Pre St. Paddy's Day Fun

So yesterday girlfriend R and I decided to participate in a St. Patty's Day Bar Crawl across the city.

True to form, the city was filled with obnoxious drunkards roaming the streets, yelling, causing fights (self included, obvi).

Knowing it was going to be a marathon day of drinking, I had prepared vigorously by getting a full night's sleep and eating a large brunch in the morning, full of carbs to soak up the massive amounts of alcohol that would later be imbibed.

However, nothing could have prepared me for how the way the day would play out.

First off, drinking all day means that the second you stop, you are going to get massively hungover and pass out, which is how I wound up fast asleep at 8PM fully dressed in my bed.

Secondly, when you decide that you'll hand out your phone number to really anyone that asks, you should take into account that if his girlfriend is standing right there, she might get upset when you actually give it to him...

Thirdly, when a guy tells you that he'll give you pretty green St. Patty's Day beads if you'll rub bellies with him in the middle of the bar, and you actually do it thinking it's not a very big deal at all, prepare to be called "the belly rub chick" for the rest of your known association with him and his stupid drunk friends.

But perhaps the greatest thing about the day, other than seeing grown men and women fall down in the streets in their own vomit, was the plethora of odd lines I was the recipient of throughout the day.

One particular winner at a bar opened with, "Hey, if I actually knew your name, and we were friends on LinkedIn, I wouldn't write you a positive recommendation."

He followed up with, "Did you know one in five people in the US has an STD? I hate events like this because they give you these dirty plastic cups and you don't know whose is whose, there's always a chance you could pick up a communicable disease from the cup."

I just looked at him in stunned silence before turning to R and saying to her, in front of him, "Can you believe he just said that to me? In a bar?"

She just shook her head in disbelief.

He got the point and retreated to his group of equally loserish friends.

Then at another bar, I was talking to this guy and asked him casually what he does for a living and he responded, "I'm a tugboat captain."

I obviously didn't believe him so I turned to his friend for confirmation and the guy said, unprompted, "Yeah he's a tugboat captain. When I met him a year ago he wasn't a captain yet, but he got promoted."

The tugboat captain then said to me (I really couldn't make this up if I tried), "I'd love to take you out on the tugboat sometime. We have to take it pretty slow, but you can still feel the wind in your hair."

And then his friend turned to R and said, "If you gave me your number, we could all go out on the tugboat together!"

That's right folks, there MAY be a tugboat ride in the future for R and I. Stay tuned...

Mean Girls

I am ridiculously and embarrassingly addicted to Bravo's Real Housewives reality shows. I watch all of them religiously: Orange County, New York, and Atlanta.

And there seems to be one constant in all of them: women fighting with each other and talking behind each other's backs.

I don't know why, but I was always under the impression that once I was done with middle school and high school, female cattiness would be a thing of the past. And apparently not only was I completely mistaken about that, it continues well into your thirties and forties.

I mean these women are vicious. They call each other names both to their faces and behind each other's backs: slut, gold-digger, bitch, fat, ugly, fake. They are so mean and competitive even though they're all mothers and wives and they have really no reason to be.

Which got me thinking - why are women so mean to each other? I found out this past year that a few friends of mine that I thought I was close to were saying disparaging things about me when I wasn't around, and I felt like I was back in middle school having cruel rumors spread about me. And it didn't hurt any less than when I was an awkward twelve year old.

So I try my best to keep my distance from that kind of behavior, and I watch myself carefully to make sure I don't say anything about anyone that would potentially hurt them if they found out.

But a few weeks ago I was out with my girlfriend R at a bar and we were flirting with the bartenders when we noticed another gang of women trying to get their attention as well. And immediately the claws came out. R and I automatically went into bitch mode and glared them down and rolled our eyes until they cowered away. That's right. We showed them who the alpha females were.

I'm not particularly proud of this behavior, but I was slightly drunk and this was second nature to me in my inebriated state. And the real question is: why?

Perhaps all of us women have at one time or another been the victim of a vicious female attack and we are automatically on the defensive with one another. And after all, the best defense is a good offense so if we attack the other girl before she attacks us, it's just self-preservation.

