Straight Up

I'm used to friends (or more frequently, guys I go on dates with) asking me when they'll have a blog post.

Trust me, when you do something worth writing about, you'll be written about. I mean, that's the New York Times motto, right? Just kidding, they'll write about anything.

So will I.

"Why am I not in your blog?" Hey man, this is probably a situation where no news is good news for you. Of course, there are those moments where I have a serious lapse of judgement and think, "You're right, I should write about you," and then I end up cradling a giant plate of chicken nuggets that are still cold in the center because I just couldn't wait for the empty comfort of breaded white meat and BBQ sauce.

WHY IS THIS BBQ SAUCE SO SPICY?! Damn you, KRAFT.

So I decided to get drinks with a boy I used to date, and then I decided to buy him drinks because his CitiBike wouldn't work and he lost $60 and he lives in Brooklyn and what a sad existence.

It's true what they say. Martinis are like boobs. But I hate boobs, so martinis are like testicles.

One is like "OK. No big. We can do this", two is like "No surprise there", and three is like, "Please let me stop crying into this bowl of popcorn and M&Ms".

Seriously, they will give you free popcorn and M&Ms at Stonewall, and it was so good, I think we know what started the riots.

Pretty sure it's safe to say that this gentleman will remain a "guy I used to date". Whose fault that is, we're still not sure. I'm going to blame Max the bartender for given me that third martini and extra M&Ms.

Should've known better, Max. Should've known better.

I mixed the BBQ sauce with mustard and it's not so bad anymore,

TJB: Making It



NOTE: To be fair, the subject of this post told me that reading my blog is like seeing a crying clown. I really liked the analogy.

Desperation Station

Do you think there was ever a time when breakups were just breakups? Imagine how nice it must have been to sit through the awkward half hour conversation of, “This isn’t working”, and then go home and drink yourself to sleep dreading the next time you’d awkwardly run into him.

Nowadays, you have to go home and drink yourself to sleep while purposefully running into them on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram to see if they’ve posted anything that proves they’re as devastated and regretful as you want them to be. There are no longer coincidental run-ins, only stalker set-ups when you happen to think you look really cute today, and it might be worth taking a cab to the Starbucks they just checked into on Foursquare before their cappuccino is even frothed.

Or maybe just update your OKCupid photos since you know they’ve been looking at your profile anyway. They track that shit.

Last night, before I had even finished my first martini, my best friend mentioned I might be a little…”desperate”. She was lucky I’d already eaten the olives and was against wasting liquor, or she’d have been blinded by a flying garnish.

But that’s what best friends are for, right? To tell us the honest truth?

NO, YOU IDIOTS! Best friends are for saying that you were the prettiest one at prom and you were robbed of the crown because everybody was jealous!

OK, maybe I see her point.

The problem is, America, that this is the longest I haven’t had a serious relationship since I was 19. And by “serious”, I mean a jealous boyfriend who constantly texts me wondering where I am while I tell him he’s not the boss of me. And I miss that.

My best friend says I need to be OK with being alone before I can fully open my heart to another person. Then again, she’s had one boyfriend and they’ve been dating for over six years, so maybe she’s not the most qualified to judge me about my “serial dating addiction”. Plus, I spend most of my time staring into the mirror practicing my angles, so I think I’m pretty good at being alone.

Though, I did put in a work request for dimmer lighting in my bathroom. At least until I get my summer glow.

By the end of my second martini and a lot of fried food, I figured my best friend might have a point. I decided to spend last night watching movies, by myself…reflecting…in my twin bed…with four stuffed animals.

Oh GOD I’m going to die alone,

TJB: Making It