Sorry, I'm Not a Cougar

I've been having some strange run-ins with younger guys, which, to appreciate, you will need to have a few pieces of background information about me:

1) I look really young for my age. This is partly because I am an Asian female with great genetics (my parents both still look decades younger than they actually are). And yes, people tell me all the time that I should be happy about it and I'll be thankful for it in about ten years. But for now, I absolutely hate it. My parents regularly get asked when I'm going to graduate high school, to which they respond that I graduated high school over a decade ago and soon I will be teaching high school. Speaking of teaching, it's hard to gain your students' respect when you look young enough to be their peer. The other day I was talking to one of my middle school students and her mom, and the mother confessed ten minutes into the conversation that when she'd met me, she hadn't known if I was a student or a teacher. So basically, despite the fact that I am 28, I still get mistaken for a 14 year old. Not good.

2) Since I had no social life to speak of last semester, when my friend S sent me an experimental dating site for our school, I decided to try it out. The site was like Match.com, but specifically for university students, who you could filter by school, so hypothetically you could meet someone at your school. I only went out with one guy that I met from the site, Blah Boy, and as much as I hated him, that turned out to be one of the better experiences.

Finally, 3) I have no interest in dating younger guys. When I was growing up, I always dated guys my own age or older. In my early twenties, I had a long-term relationship with someone two years younger and it raised a bevy of issues. He wasn't mature enough for me; he was at a different point in his life than I was; his mom still called to ask him about his bowel movements (ok that one may have had nothing to do with his age and more to do with the fact that he was a douchebag and a mama's boy). However, since then, I have never dated another younger guy. I have friends who like younger guys and their naivete, but I have no tolerance for it whatsoever.

Ok, now that you have all that information, I can finally proceed with my story.

When I signed up for that college dating site, even though I specified in my profile that I was only interested in guys my own age or older, I started getting e-mails and instant messages from neophytes right away. Apparently, since I look young, they decided to ignore my age restrictions.

The first time, it was a 19 year old sophomore at Columbia University, who wrote me and we had the following conversation:

Idiot Sophomore: So do you want to grab a drink sometime?

Me: Can you even go to bars?

Idiot Sophomore: Yeah, of course.

Me: No, I mean legally.

Idiot Sophomore: Oh. No.

Me: Yeah that's what I thought. I think I'm a little too old for you. (This was my tactful way of telling him that he was far too young for me, hoping he would get the hint.)

Idiot Sophomore: Don't worry. I've had older.

Me: Um. Lovely.

Idiot Sophomore: Well then why don't we just skip the bar and go straight to my bed?

Me: Ha. That's cute. Really. Classy too. Sorry, I'm not remotely interested.

At that point, I blocked him.

A few weeks later, another 19 year old, this time one from NYU started messaging me.

Idiot Freshman: Hey, how's it going?

Me: Good. Look, sorry, I don't mean to be blunt, but you're way too young for me.

Idiot Freshman: What do you mean?

Me: Honestly, you're only slightly older than the kids that I teach and quite frankly, that grosses me out.

Idiot Freshman: Well, what I lack in age, I make up for in life experience and maturity.

Me: Yeah, no offense, but I probably thought the same thing when I was your age, a decade ago. And no amount of "life experience" at 19 would be enough for me to consider going out with you.

Idiot Freshman: Well what do you like to do for fun?

Me: Seriously, I don't know any other way to say this. I am not interested. This is a no go. To me, you are as datable as a baby in the womb.

After that, he got the message and I never heard from him again.

Maybe it's because I'm getting older. Maybe it's because I'm teaching now. Maybe it's because I have a younger sister and have never been able to reconcile dating someone her age. Whatever it is, I cannot wrap my mind around dating, or even hooking up with, someone even a few years younger than I am. I've been tempted, especially since my cousin who is five years my junior has some especially adorable friends. Literally every time I hang out with him one of his friends ends up hooking up with one of my friends, who later bemoan having hooked up with such young'uns.

The other night I went to a friend of a friend's house party and when I was there I met an incredibly attractive guy, who I was talking to for a little while before I found out that he was a senior in college who is interning in New York City for the summer. He had just turned 21. And despite the fact that he was really cute with very blue eyes and a sexy accent, the second I found out how young he was, I instantly lost my lady hard on. After that, I wasn't remotely interested in him any more, which was a real shame.

So yes, this is apparently what my future looks like. I will have to decide between staying home and knitting socks for my cats every night or I will just have to accept becoming a cougar and start accepting the advances of guys a decade younger.

Hot Child in the City

I think summer does something to people. As soon as the temperature starts to rise, everyone's animal instincts kick in and they collectively go wild like bears that have been trapped in a cave hibernating all winter.

Last summer, I remember around April when it was getting to be warm enough to go outside at night without needing a jacket, every time I went out on the weekends I would pass at least one drunk guy puking on the side of a building. In May people started staying out later and being rowdier. And in June my girlfriends started getting laid. It was definitely summer.

So one weekend last July my girlfriend in DC, L, asked if she could come to the city because she had just broken up with her boyfriend and needed to let loose, and I told her she was coming to the right place. We made an agreement that during the length of the weekend, she needed to make out with five guys.

I told her five guys would definitely be a stretch, but I was looking forward to seeing her make out with four hot guys and one weird one. The weird one would of course occur at 4AM on Saturday when no one was seeing clearly and the options were limited. I was pretty excited on behalf of this one weird guy because I'm pretty sure making out with a hot Asian girl would make his entire year.

Well after Friday night when the count was at zero, L decided to reevaluate the situation and changed the goal to make out with only one guy, if that. Which was a huge disappointment and as Saturday night wore on and no making out occurred, it started to look like it would be zero.

However, around 2AM when things started to get fuzzy, I looked over to see L totally engrossed in "conversation" with a guy at the bar. And by conversation, I mean they were blatantly making out and he was squeezing her ass and running his hands through her hair with gusto.

And of course, because that's what you do when one of your friends is putting on a ridiculous public display, I alerted everyone else to what was going on and we just sat there and watched them.

This was only partly out of morbid curiosity; of course we wanted to make sure she was ok. But it was implied that the second we left the bar, at its 4AM closing time, that the young man would go on his way and L would come home with me.

Instead, drunk L decided it would be a good idea to have him follow us around to get our late-night drunk pizza. And in our few-block trek to said late-night pizza place, we had to keep stopping to make sure she wasn't abducted, only to find her get thrown into a phone booth to make out. (I know, the hygenic concerns alone were disturbing.)

At 4:30, as everyone else started to make their way home and I was thoroughly exhausted, I finally went to tell L it was time to go home. And this is what ensued:

Me: Ok hon it's time to go home.

L: Now? Give me a little longer.

Me: No it's already 4:30 in the morning and everyone else has gone home. It's time to go.

L: Just a little longer!

Me: Nope, now.

L: Well, can he come?

Me: Absolutely not.

L: A little longer. I promise that I won't go back to his place.

Me: So you're just going to stand here on a sketchy street corner by the Queens Expressway? I think not.

L: Well then can I get his phone number?

Me: Are you kidding me? You don't live here!

L: So?

Me: So you're never going to see or speak to him again!

All the while this conversation was happening, I kept trying to walk L away from the dude down the street but she kept turning around and motioning for him to follow. This was obviously infuriating. At this point I had my guy friend M hail a cab, get in it, and leave the door open.

Me: (in my best annoyed mom voice) That's enough L. It's time to go home. Get in the cab.

L: Really?