But that's silly, right? Why can't we just all get along and be nice to each other? And yes, I do still believe in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus.

I used to think this competitive spirit exists in New York because there's such a large pool of single women and a very limited number of datable single men, so we are desperate to take each other down any way we can.

But the fact that the married mothers of Real Housewives are just as cruel to each other, if not crueler, refutes my theory. On TV, they just come off as insecure, overly-botoxed, unclassy bitches.

So maybe this behavior is ingrained in us at a young age, and women never stop being wary of other women, and jealous of the prettier girl; thus feeling the need to say mean things until she cries to take her down a peg.

The only thing I can think of to stop this (literally) vicious cycle is to change my own behavior and try to surround myself with people who are trustworthy, compassionate, and kind, and don't engage in the petty behavior that I am trying to avoid.

Does anyone have the Tooth Fairy's number?

Creeptastic

There is only one word to sum up how I feel right now: exhausted.

After a full weekend of birthday celebrating aka drinking, the only thing I can really think about is how much I can't wait to get into bed.

But of course, it wouldn't be a birthday without a few sketchy stories.

On Friday night, the friends and I went out to the bar where F-List works on the weekends and didn't hesitate to announce that it was my birthday, which led to free birthday drinks and shots. There's very little that this girl loves more than alcohol on the house.

Plus, I was in a festive mood, so when F-List asked me what kind of free birthday shot I would like, I of course leaned over the bar and said to him, "Something dirty."

He grinned wickedly and said he only knew of one dirty shot before pouring some Bailey's into a shot glass, adding a dollop of whipped cream, and much to my confusion, leaping over the bar, perching himself on the edge, and placing the shot between his legs.

It was way too late to back out now, so I really had no choice but to take the "blowjob" shot, to the cheers of the bar.

Sufficiently humiliated for the night, I headed home to pass out and rest up for the big day. When I woke up, I had a slew of texts from friends wishing me a happy birthday, but by far the most amusing were those from All American Idiot.

I had been blowing him off for the past week, so it was actually quite surprising to hear from him at all, not to mention the texts were from 9AM. On a Saturday. That read as follows:

"Happy birthday hot stuff!"
"How are you doing?"
"Wanna come over for a bit?"
"I have a birthday present for you."

At first, I was just confused that he remembered my birthday and that he wanted me to come over. Then I noticed the very creepy undertones of the last few messages. Next, I expected him to inform me that he had cut a hole in a wrapped box, put his penis in the hole, and that was my present. Or that there was a candy bar down his pants and I just needed to reach down and jiggle it out. And I wasn't falling for that one again.

Now, on any given night past 10PM I would probably consider this a drunken mistake and/or booty call of sorts, but it's just unusual to receive a text of this nature at 9AM on any day, especially a weekend.

After confirming the non-innocent nature of the texts, R laughed at me and he explained to me that when a guy wakes up with "morning wood," I can't really blame him when he tries to get some in the AM.

Seriously, could a girl ask for anything more on her birthday?

Another Year Older

There are certain dates that are bound to make you introspective, such as New Year's Eve and Christmas, and for me, I can't help but to use my birthday as the day I evaluate the 364 previous days (365 in a leap year) with an impractical amount of scrutiny.

Every year on the eve of the day of my birth, I think back on the past year: what has defined it for me, what I have accomplished, how I have changed and grown, and what I hope is in store in the coming year. And this year is no different, so if you can't deal with sentimentality, I'd recommend reading something else.

I had a really, really interesting and eventful year. It was first full year that I was neither in school nor working a full-time job. This means that I got the requisite eight hours of sleep a night for the first time in my life, and I seriously have to recommend it to everyone. It's awesome. Don't hate me.

It also meant that I had the opportunity to live a full social life, which included far too much alcohol and going out too many nights past dawn. In the excitement of my lack of a job, I went out every night for a few weeks before my immune system and exhaustion shut that down. But boy was it fun while it lasted.

And I learned the very important lesson that Tuesday nights out can actually be more fun than weekends! There are better happy hour drink specials, the bars aren't crowded, and there are a surprising amount of groups of available men hanging out.

