Monday, September 29, 2008

Sten's take on "Drink Think"

Disclaimer: This is not directed at Chrisse, just my view on the subject

I think that alcohol certainly loosens inhibitions (much needed loosening for some) ... causing us to act as more extreme versions of ourselves.

Drunk positive: Maybe the guy you make out with is some one you've "had your eye on" but needed some liquid courage to approach.

Drunk negative: Maybe when you're out drinking you're more "affectionate" with strangers because you secretly crave attention and validation. Same for being loud and obnoxious. If you're in a relationship and spreading the love with others when drunk, that probably means you're not a happy bunny when sober. I think infidelity is a symptom of a bigger problem. But that is a blog for a different day.

When you get drunk you forfeit a lot of self control. If you're angry about something, you might take it out on the wrong people. In that respect, I do think people say or do things they don't mean, so if you really care about the drunk offending you ... cut a little slack. They are missing their mouth filter and a lucid mind to know better.

Am I excusing unruly drunken behavior? Not exactly, but there should be room for forgiveness. And lets be honest, some people are just more fun when drunk. Or maybe they're more fun when I'm drunk ...

Anyway, we all know that if we intake too many spirits we'll act like idiots, true – but should everyone then quit the drink and stay in to play bingo? I say hell no.

Chances are if you're all up tight about the silly inebriated monkeys around you, you just need another drink.

(Unless you're the driver, in which case you are doing a great service for your friends. Still, though, lighten up, negative Nancy, and try to pull the long straw next time.)

Drink think

We all make excuses for our behavior.

Whether it’s a hope to have others understand our motives or to relieve ourselves of blame, there are sometimes moments in life where we want an excuse.

But there’s one “reason” that seems to hold no merit. It doesn’t absolve anyone of guilt or shame, but rather intensifies it.

And that is the common heard explanation for poor decision-making: “I was drunk.”

Drunk. Drunk. Drunk.

It’s the reason you said “that” to your best friend (again).
It’s the reason you kissed your ex.
It’s the reason you woke up in another county without your cell phone, cab fare, or memory.

But is it an “excuse” at all?
Or is it just a crutch?

Because if you make the choice to drink, aren’t you making the choice to hinder your ability to make responsible decisions later on?

Or can we actually blame the alcohol itself, that after each sip, gulp, shot, we’re impaired in a way that allows for misjudgment.

A side effect of alcohol is impaired decision making.
It slows our motor skills and judgment. It slurs our speech and lowers our inhibitions.

And so, it changes us.

But does it excuse us?

Friday, September 26, 2008

Changing life... styles

After MONTHS of agonizing over my too-long locks and too afraid to have someone new cut them, I've taken to styling my hair in what I can sum up in a few not-so-fabulous adjectives.

Like, "Frumpy" or "Hippie" or "Dull."

My hair hasn't seen the sharper side of a pair of scissors since February and it's apparent to all to look.

I've essentially had the same hairstyle since 4th grade. And I can't help but feel that long, flowing hair exudes femininity in a way my crass sense of humor sometimes undermines.

While I'm not a fan of change, I've gone SO long with the TOO long hair that I'm tempted to chop it all off.

But would I recognize my new me?

I've been taught that long hair is beautiful. That women who can't pull it off are envious and that in all honesty... Men prefer it.

But is any of this true?

A haircut for me isn't a decision to take lightly. I almost donated 10 inches of hair when my last boyfriend dumped me because I wanted to look in the mirror and no longer see the girl he hurt.

I went for 4 inches instead, and found a me worth looking at... but it's been so long since I've seen that girl that I'm afraid I may never recognize her again.

No matter how long, my hair.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Clipper happy

Some people would avoid going to the dentist at any cost. Some dread a flu shot, or have nightmares about their next colonoscopy. But me? I dread the hairdresser and their scissors of destruction.

It pretty much takes me a year to grow three inches of hair. I unwittingly said goodbye to five yesterday when I went for a "trim."

"The ends are dead? Fine, go up to two inches if it really needs it." I said, trying to be reasonable.

