Monday, November 29, 2010

Reunions in the Age of the Interwebz

Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday because not only do you get more than your fill of family and feasting, but you also see friends and acquaintances you haven't seen in a very long time. It's the one time of year everyone goes out to the "popping" bars around your hometown, which are normally vacant but now magically there's a long line to get in. I hadn't been home around this time for a few years so the experience was magnified. 

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I met some friends at a local bar. It was so great to see and talk to a handful of people who I care about and live in different cities all over the country. However, the extreme comedy and awkwardness arises when you see the rest of your hometowners who you totally forgot about and didn't necessarily have any intention of bumping into. There's always the few girls who are dressed in ridiculously short dresses and impossibly high heels who are clearly trying way too hard for a Connecticut suburb. There's the geek who became muscular with his 5x weekly gym visits and is now infinitely hotter than the last time you saw him 3 years ago, and the cheerleader who gained 30 pounds and isn't so cute anymore. The jock who's now a baby daddy. The girl from science class whose name you can't remember but she somehow remembers every little thing about you. 

And then there are the dozens of people you're facebook friends with, who you know threw an awesome halloween party last month and stayed home and cooked a traditional Italian meal last night with their significant other, yet you don't have anything to talk about in real life. That's pretty uncomfortable. You make eye contact, giving each other that nod of acknowledgment that you have a not-so-secret window into their personal lives yet you don't actually know them. "Hey, how's it going?" is code for I know the sweater you're wearing was purchased today at the mall sale cause you tweeted a picture of it earlier. A friend turned to me at one point and said "Ugh, I hate that girl, I'd punch her in the face if I could." I didn't even know they knew each other, and it turns out they don't. When I asked why, she told me "Because she inappropriately "likes" everything my boyfriend posts on facebook and I've had enough. If I could "DISLIKE" her right now I would. Gotta love when reality and the internet actually intersect.  

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

A Tasteless Thanksgiving

In my days as a wee undergrad, I wrote a weekly column for my school newspaper. I wanted to call it "Jumbo Droppings: Little Nuggets of Wisdom," as our mascot was Jumbo the Elephant. The title was gently reworked into "Campus Comment." That pretty much summarizes what the editors did to my column. Watered it down, butchered it, a lot, a lot, a lot. To the point of not-so-clever-or-fun-in-the-slightest. Ya know, it was a straight laced organization and all. Well, most of the time this really made me mad. Anything out of step with the general "reputable" articles alongside "Campus Comment" were changed to better suit the sophisticated tone of the paper (can you hear my snooty voice as I say it?). However, one time, one such editor did indeed save my ass.

It was exactly this time of year, and my weekly column was fittingly about Thanksgiving. I would write 500 words on the topic and then quote other students (generally the funniest quotes were the ones I chose to include next to their picture). So that week I wrote about what students were looking forward to the most about Turkey Day, what they would do over their 4 day respite from college, so on and so forth. And I decided to collect some of my quotes while out at a college bar night. I got a golden quote from this one lacrosse player I was friendly with who said "I enjoy getting wasted with my cousins, because the drunker I get the hotter they get. And then I can stuff their turkey." I took his picture, and being drunk and goofy, he did look more than a little like he belonged on the short bus, fitting with the quote. It was totally inappropriate but I figured that other college kids would find it disturbing in a funny way, so I threw it in the column.

Flash forward one week. I see this guy out at a party and I tell him, "Guess what? You'll be so excited! Your quote made my column tomorrow!" He stared back at me blankly, clearly having no idea what quote I was referring to. I reminded him and he immediately FREAKED the F OUT. "I don't even remember saying that! You can't quote me when I'm black out drunk! That's totally illegal! How could you? My coach is going to kill me..."