That isn't to say that I just met guys. I met some amazing people this past year and I made some great friends, who I'm excited to not only spend my birthday with, but many years to come.

I also met some truly shitty people and had to figure out who my true friends were. But even that was a lesson in itself. No matter how much faith you put in people sometimes, they are just bad people and no amount of kindness will ever make them change or regret their actions. In those cases, you just have to be the bigger person, cry over the pain that they have caused you, wish them the best, and move on.

There was a lot of moving on for me, with friends, with my parents finally accepting my choice to be a writer, with ex-boyfriends. I'm somewhat amazed that I got through it all; although I couldn't have without relying on my sister E and adopted brother L.

My accomplishments weren't limited to staying out late and drinking: in between all that drinking, I managed to squeeze in the time to write my first novel and a few short stories. And I am absurdly, obscenely, over-the-top proud of that fact. I had always wanted to write a novel, one I think is funny and smart and deep and interesting, all in one, and I hope that I attained that to some degree.

I fell in love this year, even though I hadn't been sure I was capable of it. But somehow, against the odds, I did. And the few months I spent with him were snippets of the healthiest relationship I've ever been in my life. And the week we spent together in the Canary Islands in Spain was quite plainly, heaven on earth.

I look back at the components of this year, so many events and feelings, trying to fit them into some cohesive picture of what my twenty-fifth year was, and in the end, even though there were some times I was devastated, overwhelmed, sad, and confused, for the most part I was pretty serene and...happy. This was the year that I learned how to be happy, happy with my life, happy with myself, just happy. It sounds so easy when typed out: happy, but it took me so long to get there. And I couldn't feel better now that I am.

And considering this is getting far too sappy for even my own taste, I would like to include a humorous anecdote but unfortunately the only one I can remember right now is the time I locked myself out of my apartment and had to ride down to the lobby in my pink flannel pajamas barefoot and of course had to ride up with a really hot guy.

He looked down at my feet and said, "Wow, you are daring to be walking around barefoot," and I had to explain I was the idiot who got locked out of her apartment and was still in her pajamas at 4:30PM. I got dressed and rode the elevator six extra times that day in the hopes that I would run into him while I was actually clothed and wearing makeup, but alas, he didn't show.

So now, I will go out with my loved ones and eat, drink, and be merry, and celebrate, this the day I was expelled from my mother's uterus. And my birthday wish will be that every year from now on just keeps getting better.

Happy Birthday to me!

I Don't Care

I'm not quite sure what has overcome me; perhaps the New York winter is catching up with me or perhaps I have finally reached my breaking point when it comes to flaky boys.

Either way, I've really stopped giving a crap.

Normally, I would be obsessing over why some guy hasn't bothered to call me or asked me out for the weekend. And as of recently, I would be secretly obsessing but pretending not to be on the outside because I'd adopted a laissez-faire attitude about the whole thing.

But this past week, something odd happened. I really stopped caring.

I didn't notice until today that there had been nary a peep from anyone I've been conversing with lately: F-List, All American Idiot, Dirty Irish, even Epic Fail.

And I was slightly surprised that I didn't feel one way or another about this fact. I wasn't disappointed, confused, happy, sad, nothing whatsoever.

It was oddly weird...and freeing.

So I had a quiet night in, had dinner and watched Lost with friends, and as I was about to head to bed, of course All American Idiot texted me to see how I'm doing and that he'd "love" to see me soon.

Leave it to a (stupid) guy to find me more appealing once I'd totally told him off and called him out on the fact that he hadn't been completely honest with me. And of course, it was my luck that he was contacting me when I had absolutely no interest in him anymore, versus a month earlier when I'd actually been looking forward to hearing from him.

After all of my preaching, it would be hypocritical of me to just blatantly ignore him and leave him hanging, so I texted him back that I'm unavailable and I'd rather not see him.

In short, I blew him off.

He responded with a terse, "I hear ya." (Did I mention he's eloquent as well as a MENSA candidate?)

I maintain my apathetic attitude about the whole thing.

I can only hope that it remains. It's really freed up my mind to think about more important things, like what I'm going to wear on my birthday and what color nail polish will match best.