Me: Really, I'm starting to get pissed at you now. Get in the fucking cab.

(To the guy): It was nice meeting you but we're going home now. Good night.

L: Don't be mad.

Me: I won't be mad if you get in the cab.

L: I just want to hang out a little longer.

Me: Well that's great but you have no idea where you are and it's almost 5AM and you're my responsibility tonight so you're getting in the cab.

At this point, I forcibly shoved her into the cab and climbed in on the other side of her so that she couldn't escape.

The dude finally gave up trying to follow us and convince me that it was safe to leave L with him for the night, gave me the dirtiest look I have ever seen (seriously, if looks could kill, I would've dropped dead right there), and then stomped off in a huff. Clearly I ruined his night.

L: I wasn't going to sleep with him!

Me: That's fantastic that you think that, but that's definitely not what he was thinking so I wasn't going to let you go home with him.

L: But I wouldn't have gone home with him!

Me: Fine, wander the streets in the middle of the night with a stranger, that's even worse.

L: But he liked me and he wanted ass.

Me: Of course he wanted ass, he's a dude, and that is irrelevant. You are dumb.

L: But he was so hot!

Me: No he wasn't, he was pseudo attractive in the bar but the second we left you could see his acne. And he was sketchy.

M agreed with my assessment by nodding.

L: Really? I thought he was hot.

Me: That's because you're drunk. Now be quiet.

Yes, I know I come off like a bitch but really I was just looking out for her best interests and protecting her. And if I learned one thing from this experience, it's that someday I am going to be an awesome mom. Hopefully the situations will be more like, "No you're not getting a toy today for your behavior now get in the car and I will deal with you when we get home" instead of, "No you don't get to stay out all night with a sketchy guy from the bar now get in the cab and I will deal with you when we get home."

Either way, you don't want me to get all Mama Bear on your ass. So behave yourself.

Dating's So Blah

You'd think with the lack of dating and available men in my life, my standards would be lower. It turns out that the opposite has happened: now I have such little tolerance for another person that the smallest things annoy me and I start internally raging the second someone says something remotely irksome.

My first date with Blah Boy was ok. It wasn't great, but it also wasn't the worst date in the world, which is saying a lot since it was a blind date. Granted, I had low expectations going in, but the conversation flowed easily and he wasn't a total troll. I figured out about halfway through that there wasn't a spark and I wasn't really attracted to him, but also know from experience that sometimes that takes time, so I was willing to go out with him again, but was already plotting how to maneuver out of an end-of-date kiss. Luckily for me, it was pouring rain, practically typhooning that night, and when he put me in a cab, he was unable to maneuver a kiss while trying to keep his umbrella from flying away.

Within two minutes of getting in the cab, I got a text that said, "I had such a great time and hope you did too. Let's do it again really soon :)"

I. Hate. This. I was already trying to evaluate if I was even into him and if I wanted to see him again and right away he put it out there. The text translated into, "I am so into you even though you might not be into me. Please please please please see me again."

I sent him a vague noncommittal text the following day to which he responded, "I'm going away next week for spring break, so can I take you to dinner on Sunday before I leave?"

Me: I have a friend coming into town this weekend, so on Sunday I have a pile of papers to grade.

Blah Boy: But you have to eat, don't you? Just take a break with me :)

First of all, seriously, what is up with all the emoticons? Is there anything more emasculating that one can do in a text? Second of all, I said I had work to do. Asking me again isn't going to make me any more inclined to go out with you. In fact, it's pissing me off, which makes me never want to see you again.

Me: I really can't. I have that much work to do.

Blah Boy: Ok, how about when I'm back from spring break? Are you free a week from Saturday?

Me: I'm not sure. Let's play it by ear.

The odds weren't looking good for him.

However, when I relayed this to all my friends, they said that he was just being eager and since I had nothing else going on in my life, what did I really have to lose.

So that's how I found myself on a second date with him two weeks later, which is great, because it gave me the opportunity to truly and actively abhor him.

Let me say here that there was nothing really wrong with Blah Boy and all that is about to happen was not malicious in any way. He was not a douchebag, not an asshole (I know, rare for me); he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Unfortunately, he was also kind of a rube from upstate New York, who grew up pretty sheltered, is a few years younger than me, and just didn't seem to have much experience with life/girls/normal people in general. So here are some of the highlights of the night:

Blah Boy: So how are things going at school?

Me: Good! I have a ton of work to do, but I really do love it. I even missed the kids during spring break.

Blah Boy: (laughs) That's so nerdy!

Me: Ummmm ok...

Blah Boy: Sorry I was late. I'm so tired because I was out til 4AM last night.

Me: Seriously? What were you doing?

Blah Boy: Went out for happy hour with some people from school and we just got a little crazy.

Me: Wow. I went out to happy hour with school friends too, but I was home by 9 and in bed by 11.

Blah Boy: Really? That's so lame.

Me: (getting defensive) Um, we are all teachers who have to be at school by 8, teach all day, and then have class at night. It's really exhausting.

Blah Boy: Yeah ok.

Me: Soooo...do you live alone or do you have roommates?

Blah Boy: I have two roommates. I could never live alone.

Me: Really? I love it.

Blah Boy: No, I'm the kind of person that always needs to be around other people, so I need people to be there to talk to when I come home.

Me: O...K....yeah I really like being alone.

Blah Boy: Really? That's so weird.

Me: I don't think so. I like my independence. As I've gotten older, I've craved more and more alone time.

Blah Boy: Huh.

Me: Yeah I haven't had a roommate since college. I had a bad experience and have lived alone since.

Blah Boy: Really, what happened?

Me: I moved in with a good friend of mine and we just did not get alone and by the end of the year, we actively disliked each other and haven't spoken since. It ruined our friendship, so now I'm much more cautious about that. I think when you live together, little quirks get on your nerves that don't bother you as much when you're just friends.

Blah Boy: Seriously? That is the weirdest thing I've ever heard.

Me: How so?

Blah Boy: I have never heard of two girls getting into a fight that led them to not be friends anymore.

Me: Are you kidding me? Do you know girls?

Blah Boy: Yeah...the girls I know don't do that.

So at this point, not only did I want to claw his eyes out, I was starting to think that I was the crazy one. Later, when I recapped the conversation with all of my girlfriends and my sister E (who, if anyone, would be the one to never get into a fight with a girl that would end their friendship) and unanimously they all agreed that he has never interacted with females. Otherwise, he would know that girls quite often get into fights that lead to the end of friendships.

After this date, I was not at all inclined to ever see Blah Boy again. During the course of one dinner, he managed to make me feel stupid for liking my job, being tired after teaching all day, and getting into fights with a roommate a decade ago. On top of all of this, I found him to be pretty boring and one-dimensional.

Somehow, despite the awkwardness of this date, he thought it had gone pretty well. The next day, he texted me to tell me what a great time he'd had and how he couldn't wait to see me again and added me as a friend on Facebook. When he received no responses from either of these venues, he texted again to ask me what my plan for the week was. I also ignored this text.

After that, he got the point, and I haven't heard from Blah Boy since.

And that has been the extent of my dating experiences in the past six months. Thank God it's summer.

Finally, the Livin is Easy

So I realize I've been on an extended blogging hiatus, but I severely underestimated how much my life was going to change once I started school. My first semester, my entire life was dominated by classes and papers. This past semester, I was not only taking classes, but student teaching at a middle school as well. So my schedule looked something like this: during the week I taught all day then went to class at night and on weekends I wrote papers and lesson plans and graded papers.

