last night.

three things i love:

G

bars

new bars

Mr. REA was out of town this weekend, so i met up with G to check out a new bar in The City. 

i spent most of the night chatting it up with mediocre men

blah blah blah blah blah

where do you work?

what do you do?

do you come here often?

all that bull crap bar-chatter. 

we left and went, idk, someplace else. 

some bar with two-levels. 

i hate bars with two-levels. 

all i remember about that place was that i got lost trying to find my way out. 

i couldn't find the stupid staircase. 

ahem. let me rephrase that, 

i was too drunk to find the exit. 

honesty is important.

then i got into a cab.

i think i fell asleep.

and woke up when he pulled into my driveway.

i couldn't figure out how he knew where i lived.

i must have told him.

he followed me up the stairs to my door.

it made me a little nervous.

he probably thought i couldn't make it all the way up without falling over.

what a gentleman.

i don't actually remember if i paid him or not. 

maybe thats why he was following me. 

unsolved mystery.

the night ended with me on the toilet, barfing on the floor. on my pants. on my underwear. 

yet another common theme. 

i continued barfing into the sink. it clogged the drain. i turned on the water to help with the congestion. this resulted in an entire sink full of barfy-barf. at least i had the sense to pin back my bitty-bangs. 

i wobbled into my bedroom and put on whatever clothes were nearby. 

passed out.

my apartment isn't very big, and the scent sure does carry. i was awoken throughout the night by the looming stench coming from the bathroom. it was impossible to ignore. 

barf-breath apartment. 

disgusting.

in the late afternoon, i finally decided to get out of bed and face my demons. 

i noticed blood all over my foot. 

it appears someone stepped on my toe last night. 

or i tripped on something. 

or something got dropped on my foot. 

or maybe it's someone else's blood.

unsolved mystery. 

i stared at the mess in the bathroom for a while and pondered what my life has amounted to. i quickly moved on to a much more important topic: what the hell did i eat yesterday? 

there's nothing more humbling than scooping your own vomit into the trash can, then having to scrape off the dried-up stubborn pieces with about a thousand Clorox wipes. 

if Saturday nights came more than once a week, i think i'd be dead by now.

or in rehab.

reality check

i'm officially at that stage in my life where everyone i know is getting married.
or having a baby.
or both.

i'm torn between wanting to be a part of that club, and wanting to stay this fabulous forever.

what it really comes down to is this:

i don't want to tie myself down, buuuuuut i also don't want to have to work all day, 5 days a week and spend my own hard-earned money on all of the fancy things i want.

isn't marriage all about spending someone else's money?

or am i missing the point entirely?

opportunity costs

or as i like to say, the cost of attendance

wax - 90 - omg. ouch. you're welcome gentlemen
gel mani pedi - 60 - my new favorite thing ever.
like ever ever.
hair - 100 - ugh whatever.
new outfit - 100 - i have an addiction.

i was recently out with M and spent a small fortune on a new outfit. naturally i picked up an extra new outfit. i can never walk away with just one new outfit. its slightly more scandalous and doesn't match The Mints.

ugh whatever.
I have other shoes.

is there anything better than a new outfit?
except two new outfits.

so really, is there anything better than 2 new outfits?

ugh.

it's so expensive being a girl.

MIA: Stamos, John.

You remember John Stamos right?
The PBR guy.

well,

maybe the pressure of dating a relationship blogger such as myself was too much for him.

maybe he didn't want our lives to be put under the microscope of the Internet.

maybe he has something against girls who have hair that looks like Meg Ryan-slash-Kristin Wigg.

maybe he has a two-date rule.

maybe he got a new phone and lost all the old numbers.

maybe he has the same phone, but a different number.

maybe he moved out of The City.

maybe he actually had a girlfriend this entire time.

who knows.

but what i do know, is that i texted him a few weeks ago asking if he was ignoring me.
and can you believe that he never texted me back?

so that's that.

we could have been something, Mr. Stamos.
i'll never look at Full House the same way again.

twenty-three

in the spirit of recalling recent birthday memories, here's another one.

good ol' 23.

i had just moved to The City.
Gman came out for the weekend.

we went to a very fancy seafood dinner down at The Tad.

at that stage of my life, my drink of choice was the ever-classy Long Island Ice Tea.

you can already tell where this story is heading, can't you?

well then, ill keep it brief.
sort of.

i ordered one Long Island after another, as is tradition.

on the final drink, i tripped on my way back from the bar. spilled the entire thing. everywhere.

instead of cleaning it up, i went back to the bar and demanded another one.
a free one.

i told the bartender my sob story.
he fell for it.

i'm very convincing when i'm drunk.

then, as is tradition, i began to feel sick.
extremely sick.

so i went to the bathroom, and as Gman love to retell this story,
"i stood over the toilet, with my head down, and my dress pulled up in the back"
aka my butt was up in the air - hello undies!
and my face was in the toilet.

it was what i refer to as a False Alarm.
there was no barfy-barf.

yet.

then we got into a cab to go home.
remember how cabs usually make me car sick?
i've mentioned that before.
this was no exception.

barfed. out. the. window.

cab driver yelled at me.

i barfed more.

Gman tipped him a little somethin' extra to apologize.

we got home.
i went into the bathroom.
i stripped down.
i layed on the bathroom floor.
buck naked.

or is it butt naked?

i never remember.

bottom line is - i had no clothes on.

