Christmas with the Other Family

The holidays are a time to spend with family. Sometimes that family isn't yours. Anyone who is a part of a "so-and so" and "so-and-so" usually has to make the decision of whether to spend the holidays with their significant other's family or with their own. The smart way to make the decision is to figure out which family will be having more fun. (My sister's boyfriend's famous line is "That sounds like something fun to do with your sisters" whenever my sister mentions some holiday-heavy event that he doesn't really want to go to, such as the Nutcracker or the Rockettes.) But, there are times when you don't have a choice in the matter.

A friend of mine, who I will call "C", recently told me a Christmas story.* Every year, C and her wife have a day with the wife's family when they exchange gifts Secret Santa style and take part in a Yankee swap. Every year, C mentions to her wife that she might sit out this year. But, at the wife's insistence that C sitting out will disappoint her family, C decides to participate.

Their Secret Santa is an elaborate process in which all of the names (C, wife, 2 sisters-in law, 2 brothers-in-law, and parents-in-law) are emailed to a friend, and then the friend emails them all back with their Secret Santa assignment.

This year, C was excited. For the Secret Santa, she had her mother-in-law and had bought a nice pair of leather gloves. For the Yankee swap, she had gotten a cool pair of earmuffs with built-in headphones, perfect for jogging or walking in the winter weather. Everyone gathered at Sister-in-Law #1's house. The gift exchange was underway! C watched everyone exchange gifts, and when the exchange was over, she looked down...at her empty lap.

You see, Brother-in-Law number #1 had "forgotten" to get C a gift. C would normally be understanding about something like this...except that this is the second time that this had happened. So, C sat there watching everyone open their presents. C's mother-in-law advised that she thought the new gloves that C gave her were the wrong size. C's sister-in-law went into another room and emerged wearing her brand new pajamas. And C sat with her empty hands and her visions of sugar plums.

And when it came time for the Yankee Swap, C got a lovely...jar opener.

When C and her wife returned home, her wife wearing her brand new gifted sweater, C casually mentioned that she probably would sit out the gift-giving the next year. To which her wife responded, "What? You have to. It means so much to my family!"

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent's marriage.

Anyone Can Be a Detective

It's probably new to no one except me that Google has a reverse image search function, meaning that you can plug the image into the search bar, and if that picture is anywhere on the internet, Google will be able to find it. I learned that from Nev on Catfish.

This week, I decided to go Encyclopedia Brown on this guy's ass. "Kevin" had contacted me online a few years ago and sent his picture. We spoke for a few days, and then he started getting weird. He had a ridiculous obsession with girls in boyshorts. And would inexplicably send me pictures of girls...in boyshorts, most of them of a female "friend" of his. I started to get creeped out and stopped talking to him.

After my radio silence, he sent an email telling me that he had sent me a fake picture, and he actually wasn't who he said he was. He had sent a picture of his friend. My response was, "Well, can you fix me up with that guy," because he was pretty cute. And he answered, "Yeah, I guess I can ask if he'll talk to you." About a day later, I received a message from a "Mike". I was pretty sure that it was the same guy as "Kevin", but at this point, it was kind of amusing.

Needless to say, I stopped talking to both Kevin and/or Mike within a day or so because he and/or they were just plain weird.

Going through some old emails for blog material, I came across the Kevin/Mike exchange and the guy's picture. Wondering who this guy might be, I plugged his image into Google. And his linkedin picture came up. [Just a note: no fairy-tale ending here, the real Kevin/Mike is married.]

Let's break down the facts, ma'am. Fake Kevin/Mike had about 8 pictures of this guy, and the female friend, AND the two of them together. So, it had to have been someone who had access to these pictures somehow. It was most likely someone that he knew. Doing a little bit more research from the name on the linkedin profile, I discovered real Kevin/Mike's facebook page and that he was married to the "female friend". Now, here was the dilemma. I would want to know if someone was sending my picture to strangers on the internet and claiming that it was me. I would especially want to know if he was sending pictures of my wife! But, I would also be kind of creeped out if some random girl Ace Ventura-ed me.

Not usually one to be embarrassed, I believed that the right thing to do would be to let real Kevin/Mike know about fake Kevin/Mike. And so, I sent him this:

"Hi! You don't know me personally. This is very weird and random, but I thought that you should know. I know I would want to! A couple of years ago, I met a guy online. He told me that his name was Kevin and he sent me your picture AND a picture of your wife. As we talked more, he sent me more and more pictures of you two, so I think that it must be someone that you know. We only talked for a couple of days because he started to seem sketchy, so I ultimately stopped talking to him.
I reversed google image searched you so that I could tell you because I think that if a friend of mine was sending out my picture and pictures of my wife to random strangers on the internet, I would want to know that. I can give you more information if you need or want it. Or you can just ignore this message which is ok too. I just wanted to let you know."

I'm not sure if I'll hear back from the real Kevin/Mike. But, hopefully, I have rid the world of one more lying liar. I can't help but think that real Kevin/Mike's wife in her boyshorts is smiling at me from somewhere else...or maybe she's horrified by the whole ordeal because her husband is showing her racy pictures to all of his friends.

Things you Shouldn't Do Post-30 while Socially Drinking

I frequently channel my inner Murtagh by saying in a gruff, gravelly voice, "I'm too old for this shit". And it mostly happens when I'm out having a couple of drinks. But, sometimes I wonder whether other people realize that they're also too old to do some of this shit. So, I thought I would be helpfully patronizing by submitting my list of things that people shouldn't do once they've hit 30 if they're out drinking socially. I realize that I'm going to sound extremely stodgy here...let's just hope it's in an endearing "Get off my lawn! Leave an old lady in peace!" way.

1.) Standing in line to get into bars. Hopefully, by the time you've hit 30, you've realized that the alcohol they serve at the bar next door with no line is exactly the same as the alcohol that they serve in the bar for which you've been standing in line for 20 minutes, in the freezing cold, surrounded by too many loud drunk guys looking at their phones and loud drunk girls who should be looking for the other parts of their dresses. You've also realized that whenever you actually do get into said bar, the likelihood of it actually being full is much less than the likelihood that the bouncers made you stand outside so that it looks like it's a popular place. Walk past the line and go to the bar next door. I say this not because you're too good to stand in a line (which you are), but because after 30 you're much more likely to ask to see the manager once you see that the bar is empty with a line outside and berate him for making you stand outside for 20 minutes and then get madder than Dave Seville after Alvin has pulled his most mischievous shenanigans. Best to go next door, enjoy a night of accessible bartenders, and write a nasty yelp review about the bar with the line when you get home.

2.) Referring to people as "Bro", "Bruh", or something that changes their name into Bro-something, like "Broseph" or "Brohammed". Unless your nickname is the Big Kahuna and you live in a surfboard storage shed on the beach, you should never refer to people as "bro" unless you're using it ironically. You'll notice that Barney Stinson always refers to the "Bro-Code", but he still calls Ted, "Ted".

3.) Hanging out with college kids. The over-used movie cliche in teen coming-of-age movies is the football star from last year who was a big deal in high school, but still comes to underage parties after everyone else has gone to college. I don't think that this is quite so bad, because sometimes you have friends that are still in high school and you like to see them when you're home for winter break. But, there is a real life version that involves people over 30 hanging out at college parties and this is not ok. Yes, college girls can be easy but legal. Yes, the booze is usually free. There's just something really sad about a 30 year old partying with a bunch of 20 year olds in the basement of a house that belonged to a professor in the 1920's. I would like to make an exception for people that belong in a fraternity and still go to the frat house to hang out with their "brothers"...but I can't. Speaking of people who are drunk and sad...