As a result of this crazy schedule and constant exhaustion, not to mention the fact that any time I did have interactions with normal adults all I could talk about was my students, I did not have much of a social life this past year. In fact, this past semester, I can count on one hand the amount of times I went out with my friends.

Although this probably sounds severely depressing and you're probably feeling bad for me, I have to say that it wasn't as terrible as it sounds. There were a few nights when I had mini-meltdowns, thinking that I would never finish grading all the papers I had to do and I was never going to see my friends again, but for the most part it was the most fulfilling few months of my adult life.

Anyways, since I was too busy to even think of writing and I had no material to write about to begin with, the blog took a backseat. But now that it's summer time and I am on vacation for three months, I'm hoping that I will actually have a life now and enough blogworthy experiences to make up for the dearth of a social life this past year.

My (limited) dating experiences for the past six months are gonna have to wait until next week, though, so make sure you tune in.

And the Livin is Easy

Today being the equinox, the longest day of the year, (and the anniversary of my sister's birth), it marks the official beginning of summer. Which seems to be an arbitrary distinction since New York has already seen half a dozen days in the 90 degree range, but whatever.

And since that means I'll be spending more time by the pool and out of town (and later in the summer in Europe for a few glorious weeks), it means that I will have less time with my computer. So, unfortunately, I will be taking a summer hiatus from blogging weekly, but worry not because if anything blogworthy comes along, I will definitely be throwing it up.

In the meantime, happy equinox and summer to everyone! And a very happy 23rd birthday to the little one out west!

It's A Girl!

In honor of Father's Day, I am going to tell the story of how the men in my family became fathers, particularly my own dad and my grandparents.

Now, my parents were immigrants from Taiwan and my sister and I are the first generation of Taiwanese-Americans in our family. So a lot of the customs that my parents grew up with have been lost with us. But one them has been particularly pervasive in our lives.

Patriarchy, aka girls are worthless.

My grandfather on my mother's side is a very successful tycoon in Taiwan, so after he reached a level of success in business, all he wanted was a son to pass his name, legacy, and business onto. Unfortunately for him the first offspring was a daughter (my mother) as were the subsequent four girls. At the fifth girl, my youngest aunt, when the nurse told my grandmother, "It's a girl!" my grandmother literally burst into tears at the prospect of having another child.

Because there really was no other option. My grandfather was (and still is) he patriarch of the family so if he wanted a son, a son was what he was getting. Eleven years after giving birth to my mom, with four other daughters in between, they finally had a son, the son who would carry on the family name and who would be the proud offspring that would care for them in their old age and bring the family pride. It's almost like the story of Henry VIII, except with fewer beheadings.

Except...my uncle JoJo was so spoiled throughout his life that he is now 41 and unemployed, never having had a job in his life, and his wife and three children all live on a stipend from my grandfather. I'm not still not sure what the kids say when their friends ask what their parents do for a living. "Grandpa sends Daddy checks every month because he was born a boy?"

Not that I don't love JoJo. He is far and away my favorite uncle, partly because he lived with us when we were growing up and since he was only 13 years older than me, he always seemed more like an older brother than an uncle to me. Just as now, I feel much more like an aunt to his three children than their cousin, especially given that I am 24 years older than the youngest.

My aunts were not given any of this special treatment and have all turned out to be successful women with families of their own. I think it's pretty awesome that they have all become successful in their own right with minimal help from my grandfather, whereas JoJo is a homemaker for his kids and doesn't have to work since he was born with a penis.

No, I find this whole patriarchy nonsense kind of hilarious, because if you look at it any other way it really is just tragic. So I just listen to this kind of stuff and laugh. But my sister E, oh my crusader the sister E, thinks this is the most unfair thing ever and gets heated up when we discuss JoJo's situation. She wants to sit down our grandfather (once again, the patriarch of our clan), wag her finger in his face, and say, "Well, I hope you have learned your lesson that spoiling your son does not amount to anything good."

I'm sure he'll be quite receptive when she gives him that piece of her mind. I just can't wait to watch.

So the next reasonable assumption is that my parents were hoping for at least one boy in their family. My paternal side was hoping for a male to carry on our family name and my maternal side just wanted a boy because boys are better than girls. (Duh.) They got pregnant only about a year after getting married and even though my parents were struggling immigrant graduate school students, they were ecstatic to have a baby and never considered any other options but keeping it.

Since they hadn't lived in the country long enough to even have health insurance, my mother skipped any sonograms that were available at the time and they opted to wait to find out the sex of the baby. Her mother (my grandmother) and my uncle JoJo flew out a week before her due date to be there when the baby was born. After all, it was to be the firstborn of the new generation, the eldest child of the eldest daughter.

So, on this momentous occasion, they were all crossing their fingers that a healthy boy would be born. And out pops, well, me. It was the first in a long series of woes I would bring to my parents.

My grandmother wasn't allowed in the delivery room, so through the glass window of the waiting area my father had to convey to my grandmother what sex the baby was. So he chose a thumbs down. And my grandma's face fell.

That's right. All those hopes, all those dreams, all that time out the birthing canal, and all I got at the end of that long ride was a thumbs down because I didn't have a penis.

Eventually, they all came to terms with the fact that I was a girl (kind of) and found other things to criticize instead, like the fact that I had naturally dark skin (like the farmers' kids do), and that I was extraordinarily fussy as a child, so much so that I wouldn't let anyone but my mother or JoJo carry me. And later I would start hitting, biting, and throwing fits, but that's a story for another time.

Four years later, my little sister was born, putting an end to my parents' attempts at continuing the family name. Unfortunately, my father's only brother had three girls, so my paternal grandfather is devastated that we are the end of the line.

My mother claims that my father is happy that he had two daughters, but I find it highly suspect that there isn't an ounce of disappointment that he didn't have a son to pass his genes and name onto. I'm pretty sure that this is why my parents chopped all my hair off when I was six and I was mistaken for a boy for the entirety of first grade.

So, sorry Dad, on this Father's Day, I apologize again for being born female (and for being so adamant that I only wanted a little sister, not a brother, which obviously had an impact on the outcome). But I leave you with this tidbit of wisdom, which I am hoping my sister will also impart to our grandfathers:

Girls rule.
Boys Drool.

Oh, So Awkward

So last weekend at S's birthday party, I had another run-in with the most awkward man alive.

Just to recap, I met this awkward specimen a few months ago, when he stunned me with his new levels of awkward conversation. Then he attended my birthday party and suggested we get together while we were both in California.

We texted back and forth while we were both in San Francisco, but never ended up meeting up since I was busy finding a giant donut with my sister. Strangely enough, he even called me one Saturday night at 2AM, which I would usually take to be a booty call. But considering he was staying with his parents and I was crashing at my sister's, that would've been out of the question. Which just makes me think it was another awkward maneuver.

So I was excited to catch up with Awkward when I saw him at S's party. And surprisingly, he seemed excited to see me too. He gave me a very friendly greeting and hug and then proceeded to once again display his unprecedented power to bring conversations to a standstill.

Me: Congratulations on graduating from law school! How's bar studying going?

Awkward: Studying?

Me: Yeah, you know, for that big exam you have to take to practice law...Didn't you start taking the class this week?

Awkward: Oh yeah, the class started, but I don't need to study.

Me: Errrr...why?

Awkward: Because I'm brilliant.

This was said with no irony or facetiousness whatsover, which led to a brief uncomfortable silence.

Me: Sooo...have you gotten placed at the law firm yet? Because someone else mentioned they're having trouble reaching them.