Needless to say, my discretion was not at its best. I genuinely thought lax dude would think that was funny. He did NOT. I ran back to my room, mortified, woke up my roommate in a panic, and started scheming about how to collect all of the newspapers before they were distributed to the dorms the next morning (this wasn't that long ago, but apparently before we regularly looked online at the school newspaper). A plan was in place, I set my alarm for 6 am, ran downstairs, located the article, and found that the editor had taken out the quote and replaced it with something muchhhh tamer. I guess editors are really there for a reason, in some cases....

So, what are YOU excited about for this Thanksgiving? Your hot cousins?

Monday, November 22, 2010

Snoop's Stabbing and Stampede

I was jamming to my ipod today, zoning out the endless commotion of the city around me - when none other than snoop d o double g came on. You know those particular songs or artists that so vividly bring you back to one memory or point in time? Well Snoop does that for me. A couple of years ago I went to a music festival in Buenos Aires where the headliner was Snoop. My friends and I were so pumped, rapping lyrics to each other for weeks beforehand - Laaaaid back, got my mind on my money and my money on my mind. We got to the concert, SHOCKED that they didn't sell alcohol. How could that be at a festival of 55,000 people? They seemed to have the security down pat in that respect. We quickly left the concert premises, sprinted to a nearby pizza joint, chugged a couple of litros of quilmes (mmhm quilmes), and headed back in. We heard some good music, but mostly we were just waiting for Snoop.

And waited we did! Our initial excitement turned into annoyance and then exhaustion. After a while we had lost most of our steam and were sitting on the ground. 


People were continually shouting Snoop, Snoop! but he was still nowhere to be found. All of a sudden we heard footsteps, thousands of footsteps! We looked up to see the entire audience racing away from the stage and toward us. We jumped up as fast as humanly (tipsily) possible and joined the stampede so as not to be trampled to death. It felt remarkably like the scene from The Lion King when Mufasa dies *tear*. I didn't want that to be my fate. 

I practically had a heart attack. Once the crowd slowed, I noticed that my wallet miraculously went missing (the first of MANY pickpocketing incidents, 6 but who's counting?). My friend lost her cell phone and a sandal in the commotion, but picked up a stray converse sneaker, wrong foot, no problem.

Turns out the cause for the commotion was actually a gunshot and a STABBING. We decided not to risk it by staying for Snoop's performance but apparently he came out minutes later, and put on quite a show, not phased in the slightest, in true gangsta' fashion. I'm sooo glad that they were cautious enough to monitor drinking, but allowed guns and knives into the concert no problem. This incident was not reported in the media, part of a publicity cover-up which was perhaps the most disturbing part of the whole thing. It is with regret and nostalgia that I now listen to Snoop, bringing me back to my first South American brush with death. I kid...sort of....  

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Pug Shot: Thanksgiving Edition



Holiday Travel: How far will you let the airport all-body pat-down go?

Don't touch my junk! With airport security reaching all new levels of insanity - I wonder how many outraged travelers will be shouting this catchy phrase over the upcoming holiday week. I thought it was intrusive enough to have to take off my shoes and walk barefoot through security at the airport. Then came the bursts of air they spray into your face (what are they checking for exactly, a microscopic explosive devise, reallllllly?) and then the no liquids rule (forget sabers, box cutters, or ski poles) - enough's enough! Stop stealing my perfume and shampoo, that ain't cheap! But now, fully body scanners and inappropriate pat-downs? No, I say! Do your part, be proud and sing aloud "don't touch my junk!"

Thursday, November 18, 2010

How much of human life is lost in waiting


If there’s something I have little to no patience for, it’s a long line. Unfortunately, as a New Yorker, lines are as much a part of life as the tutu-wearing homeless man on your corner, or bedbugs.  There are just so many freakin’ people everywhere you go – especially if you go somewhere new/cool/cheap/fun/famous/touristy/the-list-goes-on-and-on-and-on. Today I experienced the hell that is the supermarket line. The Trader Joes in Union Square (I know you’re sighing if you’ve ever been there) is literally unlike anything I’ve seen before. It’s known for its very high quality food at very low prices, but as a result the line is INSANE. I’ve walked in and walked out numerous times in the past, after catching a glimpse of the path of people snaking in and out of aisles throughout the entire store. You literally have to shop while you are waiting in line. 