4.) Being a "sad drunk". It isn't overly enjoyable, but it is still tolerable when a 21 year old has had a little too much to drink and bursts into tears about how she doesn't have any friends, and how she really loves [insert name of man that she met at Hollister last week, but doesn't know his last name yet], but feels like he's never going to love her back, like really love her back. By the time you get to 30, the people that are around this girl every time this happens are pretty sick and tired of it. They would much rather be with the 30-year old drunk across the bar who's telling everyone in sight that she loves them and ordering everyone to do "I love you this much" shots.

5.) Sleeping around. So, in your 20's, it can be ok to have seen too many episodes of Sex and the City/Entourage and think of yourself as a liberated feminist/playboy that chews up men/women and spits them out on their "You'll call me, right?" face. But, when you hit 30, and people seem to be coupling up and settling down and popping out kids, then waiting till closing time every weekend to see whom you can bring home should make you feel a little bit washed-up. If it's not, you may want to re-watch Sex and the City 2 and Entourage Season 8, and then see how you feel.

Steve and the Cowboy

I recently visited my friend from college, Steve, in Los Angeles. We had a great time! We even talked him into Disneyland, which is like at the bottom of the list of places you want to go to when you live in L.A.

One of the funniest things about Steve is that he doesn't watch television and doesn't really pay much attention to who sings what or who's in what movie. So, while he lives in L.A., and knows famous people, he has absolutely no idea that they're famous. Here are a few examples:

Example #1 (relayed to me by Patrick):
Steve: My friend, Neil, is on some dance show that I think you like.
Patrick: WHAT DANCE SHOW??
Steve: I think it's called So You Can Dance or something?
Patrick: Are you KIDDING me?? You're friends with 2007 So You Think You Can Dance Third-Place finisher Neil Haskell??????
Steve: I guess so.

Example #2 (after I saw Steve tagged in a facebook photo with one of my favorite actresses, Lizzy Caplan):
Me: Are you seriously in a facebook photo with Lizzy Caplan?
Steve: She's a friend of a friend. How do you know Lizzy?
Me: Are you seriously asking me how I know Lizzy Caplan?

Steve rarely cares when I let him know who these people actually are. But, on this visit, I was finally able to excite him about someone he had encountered in his past, that he didn't know he had encountered. While Steve, my sister, Stacy, and I were lounging around in the Roosevelt hotel lobby, Steve told us a story about something that had happened with him there one night.

It had happened the weekend of the Country Music Awards. Hollywood had been overrun with men in cowboy hats and boots and puffed out chests hanging out with women who were way too pretty to be hanging out with them. It also happened to be Steve's birthday, so he and his friends had gone out for drinks at the Hollywood version of a local dive. Steve, being the generous guy that he is, decided to buy one of the cowboys (let's call him Yosemite Sam because that's who I'm picturing in this story) and his way too pretty girlfriend a drink, stating excitedly, "It's my birthday! I'm buying drinks! I'll buy YOU a drink and YOU a drink!!" Yosemite Sam and PG acted grateful and wished him happy birthday and accepted the drinks. But, then while Steve was in the bathroom, Yosemite Sam exclaimed to the guys next to him (who happened to be Steve's friends), "Can you BELIEVE that guy??"

Now, rightfully, Steve's friends were bothered by this. Here was Steve, nice enough to buy Yosemite Sam and his girl a drink, on his own birthday, which they accepted. But, then the moment, Steve walks away, Yosemite Sam starts badmouthing him? So, they began to call him out on his assholery. Steve, coming back from the bathroom, is wondering why his friends are being mean to his new buddies. And, Steve and his friends leave.

Out on Hollywood Boulevard, Steve and friends are being followed by Yosemite Sam and a disinterested gigantic black man, who is most likely Yosemite Sam's bodyguard and probably has been through this song and dance before, even earlier that night, and who is just kind of lacklusterly watching the scene unfold. Steve's friends had explained to Steve, in the meantime, what Yosemite Sam had said, and now Steve is thinking "what in tarnation is that lily-livered bowlegged varmint thinking?", or so I imagine. So, Steve also starts getting in Yosemite Sam's face. Yosemite Sam is inexplicably hopping mad and throwing gibes at Steve and friends, hoping to insult their patriotism, but not being very good at it. Gibes like, "How many things do you have memorized?" "I bet you can't even name all the states." "My boots cost more than your HOUSE, City F*cks". Steve and his friends just looked at him in blank disbelief. At this point, Yosemite Sam started naming off books of the Bible (to prove how Christian American he is??)...and I mean, not like the ones that we all know, like Genesis and Matthew. Books like "the book of Habbakkuk" and "Zephaniah".

Steve and friends, by this point, have made it to the Roosevelt Hotel and enter it by bypassing the locked side door and going through the back. As Steve's milling around through the hotel, he hears yelling. He goes to the locked side glass door, and there's Yosemite Sam outside on the other side. The door was still locked from the outside, but Steve could have opened it from within. Yosemite Sam starts banging on the glass, yelling "LET US IN!" And Steve, with his face inches away from the glass, yells, "No! You were MEAN to me!" And Yosemite Sam's biscuits were burning. He begins to threaten to kick Steve's ass.

At this point, it finally dawns on Yosemite Sam that Steve and friends must have been able to get inside somehow. At the same time, Steve and friends are amped up and ready to "take it outside". So, both parties hightail it to the back door at the same time, and almost pass each other as Steve and friends run out and Yosemite Sam runs (and bored bodyguard saunters) in. *cue Benny Hill Yakkety Sax music* It should have been "go-time", but Steve and friends started to see the humor in the situation with all the chest-puffing and bemusedly decide to go off laughing into the night, leaving Yosemite Sam with smoke coming out of his ears outside the Roosevelt Hotel.

At the end of this tale, I asked Steve the real identity of Yosemite Sam. He responded, "Some country singer guy named John something or other."

I replied, "John who?"

Steve texted his friend to find out the answer..."John Rich. I don't know who he is."

I said, "Steve! You know who he is! He's in that Big & Rich group."

Steve just shook his head.

I said, "You know that song? 'Save a horse, ride a cowboy'?"

Steve's eyes grew wide. He exclaimed, "That song??!!! I chest-puffed with the guy who sings THAT SONG??!!"

All in all, I find this story and Steve's realization of who his attacker was hilarious. Hopefully, Steve has learned that sometimes situations are better when you "know people"...and that the Roosevelt Hotel is a good place to "ride a cowboy"...wait, that didn't come out right.

Don't Do Any of This Stuff

With the holidays coming up, I'm sure a lot of you will be traveling somewhere by plane. On a recent trip to California with my sister, Stacy, I made every airport-related mistake that exists in the known universe, short of forgetting to empty my pockets and then saying the word "bomb" in the security line. Just so you don't make the same mistakes that I made, I decided to give you some Travel Don'ts (Don't's?) for the holiday season.

1.) Don't forget that you have to actually travel to the airport.

None of us live at the airport. As someone who likes to plan ahead, I decided to look at the Logan Airport website to see what time they recommend that you arrive at the airport. They say during peak times, you should leave yourself at least two hours. Luckily, my flight was leaving at 10:30, which meant I would be arriving at the airport at an off-peak time. To give myself some extra time, I decided to be there by 8:30. And here's where I made the mistake. Just because you're arriving at the airport at an off-peak time, doesn't mean that you'll be driving there during an off-peak time. By forgetting this simple math, I ended up being one of those people who have to cut the line in security and then run through the airport with all of their bags a la Home Alone, barely making it to the gate on time. Speaking of security...

