Why Ditching your Date is a Totally Viable Option

If he shows up as your date, it's perfectly acceptable to run in the other direction. (Unless of course, your idea of a fun date is hiding in a closet.)

A couple weeks ago, one of my favorite bloggers (and authors...her first book comes out in January) posted on a must-read topic for all my single ladies (and gents) out there: Ditching the Date (on the date).

I never in a million years thought I'd actually ditch my date during the actual outing. I mean, it just seemed rude and disrespectful and I figured I was tough enough stomach any narcissism, Star Wars obsession or inappropirate behavior Rico Suave threw my way until the date was over.

Now, I'm a firm believer that it's totally cool to cut and run...or befriend someone else at the dating location if your date isn't treating you with the respect you deserve.

I was on date #2 with this guy, I'll refer to him as JD (for Josh Duhammel, because they both can't seem to figure out when it's inappropriate to use a cell phone). The first date was slightly below average but I tend to give people second chances even when they don't deserve them.

Anyway, JD asked me if I wanted to go see a movie and I accepted.

First, he asked me to look up movie times - Strike One. You're the guy, you invited me, you do your own damn research! (I wish I had said that, but I didn't. I need to stop being so damn nice.

We decided to grab a beer beforehand. So, at the bar, as I brought out a post-it note with movie times, JD pulled out his phone. I eventually asked him if he got his work e-mail sent to his phone because he was typing that long. Turns out, he was texting and said something about family drama. I figured he'd eventually put the phone away or apologize and say he needed to take care of the situation.

JD did neither. Instead, he kept texting novels to his brother and the time kept slipping by until it was completely obvious we wouldn't be seeing a movie.

I left the bar a few times to call friends for advice. I had no clue how to handle this situation - it was just unbelievably ridiculous. When I came back to the bar, the guy sitting next to me talked up trivia so much that I decided to stay.

It was about that time that I looked directly behind me and saw an ex-fling sitting at a table with three of his friends. (Sometimes I really think my life is a sitcom.)

I waved and said hello, then went back to getting my ass kicked in trivia and being ignored by JD.

At one point, he was outside the bar for a good thirty minutes talking on his phone. So when ex-fling invited me to sit with him, I decided it was about time I ditch the douche.

The most hilarious part of this whole situation? When JD returned from his phone call, he proceeded to get wasted off of Patron shots and then ask me why I wasn't inviting him back to my place when I told him I was leaving.

Wow - Douchey AND delusional.

How does one get to be so socially inept? And how did I get lucky enough to go on a date with him?

I'm thankful...

...that I've never been handed one of these.

I'm curious if any member of the male race (or female, for that matter), has ever ordered this hilarious alternative to business cards. I'm even more curious to know the success rate of these bad boys.

I, for one, would totally be calling, texting and e-mailing Mr. Chad Fulton, stand-up guy. Who knows? I might even get a little crazy and facebook him, even though his card doesn't say to. I like to walk on the wild side, and something tells me Chad does, too.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

I just like smiling...smiling's my favorite

I have ventured into the world of online dating.

It's not so bad. No horror stories...yet.

But I have found that a majority of these guys are a tad on the dorky side.

Now, I'm not snobby enough to think I don't have my own dorkish tendencies - I correct spelling and grammatical errors on practically everything I read and I get excited when I see things in Latin (I took it for 5 years in middle/high school and then for 2 semesters in college).

However, these dudes tend to be mildly socially awkward and just a bit too dull for my liking. I need a little wit, sarcasm and friendly banter mixed in.

On Saturday, I went on a second date with a guy who fit this description. He was sweet and I mildly enjoyed our first date, so I thought, What the hell? Maybe he was just nervous on the first date and would come out of his shell for date #2.

...I thought wrong.

As we're standing at the host stand, waiting to be pointed in the direction of a sparkling wine tasting event he turns to me and says, "So...what's your favorite color?"

My initial thought was - I haven't been asked this question since second grade when it was cool to bond over cerulean and red-violet crayons. Then, the mental image of Will Ferrell answering the phone with, "Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?" popped into my head and I literally had to bite my tongue and turn my head to keep from laughing in this poor guy's face. Thank God the host came up right then so I didn't actually have to answer that question.

As sweet as this guy was, I just don't think I can stomach any more questions that should only asked by seven-year-olds and elves.

Justa, justa, justa, justa, justa...justa little bit

That Aretha Frankin really knows how to put the female power in a ballad.

I know all my posts are about being single and figuring out my shiz, but this is basically what my life consists of now.

I mentioned previously that I dated an older guy for about a month before he went bat-shit crazy. Well, what I left out was that the first time we went out for drinks the bar was doing a raffle and I won a free trip to Vegas. Woohoo!

However....I ended up leaving the folder detailing my winnings in his car. Homeboy still has said folder. FML.

I still talk to this guy occasionally on Facebook, and made plans to have dinner and drinks with him two weeks ago. I completely forgot that I had plans to attend the High Heel Race (one of my favorite D.C. events) with Just Jack that were set in stone a good two months ahead of time.

So, I cancelled dinner plans, but asked if we could reschedule via text. No response.

A few days later, I sent a Facebook message apologizing and asking again if we could reschedule or if not, that we needed to swap some items still in the other person's posession. (I still have one of his hats.) Still no response.

Today, I saw him on Facebook and sent him a message. We started talking. He said we should still meet for dinner/drinks and exchange each other's posessions.

Good, great, grand, wonderful! Call me selfish, but I just want to go on that free trip to Vegas.

Well...then, this guy started in on the sexual innuendo. Here are some shining examples:

"You know, I haven't had sex since the last time I was with you. I'm all cranky. Can you help?"

and

"Maybe we can just be dinner, drinks and sex buddies once in a while."

Ew, ew and ew. I know I previously had sex with this guy, but that was two months ago and doesn't mean I want to now. It made me feel demeaned, disgusted and worthless.

