i can acquaint myself with the city and meet some new friends, today it's official.  i'm home.  the only thing left in Philly for me to bring here is my catticus.  by the time he gets here, the place will be put together and ready for him.  


for now, there are boxes and suitcases everywhere.  the apartment is a mess.  i have a lot of organizing, unpacking and decorating to do, but i'm excited and happy to do it.  i'm excited and happy to be here.


i'm living in a beautiful, historic neighborhood within walking distance to the Inner Harbor.   i don't yet know my way around, but i have some before starting my job; i'll get to know the city in time.  

i'm hoping that this graffiti-covered bench is correct.  i'm hopeful that, for me, Baltimore will be a great city. 


here goes...
    

that means he likes you, part III

i'm picking back up with a series that i started last summer, and for which i honestly haven't had much material during my past year of dating abstinence.  i had forgotten all about my own series when something so random and cute happened that i was reminded and inspired.  


today's general rule is this: 

If he commits an unexpected and thoughtful act of kindness for you, that means he likes you.

because men don't do such things regularly, the way a woman might.  women are prone to think about you and pick up a card, a small gift, or your favorite [insert noun].  women are caretakers like this, and their thoughtfulness comes so naturally to them.  


not to men.  men don't usually just think of you while they walk around the grocery store.  men usually don't happen to be at Hallmark and see a card that seemed absolutely perfect for you.  if he's thinking about you at a time when he's able to pick up or buy something for you, that means that he's thinking of you constantly.  the random act of thoughtfulness from him means that he can't get his mind off of you.  


having shared with you that general rule, let me share with you the specific one that inspired me today:

If you text him to complain that Target is completely sold out of Bridesmaids on DVD, and his response only 4 minutes later is, "I just bought it for you on Amazon.  It'll be here in 2 days. Come and get it." that means he likes you.

the dog days are near

for those of you who know me IRL (in real life.  i just invented that.), it's not a surprise to you that i very much want a dog.  


i love dogs.  i love my friends' dogs. i love TV dogs.  i love strangers-on-the-sidewalks' dogs.  i love dogs. 


when i was 7, i opened the best birthday gift of my life: a dog. a beautiful black lab named Bawl-Baby (my choice btw.  don't ever let a child name a pet.  srsly.).  the name was given because in the beginning she cried constantly.  no matter, i instantly loved that dog.  i slept with her and held her like she were my favorite "April" Ninja Turtle figure.  i remember her puppy toys.  i remember excitedly coming home to her every day after school.  


after 6 months, my mom decided that it would be better for BB to live with my aunt and uncle on a farm, rather than waiting on me to get off the school bus every day.  i.  was.  devastated.  i may or may not have written to Oprah, who was very picky about material at that point. it was my first heart-ache.


fast-forward 12 years: i love my cat.  above all other currently living mammals, i love my dear Atticus.  BUT that doesn't change my desire to have a healthy, long-term relationship with a canine.  a canine who sleeps on my legs and gets beyond excited when i arrive home for work.    


recently, with all of life's changes, i've been thinking often about adulthood.  for me, "adulthood" entails a mortgage, a partner, and a dog.  i'm not sure why Atti isn't quite sufficient for my adulthood equation, but it is what i imagine it is.  and my imagination has a dog in mind.  that seems redundant.   


not today.  not tomorrow.  soon.  time passes quickly these days.  

post(ing) secret(s)

i'm not really sure what i think this secret means.


i am really sure that my someone is a man.  

 

back in the saddle

last night i got hit on and "picked up" at a club.  wait, "picked up" doesn't mean taken home, does it? because i wasn't taken home.  i was just picked up, as i understand that terminology.  


and i'm not telling you in order to brag; rather, i have to tell you how out of practice i am.  i'm only 29, but sometimes i feel like i'm past my prime.  then again, 29 is equivalent to 43 in gay years... maybe i am past my prime.


back to last night.  my friends and i were dancing.  he and his friends were dancing.  he smiled.  said hello.  asked if he could buy me a drink.  all was going well, and i was enjoying the conversation.  then...


we were at the bar chatting and ordering drinks when he put his hand firmly on my leg.  not a light brush (which happens to be one of my signature flirting moves).  not a tap.  not talking with his hands.  just planted an open palm on my thigh.  this is there point at which i felt like an old man.  should he have been touching me already?  is this acceptable courtship behavior?  all this guy knew about me is my name and my alma mater (we quickly established that we attended the same law school, though he was about ten years ahead of me).  i let it go, but i thought he was being too forward.  am i a prude?


then it got worse.  i should preface this by pointing out that it was around 1 AM, and he was probably as tipsy as i was, but he touched my belly.  my beer belly (my new rule is that once i'm out, i drink only beer, because that way i remember everything the next day.  the pre-gaming is still with the love of my life, vodka.  when i hit the streets, i'm finished with vodka for the night.)  so he casually reached over and rested his hand on my side, with his thumb touching my stomach, as if it were a normal gesture that one would make to an acquaintance on the street. yeah, i probably looked touchably good, but still, no.  just, no.  my belly is boyfriend territory, not new-potential-friend-in-a-club territory.  so i backed up.  my non-verbals made it clear that he shouldn't be touching me so prematurely comfortably, and he returned his hand to my knee.  