2.) Don't wear shiny sweaters.

We all know that in this post-9/11 world, you will most likely have to stand in a full-body scanner which shows every little anomaly on your body on a big computer screen. Sometimes if you're holding your passport in your hands, the passport will show up. Sometimes it'll pick up your bra clasp, or your shoe buckle or something. The TSA person usually pats that area and sends you on your way. While dressing for my trip to CA, I decided that I should probably dress in layers. And, the layer that I picked was a metallic cardigan. I went through the scanner. My image showed up on the screen. The TSA guard breathed, "Holy sh..." My entire computer-imaged torso was covered with green, blue and yellow dots. There was a moment of silence as I looked at the TSA people. They looked at me. Just before they were about to body slam me to the ground, I yelled out, "It's the sweater! It's the sweater!" And after I removed the sweater, luckily, my scan showed clean. Which leads me to...

3.) Don't expect airport people to know what they're doing

I'm betting that I wasn't the first metallically robed person to go through the scanner. Yet what would have happened if I hadn't pointed out that my sweater was the likely culprit of perceived terrorism? Would I be writing you from the "big house"? Why didn't anyone think to mention, "hey, you should probably put your sweater on the belt?" Once I was scanned, why was the first conclusion, "she must be carrying millions of tiny, little bombs on her upper half", rather than "her sweater is shiny"? As for other things that don't know what they're doing...

4.) Don't rely on the rental car's GPS.

On our way home, we were flying out of San Francisco Airport. As we were staying in Oakland, we figured that it would only be about 20-30 mins drive. We plugged it in the GPS which gave us a travel time of one hour and 15 minutes. We were very confused. So, we plugged in the airport again. Same thing happened. Making excuses, like "Oh it's probably one of those magic GPS's that knows the traffic conditions" and "Well, I haven't really stepped on the gas yet, so maybe it thinks we're going to drive 3 mph the whole way", we decided to just drive where it told us and hope for the best. As we got on the freeway, heading south, Stacy and I were both thinking, "We're probably not going the right way" but we drove on. After about 45 minutes of driving, it dawned on me that even though I had typed in San Francisco Airport, and the GPS read San Francisco Airport, it was sending me to the San Jose Airport. We quickly did a U-turn (...meaning we got off the exit, took a left, crossed a bridge, and got back on the highway) and barely made it to the airport in time for our version of Home Alone 2.  Of course, we didn't have time to buy snacks for the plane ride home, which brings me to Don't #5...

5.) Don't leave so little time before boarding that you can't buy snacks.

Back in the olden days, airlines served lunch and/or dinner. (And, yes, we also flew upwind both ways.) Nowadays, you can buy your lunch and/or dinner. Not that airline meals were anything to burst into song about before, but they were actually much more substantial back then when they were free. Now, the "meal" is equivalent to a Lunchable. And not the big box with the dessert kind. So, if you are on a long flight with only complimentary snacks and soft drinks and you haven't brought snacks, you will starve. That may sound dramatic, but it's true.

And so, readers, learn from my mistakes...and have a happy and well-traveled holiday season.

Un-Parents Just Don't Understand

We all know that I have a habit of rolling over electronics in my bed while sleeping and accidentally pressing buttons. It usually gets me into trouble and Saturday night was no exception.

Recently, I have had a new “like” interest who is a single father of two. We were supposed to get together on Saturday night, but I had had a long day, so I called him and left a message telling him that I wanted to stay in. He sent me a text in response that he had “fallen asleep, putting his son down at his mom’s, and was going to stay with him for the night.”  

Exhausted, I went to bed at 10:00. Around 4:00 in the morning, I woke up to my phone ringing. It took me a second to realize that this was the sound of an outgoing call, rather than an incoming one. I sat up and looked at my phone which was calling “Single Dad”. I thought, “Oh crap!” and hung up as fast as I could. Evidently, I had rolled over on my phone and it had dialed the last person that I called. I knew that Single Dad had been with his two-year old son earlier and, if he still was, the phone might have woken them both up. I wanted to apologize then, but I knew that it would make it worse if I called or texted a “sorry”. If the first ring didn’t wake them up, the second one was definitely a bad idea. I figured I’d talk to Single Dad in the morning and I went back to sleep.

At 6:30 am, I receive a text message from Single Dad:

“Don’t EVER call me in the small hours again. You woke my son and he won’t go back to sleep now.”

Now, I get the anger.  It’s frustrating when your kid is sleeping and then all of the sudden, he’s not… because of someone else. I was a bit irked by the capital letters, but willing to chalk it up to his frustration. So, I responded:

“I didn’t mean to. I rolled over on the phone in my sleep and pressed redial. I tried to hang up quickly. Sorry.”

I thought that that would be the end. I made a mistake. He was mad. I apologized. Hopefully, he was forgiving. But, it didn’t end there. The next text I receive from Single Dad said:

“Also don’t ever call or text me before noon because if I have worked until late I will not be happy at having my sleep broken. Understand?”

All right. Now, he was crossing into uncalled for territory. Warning me about only contacting him during his “business hours”, I guess was ok. But, it wasn’t so much what he was saying. It was the way that he said it; with that “Understand?” My dad has used that tone with me in the past. I think that he stopped using it by the time I turned four years old. So, I could only come to the conclusion that it was very likely that Single Dad had no concept of the difference between talking to a child and talking to an adult.

Unable to let this one go, I responded:

“You know, your phone has an off switch…”

The next text that I received from Single Dad stated:

“But I have two kids that might not be with me and I may need to be contacted in an emergency. Right now I don’t appreciate your sarcasm”.

Ok, another dad-ism. This guy was three for three. So, I responded again:

“I would never intentionally wake up your son. I knew you were with him and I’m sorry about that. It was an accident. I will take your other statement under advisement.”

But, as the morning went on and it became 7:00 am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, I began to think, here I am lying awake, because he texted me and woke me up, yet I didn’t feel the need to scold him like a colonial schoolmarm about it.  I couldn’t resist sending one more message:

“Do you see the irony of texting me at 6:30 am on a Sunday to tell me not to wake you up?”

Single Dad decided to leave the dad=isms and go for the threats:

“Keep this up and I will permanently block your number.”

Well, I had had enough. So, my final response was:

“No worries…I won’t be calling.”

I began to think about this a little bit more. I have discovered that as I’m entering my mid-thirties, I have two sets of friends. Those who don’t have children, who I don’t really have to think about whether it’s too late to call or whether I can invite them out last minute, and those who do have children, who I have to think twice about calling at night and that I have to notify in advance of a night out so they can snag a babysitter. There’s nothing wrong with either camp and I’ve always thought of myself as understanding of those who have children. But could I be telling all you kids all across the land, that there’s no need to argue, non-parents just don’t understand? Maybe I should have given Single Dad the benefit of the doubt.

On the other hand, I do have an idea of what parenting is like. My sister, Lori, was born when I was 7. I remember the sheer exhaustion of my parents and their zombie looks. I’ve seen Three Men and a Baby forty-seven times. Sometimes sirens go by, doorbells ring, heroin dealers come to pick up their “package”, and the baby wakes up. My own parents (who clearly are exceptional  at being parents, considering how fabulously I turned out) told me, in my mom’s words, “He’s a jerk.” Plus, as Andrea astutely pointed out, when I mentioned this to her last night, his reaction was not a knee jerk one. He had fumed about this for two and a half hours before sending it to me. And when you type all caps in the middle of a sentence…you have to make a conscious effort to put the caps lock on and then turn it off again. So, this wasn’t a Hulk Smash moment. This was a thoughtful and methodical Dr. Bruce Banner.