I just wanted a pie. One pie. I could’ve made one, but a store bought one is so much easier and quicker (wrong!).  I decided to grin and bear it and wait in the infinite procession to the checkout. It took 17 minutes, but who’s counting? I could’ve literally baked a pie in 17 minutes. OK not quite, but at least prepared it and put it in the oven in that time.  Personally, I rather splurge for a more expensive pie than wait interminably.  That got me thinking, what would I wait in line for? The answer is pretty much nothing for more than ten minutes. That’s my limit. But then again, I have a patience problem. 

Walk 2800 miles in this guys shoes...

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Will you cut the fat?

It's National Unfriend Day on Facebook. Who will cut the mustard from your friends list? Will YOU get the axe? The worst part about getting unsuspectingly unfriended is that you generally don't notice for a while, because let's face it, if you're being unfriended you're probably not actually friends. But then 6 months down the road it just feels like a big ol' sucker punch. Did Jessica unfriend me? OMG she did! Seriously? WTF? WHAT DID I DO TO THAT BIT*H?! Until the pain subsides about 10 seconds later when you come to terms with the fact that it took you 6 months to notice her absence from your life in the first place. Oh, it's not so bad.

Do you swing Left or Right with your TV choices?

Hmm in this interesting article, a study shows the 15 most popular democratic and republican television shows. Admittedly, I watch a considerable amount of tv, but from this particular list I watch 8 democratic shows and only 1 republican show. The study points out that democrats tend to favor damanged people. Maybe so - I happen to think damaged characters are the far more interesting and complex ones. Happy and normal = boring tv. To me, a few of the most fascinating characters on tv these days are Dexter (a serial killer), Don Draper (a womanizer with a deeply haunted past), Walter White (a meth manufacturer dying of cancer), etc. What does this say about me? Well...that I'm interesting - obviously! That, or I like killer womanzing druggy-type men - let's hope it's the former.

One surprising show on the democratic list however is Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami - coming in at a whopping #4! I wonder what's up with the democratic obsession with the Kardashians?

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Salud to Fall! (while we still have it...)




HAIKU FOR FOUR LOKO

Farewell, hyper booze
Back to Mountain Dew and gin
In a Solo cup.
I finally looked up what ZOMG stands for, and it turns out the Z stands for nothing. It was accidentally invented by users intending to hit the Shift Key instead of Z. HUH!?

Blowing Up Your Own Spot

A Lesson to the Boys: Do not trust a girl's close friend to not to tell her incriminating information about you. She will tell. I didn't make up the rules, it's just the way it is, so deal with it. You've gotta be a little thick in the head to think that Sally is not going to tell Julie what you said about her. Especially if you don't preface it with "Don't tell Julie." If there's no warning of privacy, it is public knowledge. And even if there is warning of privacy, it will most likely become public knowledge. Girls like (LOVE) to talk.

So with that being said, I'd like to share with you a story about what NOT to do after your first date with a girl you really like.

Some time ago in Argentina, a friend of the guy I was dating began crushing on my friend. Let's call him Marcus and her Rachel. I knew they were supposed to meet up that night at an after-office club (a really popular activity in Buenos Aires, where you go clubbing directly after work, usually on a Wednesday or Thursday). On this particular night I decided to stay in and was on my computer when all of a sudden I received a stream of IM's from a very distraught Marcus. Before I even had the chance to respond to a single one, he had had an entire conversation with himself:

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent
*Translations have been provided as some of it was written in Spanish