Awkward: What do you mean?

Me: I guess they're not picking up his phone calls?

Awkward: Oh, they always pick up my phone calls. I'm really important.

Another beat.

At this point, I excused myself and found my friend R to roll my eyes at her and ask if he could possibly be for real.

"Yeah he seems really full of himself, and not in a kidding way," R said. "I had no idea what was going on over there, but it looked like he was hitting on you."

I laughed her off: "No, no way. I think it's literally impossible for him to be interested in me."

"No seriously, he was leaning into you and standing close to you. I think he might really have been hitting on you."

I figured she had to be mistaken until I passed him again and he stopped me to ask me, concerned, "You're not leaving are you?"

Which, unless it's coming from the mouth of someone you're actually friends with, is boy-code for, "I hope you're not going anywhere because I'd really like to spend some time with you and bang later tonight, or at the very least drunkenly make out in the corner of the bar."

I told him I was just going to the bathroom and since I was a few drinks deep at this point, figured there wouldn't be any harm in trying to talk to him again.

Boy, was I wrong.

Awkward: Are you excited to start at that shithole school?

Me: You mean the school you just got your law degree from and that I start in the fall? Yes, I'm pretty excited.

Awkward: Why?

Me: Because I am really looking forward to going back to school. What do you have against it?

Awkward: I don't know. I guess in the law school it was just a bunch of Type-A, arrogant, competitive assholes all trying to get ahead.

Me: Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that describe you to a tee?

Awkward: Exactly! That's why I hated everyone there. You can only have one of those types in a crowd and there were just too many there that I had to compete against!

Me: I see...

Awkward: Plus they were all socially backward and awkward.

Me: Once again, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that also describe you?

Awkward: No! I'm not awkward at all!

Me: Um, sure.

Awkward: Just because I have strong opinions and voice them in dissenting crowds which makes me unpopular doesn't make me awkward.

Me: No...but that doesn't really help.

Awkward: What are you talking about? I'm not awkward!

Me: I have to be honest with you. I think you're one of the most awkward people alive.

Awkward: Most. Awkward. Person. Alive?!?! There's no way. S, do you think I'm awkward.

S: I love you, but you really are the most awkward person I've ever met.

Me: Ha, see?

Awkward: No way!

At this point, he asked another one of their coworkers if he is awkward to which the guy answered without even thinking about it, "Yes, absolutely."

I had previously thought that awkward people have to know that they're awkward, like it's some sort of self-awareness that you couldn't possibly miss, like fat girls knowing that they're fat and short guys knowing that they're short. But my major mistake was forgetting the Spare Tire Girls in college.

You see, my college was notorious for having heinous girls (which it did), which gave some of the ugly girls a distorted self-image where they thought they were much prettier than they were. Which led to a lot of fat girls wearing way too little clothing. Seriously, as soon as spring hit, there were eyesores everywhere. It was painful.

The worst were the Spare Tire Girls, who had giant rolls of fat around their waists but due to their sorority sisters saying, "Nooo you can totally pull that off. You look hot!" would walk around wearing shirts that were many sizes too small. Instead of hiding their spare tires, this would have the opposite effect of flaunting their bulges to the maximum. Just thinking about it today gives me the chills.

Anyways, apparently awkwardness works the same way. And although we thought it was common knowledge that Awkward is so awkward it makes your teeth hurt, he had been in the dark. He proceeded to rant about it for some time and turn to the gay guys in the crowd for consolation.

They petted him on the head and assured him that they didn't think he was awkward at all (false), and before we knew it he had left without saying good-bye to any of us. With the gay guys.

My friend T, being the friend that he is, turned to me and said, "Did he just choose a bunch of gay guys over you? That is a BURN! I can see the disappointment all over your face. Do you need a hug?"

I hotly replied, "I'm not disappointed or upset! I just think it's strange that he left without saying bye!"

"It's ok. I know that you're upset that you just got ditched for guys. You let me know if you need that hug."

I know I probably injured Awkward's ego by calling him out for being in awkward in public but I really thought that he knew.

Especially since after leaving with a bunch of gay guys after possibly expressing interest makes it even more awkward than it was before, which I previously had not thought was remotely possible!

It just goes to show you, just when you think you've seen it all, some fat girl with her gut hanging out of her XS tee or an awkward guy will always prove you wrong.

Home Sweet Home

I am enjoying my first week at home after a whirlwind month of May. I flew out to Vancouver at the beginning of the month, then went to my parents' house for a few days, and returned to the city only to head out to Martha's Vineyard last week. I'm just starting to get into the rhythm of my daily life at home and enjoying sleeping in my own bed.

My week in Canada was filled with family and nonstop eating of amazing food. (E and I sampled some pigeon, an Asian-Canadian specialty. It was surprisingly juicy and delicious and even the head is edible. I grossed E out by munching on the skull and beak.) The highlights, in addition to finding out that I am cool, are below:

1) Attending a Mathlete competition, complete with a lightning round and buzzers. As if that wasn't nerdy enough, my 8-year old cousin actually won the fifth grade division (he's only in fourth grade). He won a new Wii and got an awesome trophy and an even awesomer t-shirt.

2) My attempt to start an Olympic curling career. Since I am getting on in years, I figured out a few years ago during the Beijing Olympics that the number of events I could actually compete in are getting pretty limited. At this point, they're pretty much limited to archery and shooting in the Summer Olympics and curling in the Winter Olympics.

So I conveyed my desire to curl to my uncle, thinking that's what Canadians do for fun, right? Well, he called around to all the curling rinks in the area and they were already closed for the season. Apparently it's too expensive to keep the ice frozen during the summer, so they shut the rinks down in the off-season.

Which means my curling career was thwarted right from the very beginning. I was really looking forward to it: the weird shoes, the giant stone, the yelling, "Pull! Pull!" without understanding what it means, everything.

Even more embarrassing than my inability to find out if I am a natural curler, my 8-year old cousin doesn't really grasp sarcasm yet, so he asked me in all seriousness, "Why do you want to win an Olympic medal so badly? Why don't you try figure skating?"

To which I had to explain to him that I was just joking about the whole Olympic thing because I am far too old to really win a medal at this point. And that if I had wanted to compete in figure skating, I would've had to start training over twenty years ago. Especially since Yuna Kim and Mao Asada who respectively won the gold and silver medals this past year in Vancouver were both 19. I'm pretty sure that alone puts me out of contention...not to mention my inability to skate.

3) Spending time with my three-year old cousin, who is a technological savant. The kid can't speak in full sentences, but he can operate an iPad faster than anyone I know. He does everything on it: watches movies, plays games, watches YouTube videos on video games he likes.

One day we went to the mall and assuming he was like every other normal kid on the planet, I stopped at the kids' play area to see if he wanted to play. But he ferociously shook his head and pointed down the right. So I followed his directions and pushed his stroller right into the Apple store. Turns out he wanted to play with the iPhones. I would've been sad about it if I wasn't so busy being impressed.

I hadn't seen him for about a year and what was most fascinating was that since I saw him last, he's developed a personality. He is funny and inquisitive, has active likes and dislikes, and has a penchant for being violent (he likes to throw things and has a history of beating up his brother and sister, who are both about four times his size). He already loves sports, especially baseball and hockey (after all, he is Canadian), so they plan on enrolling him on teams in the near future in the hope that it will be a healthy outlet for his aggression.

