Carlin, Like George.

I realize that the last time I wrote on the blog was shortly before my New York Post date; something I deliberately chose not to write about on here, not because it wasn’t hilarious (oh, it was; you wish I emailed/called/texted/ranted to you afterwards because it was a thing), but to spare a perfectly nice guy’s feelings with whom unfortunately, I had nothing in common.  And he had the sex appeal of a hobbit (my one zinger; done).

Since that post (and my birfday), my overzealous dating life slowly fizzled due in part to my poor time management skills, the exhaustion that comes with being “on” all the time, or, to be blunt, lack of interest. But I was startled when one of these guys, with whom I had gone out three times and he always had fun cool stuff to do sent me a text message two days after my Post date was released: Read more

Up until literally a month ago, I was under the impression that dating multiple guys at once meant you went on a string of very average first dates, then you went home and complained about it while eating something gross you found in your freezer and watching whatever you DVRed that night since you couldn’t watch it in real time; something that has become a momentous sacrifice (Sometimes I’m pretty confident that my declarative statements at the top of my blog posts make me sound like I live under a rock. Maybe I do). Read more

On December 31^st, 2012, my alarm went off at about 8:45 am. I had the natural impulse to snooze the fucker until, oh, forever – it was my first day back in New York after 10 days in paradise – but instead, I threw on a tastefully flattering lululemon ensemble (incidently, I was in just a neon sports’ bra about an hour later), made myself some coffee, and headed out in the freezing cold to the Upper West Side. Read more

I’m fairly certain that almost everyone is familiar with the film I Love You, Man. There is a scene in which Peter Claven (Paul Rudd), accidentally hears Zooey (Rashida Jones) talking to her girlfriends about how she’s convinced Peter only hangs out with his mom. After awkwardly walking into the room with special pirouette-accessorized drinks and exiting as quickly as possible, he takes a good look at himself and says, “I gotta get some fucking friends.”

Roughly nine months ago, there was an article in the Times about how difficult it is to make friends in your 30’s. This explains the plight of poor Peter Claven, at least to a degree. Read more

Though I’m super grateful for the outstanding ratings I have received for my own self-deprecation, I thought I’d end 2012 on a positive note. So here is a list of my personal favorite pop culture moments this year.  This is admittedly weighted more towards the second half of the year, because my short term memory is crap. Read more

This will probably come as a shock to you guys, but I hate holidays. All of them. The only holidays I like are birthdays, especially my own, and Thanksgiving. But that’s it. Everything else is easier and better if you have a boyfriend, or if  all of your friends, who happen to have boyfriends, had boyfriends who have the same friends as your friends so you all end up in the same place. But this doesn’t happen to me. Ever. And this time around, every speed-dial- single-friend of mine will be at least 2,000 miles away come New Years’ Eve. Read more

When I was 18 years old, my family went to London over Christmas. It was the first time my nuclear family had traveled to Europe as a full unit, due in part to the fact that at the time, my sister was 11 and a huge bitch. Sleeping and eating were a thing.

Anyway, as we waited to go through customs, a short, stout woman, presumably from Eastern Europe and non-English speaking (#profiling), aggressively pushed past us, all the way to the front of the line, and made it out of there in under 30 seconds, as we politely waited the forty-five minutes (we killed time by doing a slow, a cappella break down of “Jesus Walks,” and it was awesome). It was then that my parents taught me a valuable life lesson. There are two types of people: bowling balls and bowling pins. Not only did our physical statures summarize this, but our personalities. We’re polite. We don’t really ask for what we want (except for my sister, who at 5’9 doesn’t ask; she tells). We wait forty five minutes in what was apparently also the wrong customs line, for short fatties to bowl us over and get what they want. Read more

Last night I got home from my friend’s birthday dinner a little out of it. Not because I drank too much (I didn’t), or because it was late (it wasn’t), but, I fell victim to the Seasonal Changes’ Head Cold that left me thoroughly incompetent.

After grabbing my mail, I rushed into the elevator that was kindly being held for me and I reached out to press 10, but it was already pushed. This woman – probably around my age – lived on my floor. I knew I was out of it, and I also knew that I’m kind of racist, and there are like, 3 Asian couples who live on my floor, so I’ve probably been in an elevator with her before and didn’t notice, when I wasn’t out of it. I did the only thing I thought I could do without word vomiting: I smiled, stupidly, then walked really slowly out of the elevator so I could figure out where on the floor she lived. Read more

This weekend I had an awakening. Maybe it was after my third sixth glass of wine and my dinner still hadn’t arrived and I found myself riffing on the microphone as I toasted my cousin Jenny and her now husband Billy. Maybe it was when I tucked in my cousin (she will remain nameless), who had passed out on the floor of the hospitality suite, with a table cloth, then posed for pictures next to her with my brother and posted it on facebook, only to have her employers “like” it, so I had to take it down. Maybe it was meeting tons of chivalrous, handsome Mid-western boys, who made it a requirement that I pay for no drinks, even though most of them had girlfriends or fiancees, and it wasn’t weird. Or maybe it was when I found myself get off the hotel shuttle after the reception a stop early, at some bar with a large group of former fraternity brothers and sorority sisters, and my cousin’s cousins, and new cousin-in-law’s cousins, with only one person (very, very blacked out) who I knew prior to the weekend, but said to myself, “fuck it, I’m pretty, let’s do this.” Read more

The final day of my twentieth summer in Montana seemed as appropriate a time as any to return to my blog. It marks the remaining days of summer, which is when life seems to cycle forward. Kids move up a grade. My parents will be empty nesters for the first time, and have already bought a new house and now seem to be contemplating getting a dog to make up for it. My regular slumber party buddy and cousin responsible for exposing me to curse words, sex and R-rated movies as a kid will be married in two weeks. Biblically, it almost is a new year, and then we chosens will literally get to cleanse ourselves for it. I’m just kidding. I won’t actually cleanse, unless it’s Blue Print, and then I still eat dinner. Read more