Friday, February 27, 2009

Chubs

Ok kiddies - so this is a special one. He'll get more than one post...I mean, this fella has more than one nickname. Impressive.

Chubs - not particularly good looking or "fit." Extremely funny. I was actually nervous for my first date with him - something that isn't typical for me, being that I no longer have high expectations for any sort of chemistry with the brainiacs I meet. Our e-mails back and forth had me cracking up and he seemed mostly normal with just a dash of quirkiness.

Chubs was 5 years older than me - a nice little age buffer - not too old, not too young. He decided on Vig 27 for our meeting place. It didn't matter to me that he was going to be fat and goofy looking, I labored over what outfit to wear with my trusty friends on gchat and the phone. I was confident in the would-be conservative wrap sweater t-shirt thing (my friends will probably tell me there is a technical name for this type of garment) that, on me and my giant boobs, was a little suggestive.

I got to the bar before him and debated what to order. It's a weird thing, trying to decipher what type of drinks the night will lead to. I'm a beer girl, but looove me my G&Ts and wine (doesn't even have to be a "great" one). On dates I usually take the guy's lead when ordering (a la Julia Roberts' character in Runaway Bride with her eggs), but figured since he wasn't there, I would go ahead and order something I thought a "lady" would get: white wine.

Chubs arrived moments later and the date was great. He looked like a blond John Belushi, but I didn't care. In fact, I found it endearing. He was hilarious. We drank beer, then gin and tonics (which he had served up with a lemon) and then PBR. Theeeeen things got hazy. I remember clearly that he walked with his arm around me.

Minor make out sesh, a plan to get together again that week, and we parted ways.

Then we entered the dangerous world of texting...

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Taking it to the Tweets

Happy Thursday Kiddos -

In lieu of posting a dating story or things to getcha thinking today, I'm doing a little self-promotion (so sue me)!

Why I'm Single has taken to Twitter. If you tweet then look me up and start following.

You'll find updates that give mini anecdotes (last week I was asked about by a cab driver...again), links to stories, other blogs I've been following, and on and on.

My username is (wait for it, wait for it) WhyImSingle.

Scope it!

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Can Anyone Hear Me?

Is it me? Is it like I have a beacon that only dogs and men with severe emotional problems can hear?
- Monica, Friends


Tuesday, February 24, 2009

New Categories

Keeping up with the latest news is an occupational hazard of mine. Sometimes, however, it pays off. Take for example, this doozie I stumbled upon from US News & World Report.

This isn't exactly US Weekly, but for those of you who need to draw a parallel - think of it as Stars are Just Like Us: they fit into one of four categories of women.

Forget trying to peg your posse as Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte or Samantha; the real way to i.d. yourself (and your friends) is by deciphering who is the Explorer, Builder, Director or Negotiator. These are the four "types" of women, as explained by Helen Fisher, professor at Rutgers.

The Professor explains that any individual woman can be a mix of these, but there will be one dominant character.

As reported by Deborah Kotz, here are descriptors of each:
  • The Explorer: driven by the "excitement" brain chemical dopamine and seeks out novelty, adventure, and spontaneity;
  • The Builder: runs on the "soothing" brain chemical serotonin and tends to be calm, social, and orderly;
  • The Director: fueled by the "male" hormone testosterone and is analytical, logical, focused, and tough-minded; and
  • The Negotiator: guided by the "female" hormone estrogen to be verbal, imaginative, and compassionate.
I thought this was really interesting. I think I'm a Director (with the others mixed in), but only because my friends and I have identified that I have "girl brain" and "boy brain."

I'd love to hear what category people think they fall into and why!

Which of these is the "Carrie" - you know, the one everyone claims to be, but really not everyone possibly can be.

Use the link above to check out the whole article. And holla with your category...

Monday, February 23, 2009

Set Him Up

I know quotes are typically reserved for Wednesdays, but I couldn't wait to pass this gem along.

Thanks to Molly for sending it my way!

If You're Gonna Leave Me (Set Me Up With One Of Your Friends)
"It's okay it just sucks to hear it on the phone
Goin' from town to town knowin' you won't be there when I get back home
Gonna be so lonely and so lost there without you
Who'm I gonna take to the movie
Who'm I gonna make out with at the end
If you're gonna leave me, set me up with one of your friends"
- Chris Thile

Check out a link to the song, here.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Man with a Pearl Earring

I was on the train coming home from work the other night when I received a screaming reminder of why I'm single, and why some women are not.

I was minding my own business, leaning against the subway door (the best standing spot in a subway if you ask me) when a couple entered the train. At first blush they appeared normal: middle aged, nondescript, man and woman.