Before I could pat myself on the back, I watched aghast as the poor, innocent, chestnut locks fell to the floor like little angels. It was like going to get your nails clipped and losing an arm.

Why the fuss? It takes a long time to grow out curly hair. It just spirals up ... taunting me and defying gravity. But more importantly, your hair is a vehicle for expression ... when it looks right you feel beautiful and put together. When it's a mess you feel like an unkempt ragamuffin. My curly mane gave me an added sense of identity. Once the ballsy woman with the wild hair, I am now looking into being a professional Raggedy Ann impersonator.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Let’s go for a ride.

I am about to draw a blanket comparison reducing human beings to objects and I am not sorry. Men (and women) are like cars.

A friend has gone on several dates with some one and is hung up over going to bed with the person. This can be a stressful decision, but shouldn’t be. Either you want to go for the test drive, or you both wait until you’re ready. Maybe you test drive another car all together, I don’t know. But sexual chemistry and compatibility are vital in a relationship. (And they’re at least somewhat important in flings.)

I’m not trying to alienate those who haven’t made the plunge, or are waiting for marriage. I’m not one to just “drive around” because I have a healthy concern for disease and pregnancy. (Unless babies can be trained to eat dry food out of a dish and pee in a litter box, I am in no way ready to be a mother.) I was head-over-heels in love when I went for my first spin, which was very important to me back then. I can’t say it’s been the case with every car since – but I sure have liked them all a whole lot at the time.

And, not to mention, it is scientifically proven that abstinence is the best way to prevent pregnancy. Seriously, there is only ONE case in history when a virgin got pregnant. Things didn’t work out so hot for the kid, but really, those are some damn good odds.

So, my point is this – some cars are really only good for rentals. You drive it around for a week and try not to bang it up too badly. Once in a while you find one you’d like to lease for a year or two … or three or four. Then, if you’re lucky (or just a fool) you come across that perfect car you want buy. You sign those papers. You use your heart as a down payment. You give it tune-ups when it needs it and if it breaks down you do everything you can to get it back on the road again.

Then you turn forty and find a car that drives with its top down.


Some of the raunchiest conversations I’ve had have been with my single gal friends. And I, as a single gal, could be quite… how do you say… crass.

No topic was too risqué for a night out. The contents of the drawer near my bed were as known among my closest friends as my very own phone number.

They really knew me.
And so they knew him as well.

Him being, whatever man I was dating at the time.

His awkward voice mails were played on speaker phone over cocktails and we would ponder the meaning of each bated breath together.

“Hi Chrissie… this is ________. I couldn’t find my phone last night, I was so wasted. But you left me a cute message, I’ll talk to you later. Buh bye.”

My friends were there to help me decipher the meaning his breath-y “buh bye.” They assured me that “too drunk last night” meant a crazy night at the sport’s pub with his GUY friends, and not a sexy night at home with a girl. Who. Wasn’t. Me.

They were there to coach me through the hardest times a single girl can face, which oddly seem to come only when a single gal is actively dating.

But while my casual life was no secret, my love life always was.

Because each time I really cared… no one knew about it.
Those voice mails were just for me to listen to.

After months of coupled-conversation, it turned out, a real love life isn’t made up of myriad questions.

Instead it’s just the answers.

Answers like yes, I love you too.
Answers that make all those years of dating and questions worth it.

Because the one, is for you only.

And all those other guys were just good conversation.

Monday, September 22, 2008

It all started with an eye patch.

Friday night I went to a little party celebrating “Talk Like a Pirate Day.” I am not kidding. When leaving there to meet up with Chuckles and D. at my favorite bar, I decided it might be fun to wear an eye patch all night and see how people would react.

And react they did.

I’ve never had more people stare and point or just come up to me and start a conversation. “What happened to your eye?”
“Oh, horrible accident with a rogue pigeon while I was skydiving. You should have seen the pigeon. Terrible. I can still hear the cooing in my eye socket.”

Which is of course when they would walk away.

Some people were privy to the Pirate Day celebration and would just say “AAARRRGHGH!” To which I would reply “AARRRRGGGHH!”