Therefore, I ultimately came to a conclusion, and I think that both parents and non-parents can agree: Single Dad…kind of a douche.

Making Sexy Costumes and Costumes Sexy

Every Halloween, a woman is faced with a difficult decision. Does she go for the funny, topical costume (i.e., binders full of a woman, an unimpressed McKayla Maroney, a Hillary Clinton meme)? Or does she go for sexy? I usually choose an un-sexy costume only because I feel like I'm trying too hard every time I don fishnets. Did you ever really think about the sexy costumes out there and what makes them sexy? Some of them aren't based on anything remotely sexy. Who was the first person to think if I cut the midriff out of a police uniform and wear short shorts, I could be a sexy police officer. Really the only recipe for a sexy costume is to add a teaspoon of clothing, a pair of thigh highs and mix well. I'm sure most sexy costume ideas are based on the typical male fantasy. However, when you really think about fantasies and realities, they almost never resemble each other. Anyway, here is my list of sexy costumes that really shouldn't be sexy:

1.) Prostitute- The lazy sexy costume. For some reason, when a girl thinks of a sexy costume, she automatically thinks hooker. It's true that out of all the professions hookers wear the least clothing. But, for a sex-based career choice, the prostitute is not very sexy. The first thing that I think about is venereal disease. That's not sexy...unless you're Joey Tribbiani.

2.) Bunnies- Why did Playboy choose a bunny as their icon? Yes, the tails are cute...ears, not so much. But, bunnies, if you think about it are like squirrels. They're little rodent-like annoying pests that ruin your garden. They suffer from fly strike. FLY STRIKE. This means that actual flies lay actual eggs on bunnies that become actual crawling maggots. This is our idea of sexy?

3.) Nurse- Now, I know many sexy nurses, but what they do at work...not so sexy. Do you know what a sponge bath is cleaning off? Poop...mostly poop.

4.) Maids- Along the same vein, a maid does not have a sexy job. I do know that, like nurses, the reason a maid costume became hot is because of the fantasy that there's a woman in a short skirt taking care of you and doing your bidding. Guys like that idea. But, when is the last time that you saw a maid in anything but a polyester shift or mom jeans and a Champion sweatshirt?

5.) Bees- What is sexy about an insect that carries flower sperm, buzzes around your head, and stabs you? Plus, I can't see a bee costume without conjuring up this sad image from the Blind Melon video.

So, while I might sound cranky about these so-called sexy costumes, I do love Halloween, and I'm glad that it exists because it's fun to watch people dress up. I just think that women are inherently sexy. It doesn't take much to turn a man on...really. So, don't overdo it. Try being a librarian or a baseball player. I've heard it through the male-vine that the sexiest thing about a woman is when she doesn't know that she's sexy. Am I right, One Direction?

The Jerky Murse

There are two things that you need to know about me before I tell this story. One, I love the Red Sox. While I’m doing my best to pretend that the 2012 season never existed and hoping that it will be swept under the diamond green, I still love the Red Sox. Two, I went to law school and it comes in handy.

In the summer of 2008, I had two tickets to an afternoon game at Fenway Park. I was having difficulty finding someone to come with me for some reason. It might have been because it was a weekday game. It might have been because I waited too long to ask someone to go. Whatever the reason, with the game a few days away and still no one to go with, I decided to sell the tickets on Craigslist. I was really disappointed that I would miss my guys, but I had a couple of other games to go to that summer, so I figured I could afford to miss one.

I placed an ad on Craigslist that I was selling the tickets at face value. The first guy to respond ended his email with “It’s supposed to be such a great day! I’m surprised that you’re giving them up!” I responded to him by saying, “Aw, I wanted to go, but no one can make it.” That started a conversation that ended with him saying, “Well, I don’t know who to ask. If you want, we can go to the game together?” and sending me a picture of himself. He was very cute. He was a male nurse. And he was a Sox fan. I agreed that we should make it a date.

We texted back and forth a few times leading up to game day. The Murse was funny and charming, but something seemed off. My “a-hole-o-meter” was reading a bit higher than normal.

We had made plans to meet at the Cask and Flagon before the game at 11:30. The game started at one. At 11:30 on the dot, I stood in front of the bar, waiting for him. When 11:45 came and he hadn’t shown up, I called and left a voice mail message asking where he was. At 12:00, I called again and said, “Look, if you’re going to stand me up, just let me know so that I can try to sell the tickets to a scalper before it’s too late.” At 12:45, I realized that he wasn’t coming. I didn’t quite know what to do. I was excited to go to the game, but I didn’t want to sit by myself.

Well, sometimes fate smiles on me and the universe gives me what I ask for. Right at that moment, I received a text from Sally that said, “You’re not at Fenway today, are you?” It turns out that Sally had gotten standing room only tickets at the last minute. And I had an extra seat. So, Sally came to sit with me and we enjoyed the game together!

I wasn’t going to let the Murse get off that easy though. The typical lawyer response when someone gets screwed is to send a demand letter. When I got home, I sent the Murse this:

As I mentioned in my voicemail, I offered you a
ticket. You accepted in writing. As such, we have a contract.
You have breached it by not performing your obligation. The
face value of the ticket is $50.00. Please pay check
or money order to:

Melly J.

[Address]

Please pay by July 31, 2008 to avoid litigation. Be advised that if we
go to small claims court, I will pursue every legal
remedy available, including court costs. Also, I will
notify Craigslist and provide your personal
information and inform them that you have reneged on
past contracts, which will likely make it difficult for you
to make purchases in the future.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Melly J., Esq.

And a few days later, (after some nasty voicemail messages left for me on my cell) the Murse sent me a check for $50.00. Let this be a lesson to you, readers. Whenever somebody stands you up, send them a threatening letter and shake them for cash.

Online Dating 101

I received a barking text from Crazy Pete yesterday that just said “More blog posts!!” So, without further ado…

I’ve been an observer and participant in the online dating world for a while now. I’m always surprised at certain things that people put in their profile that they believe will attract a mate. I alluded to it a bit here when I talked about shirtless pictures self-taken in bathroom mirrors and starting out your profile with “I can’t believe that I’m online dating”, but I wanted to add a bit more as I consider myself quite knowledgeable in this field.  [Note: This will be all about men for the simple reason that I don’t see a lot of women’s online dating profiles. I know from what I’ve picked up from the guys that women should not make “duckfaces” or post pictures from 1999. But, that’s where my knowledge on the subject ends.]

WHAT NOT TO PUT ON YOUR ONLINE DATING PROFILE:

1.)    Only Webcam photos. I’ve seen a couple of profiles where the guy has two or three pictures. And they’re all taken in front of his computer by his webcam. Sometimes he varies them by putting on a different sweatshirt, or smiling in one but giving a “come hither” look in the other. Guys, as women, we can tell that they’re webcam photos and were probably taken on the same day. It leads us to one of two conclusions that are not necessarily mutually exclusive:  A) this is a temporary profile that you just put up to talk to some women because you’re lonely or married or both, but you don’t have any intention of actually following through with an actual date or B) you’ve never been outside.

2.)    Incoherent sentences. I actually saw this the other day: “drp me a line if you be prety well hav fun”. What woman in her right mind would respond to this?  I’ve been nosing around enough on the internet to realize that people have a serious problem figuring out the difference between “your” and “you’re”. I can accept that. But, this is just lazy. Do you even TRY to speak English?