in the end, i gave the guy my number.  it won't go beyond friendship, but he's a successful lawyer who seems to have a nice group of friends. and it can't hurt to meet someone new, whether he turns out to be a personal or professional contact.  he texted me today to ask me to dinner, which i'm happy to let him pay for.  


that said, i felt uncomfortable with the personal bubble violation, despite it having happened in the wee hours of the morning.  i wasn't drunk, and i don't think that he was, either.  a friendly, almost professional (due to work and school talk) conversation got unexpectedly physical.  am i being crazy here?  am i being a prude?  (my personal dating history reflects that usually i am not.)  be honest.


pray tell, is it normal to touch strangers like that when you're not dancing with them, but rather are simply sitting on adjacent bar stools?  i submit that it is not.  and that is just one reason why i feel that i might be too old for this game.




i need to meet new people.  i need to get back into the dating game.  i think i need to loosen up and not be so quick to back away from new people.      


  

coelho says...

You drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it.

these days, i'm gasping for air and trying to grab onto rocks along the way.

  

"Who's Caleb?"

if i had a dollar for every time i've been searching for a contact in my phone and have noticed a name that rings absolutely no bells...


it's always a male first name.  never a last name. that would jog some memory. probably.


there's usually not a descriptor, because that also would help my memory.  i've recently used a few descriptors in my address book.  you know what i mean by a descriptor, right?  i've been chatting with some Indian kid named Sam but haven't met him or Facebooked him yet, so he's obviously in my phone as Sam Indian.  


i need to just save boys in my phone according to how we met, or where our one and only date occurred.  John Irish Pub.  why don't i do this every time?


oh, i know why.  because at the time when i'm first talking to a new guy, i assume that our courtship will go so magically and unprecedentedly well that within a short time, i'll not only know his last name, but will be making plans to add it to my own, after a sexy hyphen.  because i'm a romantic.  because i'm always looking for my future husband.  because i'm an idiot.  


and i have absolutely no idea who Caleb is.


  

bad times in Philadelphia

WHAT -- a weekend.  if this holiday weekend were a mixed drink, i'd tell you not to make it again; however, if you were to do so, you'd need one part fun, two parts anger, three parts frustration, and one part much-needed therapeutic drunkenness.  garnish with a few tears.


let me elaborate.


Saturday night i was out on what was shaping up to be a really fun second date with a tall lawyer when my phone begins ringing repeatedly.  it was one of my roommates.  of course i immediately feared that something bad had happened.  it had.  


i rushed home to find my roommate Moody talking with police officers, as our apartment had been burgled within the short, two-hour period between the time that i left for my date and when the roommate got home from his.  despite the police officers' warnings to leave everything as the fu@$%ng criminal pieces of s&%t (hereinafter, fcpos's) had left it, i ran around checking to see what was taken.  at first, it appeared that not much was taken.  the fcpos's left our flat-screen televisions and my four bottles of vodka, so i wasn't too alarmed about my weekend plans being ruined.  oh wait ---- 


every small, portable and prized valuable was taken.  our laptops.  our watches.  our backpacks.  our jewelry.  my prescription eyeglasses (who the -- why would -- whatever).  just things, i know.  i've told myself repeatedly that they're just things, but i haven't been convinced.  because my roommate's watch wasn't just a super nice watch; it was a gift from a family member.  and our laptops aren't just electronics, but they contain so much information -- mine contained almost seven years of my music, my writing, my photographs, my favorite po--- um -- websites.  and yes, it's almost all backed up, thank Buddha.  but some of it's missing, and worst of all, some fcpos out there has MY STUFF and MY INFORMATION.  i'm so angry right now.  angry again.  angry still. angry FOREVZ.


and then worst of all, for me:  my backpack -- you know, my North Face "hiking" backpack that came with a wine/water pouch and drinking tube.  not because it's a nice one and it was a great gift from Moody that i wouldn't have bought for myself because it was expensive, but because it contained so much.  the journal i had kept since high school.  that's where the tear garnish comes in.  that's the worst for me.  my roommates have their own worst losses from this event, but mine is the journal.


so i do the only thing i know how to do: i shift into attorney mode and try to think ahead, rather than to be emotional. 

• first we demanded that the locks be changed (did i mention that there was no forced entry? long story.).  the locks to our building and apartment were changed within hours, thanks to Shaunice's screaming.  
• next we catalogued every item missing and looked up either cost or replacement value.  
• then i pulled out the only laptop left in our house (again, thank you Buddha for the one) and drafted a demand letter to several potentially responsible parties.  someone is responsible for our loss, and i'm happy to let the Philadelphia civil court system sort it out if necessary.  i'd be happy to tell you details, but i shouldn't do that right now.
• now we wait, but not patiently; rather, we make life miserable for our apartment management company until we get somewhere.  

 i'm ready for this weekend to be over.  i'm angry and in a bad mood, and drinking my feelings only works for so long.