Hi Lindsay,

I'm sorry for writing you in this way. It's just that tonight before I went to the club for after-office I was working late until it was time to go to the club.  I was drinking tea, one after the other to stay awake and keep working. After that I got to (the club), and I sent a message to Rachel for us to meet. She was hanging out with friends in a pub in San Telmo. So I went to meet her. As soon as my foot reached the door outside the club, something felt wrong. My intestines were begging for a bathroom. I couldnt return into the club,  so I asked the guy at the garage around the corner to please let me use the bathroom. I had diarrea. Then I realized how much tea I drank to keep me awake at the office until 9 PM. After that I said thanks to the guy from the garage and I was on my way to meet Rachel.  Some how a little odor was left and there was no way to make it go away, no matter haw clean I was. I noticed that Rachel noticed it too and she covered her nose with her scarf to talk to me. I was hoping that the smell wouldn't go far from me, but I was wrong. It seems that the smell was stronger than what I hoped.  I didn't want to cancel to on Rachel at our first date. even though I wasn't on my best day. The unpredicted arrived had fun with Murphys Laws. First night, First impression???  ....FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, so the poor guy. This type of stuff happens from time to time, but his mistake was telling me about it, without any prodding on my part mind you, (was I really supposed to not ask Rachel how the meet up went?) and going into such graphic detail. It really wasn't necessary. And the irony of the whole thing is that Rachel hadn't noticed the smell at all. She was just cold. He totally blew up his own spot. If you're hoping for date number 2 fellas, don't follow Marcus' example.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Facebook's "Modern Messaging System"

Soon we can skip all real life interactions! FB taking over the world, 1 computer at a time

The Impossible Quest for Change

I was in a cab home last night, when I pulled up to my block and looked in my wallet only to see that I had no cash. I panicked for a second until i realized that I could pay with a credit card. The credit card machines in taxis in New York are one of the coolest things to have happened in recent history. This was something that was put into place while I was living in Argentina, and it still boggles my mind a little bit. I've grown very accustomed to walking around cashless in NY, because you can use cards everywhere, literally! What's the point of taking an extra trip to the ATM when I can charge a banana and there's no additional fee?

Well that was definitely not the case in Argentina. Not the case at all. In fact, the monetary system there is something I never stopped getting angry about. The ATMs charge a big fee to take out any amount of cash, because as expats we don't have accounts at their banks (and you can't get an account unless you're a citizen). The ATMs also dispense $100 pesos at a time, and it is almost impossible to break an $100 peso bill, no one accepts them. The most practical way to do this is to go out to a group dinner and pay with the $100 and have your friends give you their cash. Actually, that's not the most practical way, that's the ONLY way.

On top of that, there's a very well known coin shortage. It's extraordinarly hard to acquire change because everyone claims to be out of coins or "monedas." The stores that do have them tend to stock pile them for fear of running out. So often times if you don't have exact change, stores (especially smaller ones or bodegas) would prefer not to sell you your purchase than make you change. And the thing is, buses require change. And buses (unlike in NYC where you CAN swipe a bus card) are the main mode of transportion. Their bus system is actually pretty great and fast! But only if you have the change to get on the bus in the first place. I can't tell you how many times I bought unnecessary chocolates or chewing gum just so I could take the bus.

I went to a party at someone's campo (or estate) outside Buenos Aires a little while after I arrived in Argentina. Two friends and I took a long bus ride to get there, and were very prepared as we knew it would cost $3.00 pesos in coins. Unfortunately for us, we didn't think about having enough coins for the trip back to the city. As the sun was rising and the party was coming to an end, we started going around the party, asking people for spare change, feeling as close to a beggar as one could possibly feel. Clearly, everyone at the party denied having change (liars).

FINALLY we found a guy with space in his car for us, but only if my friend agreed to give him a kiss. He was insistent on this stipulation, and being drunk and tired, my friend finally agreed, ONE kiss. We got in the car and all was fine, until the driver continued to try to kiss my friend (who was literally shielding her face) the entire ride back to the city. He didn't take a (not so subtle) hint. As soon as we got to the city limits, we yelled for him to stop the car, and hopped out. We clung to each other in a dear embrace for a few minutes, sighing in relief. Awkwardly, the car was still sitting there, stopped at a red light and witnessed that scene go down.