3.)    “I’d like to find someone who is accepting of the fact that I have a primary partner”.  This one, I actually think SHOULD go in your profile because it’s honest. But, I added it to this list because it’s the only entry on my list regarding why you shouldn’t have an online dating profile.

4.)    Pictures of you wearing a watermelon rind like a helmet. I won’t post it on the blog because I want to respect his privacy. But, believe me when I say, there is a profile on match.com where this picture exists, and it is his primary photo.

5.)    This. I copied this one word for word (spelling errors included) because my paraphrasing won’t do it justice: “Hi there. I'm looking for a beatiful sexy girl who isn't snobby or bitchy like my ex. I understand that all women will get that way sometime but not all time, ok? If you are a carring person who wants a loving, passionate lover, than I'm the guy for you. I'd love to go out to a Japanese restaurant with you. I shouldn't even be single right now, I've just been busy with work and I don't enjoy shopping at the bar. If you love Barrack, don't bother contacting me, otherwise I look forward to meeting you. Bye.” My favorite part of this is the random throw in of “going to a Japanese restaurant”. What was the thought process behind that? Hmmm, I’ve been talking a lot about myself and sex, I should add in something about what I’ll do for her. What do women like to do? They seem to like sushi.

My advice for what you should put in your online dating profile: Just be funny, sincere and yourself. If we end up dating some day, realize that we’ll have to meet in person. And I’ll know right away that you’re not really 35 years old or 6’2. The first time I go to your house, give me some credit. It’s quite easy to see if you live with your parents and not alone in a four-bedroom house as you originally said. Don’t start the relationship off with a lie. I would much rather go out with YOU, and not the person that you’ve built yourself up to be, and I'm sure most women agree.


UPDATE:

I received this message in my inbox after I posted this and had to share:

I really enjoyed your latest blog.  It got me to thinking about what mine would like if I was completely truthful and would anyone respond.

“Hi there.  I’ve been married for 27 years and my wife is my best friend and audience.   I’m just shy of 55, but I act like I’m 25.  In my mind I think most people think I’m a lot younger than I really am, but it’s probably due to my behavior more than my looks.  I’m a registered Republican and a recent online survey put me to the right of the Tea Party but I recycle, make my own compost and have a large garden.  I’m pro-choice and in fact I’m in favor of more women having more abortions given the number of losers having children they can’t afford and don’t know how to raise.  I’m a member of the NRA but I only own two revolvers and a shotgun.  I  rarely go shooting.  I subscribe to three magazines: National Geographic, American Rifleman and Organic Gardening.  I read the NY Times and the Boston Globe daily because I think it’s important to understand what the other side is thinking.  Occasionally I write comments to the newspapers under the pseudonym Divya Mush.  You’ll need to meet me in person to understand what’s behind that moniker.  I dislike crowds not because of agoraphobia but because I have low tolerance for ignorant fools who don’t follow the rules of good behavior.  I’m also a little paranoid, but not in a right wing terrorist way.  Some people think I look like a cop or ex-military.  I’m not a “joiner” or a good team player so the military would not be a good fit for me.  I’m also not very good at taking orders from a-holes getting up in my face.  As far as the police are concerned I’m not a fan.  I know too many jerk offs from high school who are cops.  I didn’t respect them then and I sure as hell don’t respect them now.  I prefer the company of women,  but not because I want to get laid, I just find them more interesting.  Good looks are a plus but not a deal breaker.  The real litmus test is brains.  If you have them you’re on my short list. At this stage in my life youth has its own cachet.  If you are anything like me I’m probably not interested.  I wouldn’t want to hang out with me, but then again you’re not me.  Finally, I’m really good at holding grudges.  If you screw me you’re done.  I’d rather not speak to someone ever again than to sit through an apology.  Your f-ck up will always be in the back of my mind and that can be hard on a relationship.”

Think this would get any responses? 

A night at PA's

For those of you who have never been to PA's Lounge in Union Square in Somerville, let me tell you that if there ever were a nexus of two universes colliding, it would be PA’s. It’s a small venue with a stage on one side. It used to consist of two rooms. One, the bar, where all the townies hung out, drinking their PBR and Bud Light, and watching the History Channel. Two, the music hall which resembled the basement of a JCC, where the indie/alt rockers would hang out, also drinking PBR and Bud Light, and listening to loud, loud music.

At some point, in the recent past, the genius owners at PA’s thought that it would be a good idea to take the wall down that separated the two rooms. There is no longer a wall between them, meaning now the townies and the rockers mingle amongst each other. It’s madness. Musicians being heckled by townies who can’t hear Pawn Stars over the music.

My first experience since the wall came down at PA’s was on Saturday night. I went to see two of my friends’ bands play, Sinnet and J/Q. Both good, and you should check them out sometime. But, what I want to discuss is what happened before the show.

A mix up with the times resulted in my arriving early (already awkward in itself as I've mentioned before). I decided to order a drink and hang out at the bar. I had made the mistake of wearing heels, meaning when I walked in and across the floor, all eyes were on me. The clientele consisted of 8 or 9 men who had clearly been drinking the day away, and one woman who seemed perturbed that competition had just walked through the door. I tried to tell her not to worry with my eyes.

As I walked up to the bar, a man who was probably in his 40’s but looked much older, said to me, “Hi there! Are you staying??” I didn’t really understand the question. So, I said, “I think so.” And he said, “I’m Juno” and shook my hand. I told him my name. Then, he asked, “Do you sing any SHA-day?” I looked at him blankly. He said, “You know…[singing] Smooooooth Operator”. Again, I didn’t understand the question, so I smiled and walked to the other side of the bar. (I found myself humming Sade many times on Sunday and cursed Juno every time.)

I sat down next to this guy who looked harmless enough. He was even kind of cute, probably in his early 30’s. He glanced up from his texting and looked at me as I sat down. After a few minutes, he turned to me, and said, “Excuse me, I’m a horrible speller. Do you know how to spell ‘tongue’?”

I was a little weirded out by the fact that I was helping him sext, but when he started spelling it “tou…”, I couldn’t help myself. Those of you who know me personally know that I have an incessant need to be right…ALL the time. “T-O-N-G-U-E”, I told him. He typed it in and looked at it for a moment. “That can’t be right,” he said.

“Trust me, it’s right,” I said. (There’s that incessant need again.) I continued, “I was a champion speller in elementary school. I won both fourth and sixth grade.”

“They have spelling competitions?”

“Yes”, I responded, “they’re called spelling bees.”

He sized me up for a moment and said, “Spell ecclesiastic.”

“E-C-C-L-E-S-I-A-S-T-I-C”

“I’m guessing that’s right,” he said. “Spell onomatopoeia.”

He had to ask me to spell onomatopoeia. That is the one word that, for some reason, I can NEVER remember how to spell. As I was writing this, I needed spell check. And after spelling it wrong a second time, I copied it, so I can just paste it in from here on out.

“I can’t spell onomatopoeia. I never could.”

He looked at me, triumphantly. (Here comes the need again…) “Do you know what onomatopoeia means?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s when a word is spelled like the sound it makes. Like ‘oink’”.

Who was this guy??? He didn’t know how to spell tongue, yet he knew what onomatopoeia meant? I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, because the next words out of his mouth were, “WHY are you here??”

“I’m here to see my friends’ bands play,” I told him.

“Oh, there are bands here tonight?” And, without another word, he got up and walked out the door.