I tried to be diplomatic about this all (just until that folder was back in my possession), so I said - dinner and drink buddies sound good to me.

Normally diplomacy is a good thing...unless you're dealing with a certifiably crazy person.

First, he got all huffy and short because I wasn't saying what he wanted to hear. Then, when I tried to tell him what he was saying made me uncomfortable, he blamed me and said that I started it all by referring to him as a DILF when we were still hanging out TWO MONTHS AGO. Finally, after trying to understand why he was "confused" and explaning my stance on the situation, he responded with: "Fair enough - this is really going nowhere. Starting to bore me." And signed off.

So after making inappropriate comments and making me feel like a whore, you're going to lose your temper, try to manipulate me into thinking this is somehow my fault and then do the Facebook equivalent of a hang-up?

Real classy/mature/stand-up of you. It's a wonder you're still single at your age.

But here's my question - should I have expected him to talk to me the way he did? Just because I had sex with him when we were hanging out, does that give him the right to make repeated sexual references now and treat me with a complete lack of respect?

I want to say no, but I still can't help feeling that I somehow brought this on myself, and made it okay for him to demoralize me...

Booty Texting Etiquette

I may have mentioned this once or twice, but I had a boyfriend the first two years I was in college, so when I became single right before my junior year, it was basically like sacrificing a lamb to a pack of wolves.

I didn't understand the concept of booty texts - I just figured whenever I heard from a guy, be it 10 p.m. or 2 a.m., it was a good sign. Ha! What a silly 20-year-old I was.

Now that I'm 26 and in the same predicament, I feel like I'm more immune to all the shenanigans guys try to pull.

Case in point:

Guy trying to hit on me at a bar: Are you a model?
Me: You're full of shit.

I've become cynical in a lot of ways. I think any guy that hits on me is just trying to get in my pants - and I'm sure 98% of them are. But those 2% that aren't probably think I'm a bitter bitch.

Even though I've come along way from my doe-eyed college years, I've still got a lot to learn. Guys are sneaky, sneaky bastards.

You see, I started hanging out with this guy from high school recently. He stayed over a few times, and NOTHING ever happened. I was baffled that he never tried to put a move on me. Well, that all changed when he was my date to a friend's wedding. We hooked up and after the wedding, I didn't hear from him much. (He used to text me all the time to see how my day was going, etc.) I just assumed he got what he wanted and I would never hear from him again.

WRONG!

Over the weekend, I got a text from him at 2:20 a.m. that said "Hey are u out?"

[Side note: another guy was in my bed, and he heard my phone go off so he grabbed it for me. I looked it at, said "Oh-booty text" and threw it back on the floor. God knows what was going through that guy's mind. He probably did a little fist pump thinking that he could start booty texting me, too.]

Anyway, when I was going over this scenario with one of my guy friends, he asked if it was a personalized or generic booty text. I had never even thought to analyze one of those to that degree, but he made a valid point. When I told him what it said, he confirmed that was most definitely a send-to-all-potential-hookups-text.

I felt so stupid for not even thinking that five other girls had probably received the exact same text at the exact same time.

What's even stranger is that this guy texted me as if nothing had happened two days later at 7 p.m., asking me what I was up to.

I hate to say it, because I had started to become pretty good friends with this guy, but why bother texting me anymore at all? Wouldn't it be easier to just have a cut and dry split?

Essentially, I think a guy should act one of two ways if he doesn't want anything other than ass from a girl after a one-night stand:

1) Don't contact her - no texts, facebook chats or smoke signals. That way, the girl isn't left second guessing a guy's true intentions.

2) TELL HER all you want is a booty call. In my 26 years, not once has a guy done this. I finally laid it out for a guy when he tried to make excuses for not wanting a relationship. Truth be told, I didn't want one with him, either - I knew all we had in common was under the sheets. Now, we both equally send 2 a.m. texts and it works out fine because neither of us expect it to go further than that.

I think most guys would agree that those two options are easier in the long run than dragging things out unnecessarily or having to break things off with a girl when the relationship gets more serious than they can handle. But, most guys are cowards or assholes, so I don't think things will be changing anytime soon.

Why is hitting the delete button so GD hard?!?!

I have a hard time letting go of things.

I blame this on my mother - she's uber sentimental and can't bring herself to throw away my henious self portrait from fourth grade or the dress I wore to church for Christmas in 1992.

I'm like this with notes, cards and text messages.

I've deleted all but two of The Hoff's texts to me from when we were together. They were the last two he sent me before we broke up.

And the first guy I've really gotten smitten with after The Hoff? I kept all his texts for a good month and a half after we stopped talking. Yesterday, I finally said - enough is enough - this guy isn't worth the storage capacity in my phone and deleted them all. It's an empowering feeling, but sad at the same time.

I'm like this with any sort of note or greeting card, too. I throw every single card I receive into a shopping bag. I just feel like those are things that should be treasured and saved, not tossed aside.

But sometimes I wonder if keeping Valentine's Day cards from my college boyfriend is the healthiest thing in the world. It's not like I read them very often, but the thought of holding onto a chapter of my life that is closed seems a little pathetic.

I think I like to remind myself that I was once treasured enough to receive a "thinking of you" text or a "happy birthday - you mean the world to me" card. I like reading them over and over, and feeling the giddy rush I felt when I first read them. But maybe getting rid of these things is part of the healing process, allowing me to let go a little more of a person who is no longer an everyday part of my life.

I feel like I'm learning a lot from being single. And I need to start letting go of things sooner. These little reminders do nothing but hold me back, and I want to keep moving forward.

So delete button, you and I might soon become fast BFFs.

How to win over your date - i.e. guarantee you'll get asked out again

I'm clearly a little rusty at this whole dating thing, since I haven't been single in basically four years.

But I had a date this past Thursday night. A first date to be more specific.