Now, every time I swipe my card, I can't help but smile and think about how easy we've got it here...at least in the change department.

What's the point of Quidditch if humans can't fly?

Quidditch World Cup IV, seriously...

The Face of Mediocrity


A friend of mine recently regaled me with an unfortunate experience she had with an online dating site a few months back. She was using the site pretty regularly, and after a while of hit-or-miss dates, she received the following email from the site's blog author: 

"We're doing a feature on attractiveness and users think you're attractive. We want to feature your profile in our blog which discusses how to make your profile more attractive to other users. It will probably peak a lot of interest in your profile, do you agree? May we feature you?" 

After reading the email and feeling pretty damn good about herself, my friend thought why not? So she granted them permission and thought nothing of it. Fast forward to three weeks later - she then receives a facebook message from a random guy she went to high school with and has not seen or talked to since (gotta love those out-of-the-blue messages), saying "I stumbled upon a link to a dating blog that you happened to be pictured in.  Your initials confirmed it and your facebook picture looks kinda familiar. Did you contribute to this blog in any way other than providing your photo?" and attached the article to the message. The article, as it turns out, was indeed about attractiveness. 

Unfortunately for my friend, she was misled, and not labeled as an example of attractive users but rather as an "average" looking user. They were kind enough to say "As for the photos at the bottom of the curve, it didn't feel right to write someone and say 'can I use you to illustrate the concept of ugliness on my blog?' so you'll just have to extrapolate." The article continued on about how important looks are on these sites, and that beautiful people are more successful daters. They gave graphs and stats and advice about how to go from being average to above-average in the looks department. Needless to say, my friend was not all that enthused that she was now the famous face of mediocrity for online dating. 

To add insult to injury, sure enough some other people we know also saw the article. Dating sites can be cruel. 

Recently, she received yet another email from the site informing her that the scales have tipped in her favor and she is now in the top half of the most attractive users and as a result of her new elite status, she'll see more attractive people in her match results. Phew, what a relief that is!

If this bird doesn't make you laugh, we can't be friends



WARNING: Do not watch before bed, you will NOT be able to sleep.

Watch the Incredible Original here! God it would be cool to have Will Smith as a dad.
Monday is a lame way to spend 1/7th of your life...

Friday, November 12, 2010

There's nothing quite like that first Sext


Sexting is a term that came into use a couple of years ago, but was made really famous this year (enough so that my parents know what it is), by a couple of celebrity “incidents.” Hmm hmm hmm, Brett Favre, Tiger Woods, Kayne West, the list goes on. I myself had never received a graphic picture sext until a few months ago. I was sitting in the reception area of an office building, feeling a little jittery as I was waiting to go into a job interview, when my phone started vibrating in my pocket. I thought for sure it must be a “good luck, go get ‘em tiger!” type text from a friend or family member. Boy was I dead wrong. I flipped open my phone (that’s right, I still have a flip phone, but that’s a discussion for another time), when I saw a woman (or her ass rather), dressed in lingerie, taking a self-photo in the mirror. A second later I hear my name called “We’re ready for you, please come this way.” I was so startled and thrown off my game, I jumped a little and immediately shoved my phone in my bag.

The entire interview the sext was running through my head, how could it not? I couldn’t help it! Who was she? Why was she sexting me? It was hilarious and unnerving at the same time. Once I left, I looked again at this scantily clad, not so classy looking broad, and scrolled down to find a message which said, “Hi, I’ll be at the Honeyspot Motel room 322, Friday 2 pm to late, hope you can cum. Text me if you want to have sum fun, Jenna.” No shame at all! I wrote it off as a one-time wrong number, after clearly sharing it with some friends. But sure enough, like clockwork, every Friday I received one of Jenna’s messages, usually with a different motel, always with the same picture (talk about an utter lack of creativity). I initially didn’t want to engage with this stranger, but after about a month of this, I thought enough’s enough and I simply wrote her back, “Wrong number, please don’t sext me again.”