Then this one guy asked one of my friends “Why’s that girl wearing an eye patch?” And the friend called me over “Hey, Sten, this guy wants to know why you’re wearing that stupid eye patch.” We got to talking and it turns out he was one of the stage actors performing a play at Vassar this weekend.

Now, he HAD looked strangely familiar to me … probably because I spent two hours looking at photos of him and the other actors when designing the Life section cover for the Journal earlier that week. That is a reason I love this area … so many talented artists live here, or even just pass through. I’ll be laying out a story during the day then see the person out and about on the weekend.

So we spent the rest of the evening talking about arts, traveling, politics and just plain joking around with some English Shakespearean actors … it was random but fantastic. Sometimes it’s really great to meet new people. They offer up a whole new dynamic and completely revitalize a normal night out with your friends.

And it all just started with me putting on a ridiculous eye patch.

Permanent permissions

I’m all about “freedom to express yourself” whether you’re in or out of a relationship.

So you can imagine how surprised I was at my OWN reaction when the man offered up this piece of information recently:

“I’m getting tattooed today, I’ll call you when finished.”

Hmm. Okay. No biggie. Just some more ink to think about. But I had an adrenaline rush that I couldn’t quiet explain.

Was it a hormonal reaction to the idea of a change? Tattooed men are yummy and “newness” in a year old relationship is always exciting.

Or was it an almost-anger based reaction to the fact that a permanent decision was being made without my input?

The shower curtain is one thing. Communication is not always necessary for the altering of household items or getting or a haircut… because these things aren’t permanent.

Hair grows.
Shower curtains can be repurchased.

But tattoos are forever.

I spent the day wondering (okay, obsessing) over what the new body paint would look like. Was it just more work on the almost-finished right arm? Was it my name on his chest? Was it the Grimace Tattoo he’d threatened me with when I expressed my unfounded love for the Purple-Milkshake-Eating-Monster?

My imagination had run away with me and when I finally saw what had been done to my man’s arms, I was at once relieved yet still curious.

Each ½ sleeve had been finished. The colors were more vibrant and the things he thought needed fixing had apparently been “fixed.”

But I knew that he was in pain from them.
My good-girlfriend-reaction made me want to take the pain away and fix it and the bad-girlfriend in me wanted to tell him that “It was his fault” he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

“What permanent change have you made to your body today?” I asked, half joking, half not.

He showed me like a proud teenager and I said they were “cool," unsure of the most favorable response people with ink might expect.

“Well, I hope you like them,” I said. “They will be around FOREVER.”

“I do,” he responded. “They will be around as long as you.”

Friday, September 19, 2008

Too late to say I'm sorry ...

There is a number in my phone I scroll over whenever I go to make a call. It belonged to an old friend with whom I had a ... complicated relationship. I was a complete jerk. Really, I was thoughtless and unfeeling and took him for granted. I knew it too ... and never found the time to apologize and mend the friendship.

But it's too late now. He passed away in an accident some time ago. The cherry on top is that I found out on MySpace. I bet Tom never knew his site would double as an obit page.

I remember the first time I met him. The nights we stayed up talking until the sun peaked up over the horizon. I remember the very last frustrated and strained goodbye. These things happened so long ago, yet I am haunted if they occurred yesterday.

With the years that had passed, he moved on several times over and might never have given me a second thought. Still, every time I see his name in my contacts I will get a sharp pang of regret in the pit of my stomach. For I haven't the heart to delete him out.

For what it's worth I am now, and always will be, so very sorry.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

How beneficial is it to have 'friends with benefits?'

You enjoy each other's company. You spend a lot of time together. You're both single and maybe not looking for anything serious. Why put all that effort into dating shenanigans when you could just hook up with a friend?

Because it's a bad idea.

A bad bad bad idea.


It is the quickest way to ruin a friendship ... even quicker than running over their dog.

Chuckles, D., MacGyver and I were all discussing this topic last night. They are three very handsome, intelligent and funny guys that I regularly imagine naked – but that doesn't mean I'd ever want to pursue them. Sometimes they might fulfill that masculine roll in my life... like when Chuckles will stop by my job with a cup of coffee, or when D. would rescue me from being harassed at a bar. MacGyver may come over and play Rock Band until 4 a.m., but there's a line. We don't cuddle on a couch or kiss hello on the lips.