We decided to meet for drinks, and I suggested the best happy hour spot in Arlington, because, well...I like to get my drink on.

I proceeded to have two ginormous mugs of beer (you seriously need two hands to grip these bad boys...that's what she said), a shot and a vodka tonic...on an empty stomach. Because drinking your dinner is always a splendid idea.

Halfway through my mixed drink/night cap, I definitely started to feel the effects of my libations. I tried to play it cool by challenging my date to arcade basketball and masterfully concealing my left eye so he couldn't see it do its drunken half open/half closed thing:

If that doesn't scream sexy, I don't know what does.

Yeah, um....mission FAILED. I'm not sure if it was the drunk eye or insistence on drunk food that gave it away, but it was completely obvious I was shit-housed.

So, being the gentleman that he is, my date offered to drive me home. And I decided the best way to show my gratitude would be to get into his car, recline the seat back as far as it would go and immediately pass the eff out.

Can we say Classy, table for one?

Obviously, I never thought I'd hear from this guy again. I mean, between downing drinks and becoming comatose at the end of the night, I clearly I presented myself as prime dating material - the kind of girl you would totally want to introduce to mom and dad.

At least that's what went through my mind the next day as I told the story to my friends, while laughing hysterically at my hot mess of a self.

I guess I really shouldn't be surprised - boy logic never ceases to amaze me - but, I have another date with this guy tonight. Maybe he just likes lushes or maybe he's a glutton for punishment, I don't know. What I do know is I completely abandoned any standard etiquette guidelines for behavior on a first date.

So now the real question is, do I keep up the lush act or behave myself this evening??

Since I honestly can't remember if I clicked at all with this guy or not (shocking, I know), I'll just have to wait and see how the date goes. Sometimes these things can be so painful you HAVE to drink yourself into oblivion.

Hopefully I'll have an equally exciting story to share after date #2.

Well, hello again, singledom.

It's been a while. I can't say that I've missed you - not even the teeniest little bit. You bring a lot of baggage - insecurity, mixed signals, creepy pick-up lines, bad sex - to name a few. And I kind of hate dealing with you.

But what choice do I have?

-Become a hermit and stay locked away in my room?

-Devote myself to a lifetime of celibacy and check into the nearest convent?

Since neither of those seem like viable options, looks like I'm stuck with you and your sick sense of humor.

Let's discuss what you've done to me in the two short months you've come back into my life:

I. Staged a run-in with an ex-fling. Since this random encounter, I have been the lucky recipient of late-night booty texts...some as late as 4:30 a.m. and all with my name misspelled. I have one of the most common names in America, and this genius can't even get that right - EPIC FAIL.

II. Allowed me to experience what it's like to date someone almost 20 years older than me. It was nice for a couple weeks - the chivalry, wining and dining, insistance on pleasing me in bed (side note: is it just me or could most twenty-something year-old males not give two shits about whether or not they get a girl off?).

Anywho, a few weeks in it became painfully obvious why that big of an age gap doesn't usually work. I still want to date around and party, and he couldn't deal with me going out regularly and hanging out with other guys. It was borderline a little crazy, so I don't even want to know how he'd act if we were exclusive.

But the real kicker is, when we finally decided to end our "fling" (via facebook instant messenger, none the less...yeah, real classy), he asked if we could have sex one last time.

a) I've never been asked that before b) it made me feel like a whore and c) HELL NO!

III. Gotten me smitten with a guy who told me he wasn't looking for anything serious the third time we hung out. I've heard that song and dance enough times to know that's code for "I like you, just not enough to date you." But instead of writing him off, I did the typical I'm-a-girl-and-I'm-going-to-over-analyze-everything-he-says-and-does-to-convince-myself-he-likes-me routine. And guess what? It's been almost two weeks, and I haven't heard from him. I've stopped overanalyzing and accepted that he's just not that into me, but it still effing sucks.

Oh, singledom, I can't tell you how excited I am to be 26 and back at the starting line, having to wade through all the crazies, assholes and bullshit you throw my way to find a decent guy. But, you definitely keep things interesting - so, bitch:

Bring.
It.
On.

So, that whole grad school thing...

...don't think it's gonna happen. Not right now at least.

I signed up for one class. On Thursday nights from 7:20 - 10 p.m.

Let's think of the problems with this scenario:

1) I won't get home in time for Jersey Shore.
2) That's prime time for Thursday night debauchery.
3) I have to get from downtown D.C. to Fairfax during rush hour. Yes, I could rely on mass transit; however, at 10 p.m. the metro runs every 20 minutes and then I have to take a bus which runs every 30 minutes back to my apartment. So we're looking at midnight arrival time. This leaves driving as the alternative - after metroing and taking the bus to my apartment. Getting from Arlington to Fairfax should theoretically take 20 minutes. In rush hour, it takes 45 mins - 1 hour. Then, I have to pay $9 for parking each week (the equivalent of 6 beers at Whitlows mug night).

Some mayjah negatives.

Plus, I'm just not sure I'm ready to give up a huge chunk of my time drinking/socializing/crashing on the couch for hours on end to write term papers and read 500 pages a week.

Six months ago, I was trapped in a job I detested and thought there was no way out. Grad school seemed like a way out. At least a way to open up more job opportunities.

Now, I like my job and I no longer feel like grad school is my only salvation. I've already found it.

And shelling out $1400 per class seems mighty stupid for something I'm not so sure I want. It's like buying a pair of shoes I know I'll never wear.

So yeah....I'm going to drop my class for this semester. I still have next semester to sign up if I change my mind. But right now life is looking pretty good the way it is.

I'll Get By with a Little Help From My Friends

Per yesterday's post, we all know how splendid the Red Sox game with The Hoff went.

By the fifth inning, I was so annoyed with watching him incessantly text another girl, I finally broke out my phone for moral support.

Me: So, The Hoff keeps texting this girl right in front of me. So awkward and weird!