Breaking Up

So I was catching up on one of my fave shows, Secret Diary of a Call Girl, which had inspired me this past summer to contemplate a career as a high-priced call girl. The plot line in season two consists of Hannah (not prostitute) meeting Alex, a guy she actually likes, falling in love with him, and then Alex inevitably finding out about her career as Belle (prostitute) and breaking up with her.

In her breakup grief, she makes a series of errors in judgements including sex with strangers, sex with her male best friend (who is actually not-so-secretly in love with her), and trying everything in her power to win Alex back.

The moral of the story is no matter where you are (London or New York City) or what the reasons are (be it lying about a secret career as a whore or...say, something else), breakups are not easy.

I've made my share of breakup mistakes, though to date there has been no sex with strangers and I'd never in a million years sleep with my male best friend. Mostly they involved a lot of alcohol, chain-smoking, and making out with random cute guys in bars.

I've also had a history of bold hair and fashion choices, probably because I channelled the lack of control I had over my love life into the control I had over my hair; thus explaining the multiple perms, the bangs, and the recent dye-jobs over the past few years. Hey, if I can't find a boyfriend, at least I can have awesome highlights and fantastic shoes. Put that on my tombstone.

But the greatest thing I've learned from my breakups, and the one they rarely highlight in TV and movies because it's far more glamorous for the guy to simply win back the girl with an unrealistic romantic gesture, is that just surviving the breakup makes you happier and stronger in the long run.

Plus, I think that a little heartache is good for the soul. When I was sick in bed a few weeks ago, all I could think about was how terrible I felt and how I would never get better again. Right then, I couldn't even fathom what being healthy felt like, and I appreciated it all the more when I eventually did get out of bed and found myself well enough to do little things like leave my apartment and see my friends.

And in a similar way, when your heart is broken, you wonder if you will ever feel some semblance of happiness again and want nothing more than for the heartache to cease. When it inevitably does, you're wobbly at first, but then you really cherish the things that get you through it, such as spending time with your friends, laughing loudly at funny movies, making out with random cute guys in bars, etc, etc.

If all else fails, I recommend spending an extravagant amount of money on shoes for no particular occasion and finding an amazing hair stylist.

Trust me.

Not a Lady

So yes, I am still on my not taking any shit kick, which means that I tend to be slightly belligerent when out in social situations, which probably implies that I shouldn't be allowed out in social situations.

On Saturday night, my attitude started right away when I was standing in line with girlfriend R waiting for the bathroom, and she stepped into the first available stall and the guy behind her said, "Excuse me?" I responded with a hospitable, "Hey, we were here first," to which he called me a "bitch" under his breath. R dragged me away before things could escalate.

Of course, my mood just got better as the night continued as I got drunker and I found myself jostled in an all-too-crowded club.

A giant meathead in a white t-shirt three sizes too small walked up to R and said, "Hi my name is (insert name here), what's your name?"

R just smiled politely at him and looked away. Since his brain was smaller than a pea, he didn't take her subtle hint and tapped her again and said, "What's your name?"

She continued to ignore him at which point I got really annoyed and said to him, "Hey, she's not interested. This is your cue to walk away."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, take your business elsewhere and get outta here."

"Wow you're a bitch."

Now I was REALLY steamed, so I pushed him (Yes, pushed him, despite the times that he was like three times my size. I'm like that tiny angry dog who doesn't realize that big dog could totally eat him for lunch, and continues to bark angrily) and said, "You heard me. Get the fuck out of here."

At which point I could SWEAR he turned away and called me a "cunt." I was thisclose to swinging a right hook at him, but he was already disappearing through the crowd. I, however, ran through the logic in my head, and if he laid a hand on me, I could easily play the victim which would mean he would get immediately arrested for hitting a defenseless little girl.

Given my charming personality, I'm sure my behavior was quite shocking to all the witnessing parties. But honestly, it wasn't that different from how I normally act. Usually I say the same things, but do them with a smile and a wink which disarms the guys before they jump to the accurate assessment that I'm a bitch.

Other than the excess amount of cursing and name-calling, I have no real regrets about my behavior. And as we enter into my birthday week, I have every intention of continuing with my newfound attitude.