I don't have romantic feelings for them, though I love them dearly. I would never want to use them just because it's getting cold at night.

Sex will completely change the dynamic you have. Now, if two friends decide they BOTH have real feelings for each other, that is the basis of a potentially successful relationship. But your friendship is still screwed. Sorry.

Two for Two

I had the weekly golf outing with my father this morning. The weather was beautiful and we were both crushing the ball off the tee. More importantly though, this makes two weeks in a row that he didn't ask about my money situation or love life. I walked into work feeling wonderful.

The only thing that bothers me is that he didn't ask about my progress on Rock Band either ... I don't think he's supporting my imaginary drumming career.

"Don't bother." (Non-negotiables)

Last week I was out with my guy friends and "Chuckles" pointed out a girl he thought was really attractive. And she was attractive - she also seemed smart and sweet. The perfect package, right? Wrong. She was a smoker.

Chuckles said he wasn't interested in dating a smoker. It was non-negotiable, and D. (another guy friend) agreed. This got me to thinking about all the things that different people see as immediate turnoffs.

Personally, I have no issue with smoking, and I would urge smoker-haters to reconsider. I quit for a boyfriend once and had no real problem with it. I wanted him much more than I wanted a cigarette.

Now, there are a few things that instantly make me lose interest.

#1 Nasty hands/nails/teeth. Hygiene is pretty important. If you don't brush your teeth on a regular basis I'm not going anywhere near your mouth. As for the hands - wash them. Unless you're Count Dracula, trim your nails. One of the first things a girl will notice is a guys mitts.. especially if she's like me, in her late twenties and looking to see if you're wearing a wedding ring. (Which is another non-negotiable).

#2 Lack of humor ... or more specifically, the guy doesn't laugh at any of my jokes. (And I give out a lot of chances.) I spent two years in a relationship with a man that didn't think I was funny. It was my own personal Hell.

#3 Red Sox fan. Unfortunately there seems to be an unreasonably large population of very attractive Red Sox fans in the area ... and I've dated three ... but no more! I love the Yankees and don't want to scrape up any more misguided Boston fans off the floor when they start trouble in Yankee Stadium.

#4 Excessive drinking. Don't get me wrong, I love my scotch, but if you get trashed every time you're out it's a bit of a problem. Oh ... and I will RELENTLESSLY mock a guy that drinks "girly drinks."

#5 Do not ever "let" me win. At anything. Chances are I can kick your butt on my own, and if not, I deserve to be taken down a peg once in a while. Trust me, I'll respect you more if you humiliate me than if you placate me.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The wedding weekend, part 2: The wedding.

My mostly reliable GPS got us all the way to Burlington, Vermont, early in the cloudy Friday afternoon. This didn't bode well for the impending outdoor rehearsal BBQ.
We took some time to relax at the hotel. Then, after a short phone conversation with my dear friend, the somewhat frazzled groom, we set out again.

The rehearsal dinner was really nice (Though a bit damp and crowded under the party tent). I got a kick out of being introduced as "Kristen the Reverend" to family members. Other old college friends had also made the trip. We fell back into familiar banters as if the last 8 years had been no more than a summer break.

The actual rehearsal was quick, smooth and in no way settled the nerves that had been creeping up in the back of my mind for the last few weeks. It had seemed like such a fun thing to perform a friend's wedding. I knew how important it was, but not how nervous I would be when the time came. I walked off later on to give myself an internal pep talk, but was interrupted by the groom ... he had left his wedding suit in Boston.

The poor man had to run off to the mall and pick up a replacement. I suppose if one of the couple HAD to forget the outfit they needed to wear ... it's better off being the groom.

The next morning we woke at the ungodly hour of 7:00 a.m. (Did I mention I don't even wake up for WORK until 11 a.m.? I don't know how most of the working population does this on a regular basis.) I broke out the three-piece suit I bought to perform the ceremony ... which is pretty fantastic. All I needed was a tommy gun to round out the look. After a few deep breaths, I corralled my travel companions into the car and headed to a beautiful park on Lake Champlain, where the wedding was set to take place.