So, yes, for the rest of the night, I pretended that the PA’s wall was still up, and I stayed on my side, the rocker’s side. Today, I’m echoing the plea of indie rockers everywhere, “Mr. PA’s Lounge Owner, close this gate! Mr. PA’s Lounge Owner, Put Up This Wall!”

The Whirlwind Romance of Mr. 27 and Melly J.

Mr. 27, whom, as you may remember, I met on okcupid, and I had a beautiful six-day relationship that started last Thursday and ended Wednesday. We had made plans for Sunday to watch football and hang out. But, that day (Thursday), we were so excited to meet each other that we decided to grab a drink in Central Square, before his other plans later that night. [Note: I'm pretty sure that his other plans were another date, but I'm a modern woman, so I was ok with this.]

Thursday was a nice time. We met at Tavern in the Square. While he is very handsome, I wasn't sure about our connection. He rides the pedicab to pay the bills, but what he really wants to do is music. I respect his passion for it, but I've since come across some of his lyrics during a routine facebook stalk, and...I'm not sure that they make sense. I couldn't stop focusing on the fact that I was drinking a pint of IPA and he was drinking a whiskey sour through a straw. He wears a fedora...a lot. He has a tattoo on his neck that means "face". He received a lot of texts during our date. I couldn't help but notice that a girl's picture popped up every time and I couldn't help but think it's because he has trouble keeping us straight. But, as I said before, he's really hot.

On Friday night, he came over to my place to hang out, and this is where it all went wrong. We were snuggling. I began to fall asleep in his arms. He began to fall asleep. And then...I sleep-tooted. Look! It happens! Women have bodily functions, I'm sorry. Sometimes we eat too much cheese and we're gassy. It's just the way it is. However, I was mortified! I darted up and looked over at him quickly to see if he had heard it. I couldn't tell. His breathing was heavy, but he could have been faking. I obsessed about it the entire night. Did he hear? Was he totally grossed out by me? Then, to make matters worse, before he left my place, he went to use the bathroom, and came back looking sort of green. After he left, I went into my bathroom and saw why. My vindictive cat, mad at me for daring to bring someone into our personal space, had left a turd on the floor.

Needless to say, I didn't think that I'd hear from Mr. 27 again. And when he cancelled on me on Sunday, I was sure that we were done. Imagine my surprise when I got a text from him last night. Now that I had a couple of days to think about what had happened, I saw the humor in it. I thought that laughing it off was probably a good way to make it less awkward. So, I brought it up. I misjudged Mr. 27's sense of humor. He didn't think it was as funny as I did and let me know. And I haven't heard from him since. But, it's a consolation that maybe he'll write an awful song about us someday.

It's all right, cuz I'm Saved By the Bell: Part 2

I left off with my parents wearing down Mr. Headset enough that he reluctantly agreed to get one of the more important Headsets. By this point, a crowd of people had formed around us, probably thinking that we were much more interesting than a taping of Saved By the Bell.

After waiting for a few minutes, the more important Headset approached us. Mr. Important Headset was much more sympathetic and apologetic than the first. Maybe he had been given a heads up by the first Headset that playing hardball with my parents was not a successful tactic and they decided that it was time to play a little "good headset wearer, bad headset wearer." He started by saying he understood our frustration, and that horrible guy back at the Chinese Theater did not work for the show directly, but worked for an independent company that they hired and that he made money based on how many people he got to the studio. He soothed the wild parental two-headed beast, and my parents began to speak at a normal decibel level again.

Important Sympathetic Headset offered to take me into the studio for a little while, and my parents and sisters could wait in a green room for me. Without even thinking that my family probably wanted to sit in a room with no windows almost as much as they wanted to sit on a smelly bus, I gave my parents the sad-eyed look that had been working for me all day long. With a little bit of hesitation, they agreed.

I was in! ISH brought me into the studio and I was standing in the same room as Zack Morris! ISH left me with Indifferent Clipboard Lady and went back to take care of my family. Indifferent Clipboard Lady told me that I could stand next to her at the camera. It was a little bit surreal seeing the television set in person. I was looking at a classroom, and to the left of where I was standing, I could see a little bit of another classroom. Beyond that wall, I'm assuming was Mr. Belding's office, and while I couldn't see around the classroom wall, I could see what happened there on a little screen next to me.

Tiffani Theissen and Screech were sitting in the classroom. Mario Lopez was standing off to the side. When he saw me, he came over and said, "hi there, I'm Mario." And I politely said, "Nice to meet you", while thinking, "Yeah, that's great, Mario. Where's Mark-Paul?" They were filming the episode where the students and teachers switch places. Zack became the principal and was sitting at Mr. Belding's desk. I could only see him on the little screen, but it was amazing...the only thing standing between Zack Morris and me was a fake cardboard wall! I had made it.

After a half-hour or so, ISH came back to get me to bring me to my parents. He handed me a packet of paper and said, "I was able to scrounge this up for you." It was Mark-Paul Gosselaar's copy of the script...complete with his coffee (I hope) stains on the cover. My sisters and I also got autographed pictures of the cast. And Stacy and Lori didn't mind that they didn't get to go into the studio because they had seen and talked to Jessica Spano in the bathroom.

ISH still felt bad about what had happened, so he told my family that he had arranged for us to go to a taping of Blossom that night. Blossom was a lot less strict about age-limits. After Blossom, as we headed back the hotel, my parents asked me what I thought of our day in LA, and whether I was sad that I didn't get to meet Zack Morris in person. To which I replied, "Zack Morris who? I'm in love with Joey Lawrence!!! whoa."

It's all right, cuz I'm Saved By the Bell: Part 1

I was in the perfect demographic for the television show Saved By the Bell. Good Morning, Miss Bliss, its predecessor, debuted in 1988, when I was turning 10 years old. And Saved By the Bell aired between 1989 and 1993, the midst of my tween years. I was completely in love with Zack Morris, played by Mark-Paul Gosselaar, to the point where I was directly responding to him whenever he broke the fourth wall.

When we took a family vacation to California in the summer of 1992, I was thirteen years old and in the peak of Saved By The Bell fandom. For one of the days during our trip, my mother and father had planned a day of sightseeing in Hollywood. We had just reached Grauman’s Chinese Theater when a man with a clipboard approached us. “Would you and your family be interested in attending a taping of Saved By the Bell,” he asked. My mouth dropped open and I looked at my parents with wide eyes, willing them with all my might to say yes. My mother asked the man, “I looked into this and I thought that my six- and eight-year old were too young.” The man casually responded, “Just tell the guy at the studio that they’re both eight. But, the bus is leaving, so let me know now.”

I can imagine that my face and pleading eyes were really hard to ignore. My parents were skeptical, as we had a lot planned for the day, but they had to give in when they saw me drop to my knees and grovel. (Note: I’m not sure if I actually did that, but that would have been my next step if they had said no.)

The five of us got on this bus that was meant to be sandy colored, but was more like the color of barf, with a big sphinx head on top. It was loud and smelly, and filled with loud and smelly people. My parents looked at each other with uncertainty, but decided to just go with it. After an hour and a half of driving around, as the driver was hopelessly lost and kept radioing for help yet misunderstanding the directions, we finally arrived at the studio for the taping. We and the loud, smelly people unloaded from the bus and stood in a line. A guy with a headset started moving down the line. He reached a few people ahead of us, said something to them, and they turned and went back on the bus. Then, he came to my family.

