post #70

tonight I will be boarding a flight back to Hometown for Sister's wedding.

tomorrow night, Mr. REA will be boarding a flight to Hometown for Sister's wedding.

tomorrow night, Mr. REA will meet my family.

tomorrow night, I will over-drink.

tomorrow night, I will be staying in a hotel with Mr. REA.

tomorrow night, history may repeat itself.


let the games begin.

game day

I went to my Alma Mater's football game and spent the majority of each quarter wondering one of the two following thoughts:

a. where are the cute boys at?

b. what food am i going to eat next?

i love sports. 

toilet trouble

so remember that time i clogged the sink with my barf after a long night of drinking?

the next afternoon, just as i was thinking there was nothing left in me, i clogged the toilet with something else.

because Mr. REA was out of town, i let the trouble fester. i thought the mess would just sort-itself-out.

very lady-like, i know.

and, well, it didn't.

on Monday i broke down and called a plumber.
it's what i refer to as a low point.

the lady on the line asked me if i wanted to talk to my landlord first.

no, no. please. i'll just pay you. don't call him. i'm embarrassed.

her response: oh sweetie, no need to be embarrassed. it's not your fault the pipes are jammed.

cha right. little does she know.
oh yes ma'am. yes it is absolutely my fault. just send over your best guy.

$189 to plunge a toilet.

i'm going to go broke if i keep playing this little game.

ugh.

still waiting

hi guys.
i'm one month & 8 days into being 25.

all i have to show for myself is a label maker and Nike workout clothes.

and i'm still waiting for puberty to hit so my boobs will start growing and my acne will clear out.
about how long is that process supposed to take?
i've been waiting for about 10 years now.

good things come to those who wait.


right?

Q & A

Q. What do you get for the man in your life who has nicer things than you do?

A. An ice cream cake and a blow job.

Happy Birthday, Mr. REA.

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.