NERVOUS NERVOUS NERVOUS. I helped set up chairs, met with the bridesmaids, groomsmen and musicians to plan out the cues. I finalized my speech and tried my best not to puke.

We were just slightly off schedule, which is to be expected. Still, everything started smoothly, just as we planned. Then right before I had to begin speaking, my hands and knees start shaking uncontrollably. It was HORRIBLE!! Do you know what it's like to have absolutely no control over your body? After the ceremony, one of the groomsmen said he thought I was going to fall backwards and roll into the lake.

Fortunately, my voice didn't shake much, and only the wedding party really saw the jittering. After a minute or two, I was at ease. The best man had the rings, the groom was wearing a suit, the bride was beautiful, and the vows they wrote were touching. I delivered the ceremony with a respectable amount of authority and only choked up the end, when I had the honor of pronouncing two people I love so much "husband and wife."

A couple weeks ago a friend of mine (who seriously wants to be referred to on this blog as "MacGyver") asked me if participating in this wedding would make me feel sad or lonely over being single. So, MacGyver ... the answer is no. I was so happy for them. So honored to be a part of their day. But, more importantly, so relieved I neither puked, nor fell into a lake.

Cat Lady

I spent a lot of my single time fearing the worst possible spinster outcome.

That I'd end up, the "Crazy Cat Lady."

Living in my tiny apartment with my furry best friend didn't help matters, as she became my fluffy shoulder to cry on, and the one thing that relied on me daily for love and life's necessities.

I was greeted at the front door everyday for 4 years with purrs and meows and I knew that no matter how long or hard my day seemed, that someone was waiting for me.

So you can imagine my sadness when my cat recently left me to move in with the man. The timing seemed right and I wanted her to get acquainted with the place on her own terms.

It seemed like a great idea and I sat at work excited about my cat-box-free apartment that I would get to enjoy for 30 days all on my own.

But when I got in the front door, no one was there to greet me.
No gray fur nuzzled on my calves while I prepared coffee.
And no one seemed interested in my microwaved dinner. (Somehow, the cat's jealousy made it taste better).

Wow. I thought.

I miss my cat more than my boyfriend.

Filled with worry that I was destined to be the crazy cat lady, boyfriend or not, I decided I would be visiting them after work the next day rather than spending more time alone. To hell with him, I thought. I need my cat!

With each turned corner on the way to my new home, I couldn't help but get excited at what awaited me at his place.

But rather than just a cat at my feet begging to be picked up.
I had a man at the door, with one in his arms.

Turns out, they both were happy to see me.

Monday, September 15, 2008

The wedding weekend, part 1: The trip.

The sky was cloudy and the air was crisp. I loaded up the car with both luggage and people and headed towards the Taconic Parkway.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I became a reverend online so I could perform a friend's wedding ceremony. That ceremony took place this weekend up near Burlington, Vermont.

The trip began early Friday morning. (Which is a wee bit painful for me – some one who doesn't even get up for work until 11 a.m.) I shook awake my travel companions, two old college friends who live in NYC and needed to hitch a ride. They are both attractive women ... that became a bit of a problem on the road.

We're driving up the parkway ... I've got my trusty GPS counting down the miles while the front seat passenger, Erica, is scanning the radio for a clear station. Then abruptly, a green jeep, who had been leisurely passing us, cuts in front on my car and slows down. I had to hit on the brakes and switch into the left lane.

Now, this really ticks me off because I was driving with cruise control. I HATE having to reset my cruise control.

I hear a giggle from the back... then a "Sorry." Ariel, the backseat passenger had thrown the unassuming Jeep driving young man a flirtatious smile. As we passed by him on the left I looked over and sure enough, he's smiling and tipping his baseball hat at her.

OK, cute, fine. We drive in front. I switch over to the right lane. "Jeep boy" speeds up and drives along side for a bit – cuts in front and slows down again.

"I see your little game 'Jeep boy'".