Then something caught my eye - the man was wearing a single pearl earring. Now, either he missed the memo that pearls are not "bling" or he was staging some sort of revolution against diamonds (ok, ok CZ). I had to look away in order to assess the situation.

When my gaze shifted, it landed on his shoes. Girls, we know footwear for men is not to be taken lightly. I've seen sandals with socks, weird hiking sandals that just don't fit in on the streets of New York, men in heels (and full drag) and other noteworthy "fashions." This particular man was wearing MBTs. Yes, the ones that are worn (to my knowledge) only by women in order to tone your legs, get rid of cellulite, correct posture and all that jazz.

I desperately tried to remove my gaze from him, but landed on his neck wear. One beaded necklace. Two beaded necklaces. Another necklace - leather strap with shell dangling from it.

Lord give me strength to keep my eyes in my head and my jaw from hitting the floor.

These accessories are worn only by teens on the Jersey Shore or boys in the mid (to late?) 90s.

When I believed I couldn't find anything else that would shock me, I landed on his bracelet. Now, this bracelet alone would be kinda bad ass. On him, it just perfected the oxymoronic state of this man. It was a LIVESTRONG type bracelet with "IRON MAN COMPETITION 2008" on it. What?

Trying to take all of this in, I look to the woman he entered the train with. She was wearing one of those scarves that can only be described as far too colorful - and hairy. It was like confetti exploded all over this chick.

So yes, she was wearing this cheesy scarf - but even better - she was wearing it as a sling for her arm...very nonchalant. Bizarre.

I guess there is a pot for every lid. And a confetti scarf for every felt birthday cake hat.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Vivaaaa Las Vegas 2

So, I was signed up for my cellutox treatment (sounds terrifying and incredible all at once, right?) and was told it would be an hour after my electrocution treatment was supposed to take place.

I passed time reading magazines and listening to hung over girls talk piece their Friday night activities together. Glad that I was able to remember every moment of my Vegas experience (thanks Dad), I waited patiently for my name to be called. 20 minutes after my treatment was supposed to begin, I approached a woman behind the desk who can only be described as a giant blond Clydesdale of a chick.

After giving her my name, she revealed that Oopsie, I am giving you the treatment - guess we were both just waiting for the other to say something. I don't know about you, but that made no sense to me whatsoever. Was I supposed to summon my psychic powers to determine who would be giving me this cellutox treatment?

Annnnyway, Clydesdale Kendra explained that the 50 minute massage post-treatment would be taken down to 30 minutes. Fine Flicka, let's get this show on the road. I was whisked into a back room and we got underway.

As I was scrubbed down, Kendra flipped me on my back and covered up my tatas. Not realizing their size (I don't know how there can be confusion when they are right in front of your face), she folded the towel in half and re-covered.

"Oh goodness, looks like we'll need to use the whole towel to cover you up!"

Ughhhhh.

"Ha," I managed. "Yeah."

Covered up, scrubbed down, immersed in water and rinsed off, I was moved to a second room for the massage. I should have ducked out.

Kendra gave an alright massage, fairly uneventful. Until the end.

On my back, it was time for the neck/head massage. I LOVE this point of any massage. However, from time to time, my hair has gotten a little pull unintentionally. I was at the peak of relaxation when Kendra gave a little tug. I was a little startled but relaxed again quickly, making a little note to myself that she didn't acknowledge it.

She was finishing my scalp massage, running her fingers up through my hair when she tightened her grip and yanked my hair. Not once, but twice.

Now, call me crazy, but the only times my hair has been tugged like that have been by guys during, ummm "intimate" moments.

My entire body tensed. I couldn't get out of there soon enough. Between the lack of boob coverage and the hair pull, I'd had enough of my treatment.

Anyone else have awkward massage/treatment stories? There have to be some good ones out there...

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Possibilities

Love is possible - even when you have a bottom the size of two bowling balls.
- Bridget Jones, The Edge of Reason

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Vivaaaa Las Vegas

I recently returned from my first trip to Las Vegas. It wasn't exactly your traditional trip - there was nothing that happened in Vegas that needed to stay in Vegas.

1) Travel companion: my dad
2) Weather: cold
3) Gambling: one night at the Black Jack table
4) Clubbing: none

Now, this wouldn't be a relevant post if there wasn't something to say about dating/singledom/etc.

First, I know "Virginia is for lovers," but Vegas is too. This fun little fact made traveling with Dad a little awkward. We were asked if we wanted to "spice things up," have a "romantic, unforgettable evening," and "make things as hot as they were on our honeymoon." No. No I don't want to spice things up in an impassioned unforgettable evening with my DAD. Thanks though.