Gman came in.
picked me up.
carried me to my room.
dressed me in my pjs.
and tucked me into bed like the classy girl i am.

(you may have noticed a pattern here. men usually carry me to bed, dress me and tuck me in.)

and in the morning, we ate what i can only describe as Dim Sum Diaharrea.

i will never eat in Chinatown ever, ever again. thank you.

this happens to be the same birthday when Gman and i rode a tandem bike across The Famous Bridge and i realized we had major trust issues.

23, you cray-cray.

the end.

well friends. it seems that i have become too emotionally invested in mr. REA to continue maintaining an online dating profile. For this reason, i am now removing myself from The Website.

it was really entertaining while it lasted.
like really, really entertaining.

good thing the Real World is still full of just as many creeps.

many of whom i work with.

lucky me.

Two-Two

being the nostalgic sap that i am, lets take a minute to revisit my 22nd birthday.

it was a tu-tu party.

2-2
two-two
tu-tu

get it?

everyone was supposed to wear tu-tus.
only some did.
whatevs.

i was drinking beer out of a large goblet all night.
the thing was the size of a fish bowl.
i'm not even kidding.

one friend put another friend into a full-nelson.
i thought he killed him.

i cried.

found out he was still alive.
got mad at him for 'lying to me'

dumped a beer on him.
ran out of the house.

BFF suggested it was time to leave.

we went to IHOP.
they're open 24 hours.

at 2 am my friends sat down to a lovely breakfast.
and i continued to cry all night.
in public.
in a tu tu.

it was my party, i could cry if i wanted to.
cry if i wanted to.
cry if i wanted to.
you might have cried too, if it happened to you.

the million dollar question

last week Mr. REA asked me:

what's the drunkest you've ever been?

and would you believe that i laughed so hard i started crying?
right there in the car.
on our way home from dinner.
laughed so hard i cried.

i continued laughing so as to avoid the question entirely.

an honest response would have been:

every time i drink it's the drunkest i've ever been.

but instead i muttered:

oh idk, at my mom's holiday party a few years ago. two years ago actually. recently.

and i just left it at that. i spared myself the embarrassment of sharing the entire story.

i purposely left out every single detail about how i drank myself into a frenzy and owned the dance floor that night.

i also omitted the part where i tripped over a table, then puked all over my underwear in the public restroom.

and locked myself in the stall.
and had to be carried out.
and lost my shoes.

and woke up screaming because i thought i was in a straight jacket.

it was a bathrobe.

and the worst part of that story is, that isn't even the drunkest i've ever been. it was just the first thing i thought of after i pushed aside the hotel situation from last month...which he still doesn't know about.

i'll have to be the drunkest i've ever been, to ever share these stories with Mr. REA. that's for sure.

plus its not considered lying if you're just leaving out some details, right?

g-man

i'll be the first to admit that i have a very odd relationship with someone i previously dated.

aka: i'm friends with my ex.

it happens right?

or maybe we're just lucky that way.

anyway. he's still the first person i message when i've got something to share. whether it's a funny story from work, a disappointing date, a stubborn bowel movement or just a silly movie reference.

i know he reads this thing too. that little creep. he likes to keep up on how disastrous my dating scene has been after i dumped him. he gets a kick out of it. he's sick like that.

he mentioned recently, that he was embarrassed to have dated someone like me. or maybe he said, he was embarrassed to have dated me. not someone like me, just me. i can't remember now. sorry.

but oh how the tables have turned. now he's the one that's embarrassed for me.

i might usually take a comment like this very personally. but let's be real. this is coming from a man who refers to his own mother as Trish Delish.

you better not let your father hear you talking like that. perv.

and yes, Oedipus, i am referring to you.

i'm glad we're friends. sort of.

back to school

i don't want to give away my profession, for fear of not being taken seriously as a relationship blogger, but i have something to admit.

i only work 9 months out of the year. this has allowed me 3 months of absolute freedom. but unfortunately all great things must come to an end.

i just hope that my return to The Daily Grind doesn't interfere with the binge drinking and shameless flirting.

happy birthday to me

i know you're just dying to know what a single gal like me did to ring in my new year.

well friends,

i woke up alone.

i brewed myself some special birthday coffee.

i mixed myself a special birthday protein shake and sprinkled in some of my very special birthday Miralax powder. yum. nothing like soft stools on your Big Day.

i accidentally picked out a special birthday outfit that didn't include a skirt with pockets.
now that was a birthday bummer.

i brought special birthday cookies to work and i only shared them with the coworkers i like.

i had special birthday mail waiting for me when i got home. thanks for the label-maker mom.

i ended the night with a very lovely birthday dinner with Mr. REA, where he presented me with a very special birthday gift of...workout clothes.

nice one, Mr. REA.

25

Well well well, I'm in the last waking hours of my 24th year of life. yikes.

Other Brother is married.
Sister is engaged.
Sister also wants to kick me off the phone plan.
Brother is in love.
BFF is in love.
and I'm probably banned from all Holiday Inn Expresses and affiliated franchises.

that's really all I've got to say about that.

Tomorrow is a new start.
except that I'll have the same job, same apartment, same friends, same car, same diet, same hair, same everything.

cheers to the Mid-20's.

a reflection

it's the eve of my 25th birthday.
i wanted to write a post dedicated to recapping my previous years' escapades.
but before you become invested and things get emotional, i have a confession.

i am extremely hungover.

if anybody needs me i'll be taking another nap.

happy labor day.