“Those girls are too young,” he said pointing at my sisters. “The bus will bring you back to the Chinese theater in a few minutes.” Now, for those of you who don’t know my parents, when they don’t like how something is being handled, they speak up. I can’t say that I blame them for getting upset about this one. We had cancelled our other plans and just spent an hour and a half of our day on a pukey Sphinx bus, only to be told to spend another hour and a half on the pukey Sphinx bus. I started to cry because I saw my chances of getting Mark-Paul Gosselaar to fall madly and hopelessly in love with me slowly fading away. I’m sure that my tears also fueled the Mom and Dad fire. They began to protest. My mother said, “Now, wait a minute. We specifically asked back in Hollywood if the girls’ ages would be a problem, and the man said no.” Headset Guy didn’t seem very sympathetic and said “sorry” with a not-very-sorry shrug. My parents began to protest in louder voices; then they demanded to see the producer or whoever was in charge. Headset Guy replied, “Look, why can’t you be like that other family and just get back on the bus?” Wrong thing to say, Headset Guy.

When my father gets really mad at people, the whites of his eyes blaze like Judge Doom’s after his fake eyeballs pop out in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Dad’s very kind and pretty mild-mannered typically (My mother’s the pitbull of the duo.) But, my father was white-eyed Judge Doom mad at Headset Guy. I don’t remember the actual words that were said. I just know that my mother and father tag-teamed and lit into this guy for a solid five-ten minutes, until he agreed that he would get one of the producers to come out and talk to us.

Tune in next time to find out if we made it!

The End of Dates

There's an episode of Friends in which the girls give Chandler a hard time because he ends his dates with "I'll give you a call". In their opinion, if he said something like that, the woman would expect that he'd actually call. (Surprise!) I remember thinking to myself when I saw the episode, "Exactly! Just say 'thanks, I had a nice time' and let that be the end of it."

But, last night, I realized that I have my own "I'll give you a call" line. I went out to dinner with someone that I met on match.com. It was a nice dinner and we had good conversation, but I wasn't sure if the chemistry was there. At the end of the date, instead of just saying, "Thanks for dinner", I awkwardly added a "We should hang out." as we parted ways. Why would I do that?? I was golden, walking away, making my escape, and for some odd reason, I felt that something needed to be said about future plans.  Luckily, he must have been feeling the same way because he threw back a "Yeah, we'll talk". (Side note: How weird is your reaction when someone that you're not interested in is uninterested back? All of the sudden, I was inexplicably insulted. "You know what, Spanky? I was not interested in you first.")

Back to the "We should hang out." Why would I say that if I didn't mean it, especially when I was out of the woods and walking away? I don't know if I've casually thrown that sentence out there in the past, and have just never noticed before. When I think about it, I do remember that on dates that have gone well, I've said something like, "I had a great time. When are we doing it again?" or "You should call me". But, if I've been throwing out the "We should hang out" line, is that fair? Am I being Chandler?

On the other hand, maybe Chandler was handling it just fine. If the other person were really interested, they would say something like, "So, what's up for your weekend?" and set up a second date. Or they would be more specific about the call, "I'll give you a call later." or "I'll give you a call tomorrow." Brutal honesty is a good idea for someone with whom you have a close relationship. But, what about someone that you're never going to see again? Does it matter? For someone that you're on a "small talk" level with, like a first date, it seems that it's ok to say something noncommittal and expect that the other person will pick up the social cue.

On the other other hand, I'm not going to rule out the possibility that Chandler and I are both just plain cowards.

An Open Letter to Tim Burton

Dear Mr. Burton,

Big fan! Seriously...Nightmare Before Christmas? Beetlejuice? Both classics. I'm writing because I have a great idea for the production of a movie. The problem is...I have no talent or money. You, however, have a lot of talent and money. Plus, I think this is your kind of thing. Now, that you've broken into the musical business (which, let's face it, is hip right now), I think that it would behoove you to direct and produce a remake of Jesus Christ Superstar. You don't really have to do much, except, you know, finance it and direct it. I've casted it for you:

Jesus Christ- Chris Cornell. This man was born to play Jesus Christ. Have you seen him? Look at this:

And have you HEARD him?? He would be amazing in this role. Listen to any album of his, and I'm sure you'll agree. (I recommend Songbook).

Judas Iscariot-Adam Pascal. Again, amazing voice. Born to play this role in a movie that I'm involved in, so that I can creepily follow him around the set and ask him to sing me lullabyes.

Mary Magdalene- Unknown. I have a couple of people in mind for this. I like Thandie Newton's look. I'm not sure if she can sing. We'll have to test her out. I'd like to get Beyonce in, but I think she actually sings too well. I mean, it's not like Mary Magdalene's songs are the vocal equivalent of rocket science.


Pontius Pilate- Adam Levine (tentatively). As you probably know, Adam Levine will be appearing on this season of American Horror Story. We know he has a great voice, and it would be kind of cool to have Pontius Pilate do some falsetto stuff to make it a little different than the original. I may change my mind after I watch him act, however.

King Herod-Johnny Depp. This is a perfect role for your boy. Tim, it's very clear that Johnny is the Portia to your Ellen, and you're in love with the guy. And he likes roles where he can be goofy and weird. So, everyone's a winner here.

Anyway, give me a call and we can set up some meetings and do lunch. Tell Helena that I said hi and that she has great hair.

Very truly yours,

Melly

I'm bad at juggling.

Having rolled over on my kindle in my sleep and having purchased a book accidentally that I didn't want, I found myself online at 2:30 am on Friday night. I decided while I was up, to check my e-mail and found that I had a message on okcupid, so I logged in to read it.

Have you ever really listened to the lyrics of "Closing Time" by Semisonic? It's a song that's simply about what happens when you're out at a bar and the lights come on and it's closing time at the end of the night. Typically, this commences a mad scramble to find someone to hook up with before you have to leave. Okcupid at 2:30 am is the online version of closing time.

As soon as I logged in, I was immediately bombarded with "hi how are u" messages. I was half-asleep, but still had the wherewithal to cut and paste a standard answer of "I'm good! Listen, I'm not on here to hook up. Just wanted to let you know up front, so you don't feel like you've wasted your time." Most of the guys stopped talking to me after that. But, two guys answered with "That's ok" and continued the conversation. They were both very different. One was 35, had a lot in common with me, in that he loved the Red Sox, new restaurants, and Broadway musicals (in fact, he's in the midst of writing one.) The other, not so much in common. He was 27, rode a pedicab for a living, and a closer look at his profile the next morning revealed that he's obsessed with sex. But, he was also really, REALLY hot.

With Mr. Thirty-Five, I was thinking that I wanted to date him and see what happens. So, I gave him my number to text or call sometime (and also let him know that I was going to the Middle East the next night, if he wanted to meet up). With Mr. Twenty-Seven, I was thinking that he might come in handy at some point, so I gave him my number as well. Then, I logged off and went back to bed.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I got a text from a strange number. And alas, herein lies the problem. I had absolutely no idea which guy it was. I had an entire conversation with this guy, and really enjoyed it. But, here it is on Monday, and I still have no clue if I'm talking to Mr. Thirty-Five or Mr. Twenty-Seven. I was hoping that Mr. Thirty-Five would contact me about the Middle East, and then I would know. If it was a different number, then I would have been texting with Mr. Twenty-Seven. But, he didn't make it to the show. And although, I was talking to the texter throughout the night, I couldn't think of a non-socially awkward way to bring it up.

I have made tentative plans with the texter for this week. If those plans finalize, I'm going to treat it like a game show. "Melly J., who will walk through that door?? You could win a fabulous dinner for two, a possible second date, and a night of ZERO EMBARRASSMENT. But, make the wrong choice, and you will sadly go home with the consolation prize: loneliness."