I think, truly, those were the most uncomfortable moments in my life. Thanks, Las Vegas.

Second, we had a day at the spa (which of course, because neither of us actually uses our brain, was on Saturday - Valentine's Day). After clearing up why we were not interested in a couples massage, we booked our appointments. I chose this very complex sounding thing that involved electrodes - not your average Swedish Massage.

Before getting my treatment, I went to the gym, got a 4 mile run under my belt, sat in the steam room and the hot tub and took a shower. Rough, right? In the waiting room, I took the form I had to fill out and quickly realized this might not be the treatment for me. At the end of the piece of paper was a warning for what people should not have the treatment. Of the few things listed, I could tick off two: IUD and skin problems (aka hives that attack for no apparent reason).

I spoke to the woman who would be torturing/relaxing me, asking her what reason there was for the complication. She explained I would basically be electrocuted from the electrodes working against my copper IUD and that the pressure and allergy triggers were "fierce." OK Tyra.

I was told that in an hour I could have a similar treatment that would not be life threatening. I signed up...

Monday, February 16, 2009

Too late?


I hope everyone had a LOVELY Valentine's Day!

Friday, February 13, 2009

We Met

For any of you who are daring enough to be meeting people the same way, it would seem obvious that you should have a contingency plan when someone asks, "How did you two meet?"

In fact, my dating headline was "For the record, we met at a bar or the gym or wherever. I'm not above making something up." Clever? I'd like to think so.

A few weeks ago I was out on date number whatever with a guy I guess you could say I've been "seeing." We went to Bleeker Bar to shoot some pool and met up with two of his friends/co-workers.

Every girl knows the importance of impressing the friends and getting along with them - so I wore my terrible pool skills on my sleeve, talked about things we were mutually interested in (Boston, being realtively new to New York) and crossed my fingers.

Before I knew it, I was being told "You're so great! Why is it you're not around more often? Hey - buddy - this chick should be haning out with us all the time!" and "You know what? I'm having a party tomorrow in Williamsburg, you should totally come - even if he can't!"

I was feeling high and mighty and fabulous and funny and engaging and everything.

Then...

"So how did you two meet anyway?"

Panic.

My eyes bolted to my date (one of the few guys who doesn't really have a nickname), who was completely engrossed in his shot and completely unaware of my inability to make something up on the spot.

We'd never come up with our "meeting" story.

"So?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, what?" Please please please say you forgot what you asked me two seconds ago.

"I was wondering how you guys met." Shit.

"Ooh. Yeah. Well, you know. We just...met. Yeah, we met."

"Cool," he was trying to process it. "So you just like, met?"

"Yeah pretty much. You know, same old story." Riiiight, you know, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

By this time, my dude had taken his shot and was rejoining the conversation.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, she was just telling us how you guys met."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," my mouth responded, while my face screamed I'm fucked! Help!

"You can't remember the name of the bar, can you?" Genius move.

"No I never can!" I laughed, relieved that we may actually dodge the .com dating bullet.

Then turning to his friend, the questionaire, he said, "Ha, nah man. We didn't meet at a bar. We met online! Hah everyone's doing it now."

His friend cracked up then proceeded to tell us about some "pathetic" guy he know who was online dating.

We dodged the bullet - miraculously.

So today's lesson: when blind dating, allllllways have a plan of attack - gotta get your lies straight before you can tell them to potential new friends.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

NONoNYmous

While some of us try meeting people in bars, or through friends, or (gasp!) online, one of my good friends has taken a completely new route: in print. This issue of Time Out New York lists eligible singles, providing a photo and some stats.

Alex is Mr. New Media, with phone in hand for his picture and all!

True, there is a way to reach him by e-mail, but if you'd rather say you "met through a friend," holla at me at whyimsingle@gmail.com and I'll hook it up.

He's a catch!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

If Only We Knew

The great question, which I have not been able to answer, is, "What does a woman want?''

- Freud

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Bad Action Part 2: Gyno Nursery Rhymes

So after calling me a chubby alcoholic, all it took was taking off my top for the doctor's attitude to do a complete 180.

Being "well endowed," I have grown to expect certain populations to be taken a-back and overly excited when they are granted full access to the girls. Doctors were never part of that group - so needless to say, when my doctor's eyes lit up it didn't exactly put me at ease.

We were done with paperwork and on to the actual exam. The doctor began the breast exam (gotta have healthy boobs!!!) and as soon as she made contact, immediately hesitated. Naturally, I took this as a bad sign and shot her a concerned look.

"Oh, nothing to worry about honey," she said, trailing off at the end. "Do you know what you should be feeling for?"