No such luck! I still continued to receive the sexts, sometimes a few times a week. It was no longer funny or cute, now it was just annoying. On one such occasion, I was with a few friends when I received one. They couldn’t believe it. “We have to call her!” the guys shouted in unison. I agreed, so long as it wasn’t from my phone. She demanded for my friend to send both a picture of his, you know, junk, as well as a face shot. He obliged, pulling an image of the former off the internet, and an image of David Bowie for the latter (Why Bowie? Why not Bowie?). She texted him back almost immediately with a time and a rate, clearly she's unfamiliar with the Musician/Actor/Record Producer, that or she thought he was the real thing. He never went through with it (as far as I know), but it did give the group a hearty laugh. What I want to know is, how did a prostitute get my phone number? Talk about having a privacy complaint! So far, I’m the only person I know who’s gotten a wrong number sext. Have you?

Thursday, November 11, 2010

YO-GAta be kidding me

After months of friends trying to convince me to try yoga, this week I finally did. I spent the day thinking of excuses to get out of it, headache, oops I was napping, I have to go grocery shopping, my dog ate my homework, but in the end I decided to give in and give it a go. It was a lot like I expected, 95% of the class was females clad in black leggings, in a dimly lit room with candles and meditation mixes playing. I did not, however, expect for it to be as difficult as it was. First of all, this was not a beginners class. I went with my friend who is quite advanced (maybe that was my mistake). And the instructor was this 4’10” athletic pod of a woman, who was spitting a succession of poses in both English and Sanskrit in rapid fire. Downward Facing Dog, Chaturanga, Warrior 2, Reverse Warrior, Baby Cobra, Savasana! Say what?? One of the instructor’s helpers came over to try to correct my Chaturanga. I think after a couple of minutes she realized I just wasn’t going to get it anytime soon, and sweetly patted my back and said “nice job,” as she moved on to the woman doing a one-armed handstand.  

As this was my first time, and I had no idea what any of the poses were, I had to look around the room to follow what my classmates were doing. Unfortunately, by the time I caught on they were already onto the next pose. At one point I distinctly felt like I was playing a game of twister. “Place your right leg over your left arm and your right arm behind your head and under your armpit.” I can run no problem, put me on a machine in the gym and I can handle it, but when it comes to exercise that requires strength, flexibility and balance, not so much. Those are not necessarily my strong suits. People were turning themselves into pretzels, putting one leg up on their inner thigh, and bending to the side 90 degrees, and still balancing. I could barely lift one leg a foot off the ground standing still without toppling over. I realize this was my first time and it takes practice to become skillful at anything, let alone something that combines exercise and a foreign language, but I did feel like a fish fresh out of water.

There are moments of activation and moments of relaxation in yoga. The relaxation bits were my favorite. I can easily curl up in a ball and listen to my breathing for a while. The soothing music makes lovely background noise for my brief catnap. Napping, NAPPING I am good at. Anytime, anywhere, I can challenge you to a nap-off. But to snap out of the blissful relaxation into a Reverse Triangle Vashistasana, no thanks. I think next time I’ll sign up for a meditation class, it’s more aligned with my likes and abilities.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

First Impressions: The Good, The Bad, and the Downright Crazy

I decided to join a dating website, as much for experimentation as anything else, like so many of my twenty-something single peers in NYC. And thus far, I have learned a great many things. I had heard both fairytales and horror stories, and I wanted to see for myself what all of the hype was about. I jumped in feet first, and was surprised at what I saw. In general, I’ve found that the first contact that is made on one of these sites is through a personal message (forget the IM, I will not respond, it's too rushed and feels intrusive). In general, I think the short and to the point messages are the most effective. You’re reaching out and giving me the chance to check out your profile without scaring me off. Also, forget the uber corny, self-deprecating, or extremely bizarre, why set yourself up for instant failure? While I'm not claiming to be an expert by any means, I think the good vs. the bad is glaringly obvious. I did receive some charming messages, but the majority were not-so-successful attempts at online dating. I decided to illustrate some examples below of the humorous mistakes some made that scream "stay away!" The comments in the parenthesis are my feedback:  