I guess the conclusion that we can all come to is that whether I win or lose, the outcome will be based on pure luck, because clearly, I suck at this game.

Wine Wedding Part 3: Congrats Sally and Tom and Greg and Emma!

So, bed bugs and bad bartenders notwithstanding, we arrived at the wedding on Sunday evening. It was held at the Ocean Edge Resort in Brewster. The wedding ceremony itself was right on the beach. Patrick had the honor of being an usher. He decided to channel his inner-Usher by inexplicably singing Ne-Yo songs to the wedding guests as he pointed the way.

I cried when Sally came down the steps to the beach. She's a natural beauty, doesn't wear make up really, never dresses up. So, when she walked down the aisle, to see her in her dress with these beautiful blonde curls around her shoulders, she was just so stunning. And the look on Tom's face said it all.

After a beautiful ceremony, we headed down to the reception, where I got to meet up with Andrea and her husband, Erik. I've come to expect oysters whenever Andrea's around, even if she's not the one planning the menu. The Ocean Edge people are just lucky that they delivered me some. After cocktail hour on the patio, we headed inside. Pat and I were lucky to be sitting at the hot guy table...with all of their wives and girlfriends. Sally had told Pat and me that there were 12 Tufts people, and only 10 per table, so she had sat us at what she thought would be the most fun and the most drunk at the wedding. If Pat and I had been sitting at a table for two, we probably would have been the most fun and the most drunk table. But, Sally was right. We did have a great time at our table!

I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned before that the reason that Sally and Pat and I became so close is that we all danced with Tufts Dance Collective when we were in college. As a result, Sally's wedding was fortunate enough to experience the easiest and fastest transition between Bride and Groom's first dance and getting people onto the dance floor ever. We were up before the band even got out their first "La".

During a dance break, bridesmaid Tara and I decided to take a walk around the grounds. After talking to some waiters, we heard that there was a gigantic wedding happening in the building next door. So, Tara and I did what anyone would do. We crashed it. Luckily, there was a photobooth set up there. We left "Greg and Emma" a keepsake in their wedding photo album that hopefully they will cherish forever. Their copy doesn't have any pizza sauce on it.

In all seriousness, I couldn't be happier for Sally and Tom. I must admit that it took me a while to get to know Tom, but I fell in love with him that weekend because it's so clear how right he is for Sally. As Pat accurately described, Sally and Tom were on the "verge of tears of joy" for most of the day, which led us to be on the verge of tears of joy for them. We were all really touched by the bride and groom. And then, we were literally touched by the bride and groom. We all received complimentary lap dances on the shuttle ride home.

The whole wedding weekend was so much fun...as evidenced by these before and after pictures...



Before



After



Wine Wedding Part 2: Wreaking havoc on Orleans

I got quite a bit of flak yesterday for my picture book of a post, but I like that because it keeps me motivated to write more. You're all true friends. So, we left off three bottles of wine in and about to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

The dinner was held at Tom (the groom)'s parents' house. They have a lovely house in Harwich with their own private beach. It was truly a special event that I'm lucky that I got to attend. But, what I really want to talk about is the dinner itself. The food--incredible. It was a backyard barbecue complete with chicken, pulled pork, and some of the best macaroni and cheese that I've ever had in my entire life. The actual people that catered it--new to catering.

I walked up to this conversation between the groom and the bartender:

Tom: Could I have a Long Trail please?
Bartender: Sorry?
Tom: A Long Trail
Bartender (pointing to rum): This?
Tom: No, the beer.
Bartender: (Looks blank)
Tom (pointing to the bottle of beer on the table): A Long Trail
Bartender (picking up the beer and looking at it with confusion): Oh. Sorry.

The groom's father had to provide a lesson to the bartender on how not to skimp on the alcohol. I think that this is all partly because the bartender was 18 years old and maybe not as schooled in wine and beer as the rest of us.

But, perhaps my favorite part of the night was what was on Pescatarian Julia's plate. See, for an appetizer, we had this delicious smoked fish. Sally had mentioned to Julia that she ordered scallops for Julia's meal (even though Julia was perfectly happy with the mac and cheese). When we get to the grill...there are no scallops. The barbecuer, who was dressed in a sailor's outfit with a captain's hat, looked at us like his crew had just sent him out to sea on a raft. He said that he didn't have scallops, but he did have some fish, if we would just give him a few minutes to get it ready. A few minutes later, Julia returns to the table with a piece of the smoked fish appetizer warmed up on the barbecue grill. Got to hand it to the captain though. He's an improviser!

After the dinner was over, we headed back to Orleans to the Lost Dog Pub. Coincidentally, Sally had planned a night at the Lost Dog on the wedding itinerary without knowing that Julia's friend's brother's band was playing there that night. The result...we brought about a crowd of 25-30 people, in addition to the ones that were already there. It may be true that Orleans had never seen this many people in one place.  I passed a lot of time amusedly watching people walk through the entrance, see the crowd, roll their eyes, and walk back out again. The rest of the time, I passed watching Patrick. A lot of Sally's wedding guests decided that this would be a good weekend to try a dirty martini. Most of them didn't like it. Most of it ended up in Patrick's glass. The upside is that he had 8 or 9 dirty martinis and didn't spend a dime. The downside is that he had 8 or 9 dirty martinis. By the end of the night, he was "I love you. You're my best friend." drunk.

On his way home, he and Becky, decided to lie in a field on the side of the road and exclaim (quite loudly) how beautiful the stars were. How do I know that they exclaimed loudly when I wasn't there, you ask? Because according to Pat, after about ten minutes of star-gazing exclamations, a nearby neighbor yelled out of his window, "END THIS NOW!!!" So, they did. On their way home, for some reason that I've yet to understand, Becky went one way and Patrick went the other. While Becky was walking, a police officer pulled over to her and asked, "Have you seen two drunks wandering around?" Of course, to which Becky convincingly replied, "Noooo". Let this be a lesson to you. Always split up after someone yells to you from a neighboring window when you're lying in a field looking at stars. The cops can't be far behind. 

Meanwhile, I was having my own adventure. After saying goodbye to Patrick (Me: I'll see you back at the house. P: Ok, I love you. You are one of my best friends. I love you so much. Me: I love you too. I'll see you in a bit. P: I'm totally serious. I love you. I think I'm going to cry I love you so much. Me: Don't cry.), I went back to the Cove House and got ready for bed.

As I mentioned before, I have issues. All I could smell was camp. All I could think of was that the bed was too soft. All I could hear was a drip drip drip coming from somewhere and it sounded like it was getting closer. But, I said to myself, "Mel, you can do this. Just close your eyes. Go to sleep. You'll be fine in the morning." I don't like to indulge myself in my crazies. Just as I was about to close my eyes, a beetle flew around my head and landed right next to my face on the pillow. I freaked out like someone had told me to put the lotion in the basket. I murdered the beetle. Then, after a half hour of lying there and not being able to sleep. I packed up, texted Pat what had happened, and drove 50 minutes to my mom's house to sleep there.

Just to tell you how perfect my friends are: the next day when I returned, Sally and the bridesmaids had left to get ready for the big day. Pat was still at the Cove House. Pat told me, "Sally heard what happened and left you a present on your bed." I said, "Oh! That is really sweet!" You know that saying, "A good friend helps you up when you fall. A best friend laughs at you and says, 'Walk much, dumbass'"?  Here's my present from Sally:

Next up, the WEDDING DAY!