Archive for the 'Single in the City' Category

This past weekend, Sarah hosted a holiday party complete with Secret Santa.

The host and her decorations:

There were racier pics that involved two balls …. but we’ll keep those ones hidden.

The apartment ws decorated so lovely:

That’s Jeannie in the corner. I would have cropped her out because I bet she won’t like that pic, but somehow that is the ONLY picture I have of her from the evening. Although I’m certain I took several photos of her and her husband, I think someone got a hold of my camera and erased a bunch accidentally. I’m blaming Andy.

It was a dress up (optional) party, which I was psyched about, because I have way too many dresses in my closet and no reason to wear them. Ever.

Me pictured with my pick in the Secret Santa, Caity.

Please note that I have a weird sloppy lazy eye thing going on. What the heck? There are maybe 3 pictures of me from the whole evening and I’m like that in every one. Sarah suggested maybe I was winking at the camera. I think I was making sweet love to the camera .. with my right eye.

Anyway, I got Caity Biolage shampoo and conditioner and some OPI nail polishes. I enjoy giving pamper-y gifts. (Jeannie had me in the Secret Santa, and I got the most beautiful sushi set for two.)

After Secret Santa most of us maintained our holiday spirit (read: buzz).

At one point in the evening I started talking to the only single, straight boy at the party. We had a lovely conversation for 15 minutes and then he asked what kind of music I like. I started off with “I really like a mix of everything.” giving examples of some of my favorites including 80s rock, Sountracks, etc and ended with “And oh yeah. I really like bubblegum pop.” To which he responded and I quote “Like that Mariah Carey crap?”

Um. Well she’s not really bubblegum, but yes, yes and YES. Hello? All I Want for Christmas Is You has pretty much been on repeat for like a month now.

Within seconds - SECONDS - he said “I have to …. go in the other room.”

I don’t think I will ever learn my lesson when it comes to my love of pop and the rest of the world. Friendships have been tainted, I’ve lost out on job opportunities and now boys because of it. But, hey, take me (bubblegum pop and all) or leave me, cause I am not changing.

Now please ’scuse me while I crank up the Britney Spears.

This morning I trekked over to my local Peets to order my regular coffee: medium with skim, no sugar.

Lately I’ve had this problem where I keep burning my tongue on the coffee. This ‘problem’ is called patience. And, sadly, I’ve been diagnosed with not having any. So I’ve taken to ordering my hot coffee with two ice cubes*.

*Could I be any more annoying? No. The answer is no. Though if I asked how I really want my coffee (mainlined), I would probably be considered tacky. And I’d rather be annoying than tacky.

So I walk up to the counter and order “medium skim, no sugar, two ice cubes”. I wait for my coffee, get overly excited when I see it coming towards me, eagerly hand over a five dollar bill, step to the side, and take a sip while I wait for my change.

And then this guy walks up, swear to god, and orders a medium with skim, no sugar and ice.

A normal person would have said something like “Hi, I just ordered the exact same thing. My name is Jenny. You have amazing eyes.”

Instead I just stared at him thinking “OMG LOL WE JUST ORDERED THE SAME THING, WTF!? OMG I SHOULD SAY SOMETHING BECAUSE RIGHT NOW I’M JUST STARING AND HE’S LOOKING AT ME BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE I’M GOING TO SAY SOMETHING EXCEPT NOW IT’S BEEN TOO LONG TO SAY SOMETHING SO I’LL JUST KEEP STARING. LOL. WTF. OMG.”

Then I did the socially accetable thing: I grabbed my change and bolted. (But I did tip the barista — possibly making up for my social awkwardness?)

I’m totally normal in most social situations. And I know, I know - I should have said something. I mean I look totally adorable in my khakis, navy blue and cream sweater vest, and cute black frame glasses*.

*

But let’s face it, my idiocy is what makes my blog. Wouldn’t it be terribly boring if my entries were all “I saw this guy and I said hi and he said hi back and we’re in love now. Kay? Thanks! Bye!”

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Guys, today is officially the last day of NaBloI’mgoingcrazyIhateBlogs month! And to keep you people coming back, I have a surprise. But you won’t get it until tomorrow. Oohhhhhhh.

Sometimes, when we’re bored and need a little entertaining, my friend Skip and I will persue the Craigslist personals and send each other links. Sometimes they’re serious, like “Hey Friend, you should write to this person.” and sometime they’re sarcastic “Hey Friend, now HERE IS THE CHICK FOR YOU…..She digs the taste of blood, Satan and - oh! It look like last week she preformed a marriage ceremony for wolves! Adorable.”

And every once and a while you’ll see an ad that makes you laugh out loud and make you think to yourself “I want to be friends with whoever this person is.”

Such was the ad I found yesterday. Posted by a seasoned veteran of the dating world … at the ripe old age of 22. This kid not only knows exactly what he wants, but exactly what you WON’T like about him and that’s his ad. Which to me, is genius.

I sent this to Skip and his only response was “AMAZING.”

And without further adeiu I present to you, my new best friend:

You know what, I’m not even going to try with trying to sell you on how kickass I am and all that good shit, because I already know that. No, rather I will tell you the things that you probably won’t like, here it is:

Your cat is an asshole and I hate it.
We already know your ex is a douchebag.
Family Guy is awesome.
Metal is awesomer \m/
I am an asshole.
Typical girly behavior makes me want to kill myself.
Whiny, complainy, bitchy, all reasons to murder you.
My apartment is small but cheap.
You will end up driving me to a drinking problem.
I like ‘em curvy (what, tits rule).
I have an obvious superiority complex.
I am messy, I probably won’t clean…ever.
You cannot be completely sane, no stalkers either.
I am overweight slightly, but love it, I’m not going to the gym with you, be happy with your appearance or lose weight, don’t drag me with you.
I am better than you at math.
I will make fun of you…a lot.