Cheesier than a New York pizza pie

  • Nice smiles are hard to come by. Lucky me, I came across yours. Can you read that and make it sound endearing? Cause that's how its meant to come off...not like a cheese ball pick-up line!
  • You seem like a bright little slice of sunshine! Too cheesy? probably. Kind of the impression I got though.
(If you have to point out it’s not a cheese ball pick-up line it probably is)

  • happy friday. yes, it's cold. yes it's rainy. yes it's just plain sucky. but seeing your smile in your photos....if you're even 1/10th of that in real life, you'll be having a great day :)
(TOO MUCH, when you give a compliment that’s so extravagant its hard to take it seriously)

I can smell the desperation a mile away

  • Fifth times the charm, maybe?
(After ignoring his first four messages, apparently this young man did not get the hint – I guess persistence pays off from time to time, just not in this case…)

  • LIKE ME! VALIDATE ME! BE MY FRIEND! (This was the actual message title, RED FLAG) I swear that's what writing these messages is like. I'm tempted to give up on the whole online dating thing and just continue meeting people in bars and bookshops; I'm not sure  the continual validation exercise that simply saying 'Hello' should bridge is particularly good for the spirit. Anyway, hello, nice pics, blah blah blah ... Like me, like me, please ... Yeuch. PS - Not sure why I decided you would appreciate my rant against the inequity of actually rating and being rated by other human beings for the sole purpose of self-selecting someone enough like you (not YOU, but 'you') that you justify hiding away from the fear of just being your own self. You just looked like a real person who might be frustrated by it too. Hmm, *SPOILER* I may have some hidden relationship baggage. I'm not normally this ranty, I blame my addiction to Rohypnol. I think the odds of you replying are nowhere near the 90%+ match that o/c gave us ... Oh that's another topic right there.
(If you immediately suggest I won’t reply to your message, I probably won’t. Hidden relationship baggage? Really? In the first message? NOT CUTE. Also, thanks for letting me know about your prescription drug use, that really shouts not crazy)

  • Hi :) Happy Halloween !!! I hope u're not angry to me :( Bc I'm bothering u again again. I'm sooooo persistent to get to know u...Please Really so sorry for that. But I'm really want to get to know u. U look so real. U look so different..Please just give me 5 minutes. I see I'm not too handsome :( but i can make u laugh. I'm funny and silly lol
(Abbreviations are okay in moderation, but PLEASE, for the love of god, try not to use them every other word, it makes me think you have the intelligence of a third grader, especially when spelling also comes into question. Don’t point out you’re not good looking. If you’re not, fine, let me judge for myself, but pointing out that fact right off the bat makes it that much worse) 

The Simply Insulting

  • You seem cool from your profile, but most girls on here are a little weird. Is there anything wrong with you, like a fake leg or tourette syndrome? C'mon... you can be honest with me.
  • hi there :) you seem... nice and (perhaps?) normal :). welcome to nyc!
(Thank you for grouping me with “weird” girls, and glad I seem, “perhaps” normal)

  • Do you have siblings? If so, are you the favorite child? You're not! Well, I am terribly sorry to hear that. Why?
(Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but don’t assume the worst of me right away, it’s just rude!)