SK: Oh that's just great! Is it the slut from your blog? I just read that the other day. [Ed. note: she was referring to FTW]

Me: No, it's some girl named Dee. Who the eff is named Dee??

SK: Dee Snider hahahahahah

The thought of The Hoff texting someone who looks like Dee Snider made me spew my beer all over the place and almost fall out of my seat.

Please to enjoy pictures of this handsome specimen of a human being.

Here he is in his glory days as the frontman of Twisted Sister:

These days, he looks more like this:

Friends make everything better. And to those of you who have listened to the all the drama and provided a shoulder to cry on or a much-needed laugh - THANK YOU. It means more than you know.

And now, I'm off to enjoy this fabulous 3-day weekend! Happy Labor Day/excuse to drink on Sunday night!!

Becoming "friends" with your ex

You ever feel like you have so much going on you just don't know what to write/say?

Where to even begin.....

I guess, first things first, The Hoff and I are officially no more. He came over a couple weeks ago and told me that he thought it would be best for us to make our break permanent, since he could never fully trust me. It kind of knocked me on my ass, honestly. I felt like Jennifer Aniston in the "Break Up," hoping that by not being with me The Hoff would miss me so much that he'd want to do whatever it takes to resolve our issues and be together.

Well, things didn't turn out so hunky-dory for Jen and they certainly didn't go any better for me. At least she got a nice dinner out of it and an attempt at salvaging. I got nothin'.

I will say though, it's nice that The Hoff and I didn't have some horrendous break up where we can't even stand to look at each other. We're still "friends." As much of a friend you can be with someone who used to know every inane detail about your day and who you shared all of your intimate secrets with. Someone who is now regulated to the status of receiving random gchats or texts every few days and awkward silences when you do finally hang out in person. Because really, after the obligatory "how's work going?", "how are your roommates?", "the weather we're having is hot-as-balls" chit-chat, what is there left to say?

I don't want to know what girls he's met, who exactly he's been bar hopping with on weekends, how he's thrown away every card I ever wrote him...

Trecherous terriorty to venture into, folks.

And when we do hang out, I want to hold his hand, call him the pet name I so creatively/nauseatingly created for him and have him kiss my forehead the way he always did to let me know that everything is okay in the world.

But it's not. The Hoff and Miss Procras. chapter is over. And the reality of that slaps me across the face everytime we hang out.

Like last night.

For his birthday (which was in May), I bought tickets to the Red Sox vs. Orioles game. Nothing too horrific happened. The Hoff just kept pulling out his phone, texting someone repeatedly who had a name that more than likely belonged to a female. Of course, being a girl, my mind started wandering. I mean, who does a guy text multiple times while he's watching his favorite sports team? I gotta assume it's to converse with a girl he's interested in/wants to sleep with, but that's just me. (Side note: I did some Facebook stalking this morning and confirmed it most definitely is a girl around my age, who is cute, which makes it that much more of a low blow.)

Granted, I hold no claim to The Hoff. He is a free man who can text, hang out with and date whoever he pleases. But to text someone so blatantly infront of the person you spent the last two years of your life with, the person who is taking you out for your birthday, well...that sucks.

No other word for it. It just plain and simple sucks.

So, I guess the age old question remains - can exes be friends?

I think to a certain extent, yes. I'll never have the type of relationship with The Hoff that I once did. I'm pretty sure it will remain a very surface-level friendship. But, I can still laugh with him and have fun.

And at the end of the day, I can look back at the past two years and smile. I don't think of the fights or harbor bitterness toward anything that happened. I think of all the trips we went on as a couple, our inside jokes that only made us keel over laughing and all the new experiences I shared with The Hoff. Are there some things I'd do differently? Absolutely. But I've come out of this relationship a better person. And I think that's really all anyone can ask for.

Always the mistress, never the wife?

I used to joke in college that I would always be the mistress and never the wife when all I could find were one-night stands, not serious relationships. It was funny then.

Four years and two long-term relationships later, it's not so funny any more.

Do I have some gene that makes me unmarry-able?

Will I end up like Samantha in SATC, or worse - a 72-year-old single woman with 9,000 cats to keep me company?

Let me back up for a minute - the reason for this pity party is The Hoff and I are on a break. We both decided it would be best to take some time and figure out if we're truly meant for each other.

The more I think about it though, the more I wonder - shouldn't we know by now? Choosing a lifelong partner should not be this hard. I've always heard that when you know, you know. And neither of us do.

We hung out last night, for the first time since we decided to take a break (which was less than a week ago).

Worst idea EVER.

It was his roommate's birthday, so there were tons of other people around. The Hoff and I don't even know how to act around each other right now much less when all our friends are around = most awkward situation I've ever been in.

To make matters worse, one of The Hoff's friends (who is a girl and who I'm not the biggest fan of) showed up. For blogging purposes, I'll refer to her as FTW (Fake Tan Whore). I won't bore you with all the details, but basically I just feel like she never respected my relationship with The Hoff. She's a flirty person, who apparently has a "boyfriend." I say "boyfriend" because I don't think anyone has ever actually met the guy.

Needless to say, I've tried to be as nice as I can to this girl while suppressing the urge to beat her with my 4-inch stilletos. (The grungy ones I used to wear to frat parties. Don't want to ruin a good pair of heels.)

Last night, when The Hoff and I were arguing, she tried to pull me away from him so we could chat. I ignored her. So then she got in my face, called me crazy and went on some tirade about how The Hoff and her are just friends. I walked away.

I could sit here and slam FTW until I'm blue in the face, but at the end of the day, it's not about her. It's about me and The Hoff.

I think we sometimes misplace our hurt anger on the other person, because it's so hard to believe the person we love and care about most in the world would do something to hurt us so badly. But that's the risk you take when you fall in love.