Still reading, you know what to do. This at least gave me something to do for five minutes.

I swear that’s a real ad. Titled “Scraping the Bottom of the Barrel”.

Out of sheer curiosity I want to contact this kid and find out what kind of response his ad got. Because if I were a 22 year old, not quite sane, \m/etal loving chick looking for love on the East side, I’d be all over this diamond in the rough.

After all Big said it best “After a while, you just want to be with the one who makes you laugh. “

I have this problem where I speak in different self-invested slangs with different groups of friends.

If I were hanging out with my “Braintree” crew (Sarah, Jeannie, etc.), I could spot an annoying person across the bar and say “Sylvanus strike him down!” and we would all errupt into a fit of laughter. (Sylvanus, as in Sylvanus Thayer who was born in Braintree - our hometown - a General in the United States army, and his likeness stands in the form of a HUGE statue outside of Town Hall.) Yeah we are huge geeks, but hello, if you read this blog everyday you already know that.

When around my best guy pal Chris, we usually communicate solely in abbreviations and nonsense words, “DG! TP AINT B! Izz brown! Aint roll! IZZ AG. Oops you!”

Other than the “DG” which means “damn girl!”, there is no way I could even launch into a discussion about what the rest of that means. It’s taken years for us to perfect our secret twin language (we were both born on 12/24/80). But I am fairly certain the rest of our friends hate it.

While running with the “Edwards Crew” (Hooker, Ted, Kiley, Anthony, Desiree, etc.), we like to generously sprinkle our conversations with the word “douche”. It can be in a loving way: “I hate you, you douche. Come here and take a shot of tequlia with me and join in on this Billy Joel sing-a-long.” or in a not so loving way “Those douches were up until 5:30 am playing pool. I couldn’t frigging sleep because of their douchery.”

That one in particular I have to watch myself with. “Douche” rolls of the tongue a little too easily these days.

For example, last weekend, I was at a bar chatting up a pretty cute guy. We talked about music, about how much we hate the T, and about things to do in Boston. We were having a decent time and eventually exchanged phone numbers and all the while continuing to throw back more and more drinks.

When we hit one drink too many for Jenny, he ordered some disgusting mixed drink that involved Watermelon Pucker and I turned to him in all seriousness and said,

“Stop being a douche and order a man drink.”

Yeah.

And I wonder why he didn’t call.

Although, I lost his number before I even left the bar so he couldn’t have been all that great.

But really?

But this brunette gets all the boys.

Ok. Well maybe not ALL the boys. Or even a lot of boys. BUT, I can honestly say that I was hit on by guys more in my first week of being a brunette than I was in the past year of being a blonde.

I’m talking like 5 times here guys. WHOA. Watch out. Maneater on the loose.

I’m not sure if the color is just more flattering on me, or I just feel more confident with short hair (instead of hiding behind all those long layers), but something happened last week.

It all started the day after I got my cut and color at a Dunkin Donuts cart (yes a FOOD CART). I’m in desperate need of my morning coffee (obviously), and I’m gleefully messing around with my new hair as I wait in line. The guy in front of me, who had turned around a few times already I assume looking for a cab, or the T or something, turns around and has the following converstaion while looking at me way too intensely pre-coffee:

“Hello. Good morning. Hi. I’m Patrick.”

“Uh. Hiii….”

“I love coffee. I need some coffee.”

“Me too. That’s why I’m here.”

“What’s your name?”

I was thinking “Is this necessary. We are standing at a FOOD CART. How depressing.”

I said “Jenny. Nice to meet you.”

“You gettting a bagel? Do you want a bagel? I’ll get you a bagel.”

“Thank you I’m all set.”

“Your coffee then. Sir I have her coffee.”

“That’s ok. Really. Thank you though.”

“No, Jenny. I can get your coffee. I’ll write it off.”

I was thinking “Ohh charmer!”

I said “Uh. I guess.”

“What about your number. Can I get that too?”

“Um. I don’t think so. But thanks for asking …. (wtf Jenny).”

I awkwardly walked away because I think I’m dealing with some crazy intense guy who goes around asking for girls numbers at coffee carts.

Except a similar thing happened later that day and again later that week, except minus the coffee and minus the awkward “Can I get your number” part of the conversation. (I’m new to this brunette thing and boys asking that. I’ve got to take it easy, you know?)

The weird part is it’s not just with guys. And no I’m not going to launch into a story where I am so awesome I can charm lesbians.

I’ve been asked for directions, restuarant suggestions, and other “on the street” questions more this week than any other in a long while.

And again, I swear it’s because this new hair color makes me so happy that it literally makes me smile and gives me an extra hop in my step. And if I didn’t know where I was I’d probably asked the way too excited smiling girl over the pissed off businessman with borderline personality disorder.

It definitely didn’t launch me into model status or anything, but this thing I did to my hair made me feel like a whole new person. And that person apparently looks like she knows all the best places in Boston and likes men to buy her coffee (I really didn’t let him buy my coffee. But I should have. Except I was all “OMG why the eff are you talking to me? Stop being weird.”)

Though to be fair, not all good comments have come out of the hair. Last Friday, I threw on my favorite t-shirt and jeans and hit up an acoustic show that my friend Marc was playing. Shortly after I walked in, this kid I’ve known for years said “You usually look all hot. But tonight? You don’t look hot. But you do look approachable. So uh, if you get a few drinks in you and feel like slumming it for the evening, I’m your man.”

VOM-IT.

No thank you.

I’m glad that’s not how most of the response to my hair went, because quite frankly I would have dyed it back and got extensions.

But that would have killed me because I really think this is the best hair that I’ve had in a long time. Got any good hair stories?