"If I found anything it would feel like a raisin in oatmeal right?" Thanks Mum!

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm sorry is something wrong?"

"Oh, no dear. Quite the opposite."

Uhhh what the hell is going on?

She proudly reported, "You have the most supple, smooth breasts I may have ever felt."

Um, say what? Is this supposed to somehow ease my mind?

"Women with breasts as big as yours tend to be lumpy and bumpy!" Oh goody!

"Well," she continued, "you pass that checkpoint with flying colors."

Bizarre.

Then...the stirrups.

No woman on the face of the planet enjoys being in this position in a doctors office. So I put my head, held my breath and counted ceiling tiles. I didn't get past two.

"Oopsie!" The now-chipper doctor said. "I forgot all my utensils! Looks like the fork ran away with the spoon!"

"Huh?"

"Back in a flash!" She said as she walked out the door, refraining from closing it completely and leaving me as emotionally and physically as exposed as I have ever felt on Valentine's Day.

"Oh goodness, I didn't close the door all the way!" She said with a giggle as she saw me, legs crossed and arms folded.

We finished what can only loosely be referred to as my annual lady doctor appointment and I ran, yes literally ran out of the office, never to return to my school's health center again.

So when I start to cringe at the idea of being single on Valentine's Day, I remind myself it could be worse - I could be single, insulted, complimented, mortified, and stuck with an insane doctor on Valentine's Day.

Just being single ain't so bad...

Monday, February 9, 2009

Bad Action...

My friends and were recently talking about boonie health, which led to conversation about going to see your "lady doctor." I was reminded of one of my favorite visits when I was in college.

It was Valentines Day 2004 (good start, right?) and I had a 7:30 AM appointment at my school's health center. I don't know quite what I was thinking, deciding that in a town full of incredible hospitals, I took my precious parts to the dingy "health" center at NU. What can I say, I guess I live on the edge.

It wasn't long before my name was called. I had filled out the sheet saying who I am, what I was doing there, allergies, etc. A very nice woman led me to a small office and gave me a gown to change into. After I changed, she knocked on the door and let herself back into the office, taking a seat and looking through my chart.

She weighed me (ughhhhhh) and took down my height (which has been reported as anywhere between 5'6 and just over 5'8). She then turned the page on my chart...

"Oopsie daisy."

Blank stare back from me.

"I see you forgot to fill in the back sides of the pages."

Of course I did, brilliant. I crossed my fingers, hoping these would be easy questions - ones I didn't need to think about whether or not to make up answers.

"Oh I did? I'm sorry. I can fill it out after."

"Oh don't be silly, I'll just ask you the questions."

After a series of innocent questions, she got to alcohol intake.

"How many drinks do you have a week?"

OK, I can tell her the truth and see if she tells me I'm an alcoholic or doesn't judge me and just moves on. Orrrr I can tell her some lie so I know she will stay off my back. Then I figured, it's Valentines Day, I'm 21, it's early as hell - let's throw caution to the wind and give full disclosure.

She wasn't pleased. "Hmm, and how many nights a week do you drink?"

I told her two times a week - thinking I would at least get points for not drinking every night.

"Ok. You consume that many beverages in just two nights?"

Oops. The questions continued and with each answer, I could see her disappointment mounting.

"You know, your drinking habits probably have a lot to do with your current weight."

Happy f-ing Valentines Day to you too. OUCH.

"OK." Seriously, how else was I supposed to respond? The doctor not only judged my every answer, but then told me I have a drinking problem and am fat because of it. Fabulous.

Then came the actual exam...the most uncomfortable one of my life. If any of you have to endure being poked, prodded and felt up by your doctor on V-Day, my heart goes out to you.

Details of my Valentines Day "action" to come...

Friday, February 6, 2009

Complete: He's Just Not...

That into you.

This has been a mantra for women for the past few years - ever since some dude "liberated" us with a book by the same name. Today, the message leaves print and explodes on the big screen.

I know people who live and die by this book and people who think it's malarkey. I'm kinda on the fence.

On one hand, we've got to admit that us ladies can make excuses for everything. We can literally explain away anything - it's a blessing and a curse. A lot of us do need to take more time to reflect on situations involving guys. If he hasn't called you in three weeks and you met once, he PROBABLY isn't that into you. But your friends will be loyal to a "t" and tell you he might have lost your number, or gotten back with his girlfriend, or lost his phone or was busy working on his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize he is receiving for creating a cure for cancer.

On the other hand - listen - guys are insecure weirdos too. They get nervous, act like idiots and chicken out.

Now that this movie is out, all I know is this: I hope we don't collapse under our own pressure and lose faith completely.

