breakfast at tiffany’s.

June 11, 2010

I’m wearing the necklace he gave me again.

The pretty Tiffany’s one that he bought me only shortly after we had gotten together – the one that I took off four months ago and swore would never again leave my jewelry box.

Just like how the months have allowed the song that always reminded me of him to become just another song, those four untouched months of collecting dust have transformed what had at one point symbolized the beginning of a deep and budding romance to little more than just a pretty necklace.  When I hear that song on the radio now, I turn it up and wait for that feeling to come; but it doesn’t, and instead I sing along.

The memories that I once wore around my neck have vanished too. And now, it might even serve as a reminder that after the dust settles, everything really does turn out OK in the end.

I’m better than ever,

Q


sloppy seconds.

June 9, 2010

Well internet, I have an interesting update on the boy with the crooked smile.

Last night I was out having happy hour drinks with a friend when a semi-frantic text came in from my roommate:  “OMG. OMG. OMG My friend hooked up with [insert BWTCS’s real name here] too.” 

Oh crap.

Turns out, not only did  they hook up, they also had the EXACT same date that we had.  (I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried).  Same restaurant, made out in the car, and he never called her again.  And it gets better.

(drumroll please) …He has a girlfriend!

I’m tempted to post his real name, along with a photograph and a warning: “Ladies – Do not date this man!”  Because, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

So of course I immediately text him and oh so subtly call him out on this (wouldn’t you??):

Me:  “haha, I think you know one of my friends.  Does [friend’s full name] ring a bell?”

BWTCS: “What?”

Me:  “Yeah, the details (all of them) just came up randomly in conversation, actually… not even my conversation.”

BWTCS: “Yeah. hilarious.” 

(pause)

“So have you heard the new Arcade Fire album?”

Once again the cosmos have aligned to kick me in the shins…

…But on the brightside, I guess I got a free meal out of it.

Q


miss pennsylvania.

June 7, 2010

If I was in the Miss America pageant (which, at this time, hell would have also frozen over and pigs would be flying) and in the interview portion I was asked about my “wish for the world”, without hesitation, I would reply that I wish that everyone on Earth could have an amazingly satisfying, no strings attached, drama free booty call.  Forget about ending AIDS and world hunger for a minute, don’t you think the world would be a better and happier place?

Think about it.

There are no expectations.  No need to buy birthday gifts.  No family function obligations.  Just unadulterated unclothed sexual bliss and instant stress relief.  For this reason, I’m willing to bet that Hitler and Stalin weren’t getting laid on the regular.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m a classy girl.  I don’t bring strangers home from the bar (well, ok, maybe ONCE), but I’ve never had a one night stand.  Even that awkward night with the stranger turned into a couple of dates.  I used to have a backlog of potential booty calls : shoo-ins that I could call up for some “drinks”, both of us certain what the result at the end of the night would be.  Some are old boyfriends, some are pretty good guy friends that I like to see naked every now and then, and I’d love to keep it that way.

For some reason, I feel good about “recycling” men from previous segments of my life.  Hey, my “number” doesn’t go up and I feel like I’m doing something good for the environment.  (Go Green!)

The problem is, my booty call Rolodex is drying up.  A few have gotten girlfriends (or wives), a few have moved away, and one has inexplicably dropped off the face of the Earth.  Even in it’s most perfect form, this whole arrangement is kind of a slippery slope.  I do not tolerate 2am texts from boys looking to “hang out”.  It’s only fun when I am the one calling the shots and each rendezvous is on MY terms.  Selfish?  Maybe.  But, there’s something really sexy about being in control like this.

Currently taking applications,

Q


like a homeless dude to a crack pipe.

June 4, 2010

I have a confession to make… I’m an addict.

No, don’t worry.  It’s not drugs or alcohol, or even sex (well ok… maybe sex?).  There’s one little thing that can draw me in like a bee to honey – I’m addicted to buying pretty sundresses. (*GASP*)

There, I said it.

I know what you’re thinking: “But Q, you have a closet FULL of sundresses.  There’s really no need to buy more.”  and you would be right.  There is absolutely no need.  I own one (or several) in just about every color Roy G. Biv has to offer.

Now, I’ve never been much of a girly girl.  I don’t broadcast news of my periods or love Nicholas Sparks movies.  I like punk rock and PBR’s, but I just can’t help myself.  I’m a sucker for soft material, lovely colors, and a short hemline. When I wander into a store, I’m not even thinking about satisfying my “fix”, then my eyes wander over the selection and I see it.  Sticking out like a whore in church, it calls to me. (Cue the angelic choir music).