And I'm so hurt by The Hoff right now. I feel like he put FTW above me last night. When we were still together, I kept wondering what she has that I don't to make him want to be so close to her. Is she a better listener? Does she laugh at his jokes more? Does she make him feel more wanted than I do? And what's worse - now that we're on a break, I know that she's the one he's confiding in. It's hard enough to see your ex get close with someone else, but when it's with someone you know doesn't like or respect you, it makes it that much harder.

To FTW: if you happen to stumble upon this (it is easily accessbile thanks to the grand and glorious interwebs), as much as I think you'd like it to be, it's never been about you. May you never have to endure your own significant other getting friendly with someone like you.

To The Hoff: I just want you to be happy. I hope that you find whatever or whoever it is that can make you smile everyday.

I'm a Big Kid Now

I started my new job on Monday.

I now ride the Metro to work, read the newspaper during my 20-minute commute and get this....

I

have

my

own

office!!

With my own window and everything.

Holy shit do I feel official!!

I suddenly feel the need to go out and buy office decor. You know, make it home-y. Maybe even feng-shui my work nest to promote a serene, productive environment. (Ha!)

Let's be real, the more likely scenario is for me to hang posters similar to those gracing the walls in my college dorm room. I.e. pieces of art such as:

and

Yes, that is a poster depicting different kinds of mullets and yes, I actually had this hanging up during my college years. Don't ask me why, but I think mullets are the most hilarious things ever. I even have a code word for when I see them out and about - you can't master the art of mullet hunting without a kick-ass code word.

And of course, I'll also need the obligatory DMB, Animal House and shirtless Paul Walker posters adorning my walls.

I think I'd be the hit of the office and the new favorite employee of the CEO.

The most hilarious thing about my new job though has to be that blogging has helped me. Seriously. I'm editing and posting web content using a program eerily similar to blogger. I never thought blogging would help me in the professional world but I am living, breathing proof that it can.

And I'm pretty sure this job will also help me develop a cooler blog once I start learning more about HTML coding. It's a win-win situation really.

In all seriousness, I'm really excited about this gig. I think it will really broaden my skills and experience and open a lot of new doors for me professionally.

It's an adjustment riding the crowded metro, weaving around the homeless people scattered up and down the streets, paying $10 for lunch and getting used to the all the hustle and bustle of a city. But I think I'm gonna like it. It doesn't hurt that there's a bar at the ground floor of my office. Coincedence? I think not.

I've got a feeling...that 26 is gonna be a good year

Time for my monthly update (I still can't believe I've only been posting once a month.) But a lot has happened in June.

In the past 30 days, I've been accepted into grad school, celebrated my 26th birthday and been offered a new job.

First of all, I'll be staying in D.C.! The decision was basically made for me (I got into one grad school program and not the other) so it was nice not having to choose between the two.

I celebrated my 26th birthday by drinking sangria and wine at the National Sculpture Garden and then venturing to the waterfront in Georgetown. The night began splendidly...and ended with my drunk-dialing my father.

I have no idea what made me so upset, but I was bawling and telling my poor father he needed to come to D.C., stat. (PS-it was only 11:30 p.m.) Thankfully, my roommate grabbed the phone from me and told my dad I was just upset about turning 26. Thanks, Rooms! I will be avoiding large quantities of wine for a while...

A week ago, I was offered a new job. I'll be working in the city doing work more in line with what I went to school for in the first place. I'm beyond excited and think it will be open a lot of doors for me career-wise. I'm also stoked to experience happy hours in D.C...haven't gotten to do that much while working in the 'burbs.

In August, I start grad school at George Mason. My classes are Tuesdays and Thursday from 7:20-10 p.m. I can't decide if it was a genius idea to go back to school or if I'm a glutton for punishment. Either way, it will be interesting to see if I can abandon some of my procrastinating tendencies. Pulling all-nighters and then working an eight-hour day would NOT be pretty.

It's crazy how quickly things can change. I've wanted them to for so long, it's hard to believe it's actually happening.

I think this calls for a summer-long celebration!

Routines and Miss Procras. do NOT get along

Routines have never really been my thing. Must be why I detest working Monday – Friday 8:30 – 5. Can’t we get a little variety and spice things up a bit? I.e. allow me to sleep later than 7:50 – 8:05 am?

This whole I’m-so-not-a-routine-person has started to wreck havoc on a facet of my life I adore…blogging.

A few months ago, I would blog at work during the 6 hours I had NOTHING to do. It would keep me entertained for a good hour or so of my work day. But now, I’m working two jobs, and my 8:30-5 job is crazy. I am working non-stop for a full eight hours. I barely have time to pee! Not that I’m complaining, I much prefer this type of job to the one I had before. The days fly by and I actually kind of enjoy the work. And it’s not like I have internet access while working at the mall. Unfortunately, no iPhone/Blackberry/Smartphone for me yet.

So, this leaves me with zero time to blog.

I could say, okay, no matter what, I’m going to blog every Tuesday and Thursday at 10 p.m. when I get home from working at the mall or happy hour or whatever. But I know that won’t happen. I’ll grab a beer or glass of wine, plant myself in front of the television, and watch Friends, Snapped, Forensic Files or Golden Girls until I pass out. (I may or may not have memorized the line-up of awesome shows that are on between the hours of 10 pm and midnight.)

I’m not going to write lies (maybe that’s why I can’t find a job as a journalist), so I’m not going to promise that I’ll do better and post more often. Because I know the minute someone suggests happy hour or I find a Snapped marathon on t.v., blogging will be thrown out the window.

Sad, but true. Because I do love blogging. It’s introduced me to some pretty rad people (Hi, Pho and LiLu!)

But I can say I’ll blog when I can. And hopefully I can kick my ass in gear and make it happen more often.