Perhaps the best part of the trip was the way he would wake sister E and I up in the morning. Usually he'd wake up and call for his Mommy, but during our stay, at 10:30AM promptly in the morning, while E and I were still in bed, the doorknob would start rattling and a little voice would call out to us. He'd eventually stand up on his tiptoes and maneuver the handle to find his way in and then would climb into bed to talk to us in his barely comprehensible baby babble. It was utterly adorable and I still miss his morning wake-up calls.

The subsequent week in the Vineyard was the epitome of relaxing. S and I spent our days sitting out on her porch and beach, eating the best food New England has to offer (How do they make their clam chowder so good?! I'm convinced they put crack in it. Seriously, I don't even know why we bother with this "Manhattan clam chowder" nonsense; it's so inferior it doesn't even deserve the title of "chowder.), and booking our trip to Europe in August (Our itinerary consists of: Vienna, Prague, Budapest, and Croatia and yes, we can't wait!).

After all the traveling though, it is nice to be home, especially since it is my favorite time of year when it's warm out and I can spend my days sitting in Central Park or out by my parents' pool, but it's not so humid and warm that yet that I don't even have the energy to go outside (I'm talking about you, August, but luckily this year I will be in Europe for the majority of the muggy NYC season.).

And since I don't have another weekend away planned until July, it looks like I will be spending the majority of June enjoying summertime in the city. Couldn't be happier.

Middle School Musical

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Meet the Browns

So my friends and I have this running joke that Brown University isn't a real educational institution. There's no particular reason for this other than the fact that the students there are permitted to create their own majors and when we were driving through Rhode Island once, we were going to stop at Brown to get something to eat but weren't able to since there wasn't one sign on the highway alerting us to the exit for Brown University.

Which has led us to believe it's some sort of invisible or imaginary school, somewhat like Hogwarts, but with a lot less magic and awesome.

A few Saturdays ago I was hanging out with my friend L. She had just been set up with this guy and had made tentative plans to hang out with him that night, but when she texted him to see if they were still on, he replied, "Playing beirut all day, so don't expect anything fancy tonight."

Which is just a bizarre response, unless he was kidding, but I'm not sure that he was. So after some back and forth they decided on a bar that isn't very conducive to a date - it is on a boat in the pier, sells buckets of beers, and tends to be the meeting ground for ex-still-wannabe-current-frat boys. So she asked me to tag along since his friends would be there as well, and therefore she'd have backup if it was awful.

So after getting there and acquiring a bucket of beer, L and I met up with the guy, who turned out to be pretty nice but announced that twenty of his closest friends were about to join us because it was his birthday.

Pause.

That's right, he had made a date with L on the night before his birthday and then tricked her into attending his birthday party instead. I was somewhat puzzled and more curious to meet his "friends," because now I wasn't sure if he had any.

True to his word, ten girls and guys showed up shortly and a flurry of awkward introductions were made, since they all asked how I knew the birthday boy and I had literally met him ten minutes prior.

It turns out they all went to Brown together. Like all of them. As in L and I were the only ones that couldn't join the Brown University Alumni Association. Apparently they still hang out together all the time.

Now, I have no problem with people staying close to college classmates. Some of my best friends are my friends from college. But I said some. As in I have made other friends throughout the years and now my social circle consists of people from a wide variety of backgrounds. Which is natural in a city like New York where there are so many people.

That is why I am slightly wary whenever I meet people that exclusively socialize with their group of friends from college. I know some guys like that from my own college, guys that were fraternity brothers and still live together in disgusting apartments with kegs. Basically, they are trying to live out their fraternity years as long as physically possible. And I personally find that wrong and weird on multiple levels.

So yes, I was slightly weirded out by the Brown kids and felt incredibly awkward and out of place, so I started texting my friend S to come up with an exit strategy.

Me: I am surrounded by these really annoying brown people and it makes me want to vomit.

S: That may be the most racist text I've ever seen.

Me: No no!!!! I meant people that went to Brown University! It wasn't racist at all! If anything it was schoolist!

S: Uh huh.

Me: No seriously! I mean it! They're all really white and really really preppy! Popped collars!

S: Sure.

Me: Really! There's a guy here wearing those Brooks Brothers khakis that have stuff all over them. His have American Flags. He keeps standing up and pointing out how patriotic his pants are. And it's nowhere close to July 4th.

S: Oh, gross.

Me: Yeah, I know.

S: That sounds terrible.

After my escape plan failed due to my accidental racism, I struck up a conversation with the birthday boy's roommates, during which they let me in on the fact that they have lived together since college, for seven years now (warning flags, anyone else?).

I informed them that is almost long enough to be in a common law marriage in NY, at which point they got VERY excited.

Roommate 1: Ohhh I'm going to use your health insurance!

Roommate 2: You better start making some money so you can support me!

Me: You two are pretty excited about this. Have you guys ever been, ahem, more than friends?

Roommate 1: That's my girlfriend sitting over there.

Roommate 2: But yeah, there was that one time.

Roommate 1: Which time?

Roommate 2: You know, the time, in my bed.

Roommate 1: Oooooh yeah! That time!

Me: Are you guys messing with me? What time is this?

Roommate 1: No, no. There was this one time when my sister was staying over so I let her take the bed, and I was going to sleep on the loveseat in the living room, which was really uncomfortable. So when he got home he told me I could sleep in his bed.

Roommate 2: I have a really large king bed, so I didn't care if he slept in my bed as long as he stayed on the other side.

Roommate 1: Yeah, and I didn't want to sleep with my legs in the air on the loveseat, so I was all about it. So we go to sleep, on opposite sides of the bed. And in the morning I wake up, and I feel a hand rubbing me on the chest. And it feels really good! So I let it go for about a minute. Then I open my eyes.

Me: And you saw that it was the hand of a man and freaked out?

Roommate 1: Welll I opened my eyes and I saw these bamboo sticks he has on his wall, and I got confused and was like, "Where am I?" And then I looked over and realized it was him.

Roommate 2: So I can't help it. I have these sleep issues where I all into such a deep sleep that you could punch me and I wouldn't know it. I've sleepwalked other places and have no recollection of it. Plus I wake up every morning spooning my pillow, so I guess that night I thought he was my pillow.

Me: Yes, because the hairy chest of man has the exact same feeling as a pillow...

Roommate 2: I don't remember! I guess he kicked me and woke me up.

Roommate 1: I shook him and said, "Dude you were touching my chest!" And he just mumbled something and went back to sleep.

Roommate 2: Whatever!

I was pretty amused by this story. I don't know too many comfortable heterosexual guys that would tell this story to a stranger and laugh about it. In fact, the last time I heard of two hetero men sharing the same bed at a hotel, they made a point of telling me that they slept on the opposite sides of the bed on the edge and had no contact whatsoever.

I should've just called it a night at this point, because clearly things weren't going to get better. However, on my way off the boat to go to another bar, I saw a girl slip in a puddle and as I started to laugh at her, I slipped in the exact same puddle, and totally wiped out.

Full on, legs in the air, skirt flew up, crashed onto my back on the ramp bit it. And somehow in the process, I also managed to unlock my phone and speed dial my parents. So they received a voice mail of me screeching and cursing. My mom was quite confused and asked me later if I had been drunk. I responded that I wish I had been because it would've hurt less and been less embarrassing.

In retrospect, I was obviously being punished for my racist text message earlier. But really, it was all a misunderstanding. I'm not a fan of Brown people, Brown with a capital B!

The giant bruise on my back will be a reminder to never again make that mistake.