I’m sorry, but there’s just something awesome about it being all breezy and al fresco “down there” on a hot day.  And better yet, for us relatively style-deprived broads, it’s a FULL outfit in one piece of clothing.  What could be easier?

So, I’ll see you at the Gap in an hour?

Q


two times the awkwardness.

June 3, 2010

Palms sweaty, heart beating a little bit, you make your way to your pre-arranged meeting spot.  You check for spinach in your teeth, put your best face forward, and awkwardly suffer through the new few hours, tell yourself that you had a good time, and leave praying for a call back.

Sound familiar…?

Is this a date…? or a job interview? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

As a single girl that’s ALSO looking for a new job, I feel like I’ve had enough stress and awkward situations to last the average person 12 lifetimes.

Having just left yet another job interview that will undoubtedly pan out to nothing (due to a lousy HR director that failed to screen for compatible salaries), the similarities to dating and job hunting nearly smacked me in the face.  It’s like this never-ending cycle.

Everyone’s faking it at first, wanting to be liked.  Then the one YOU actually like wont call you back and the one that is all about you doesn’t pay enough or has poor hygiene and those ungodly bright colored sneakers (you know, the ones that look like they were thrown up on by a box of crayola crayons).  What’s worse, one of you will likely wind up bored with the relationship or career in a year or two and the cycle begins again.

But the sad part is, there’s nothing you can really do about it.  It’s all part of the game, my friend.  As cheesy as it sounds, you gotta keep putting yourself out there, and keep sipping that proverbial porridge until you find the one that’s the perfect fit.

So for now, you can call me “Goldilocks”,

Q


like a fish needs a bicycle.

June 1, 2010

I never really intended for this to be a blog about my love life or a “Sex and the City-esque” retelling of my weekends.  But i suppose that is somehow what it is becoming.  I always said that I would simply write about what was on my mind, without holding anything back, so I guess this says something about my priorities right now.

It’s been four days since I’ve heard from the boy with the crooked smile.  I’m here practically sitting on my hands to prevent myself from texting him.

I won’t do it.

I refuse.

Instead, I’m making up excuses for the reasons why he was possibly too busy to do so all weekend long and willing my phone to light up any second now.

Maybe he was tragically killed while pushing a small child out of the path of a moving bus.  Or maybe he was stricken with horrible food poisoning and spent the last 3 days in the hospital.  Or maybe he is just so gosh darn into me (duh) that he is waiting even LONGER than the obligatory three days so that he doesn’t seem over-eager and blow it?

…or maybe I am certifiably insane and it is completely and utterly clear that he is “just not that into me”.

Sigh.

So now I guess I just pick myself up, dust myself off, and start reminding myself that I’m awesome and amazing and totally fine alone.  Hell, I even put my AC unit in without any help!

I don’t need no stinkin’ man,

Q


table for two.

May 27, 2010

I had a date last night.

Let me be the first to say that dating sucks.  It REALLY really sucks.

There’s all this pressure to pick out a cute outfit, there’s the awkward greeting (do you hug?) then there’s the awkwardness of who’s going to pay, then there’s the awkward goodbye (do you give him a quick kiss?  or does the situation call for a heavy duty make out?).  For this reason, I secretly envy my married friends for being free of this clumsy dance.

So last night I wore my quintessential “I look hot but I’m not trying too hard” date night outfit – cute black top, white skirt, black flats and met him at the bar.  I was there before him (damnit!), so I plopped myself down on a bar-stool, ordered a beer, and hoped it would give me courage.  He showed up and I immediately got butterflies.  He cleaned himself up for the evening and was looking ridiculously adorable clean shaven and polo-shirted.

The conversation was good (although I admittedly become less and less articulate with the more beers I consume).  He paid.  We left the bar and went to a diner for some late night food and more (drunken/sleepy) conversation.

At around 1am he dropped me off back at my car, and feeling brazen and unable to resist the crooked smile, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards me.  Let it be known: I will melt for any man that bites my bottom lip. (sigh).

So I went home, did a slight celebration dance alone in my room.  And now, the next morning, I’m doing the “omigod, does he like me? will he call again?” obsessed freak out.

See?  Even when it’s good, dating is bad.