There is a part of me that would have loved racing up and down the Taconic teaching this cowboy a lesson ... but I drive a Corolla — And, that would have been unbecoming a reverend about to perform a marriage.

So I passed him again and instructed the minxes in the car not to look at him. But he kept pace with us ... speeding up and slowing down in unison so I couldn't pass or get behind.

That's when it started.

One arm disappeared out of its sleeve... then the other. "Jeep boy" slipped his shirt off over his head and flexed.. all while driving on the highway. Not even the hint of a swerve.

Maybe some women would feel insulted, or just freaked out... but me? I have never seen such successful multitasking from a man. Later on when the two girls were bickering over something stupid, I considered pulling over and kicking them out of the car... then driving off to find him, following the trail of discarded clothing.

Friday, September 12, 2008


Once we have the luxury of living alone and being single, the world is our oyster and privacy is a daily luxury we may or may not take for granted.

And with this luxury, we may find ourselves taking part in behaviors that aren't any too flattering... But they're secret so it shouldn't matter.

At least until we decide to live with someone else.

Whether it's just a roommate or a real-mate, there are certain activities that we can only take part in solo, and these things I will miss when I no longer find myself "single and fabulous" with a fabulous bachelorette pad.

Things like...

I like buying an entire box of Oreos and eating them until I don't want to eat them anymore, then throwing all the perfectly good Oreos away to resist temptation the following day. That may mean eating 3 Oreos, it may mean an entire row.

My "Jessica Rabbit" bangs are not a part of my solo-life-style. Instead, they are clipped effortlessly on top of my head with any device capable of allowing me to see. It is not sexy.

I'm a pretty neat person. But I occasionally leave a bowl of half-eaten cereal and milk in the sink for more than 24-hours.

I wear things when alone that I'd never be caught dead in. Underwear with holes in them, a shirt with a phallus on it, and what my friends and I refer to has "Bikings" <--- a cross between leggings and biker-shorts. Also, not sexy.

So while I may miss these single-girl-behaviors, I think putting an end to them might bring me a new sense of self.

One where binge eating and weekly "costumes" will no longer be a part of my "Me."

I guess that's not so bad after all.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Fill her shoes

I dated a man once upon a time who I believed was more in love with the idea of me, than the actual me.

He was sweet and doting over the phone, wrote me sweet nothings in emails and birthday cards, told his friends "I was the one."

But when we were together he seemed distant, as if he was still searching for something I couldn't offer.

It was as if he was dating that other girl.
That perfect version of me, rather than the real me.

He wanted sweet and smitten.
I was sometimes brass and distant.

He wanted 24-hour-a-day beauty.
But sometimes I got sick and looked like hell.

He wanted "Ms. Perfect."
I was "Ms. Real."

And so I waited for the other shoe to drop.
For him to realize that a whole human being is worthy of love, not just an idea of perfection.

But that shoe never did.
Instead I struggled for years to fill hers.

Ms. Perfect's.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Gonna be an off day

I hate when things start out great then fall apart, or when I crumble at the last moment when it really counts.

This morning my father and I had our weekly golf outing. The day was beautiful and we managed nine holes without talking about my finances or love life. I had decent drives and solid shots to the green ... but couldn't make a putt to save my life.

Costume Party

HIM: "We're invited to a Halloween party, costumes are mandatory."

ME: "Awesome! What should we be???"

HIM: "I dunno, do you have any old costumes?"

ME: "I've got that "sexy" firefighter one from a couple of years ago."

HIM: "Okay... but what would I be?"

ME: "You can be... my Old Flame!"

HIM: (silence)

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Rock Band addiction

I host a poker night at my apartment every other Monday. At least it used to be a poker party ... now it's turning into Rock Band night.

If you're not familiar with Rock Band, it's a four-player video game where you can be a lead singer, guitarist, bassist or drummer. You actually "play" on a set of drum pads or a guitar controller.

Let me tell you – it just might be the greatest thing ever created for a game system. Who would have thought back when we were playing Frogger on the Atari that you would one day be able to bang on a drum set controller. Not even the Nintendo Power Glove could have prepared us for this.