Oot and Aboot, Eh

I'm in Vancouver, Canada to spend some time with my family and bask in the aftermath of the last Olympic games. I try to visit Vancouver once every few years to soak in the scenery of British Columbia (I say this with no irony whatsoever, it is truly beautiful up here), eat lots of really good food, and hang out with my cousins and favorite uncle.

Now, it's obvious that Canada is a different country, but for some reason, it's easy to forget. My mom was under the impression that you don't need a passport to get there and we had to rush my sister's passport to her in San Francisco so that she can cross the border to meet me in Vancouver. When I let her know we were doing this she replied, "At SFO if you're flying to Canada you go to the domestic terminal. Canada is America's hat!"

What's truly odd about it is that immigration in Canada is pretty tough on Americans crossing the border. The last time I went to Vancouver, I was joking around that I shouldn't even need my passport to go, and one of my friends warned me, "Oh no, be careful. They are really thorough. I went there for work just for a day a month ago and they grilled me to find out if I was doing a job that could be accomplished by a Canadian."

I laughed it off, but of course, when I got into Canada, the immigration officer asked me more questions than I have ever been asked entering another country, not even in the years I lived in Tokyo. He had me tell him the address I was staying at, who I was staying with, the names and ages of my cousins, the last time I had been in the country, when I planned on returning to the US, etc, etc. It was baffling.

Of course when I told my friends I would be out of town for a week to go to Canada, it ignited a firestorm of laughter. My friend T happens to be a proud Canadian from Toronto and second to his unnatural love of cats, our favorite thing to make fun of him about is his Canadian citizenship.

My GRE essay was about how Canadians have an inferiority complex to Americans, their tendency to be the red-headed stepchild of North America. I used the South Park Movie Bigger Longer, and Uncut as an example to back up my argument. I remember writing the essay (in my defense, I was really tired, in pain because I had just broken my foot, and slightly zoned out on painkillers) and thinking to myself that I hoped the person who graded my essay wasn't Canadian because then there would be no way I was getting into graduate school.

Well, I turned out getting a perfect score on the essay and when I told T about it, he said, "Oh great, not only did you write a racist essay, but the person who graded your essay was also racist. You must be proud."

I am, actually, and my only regret is that I wasn't able to receive a copy of my essay so that I could show people all the valid points I made about Canada's inferiority complex.

The fact is it's just so easy to make fun of Canadians! They are like Americans, but nicer, more laid back, with funny inflections and access to universal healthcare. Their national sports are lacrosse and hockey. Curling is a really big deal. Bryan Adams. The fact that T once told me that Celine Dion is a national treasure. They put cheese curd and gravy on fries and call it poutine. Vomit.



And strangest of all, they drink their milk out of bags. The first time I heard this, I had a hard time grasping it, but yes, instead of buying milk in cartons, they buy them in giant gallon bags and then place them in plastic pitchers for storage. Apparently this is more environmentally friendly than cartons, but also tends to spoil faster (unsurprisingly).



It's these little differences that set us apart from our neighbors to the north. And also what makes them so lovable.

When I was watching the Olympics with my father, he pointed out that Alexandre Bilodeau "looked so Canadian." And when I asked him what exactly a Canadian looks like, he responded, "You know. He's really handsome but not at all in an arrogant way. If an American guy was that good-looking, he'd be all full of himself about it. But instead, he's just humble and nice."

So, apparently, that is the Canadian look: good-looking but unassuming about it. At least, according to my father. I am only mildly concerned that he will leave my mother for a Canadian man.

For now, I am just going to avoid the poutine and the milk bags, and enjoy my time in the Great White North until I have to return to the land where the handsome guys are full of themselves and douchebags. Which, honestly, though it was definitely not my father's intention, is a pretty decent description of New York.

But, oh well, as they would say in French-speaking Canada(which is a distinction from French-speaking France), "C'est la vie."

What's Love Got To Do With It

I grew up with this romantic fairy-tale notion that if two people love each enough, it can conquer all and they should be together, despite the obstacles. After all, that's the idea we've been fed, right? That love is the end-all be-all and nothing else should matter as long as there's love.

When I read Little Women in third grade, I remember being devastated that Jo and Laurie didn't end up together. I mean, he married her bratty sister Amy. WTF?! They were best friends and clearly loved each other, so in my eight-year old head,I simply could not comprehend why Jo rejected his proposal and the two of them didn't get married. What kind of happy ending is that?

Now, almost twenty years later, I think Louisa May Alcott is a genius, in more ways than one. Although they cared for each other, Jo knew that Laurie wasn't the right man for her and that if they married, they would destroy each other. And even though I couldn't understand it at the time, I totally get it now.

I read Kristin Chenoweth's book of memoirs A Little Bit Wicked last night partly because I love her and partly out of curiosity about her on-again off-again romance with my idol Aaron Sorkin (the brilliant writer of A Few Good Men, Sports Night, and The West Wing).

And it was absurdly clear that they are in awe of each other's talent, have a tremendous respect for one another, and there's a lot of love between the two of them.

But sometimes, that's not enough.

Their coupledom seems to be fraught with complications. She's a Southern Christian; he's New York Jewish. She has never done drugs; he's had a public battle with cocaine. And as a girl who's had trouble just dating people outside of her political affiliation, I have no idea how they reconcile those differences.

This all got me thinking that sometimes, even if two people really do love each other as much as is possible, sometimes they still shouldn't be together. It makes practical sense, that being in love doesn't necessarily mean that you are meant to spend the rest of your lives together. Sometimes, people just don't work well together in relationships, romantic or otherwise.

For example, I've had friends throughout the years that I have loved dearly and still consider close, but I only speak to them once in a while or see them on certain occasions. Sometimes friendships evolve to a place where both of you can can live with it and continue, but it wasn't how the relationship might have looked in the beginning.

And I have loved people, a few some people, with all my heart and had images of wedding dresses and babies in the future, only to discover that would not be a plausible future.

When I broke up with love of my life to date, my college boyfriend, my mother's words of condolence were that I wasn't accommodating enough to make it work (she's notoriously unsympathetic, E and I have been slapped with this lesson multiple times throughout the years). This may or may not be true; I am not particularly accommodating, but I also think we had too many differences and issues to have lasted.

He is now engaged to someone else and they're getting married this summer and from what I can tell from the outside, she is much more similar in personality and life goals to him than I am. Which I have come to realize doesn't mean that we weren't tremendously in love years ago; we just weren't compatible.

And had we stuck it out, which apparently depended on my accommodation level, I'm positive it would've ended in divorce and/or physical injury. Hopefully his upcoming nuptials fare better.

I think sometimes the couples that you root for (I'm talking to you Kate Winslet and Sam Mendes) and are obviously in love, still have "irreconcilable differences" and just can't make it work together. Which is never easy to face, especially if there is still love there.

I guess it's sometimes too much to ask to fall madly in love with someone who you could actually make it work with and grow together with over the years instead of apart.

Perchance To Dream

Years ago I landed my dream job and showed up for my first day in my Theory suit and 3-inch high Louboutins, pretty much as excited as a person can possibly be. I walked out that first day with a burnt hand (coffee accident), blisters from wearing heels all day, and the realization that perhaps this wasn't going to be the job I had envisioned it to be.

I didn't last very long, just long enough to be sure that I couldn't make it work, and after that I was saddled with this nagging concern: What am I going to do now? I was only twenty-five and already jaded with the notion that I no longer had any goals to work toward since my dream job had turned out to be miserable.

I was thinking about this today after a conversation with a friend last night who said she had a similar experience when she got laid off from her company about a year ago and she commented in passing, "I never thought I would end up working in finance; I never saw myself doing this."