Think he will call?

Q


dazed and confused.

May 24, 2010

This weekend went far too fast in a drunken sleep deprived haze.  I had a few too many beers and a few too many snoring boys in my bed (more on this later).  But all in all, I would call it a success.

I have decided that I may need to find a new “home base” bar.  Or at least lay low for a while.  It’s not so fun when the bartenders question and judge your dates (“Really, THAT guy?”) or attempt to step in while a cute guy is chatting you up (“You ok? this guy bother you?”).

Im FINE. Really.

But now, even worse, the middle age owner has gotten my telephone number and is very very very creepy.  I don’t know what I would expect the owner of a bar such as the one I frequent to be like.  But I don’t think I would expect him to text me at 9:00 in the morning about how he was going to do some, ahem, “things” while thinking of me.

How is one supposed to respond to that?

Um… Thanks?

A friend of mine wrote a pretty great article about women and sex that I just absolutely love.  Right on, sister friend!

Some things I just don’t need to know,

Q


worse than mary jane.

May 21, 2010

I am beginning to think that I’m like a gateway drug – a drug that leads you inevitably down that road directly to marriage.

All (well, maybe not all… but a solid 85% or so) of my ex’s are in serious relationships and very much in love, and all (again, maybe not ALL, but most) of these relationships are ones that they found immediately after dating me.  How does this happen?  Do they meet someone and think “Oh my god.  Thank Heaven! She’s so different.  I. must. marry. her. immediately”?

I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several days thinking about what could have been.  What if I hadn’t left?  Would that be me in her shoes… smiling while I pick out a dress? moving in? or half halfheartedly attending the family functions and still looking on as he chugs Jim Beam from the bottle?

I know playing these games with myself is useless.  I know I only did what I felt was right in my heart at the time.  I’ve always believed that if there is any hesitation at all, or any question in your heart, then it’s not “right”.  I only wish that someone could look into my future and tell me not to worry – I made the right choice.

I made a realization last night that nearly took my breath away:  The one person on this Earth that still knows me inside and out and better than anyone is someone that I walked out on and pushed away a year and a half ago for no better reason than simply needing “space”.

I needed space then… but now I just feel alone.

Such is the great irony of life.

Trying to smile,

Q


i am woman… hear me roar?

May 20, 2010

It always kind of cracks me up (and kind of makes me proud) to see a really feminine women doing rather masculine jobs or tasks.

Yesterday in the city I saw a full fledged no-joke police woman with 1″ long hot pink finger nails, pearls, 5 dangley bracelets, and Marilyn Monroe-esque red lipstick.    Granted, for all I know she could be a drag queen on the way to provide “entertainment” to a local bachelor party, but I really like to picture her chasing and cuffing a perp while rocking that get up.

The things I think of as being “grown up” or “womanly” are kind of silly and haven’t really changed that much since I was little.  When I was kid, I imagined that you just hit a certain age and you start wearing pearls, miraculously become an expert at applying makeup, and automatically know how to get in/out of a car while wearing a skirt without flashing your neighbors.   (For the record, I still haven’t mastered either of these things).

My friend “J” must be more grown up than me because she is so good at doing that thing that all Grandmothers can do – cook something amazing without even using a recipe.  (How do they do that?!)  She likes to throw her ideas into recipes for me, and they always crack me up…

For example (note how scientific she is! ha!):

Pre-heat oven to 400 deg

Chop up and mix together all or most of the following:

Ground Turkey (1 pound)

Spinach (I used half a bag of defrosted spinach).  Kale would also work.

Flax seeds (palm full)

Onions (half an onion finely chopped)

2 eggs

Capers or olives (wing it….)

Garlic (3 cloves)

Cup of quinoa

Salt (wing it)

Pepper (wing it)

Chili powder (wing it)

Pepper sauce (optional- wing it)

Make the balls (they will be ball-like, but probably flat on the bottom).  Plop them on a baking sheet (spray to keep from sticking).  Cook them for 10 min.  Move them around.  Cook them until they’re cooked.  Move them around more just for kicks if you remember.

After cooking, I used a homemade tzatziki (google, but it takes: garlic, lemon juice, greek yogurt, cucumbers, olive oil) as the sauce or just buy it at trader joe’s or other grocery store

I also threw some olives and feta on top of it all for good measure.  It might be good to mix these in the meatballs.

I’m considering adding peppers next time.

Wingin’ it,

Q