In other news, this weekend, I will attending horse race with Lo and my Richmond nearest and dearest. Lo and I are bringing a bottle of firefly, a bottle of Absolut Apeach vodka to mix with lemonade (which will actually end up being peach vodka with an itty-bitty splash of lemonade) and a 12-pack. I’m driving my mom’s mini-van there and then my dad is chauffeuring us back. (Thanks, Daddy-O!) It’ll be just like high school….except it’s legal for us to drink.

Two words: SHIT SHOW

Guaranteed, I’ll have some fun pics/stories to share.

Happy Friday!!!

I quit my job! And other fun updates!

Time for a mayjah update.

A) I quit my job. Can I get a hell yeah?!! No more threats, accusations and mean looks! (For now.)

B) I started two new ones.

I’m working for a temp agency during the week and at Jessica McClintock during the weekends. This is my fourth prom season working there. Why I continuously subject myself to the trivial demands of teenage girls who just want a dress they can stain a la Monica Lewinsky I have no idea. I’m a glutton for punishment.

Good news is, I will have fun stories to share on this blog.

Anyway, this is my plan for the next two months until I figure out where I’m going to grad school. It’s strange, because I visit Richmond and feel at home and love reconnecting with some of my best friends. But D.C. fits, too. And the thought of leaving The Hoff and my friends up here is terrifying.

But I know I’ll end up where I’m supposed to. I’m excited to start a new chapter of my life. I know that I’m capable of far more than I’ve accomplished in the four years since I graduated in college. And I’m determined to make it happenen.

I’ve even toyed with the idea of getting a PhD. Can you imagine? Dr. Procras. Ha! But I’ll cross that road once I obtain a master’s degree. It may be all the school I can handle.

C) With the pay cut I’ve taken, I’ve started frequenting more happy hours. It is so much cheaper to drink during the hours of 4 – 8 pm! The cell phone flask will start making more and more cameos when I decide to go out on the weekends. Momma’s on a budget!

D) I’ve tried to make The Hoff my sugar daddy. He is less than enthused. But, he treated me to a movie this weekend. Those who haven't, go see "Hot Tub Time Machine" immediately! Huh-larious! And bonus points if you've seen it and recognize the actor who plays the one-armed bellhop.

E) I have bangs now. And my hair is darker with highlights. I'll try to post a pic soon.

F) I’ve read two Nicholas Sparks books in three days. They’re my crack cocaine. I feel so lame reading them, and even more lame when I cry while reading them, but they are just SO DAMN GOOD.

G) A weekend wouldn’t be complete without a compelling Lifetime movie. Sunday, “Student Seduction” with Elizabeth Berkley was playing. I’ve seen it before, and I’ll probably see it 50 more times. The former Jesse Spano plays a high school chemistry teacher who offers to tutor a stuggling student. Dude turns out to be a little psycho and assaults her, but then accuses her of coming on to him.

Why are these movies soooo good?! And how do they cast such award-winning actresses?!

That’s all I’ve got for now. Hopefully I’ll have some good teenaged retail crisis stories to share soon.

The Hoff Does Not Heart Lifetime Movies

We all know I have a slight obsession with Lifetime movies. The acting is stellar (hello...Tori Spelling stars in 59.8% of the movies), the content is compelling and there's also a moral to the story (i.e. don't sleep with your friend's husband; don't marry abusive psychopaths). Deep stuff.

My all time favorite lifetime movie was on Sunday night. Maybe some of you have heard of it? It's called "She's Too Young." Basically, it's about a group of high school students who all contract syphilis because they sleep around with each other. The focus is on a freshman girl, who gives the popular jock head just so he'll like her and ends up contracting syphilis. Obviously, it's a classic.

Fortunately for The Hoff, we were at his place so he could witness this award-winning drama. I've never seen someone cringe so much while still stay glued to the television screen. The movie reinforced his stance that he doesn't ever want to have a daughter and brought out some of the most hilarious commentary.

My favorite? "This movie is giving me a negative boner."

I think The Hoff and I need to make Lifetime movie date nights a regular occurrence.

What to do with my life?

I used to spend half my day at work catching up on my blogs while writing my own posts. Since I'm not currently working, I don't exactly have the same routine.

I've been studying like crazy for the GREs, applying to grad schools and going on lots of job interviews. I also don't have a working computer in my apartment so I've been hitting up the Arlington library and stealing The Hoff's whenever I can.

My life just feels so chaotic lately because I have no clue what I'm doing with myself a few months from now. I could be in Richmond for grad school or still be in D.C. working. The only thing certain is that I will NOT be going back to my job.

I know I've somewhat alluded to it, but at the end of January I was called into my supervisor's office and told that I had been grouchy that week and that they had smelled alcohol twice.

I don't think I've ever been that shocked/mortified/appalled in my life. The first thing I did was vehemently deny being an alcoholic or ever drinking during work hours. I may enjoy my apple martinis, chianti and coors light, but I'm not stupid enough to jeopardize a job or my reputation. That's why happy hours were invented, after all - for the working girl to drink away her work problems cheaply AFTER 5 p.m.

Needless to say, I had a series of panic attacks and have been on leave since. The thought of going back is enough to make me feel like my chest is being crushed by a boa constrictor.

Anyway, the point of all this is to say I miss you, blogging world. In the words of Renee Zellweger, "You complete me." My professional life may be in shambles, but you have never failed me. And I promise to not be neglectful like I have been the past two months.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

As of Monday, I've officially finished all my grad school applications and taken the GREs. I.E.-I'm due for a MAHJAH celebration tonight.

I don't care that I'm not Irish, I can drink green colored and Irish inspired libations with the best of them. I think I'm going to alternate between apple martinis and Killians all night. It should be fabulous!

Now that I'm done writing essays and studying my ass off, I'll have more time to blog and catch you all up on the craziness that has been my life this past month.

Cheers!

Things I Think I Can Do When Wasted

I was a shitshow at blogger happy hour two weeks ago. A complete, and utter SHITSHOW.