It made me wonder how many others feel the same way.

I don't know too many people that LOVE their jobs. No one is a huge fan of working. But I do know a few people, a really small select few, who do have an earnest passion for what they do.

My father, towards the end of his career, was one of these people. He is this complete math and finance nerd who used to read textbooks cover to cover just for the fun of it and thrived in a quantitative position at his firm. But even he took many, many years to get to that place, and was terribly unhappy for about two decades while he was working up the corporate ladder.

I think, on principle, it is hard to take something you love and make a career out of it, and the people that have enough talent and passion to do so are almost inevitably successful.

A decade ago, when I was 17 and graduating from High School, I had no real idea what I wanted to do with my life, which is pretty on par for a 17-year old, but surprisingly, I have come back full circle to where I thought I would like to be. I knew I wanted to write and that I loved to read and somehow along the way I'd like to be able to figure out how to build a career around that.

It wasn't until years later in college that I took my first marketing course and got interested in fashion and my career goals shifted. It's funny how things like that work out.

After all, it's the road blocks that define who we will become. Or I'm just paraphrasing what Steve Jobs said at a Stanford Commencement Speech in 2005.

"I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple...Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."

And I think Conan O'Brien said it best at his farewell address from The Tonight Show: "Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard, and you’re kind, amazing things will happen. I’m telling you, amazing things will happen."

Pretty inspiring words.

The eHarmony Sequel

So Part One of my eHarmony experiment was not particularly successful by any definition. Thus, I did not have high hopes for the subsequent chapter.

I was matched up with this guy a few weeks ago who I thought was pretty cute, especially in comparison to the rest of the dudes on eHarmony. However, when I sent his picture to little sister E for her assessment, she didn't seem to agree.

E: He looks like a leprechaun!

Me: He does not!

E: Yes he does, you better watch out for him, I bet he's tricky.

Me: What?

E: If you go out with him, you'll have to keep an eye on him or he'll steal your money.

Me: Yeah I'm pretty sure that's not how leprechauns work...I think they just guard a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

E: But where does he GET the gold?

Me: I don't know, but he doesn't steal it. And even if he did, I don't really carry gold coins on my person on a regular basis.

(Side Note: I looked it up and apparently leprechauns acquire their gold through their day job of mending and making shoes, not stealing. However, they are known to be quite tricky so if you catch one, you need to hold on to him and keep your eyes on him at all times or he will fool you into turning away for a second and hide his pot of gold.)

E: Well, you should still be really careful. He might be a trickster. Are you going to go out with him anyway?

Me: I don't know, he's working late this week so we're trying to figure out a time. He was at the office until midnight last night.

E: Wait, what does he do? Outside of St. Paddy's Day parades and Lucky Charms commercials, of course.

Me: He is a lawyer! He is not a leprechaun! Stop saying that!

(Side Note: Is it weird that I find the making/mending shoes career to be more attractve than the lawyer thing? I mean, I have a LOT of shoes and I don't really require legal advice but fixing my shoes would actually bring something to the table...)

E: Well, I would still bring a friend with you. To make sure he doesn't trick you.

So, even though I didn't agree with E's opinion that eHarmony is a leprechaun, I asked my friend S to possibly screen this dude to see if he is, in fact, a leprechaun.

S: Well, how tall is he?

Me: His profile says he's 5'10".

S: Oh, then you have nothing to worry about! He's clearly not a leprechaun!

Me: I'm glad that you had to ask his height before you confirmed that he isn't a leprechaun.

S: Well, I had to make sure!

Me: Oh, man, what if he's Irish? Or he looks like this?



S: If he shows up and he has an Irish accent, I will laugh my ass off.

Me: If he shows up and he's Irish, I will have to run out of the bar.

After a few scheduling glitches, the Leprechaun and I finally got it together and planned on grabbing drinks on a Friday night while S and I were at a bar.

To prepare for the impending awkwardness and the possibility of meeting a real life leprechaun, S and I started downing shots so I was slightly toasted before he even showed up. Which in retrospect was a terrible idea because if he really HAD been a leprechaun I would have been too drunk to keep an eye on him until he led me to his pot of gold.

Anyways, he showed up at the bar and he was over two feet tall and his only magical power seemed to be that of being able to bring a conversation to an immediate halt with his awkwardness.

He wasn't exactly capable of carrying on a conversation even when given a direct question to answer and S and I continued to glance at each other over the table to raise our eyebrows at each other. And even more awkward, within half an hour he waved at someone across the bar and said, "Oh I invited one of my friends here," which he hadn't mentioned previously.

So his friend showed up with an entourage of six guys who sat down at our table, introduced themselves, and asked how we all knew each other. After a moment of silence, the Leprechaun answered, "We met on the internet."

And his friend asked me, "eHarmony?! Are you on eHarmony?!"

To which I had an entire group of guys turn to look in my direction and gawk.

"To be fair," I told them, "I am a writer and I was doing it as a social experiment so I would have writing material."

As everyone processed this, the Leprechaun asked me, "So if I had taken you out on a date and tried to kiss you, would it have showed up on the internet for the world to see?"

I blushed and laughed awkwardly (seriously, who asks a question like that in front of seven strangers?) and told him I was deferring to my counsel but I was going to plead the fifth.

More shots were consumed by the table and at this point, I realized the room was starting to spin and I wasn't going to be able to make it through the rest of the night if I continued to partake in shots. So I bowed out of the next few rounds, but it was already too late.

Now, this is totally my bad and I take full responsibility for what subsequently followed, but before Leprechaun had officially committed to coming to the bar, I had let my current boy toy, Yawn, know where S and I would be that evening. And through no planning whatsoever, we were at a bar across from the bar he was at.

So when he texted me to tell me he was coming to meet us, my alcohol-riddled brain couldn't think of one reasonable excuse to tell him not to come. When he walked into the bar (keep in mind, S and I are the only girls at a table of half a dozen guys and I am technically on a first date), he came over to give me a hug, sat down next to me, and introduced himself to the rest of the table.

The less-drunk part of my brain thought I could still get away with this if I played it cool and pretended he was just a friend and no one brought up e-Harmony again. However, I was much too drunk to be playing anything smooth at this point, and according to S, within five seconds of sitting down next to me, the rest of the table knew from our body language and the way we acted with one another that he was not just a friend.

S texted me from across the table, "Leprechaun looks sad. I think you crushed him."

Shortly after that, Leprechaun took off, leaving his friends with us, which was kind of strange, but I know now it's because one of the guys had taken a hankering to S and thought he could get somewhere with her.

A little while later, I got that impending feeling of doom, that I was not going to be able to keep down all the alcohol I had just sucked down, and I told Yawn, "I have to go home. Now."

The second I got through the door, I bee-lined for the bathroom and that was where I remained for the next hour. I remember thinking to myself, as I was hugging the toilet, that this was my punishment for having crushed someone'e soul and for dicking over a leprechaun. Those fellows don't take kindly to being messed with.

In addition to getting sick, I woke up the next day at the crack of dawn with a terrible hangover headache and lay there thinking that I had gotten what I deserved. Like seriously, if I was on a date with a guy and he brought another girl, well I would probably punch him in the balls. As my guy friend R later said to me while laughing at me, "Maybe next time, you shouldn't bring your boyfriend on a date."

Not being totally evil, I did (do) feel bad about the whole crushing of Leprechaun's soul and all, so I sent him a casual but apologetic text saying that I was sorry the evening had been awkward and perhaps we shouldn't have had multiple parties present. Unsurprisingly, I did not get a response and really don't expect to any time ever.