Seriously, all I want to do is play the drums.

And, yes, yes – I know it isn't the same as "real drums." My friend D. (who is not a Rock Band fan, and is therefore missing out) has said more than once that it is silly to sit and play fake instruments as if you're actually performing something. Why not just go buy a guitar or drum set?

Because real drums are expensive and loud. You don't have the little notes flying on the screen to say when to play, or a scoring system to tell you how awesome (or not) you're doing. You can't even "save" a band mate when you're playing real instruments.

My father asked me the other day if I'd met anyone special lately. I said "No, but I'm half way through the 'hard' setting on drums for Rock Band." It wasn't really the response he was looking for, but I like to think he was still proud.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Atheist commitment-phobic woman performing a marriage ceremony

Atheist commitment-phobic woman performing a marriage ceremony?

There are so many things wrong with this situation. Why would I, a godless, hopelessly UNromantic woman get ordained to perform a marriage ceremony? As far as I can tell, marriage is like opening a restaurant – if you make it through the first year, consider it a success. And as for religion – the only proof I can find of the famous “All Mighty” is watching an Italian men’s soccer game.

So why go through with it?

Because one of my closest friends asked me to.

The couple is not religious. After attending another wedding where a friend officiated they decided to do the same.

Why did they ask me? I don’t know. It’s like playing Russian roulette with your wedding.

The best part is the ordination process. You go to a website. Fill in your name. Then your address. Hit enter. Done.


Anyone can be a reverend. My cat can get ordained and give the field mice their last rights before he eats them.

However – before you think I’m not taking this seriously, know this: The couple has been together for about a decade. They know each other inside and out, have weathered the hard times and relished the good. This is a union I believe in whole-heartedly. It really is an honor… and hopefully they’ll believe that when I show up in a clown suit.

Moving In Part 3

HIM: "I think I might get rid of that shower curtain, I'll just put it in a lot with the towels and sell it on Ebay."

ME: "Yeah? You don't have to do that really... I think it might be growing on me."

HIM: "No, I don't really need it anymore."

ME: "Okay... but let's pick out a new one we both like!"

HIM: "Sure... Just one thing though. The Finding Nemo pictures are staying."

Friday, September 5, 2008


My mom has never had only herself to worry about.

She went from adolescent to married mom by the time she was 21. During her teen years she had her parents to answer to, and soon thereafter, she found herself answering to her own children and husband.

She never knew what it was like to get in the car, destination unknown, and not let anyone know of her plan, or lack their of.
She never knew what it was like to get a paycheck and spend it solely on things she wanted. Instead it always went to groceries or clothing for my sister and I.

She never got to be selfish, only selfless.

And while she is a terrific mother and always has been... I wonder when it will be her turn.

Her turn to live for herself. Her desires. Her passion.

But just when it looks as though she might finally have a moment, the reality that a family is a lifelong commitment sets in. It's hers. And it's forever.

So while I consider all she's done for me, I also have learned something she may not be aware of.

I've learned to embrace my individuality. My freedom. My selfishness.

Because it's a lesson only a mother like her, could teach me.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

"He looks like he lost weight!"

Most of my friends don't understand my taste in men, and sometimes neither do I. I recently had an ex accuse me of liking "Old, fat men." Which isn't true.

(Well, not entirely).

So we like who we like, for our own reasons and that's that. But for all of you who secretly find those non-traditional types to be the most attractive...

Here's my Top 3 Ugly Yet Sexy famous men

1. James Gandolfini
As Tony Soprano, he's mean. He's powerful. He's complicated. (And on top of that, he's also Old/Fat too;)

2. Liam and Noel Gallagher
(It's a tie) They're snotty and egotistical. But that can be oh-so-sexy when paired with an accent.

3. James Spader
He was one of my first celeb-crushes, but I think my infatuation has continued into adulthood. (Although, a recent google-image-search shows him to be (gasp!) old and fat! SCORE)!!!

It's Tuesday.
We had a long weekend.
Amuse me with your own ugly/sexy lists in the comments section and don't fault me for this superficial post.