  • You wanted to surround yourself with good people so you came to New York? You know, this city invented the middle finger.
(mmhm positive energy is radiating from this one)

  • Hey, I couldn't find anything we have in common based on what you wrote. But, I'd like to get to know you better. How would you like that?
(GREAT, I’d love wasting my time getting to know someone who so astutely pointed out I have nothing in common with, ‘cause that makes so much sense)

  • There's nothing like a good glass of Malbec and a steak dinner to get the evening started....unless you over do it, and end up with a food baby.
 (This message started out okay – picked up on my interest in Argentina, except I really don’t feel like discussing food babies with you, that’s just gross)

If you come off this crazy online, I’m not gonna risk my life meeting you in person

  • Allow me to introduce myself. I am Z, my true name is unpronounceable. I love space (random huh?), and my secret dream (I wish I was born 2000 years later) was to be a spaceship designer. I can tell you all about the supernovas and dark matter. Besides starstuff, I've grown up in a foreign country, saw sea turtle twice at Hawaii, worked in a farm where I crashed a farm vehicle (I wooffed there), drove around in a volcano field, been to death valley, almost got thunderstroke on Yosemite, got into medical school, and survived medical school. I enjoy museums like PS1 and watching documentary films, but now i am mostly swamped by brain related stuff (and I am not a zombie!). Also I can make delicious chocolate balls.
(This guy knows where most girls interests lie – space! It’s as if he thought of the most random, disconnected facts from his life and threw them all in the message, hoping that one would stick. Now, if he had just led with the chocolate balls – maybe I would’ve considered!)

  • I'm in a good mood, and then I see you. Double good mood. I forgot that it was possible to stumble upon somebody; not just here, but anywhere, that generates genuine enthusiasm in me. You are so gorgeous to me, and I simply like the vibe you are giving off...alright, I've already said too much haha. It is imposable to not come off corny here, I can only assure you that I am being sincere. Actually I'll go one step further, I will swear on my cat Quinton's grave [he was my Maine Coon who died of Leukemia, and I buried him myself in Coldwater Canyon...CA...I'm from LA]. Some random facts about me: I must admit to you that my last loving relationship had us making love while i watched hockey. Oh & no Fatties. No offense! ..It's a lifestyle thing.On a typical Friday night I am - slurring to the oldies, doing splits-to-twerks combos, wearing a dress I nicknamed the fuckfest, putzing around the local 24/7 Walmart buying random things that usually include Cheezits. You can be unstable as long as you dance well.
(The message starts off okay, very complimentary, until we get to the part where he talks about his dead cat’s grave, how romantic! He likes watching sports while having sex, good to know! I don’t even understand most of what he likes to do on a Friday night, and am a bit curious about what "split-to-twerks combos" are, not gonna lie. But I sure as hell don’t want to putz around Walmart stuffing my face with Cheezits. And it’s always nice when someone has their priorities straight, placing more importance on dancing abilities than mental stableness.)

And then there are the poems (At least wait until message 3!)

  • from state 2 state, city 2 city, all girls do is drink, where is the part of having fun without a drink, huh!
(Hey! What’s wrong with drinking?! Don't insult one of my favorite pastimes!)

  • From Out of Law to Law: Since I don't drink at a bar, I have to wink from afar. You are a law person. I struggle to transcend the law person. We both smile a lot without a pot. How about having puns for funs together? Or perhaps a dance perchance if you have a penchance for dance? Summer is still sauntering above our heads. Before it ends, shall we dance?
(Um, say What?)

And So It Begins

As I sit here, in my office on the 37th floor of a non-descript law firm in mid-town Manhattan, I wonder - how much longer can I navigate the interwebs for useless information before I get a phone call telling me to make pages upon pages of photocopies? Said photocopies will inevitably give me countless papercuts, making me bleed onto legal documents - whiteout! Or the copy machine will get jammed, and I'll get worked up until I am once again asking (or screaming to) myself, what exactly am I doing here? And what do I want to be doing? Surely this is just a transient stop between my adventures living in South America and my next real life destination.

And THAT, my dearly beloved friends and followers (of which I can probably count on one hand at this point, gotta start somewhere) is where you come in! I want to be writing! I want to be sharing my funny happenings with you, and contributing to your procrastination and hopefully, sometimes, even making you smile, or better yet - LAUGH! If this blog gets picked up and turned into a book, which then undoubtedly will be made into a movie starring say, Rachel McAdams, then so be it (a girl can dream can't she?). But for now let's begin one step at a time, and write....