All in all, it wasn't my best performance, but at least I didn't get my gold stolen by a little bearded man wearing green.

And in case you were keeping score, it's now eHarmony: 3, Me: 0.

F is for Feminism

Anyone that knows me at all knows that I spend an unhealthy amount of time watching Bravo programming. And I noticed recently that almost all of the women in these shows, from the vapid housewives in The Real Housewives of Orange County to industry women I really actually admire like Kelly Cutrone and Rachel Zoe are constantly fretting about whether they are making the right decisions when it comes to prioritizing their careers and their family lives.

I watch this recurring story play out in various shows time and time again: Rachel Zoe doesn't have children and stresses over her career so much she's not sure she'll ever be able to fit kids in, even though she wants them, because as is she doesn't spend enough time with her husband. Kelly Cutrone, a single mom, has to make work sacrifices to make sure she picks up her daughter every day from school. Kelly Bensimon worries about the psychological toll that her posing in Playboy will have on her daughters. (Ok that one wasn't really a dilemma. Just keep your boobs covered you hussy!)

In college, I was a hardcore feminist. I took it so far that I minored in Women and Gender Studies and took any occasion I could to rant about how the definition of feminism is that women and men should be treated equally and that you don't have to be a crazy "Fem Nazi" to believe that.

Well, now that I'm older, I think that feminism has royally fucked over my generation.

We were fed this idea that we could be and do anything that we wanted, that it was possible to have a successful career, get dinner on the table, and then put on something sexy for the perfect husband after the kids were asleep.

Which is, frankly, a load of horse shit.

Every girl that I know has had that life-altering dilemma to face: do I focus on my career and make it up the corporate ladder or do I try to have a family. And in many cases, it's one or the other: doing both isn't an option.

I have oscillated between the two. At some point I thought I would rather be a wife and mom and then subsequently decided that my career was my priority, no matter the detriment to my social life and relationships. And now I have settled somewhere in the middle. I want to have a fulfilling career and someday be a mom, but am aware that by doing both, I will be doing neither to my greatest capability.

There is no way to have it all it seems.

Yes, I think it is possible to have a career and to have a family. It has been done before and millions of awesome women continue to do it every day. However, I think there is inevitably a certain amount of guilt that comes with doing both, whether it's because you missed picking up the kids from school because of work, or you couldn't get that promotion because you had a family life.

What I resent is the expectation that a woman is supposed to be Superwoman, that she can do both at the same time. No matter what anyone says, men are not held to that high standard yet. As long as they can provide for their families and have a degree of success in their work-life, they are still considered winners.

As I get older, I can feel not only my biological clock starting to tick, but the consequences of whatever decision I make starting to resonate with me. Only time will tell if I my friends and I will be able to pull off the balancing tightrope of managing a career and children, all while having some semblance of a personal life.

Or I can find an awesomely hot, intelligent man who is so secure in himself he would like to devote his life to being a stay-at-home dad. Let him cart the kids around to soccer practice, make me dinner, and then put something sexy on for me! A girl can only dream...

Boys With Girlfriends

I am having a string of bad luck where I keep meeting guys that have girlfriends. It's an age-old story: Girl meets guy that she thinks is a potential future husband. Guy mentions he has a girlfriend. Girl curses the heavens asking why the hell all the good ones are already taken.

My friend J in California has a roommate he has been trying to set me up with for forever, except for the fact that they live 3,000 miles away from me. But as a joke, Cali Boy and I would always kid around about getting together if I ever got out there. We talked on the phone multiple times and one night when I was feeling blue, he even sent me a picture of his ass to make me laugh and cheer me up.

This has been going on for about five years, so I was pretty excited to meet him in person. And in addition to being a nice guy, he is quite possibly the most adorable human being I have ever met. He is really cute, kind of nerdy, successful, funny, smart, and knows how to have a good time. Basically, he would be my soul mate if I believed in such things.

But, of course, by the time I made it out to California to visit, he had found himself a girlfriend. They've only been together two months, but they're serious enough that they are going on a trip to Germany together soon (so he can race and buy a BMW, could he be any more awesome?). She seems perfectly nice and whatnot, but really she's just getting in the way of me being with my perfect man.

So now, all I can really do is wait for them to break up and for him to decide to move to Manhattan to be with me. Hey, you never know, it could totally happen!

Then, closely following this heartbreaking tragedy, I went to a barbeque with my friend A to see some of her friends from high school. And the host, Roadie, turned out to be a very cute, successful guy with an amazing apartment and a puppy (two things that independently would be enough for me to date him, so together are astronomically more powerful).

Within an hour of meeting me, he turned to me and said, "So do you have a boyfriend? Because you're really hot so I don't know how you could be single."

Completely thrown off by the question, I blushed and said, "No, and that was really awkward."

He then proceeded to tease me about my discomfort with the question, but when I turned it back on him, he admitted that he has a girlfriend who he has been with for two and a half years and is moving to New York soon to be with him.

Now, I am not one of those girls who thinks guys are more attractive when they are taken. Usually, once a guy reveals that he is taken, he becomes invisible to me. As in later someone will mention him and ask if I remember him and all I recall is empty space where he was standing.

To my knowledge, I have only homewrecked once. It was six years ago, when I was a senior in college, and I met and started hooking up with a guy who had a girlfriend of seven years (that's right, SEVEN years).

They were doing the long-distance thing, and he broke up with her shortly after we became an item. Him and I actually ended up dating for a few months despite the fact that he was a total and utter moron. (In my defense, he had blue eyes AND played soccer and is now at one of the best medical schools in the country studying to be a brain surgeon.)

And honestly, I did feel really guilty about the whole thing. I was convinced for a little while that it would give me bad dating karma for the next seven years (apparently in my mind hooking up with a guy with a girlfriend has a penalty the same length of time as breaking a mirror).

But he ended up moving on and is currently dating someone else entirely, which eased my soul slightly and perhaps lessened my bad karma sentence by a few years.

So, back to my story, when Roadie revealed that he had a girlfriend, I mentally moved him from the "someone I would date" category into the friend zone. He continued to be very flirtatious, though, and kept joking that we were going to get married and referring to me as his "fiance."

A few hours of day-drinking later, he tried to have a serious conversation with me by starting, "So, if I didn't have a girlfriend, would you go out with me? Because I've been thinking about it, and I think on our first date I would come pick you up, take you to this Japanese restaurant that would blow your mind, and then walk you home. I wouldn't even try to get in the front door because I like and respect you that much."

I told him no, that it was a sweet offer, but I don't date guys with girlfriends.

And he looked into my eyes with his pretty blue eyes and said, "But you have to admit, there's something between us. There's chemistry there. I think you are a beautiful girl, inside and out. And I'd just like to get to know you better and hang out. I'm so glad that you came today and I got to meet you."

To my credit, I held strong to my resolve and told him that I don't think it's a great idea for us to hang out together. Which didn't stop me from giving him my phone number, but hey, I'm still human. And I still wouldn't go out with him if he asked. I swear!

Later, on the walk home, A asked me if I would ever consider dating Roadie because he's a really good guy and is questioning his commitment to his relationship, versus being a complete out-and-out scumbag.

I told her that I might consider it if he was single, but that was irrelevant so it wasn't even worth pondering to begin with.

So twice in a week I met someone with dating potential only to have the universe shut me down and reiterate that all the good guys in my age range are already taken by girls that snatched them up earlier.

Damn you, Universe!