After vomitando-ing up the delicious pizza, eight glasses of wine, one martini and one lemon drop shot I had consumed, one would think I'd be ready to call it a night. (Mind you, it wasn't even 11 p.m. at this point.)

Not so much.

For starters, while The Hoff attempted to hail us a cab, I proceeded to jump over a huge mound of snow. But instead of jumping feet first, I decided it would be much more effective if I soared, a la Superwoman style, over the block of slush/ice. I later asked why my hands were scraped and covered in dirt.

When The Hoff and I finally got into a cab, I started making small talk with the cab driver. "I promise not to puke in your car, Mr. Cab Driver, sir" were my first words to the poor soul chauffeuring us home.

Next, I asked him where he was from and begged him to teach me his language. He said Afghanistan. Side note: Is that language called Afghan? I have no idea. (I know, I know-typical ignorant American.)

Apparently, I butchered everything the guy tried to teach me, and I definitely don't remember any of it. But at least Mr. Cab Driver, sir was a good sport and didn't throw me out the first block of the ride.

One would think that at this point I would go upstairs and pass out. Logic isn't part of the wasted Miss Procras' repertoire.

The Hoff's roommates were up drinking, and I deemed it absolutely necessary to join in the fun. When The Hoff would hand me a glass of water, I'd immediately start scavenging around for a beer. Didn't matter if I picked up an empty bottle or someone else's beer, so long as I had one in my hand.

I then harassed his one roommate long enough that he let me play Call of Duty on Xbox live. Now, I've never played this game nor Xbox 360. The guy on the other end of the Xbox antennae was trying to help me, but I had my own agenda.

"Let's kill some bitches in this plane! I know they're in there!" (FYI-it was a helicopter not a plane, and it was completely empty.)

Somehow, I managed to stay up til 3 p.m. watching "Training Day" with one eye open. Anyone else have trouble watching t.v. while wasted? I'm incapable of not seeing double unless I keep one eye closed.

Note to self for future drunken occurences: I can't fly like superwoman, learn a foreign language, play Xbox games or watch television. Damn, what CAN you do when intoxicated???

The Only Thing Constant is Change

I'm alive...sorta.

I'm spending my hiatus from work applying to grad schools, searching for jobs and deciding whether to stay in D.C. or move back to Richmond. Big changes ahead, folks.

Speaking of change, how do you like my new digs? During the copious amounts of free time I've been blessed with recently, I propositioned the totally awesome and fabulous LiLu to redesign my blog. She happily obliged and did a kick-ass job. Seriously, this is how I envisioned my blog to look when I started it but lacked the design savvy-ness or skills to create such a masterpiece.

Lilu, I raise my martini glass to you and will be buying you mucho beverages tonight at happy hour.

So, if you're wondering where I've been hiding...it's basically from reality. And reality (bitch that she is) keeps smacking me in the face and telling me I gots to figure out my shiz.

But, dear reality, you will be ever-so-forcefully kicked to the curb this evening so that I can consume deliciously cheap cocktails with Just Jack, LiLu and other awesome D.C. bloggers.

Happy Friday!

Lifetime Movies > Football

I've been negligent to this poor blog...again.

I haven't felt like writing in a week and a half, which is terrifying, because writing is such a major part of who I am.

But mainly, so much has happened that I just don't know where to start.

So, I'll just summarize it into this:

Life slapped me across the face, shook me a few times and told me I really need to start being nicer to my psyche.

And I'm trying. Little by little. Day by day.

May sound cryptic, but it's all I'm able to divulge. (For now, at least.)

I started this blog to laugh with and at myself (and hopefully allow others to in the process). So enough with the blah and onto the happy...

One of my nearest and dearest, SayJo, was in town this past week. While I was out to dinner with her and a group of her friends from high school, we started talking about the most recent Lifetime movie debut.

In case any of you weren't aware, "Pregnancy Pact" premiered Saturday, January 23rd. Not as good as the one where the entire school contracts syphillis, but still a classic.

Anyone ever notice how a Lifetime movie premiere for women is the equivalent of a championship football game for men?

Seriously, half of us at dinner stayed home that Saturday to watch this movie, the others DVRed it and one girl convinced a bartender to turn it on while she was out with friends. Pure genius and awesomeness.

I don't know what it is about movies depicting teen pregnancies, STDs and battered women, but us females like to bond through trash television and copious amount of wine.

I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Saturday night.

In Remembrance

A friend of mine from high school passed away last Tuesday. He was 27 years old.

Death never comes easy. You can't even predict your emotions when it happens. Expected or unexpected, it supresses your soul and sinks your heart, sweeping you away in a wave of grief.

I didn't keep in touch with this friend much after high school. I can probably count the number of times I saw him on one hand. But some of my favorite moments from high school are with him.

Listening to him beatbox, watching him breakdance in a mutual friend's basement or at the one under-18 club Richmond boasted, he always had a crowd around him. He touched so many lives with his contagious energy and spirit.

At his funeral this past Saturday, which had standing room only by the time I arrived, I looked around and saw at least 5 newborns being coddled by their parents. I was struck by the juxtaposition of the ending of one life and the beginning of numerous others, realizing just how delicate our physical life is.

But I believe the soul carries on after the physical life ends. I think those that knew my friend can still feel his presence. And thanks to the power of technology, those that didn't know my friend can still be touched by his incredible ability to entertain a crowd.

What it means to be a writer

Today marks shitty day number 224 at work. I've been there a year and a half, not by choice, but by necessity. Mama's got to bills to pay and red wine to buy.

I spent the day hovered over my keyboard, watching tears hit the keys one by one, rejecting any ounce of advice The Hoff solicited via gchat, because sometimes it's easier to sulk in misery than find a solution to the problem.

Here's my dilemma:

I'm on job #3 since graduating college three and a half years ago.