There are great guys out there...and hey - if you want to be set up with any of the ones I've blogged about - I'm happy to play matchmaker!

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Home Run In Part 2

Where was I? Oh right, thinking I could somehow avoid my man for the rest of the night.

Now, of course I knew in my heart of hearts that I wouldn't escape biggie so easily. I made it back to the table, sat and looked back to see if he was coming.

When I turned my head, he was already knelt down by my side. I was flabbergasted at how quickly he must have moved.

My friend yelled across the table, "Why did you bring him over here?"

"Umm, I didn't exactly send him an invitation."

He was drunk and slow, "You talkin about me?"

"Yup."

"OK, I have a joke for you."

Fantastic, he was a comedian too.

"Wait, actually no I don't - I just want to see you smile."

"Well, I'm smiling."

He let out a foolish sigh and put his gigantic arm around me.

"OK that's it buddy!"

Now, God knows I love my friends, but you know how there is always the friend who "knows how to handle" a situation? Yeah, the one who usually just makes it worse? That was this friend.

She marched over, pissed that this person was touching me.

"Get your hands off my friend."

His grip tightened. "I'm not letting her go!"

So this is what it was like sharing King Kong's comany at the top of the Empire State Building.

My friend grabbed his arm, like the jaws of death, trying to pry him off me. What did he do? You guessed it, squeezed me so tight I had bruises to show for it.

"You know what? It's ok," I said to my friend. My eyes met King's and the hope that glimmered was...desperate...and only the look you see on the face of a man in love, in lust, or intoxicated.

"I knew you were happy I'm here!"

"You know, I am very happy to have met you, but I'm afraid I'm trying to catch up with some old friends and they're a little hesitant to have another person join the conversation."

"Oooooh. You mean you're talking about, like, lady things?"

Ummm what?

"Yes. Exactly. We're talking about lady things. I would be glad to talk to you when the lady talk is over."

"OK." He stood up and walked away.

Luckily I made it out of the bar about an hour later undetected. He only made one more attempt to crash our party. I gave him a look and mouthed "lady stuff" and he retreated.

So girls, whenever you need to get out of a sticky situation, forget crying wolf or screaming bloody murder - simply whispering "lady stuff" will get the job done.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Anon.

This is from a blog about loves - unrequited, over-requited, kinda-requited and any other sort of requited you can think about. Each note is written anonymously.

Dear Old Love

Cyber Summary

Online: you were perfect. Then: distaster.

I KNOW there have to be some folks who can relate to this one...

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Home Run In

When I was home over Christmas, I met up with a small posse of friends at a local bar. Being that we're "old now" (anything over 24 in a suburban college town), we found a table and caught up. As the night progressed, the bar filled with the younger sisters of girls 2 years my junior when we were in high school.

We turned a blind eye and deaf ear to all the kids and talked about work, boyfriends (ahem, or lack-thereof), family and life. Around 12:30 I made my way to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with the younger brothers of my younger brother's friends and the girls I would have to pretend to be excited to see.

Naturally, the bathroom was allllll the way in the rear of the narrow bar. After pushing through the masses (something I've gotten good at while working in Times Square), I made it to the Ladies'. Immediately there was a girl behind me in line wearing a $350 sequined dress, holding her crotch and doing the pee-pee dance. Two girls emerge from the ONLY stall, mascara everywhere - drunk and drunker.

On my way back to the table, I squeezed past people fairly easily. Then, like a brick wall spread out in front of me, I met an obstacle I knew I wouldnot quickly overcome: a gigantic brotha (who puts the guy at the Chinese food place to shame). His arms are stretched out, creating a blockade.

I smile, avoiding eye contact yet again. "Oh, excuse me."

"No I will not excuse you."

Here we go.

"I been looking at you since you got up to go potty, just waiting for you to come back so I could look at you close up."

Potty?

"Ok." Wasn't exactly sure what response he expected.

He exhaled a cigarette stained "Heh!" laugh type of noise and stared.

"Um, I'm sorry but I need to get by - my friends are waiting for me."

"Oh your friends? In that case I'll come with you so they can meet me."


Ah yes, you are exactly the man my friends are hoping to grace with your presence. Fantastic.

I pushed past him, hoping there was no way homes was going to follow me to the table...

Monday, February 2, 2009

Overheard

This was sent to me from a co-worker sitting in Penn Station, waiting to catch his train.

SUBJECT: Some people

Well, it's hard to believe they are even real. Case in pt: guy waiting in the Amtrak lounge with the trucker hat that says "I Heart Haters" talking into his bluetooth earphone and saying, "I don't know baby. All I know is that I'm not into her anymore and I'm way into you. But you don't wanna believe that."