Job #1: Proposal writer for government contractor. First and only job offered to me upon graduation because it's the only one I applied to. I figured I'd be cool, since 'writer' was in the title. Yeah, um...not so much. I sucked at this job and finally decided after crying in the bathroom for weeks on end that I needed a change. It was around that time job #2 landed in my lap.

Job #2: Editorial assistant for two log home magazines and a timber home magazine. Gotta admit, I knew zero about log or timber homes. But I was applying what I learned in college, utilizing AP style, and editing documents on InDesign. Life was good. Until the economy went down the shitter, starting with the home industry, and my position was eliminated 14 months after I started.

Job #3: Information specialist for a government agency dedicated to women's health. Believe in the cause, not so much the organization. I essentially answer phone calls and e-mails from people who have the average IQ of a rock. I think I've mentioned I'm also a breastfeeding peer counselor before on this blog. I'm not sure how much talk of sore, chapped, cracked nipples I can tolerate.

Life is full of promise and opportunity when you graduate college. I envisioned myself as Kate Hudson's character in "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" or Jennifer Garner in "13 Going On 30," fashion magazine writer/editor by day and gallivanting girl about town by night.

Then, reality knocked me on my ass and I realized that you have to be Anna Wintour's goddaughter or have some divine intervention to be selected as an employee at one of the coveted fashion magazines. That is, if any of them survive this recession.

And I go to job # 3 day after day, knowing I'm better than what I'm doing, all the while being micromanaged by my supervisors. And all I really want to do is write. It's the only thing I've ever been above average at and the one thing that has consistently brought pleasure to my life.

But what do you do when you can't get paid to do your passion?

I watched "Julie and Julia" tonight, a movie any blogger can relate to, and Julie posed the question, "what does it mean to be a writer?"

-Do you have to be published to be considered a writer?
I'd argue no for the sole fact that numerous famous authors were never published during their lifetime, but that probably never affected their classification of themselves as a writer.

So how do you become a writer?

To watch Julie go through her own enlightenment, unfolding her talent and achieving her dreams made me realize something: If both Julia Child and Julie can go from government secretaries to published authors, then dammit, there may be hope for me yet.

But for now, I may not have a book deal or a movie offer, but I have this blog and that's incentive enough for now. Thanks for sticking around for the ride.

Ode to Grits

Last night, The Hoff and I had a nice romantic dinner in honor of D.C. Restaurant Week.

Our last Restaurant Week experience was God awful. I'm talking, I-would-have-rather-eaten- Ramen-noodles-and-a-Big-Mac awful. The only saving grace from that experience were our drinks, and only because we knew the bartender.

But, a friend recommended this particular restaurant so I figured it was safe to dine there for Restaurant Week. Plus, they don't discriminate and allow you to chose anything on their menu.

It was good. Not AMAZING, but good. 1,000,000 times better than the place that popped my D.C. Restaurant Week cherry.

The best part of the meal? The gouda grits served with my shrimp. By far some of the best grits I've ever tasted.

I'm pretty crazy about my grits. True story: I once, stammered into a Waffle House in Richmond (best place to go for late night drunk food) and belligerently yelled "I want my fucking grits" for a good 15 minutes until their wholesome, buttery goodness were placed in front of my face alongside some cheesy scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

(...I think I just exposed my white trash side.)

At least I didn't belligerently demand my favorite Southern side dish in an upscale D.C. restaurant...YET.

Last night, as I was devouring my gouda grits and shrimp, The Hoff tried and bite and decided that he liked my grits just as much as me. I told him that if he's going to eat the epitome of Southern food, he has to say 'y'all' everytime he takes a bite.

Didn't go over so well.

Bahstan Boy that he is, I don't even think he brain can wrap around the essence and beauty of 'y'all.'

This means, darling Hoff, no mo' grits for you!

Random facts with some TMI thrown in

I haven't been able to sleep very well the past few nights. It could be because of gotten 10 hours of sleep during the day, but I think the more likely culprit is the songs that keep popping into my head as I'm drying to drift off into slumbering bliss. Please tell me I'm not the only person with this problem!

Last night, this little gem was on repeat for a good 40 minutes. Damn you, American Idol! Damn you!

Other nights, it's been such classics as Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" or Ke$ha's "Tick Tock." I have great taste in music if I haven't mentioned that before.

This morning I woke up, uber tired from only seven hours of sleep instead of my required eight (thank you very much, General Platt), and bolted for the shower.

Another fascinating fact about me: I have to bathe in boiling hot water. (Some courtesy TMI: The Hoff and I have a hard time showering together because of our difference in water temperatures.)

Anywhosit, 2010 has decided to bless me with frigid water temperatures between the hours of 6:45 a.m. and 9:30 a.m. aka prime shower time for us working folk. Which means, I have to start taking showers at night. Which means I have to start blow drying and straightening my hair at night (I just got swoopy side bangs...they aren't pretty when I sleep on them wet.) Which means I can't get wasted at happy hours anymore because it totally sucks doing those things drunk.

OR I could just say eff it and not shower before work.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Offers of showers with 110 degree Fahrenheit water temperatures?

Well hello there, 2010

I haven't started 2010 off very well. Thirteen days into 2010 and I'm just now writing my first post.

::Hiding face in shame::

For some reason, the start of the new year for means its sinus infection/cold time for Miss Procras. Today marks day three in bed, and I've finally made it out of bed and to the doctors office.

Staying home sick does have some perks. I've gotten to watch my favorite daytime talk shows: Ellen, Oprah and Maury; catch a Law and Order: SUV marathon and sleep for hours on end (I've seriously been sleeping 16 hours a day).

Now that I'm armed with a Z pack, I should be feeling 70% tomorrow and 100% Friday---just in time for the weekend. As much as I've enjoyed lounging around the apartment for three days straight, I'm starting to feel like a stay at home mom - minus the tantrum throwing toddlers.

Now, back to my eight-hour nap....