I Did a Bad Thing in North Carolina.

What the hell am I gonna do. I came here with my running shoes (unused...meh.) my trusty black heels, my moccasins, and a pair of sandals.
2 weeks later.... I leave with this (4 pair not pictured. Please. Don't judge....)
Ladies and Gentleman. I have a problem. Not the glaringly obvious addiction to shopping (although I consider it sport.), but rather. What the fuck kinda Houdini magic do I need to do to get back to New York?
Flight is at 1:30pm. I've got 12 hours to literally make a miracle occur.

Rope-A-Dope

Rope-A-Dope-- refers to a boxing technique made famous by M. Ali. The idea is that he would get into a defensive stance and let's his opponent beat him up. The opponent would think he was winning because of all the landed hits. Meanwhile Ali is posted up, waiting for the other guy to get tired, then he comes off the ropes, K.O's the other guy and its a rap.

I like that idea and it's an applicable like approach as well. However, in this situation...I'm the fucking other guy...and I got Ali-ed.

My sister E met a boy in January. This was delightful to me because I figured once she was occupied and entertained the focus on my unconventional 'relationship' with the banker would no longer be in the spot light.

So she sends me a BBM in the class we have together: 'what are you doing Friday at 9'

Side bar: the correct way to answer this question is "why?" If you're like me and say "mmm...nada, what's up" you are already saying yes to whatever the plan is. See how I don't have any defenses up? See how my ass is just runnin around the ring all willy-nilly like I don't need to protect my face!

Ok, so she then asks me if I'll go bowling at the spot in Harlem. She explains that her new boo is bringing his buddy from college and he asked E to bring a friend too. She then explained that she really wanted me to get to know her lil boo better and it was gonna mean a lot to her if I went.

So, I say yes because I am dumb and because I love E. I make it very clear that I want the guy-friend to know that I am there as E's sister. Not as nobody's date. I don't go on dates like that. And, if I did? Trust. It wouldn't be a blind one to go bowling.

So the Friday night rolls around and we head to the spot. I'm not sure what to wear because E keeps insisting it's 'totally casual. Real chill'. So I put on a black v-neck tee. Skinny jeans, my fucking Nikes... And for good measure I put on a nicer cardigan and, like real make-up. E is wearing like, boots, and a nice coat and like, I'm thinking, whatever....this is HER date. I'm here to like.... Bowl.

Went we get there I see E's boo and he explains that his friend... Is in the bathroom. we'll call my date "Elliott"

When Elliott does appear I do the mental filing that every person on earth does when they meet someone of the opposite sex:
My thoughts went like this---
'Hum...tall, nice clothes. Not that hot. Sort of not fit. Probably very nice. I def. Could never date him.... I don't wanna even bang it out.... Category: after tonight I'll never see this kid again.'

Seems shallow, but act like that's now how it really happens.

I am immediately played when I meet him. He says something to effect of "it isn't often I get to take beautiful girls out... Of course its on me."

What.

This is a 'taking me out' why the fucckkkk is this a date?

This bowling alley was the kind of place that had a full bar in it. E and I go and buy the first round. So all 4 of us re having a beer, getting ready to bowl and Elliott and I start making small talk. As I we chat I realize a few things. 1- He has a great personality. 2- He isn't "ugly". He's more teddy bear cute. 3- I am on a date. Personality is my kryptonite. I am a sucker for a good vibe. I'm also a natural born flirt and, contrary to popular belief, I am really freakin nice.... so it pretty clear how this is going to go down.

To quicken this story I'll hit up the highlights:

- I start drinking like a fish because Elliott is stressing me out. For ever compliment he dished, cheap feel he copped, and follow-up date he arranged, I drank. So much that after the 2 hour bowling session I'd had 7-8 beers. The boys? they had 1. E? she had 3.

- So now I'm that drunk girl, talkin shit, getting belig. Cussing every time I roll a gutter ball, talking shit to Elliott and E's date, etc.

- Elliott make a bet that if I out score him, he picks our next date, and if he outscores me, I pick it. my response is "well. I guess I respect your hustle, Elliott." What.

- He keeps on getting hugs and has me sit on his knee like I'm some kind of child. I don't sit on nobody's knee and all that close talking is weird.

- He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I say "no....but I'm not single either." I pulled the Eyrkah Badu Next Life Time intro move "... you know, I'm in a situation...." He responds that he is up for the challenge. In life if he sees something he likes, He'll go after it. And he is more than ready to make my #1 disappear. What.

-When we leave bowling he is walking with me in the street. I am trying to BBM my friends/ text the banker a fast as possible. he then HOLDS MY HAND AND PUTS IT INSIDE OF HIS COAT POCKET FOR WARMTH. I want to puke all over him at this point. a) you're trying to keep me from texting. Yes is rude, but you don't need to be trying to regulate my behavior, guy. b) you're holding my hand inside your pocket and it's gross.

- We get to this bar and E realizes she left her tab open at the bowling alley. So she and her boo go back to get it. And I am just there, drunk.

- As I mentioned before, he has a good personality. So, I tell him I'm really hungry, since I drank my dinner at the bowling alley. We go to his car and head to the IHOP in Harlem.

- On the way he keeps referring to me as "his perfect Clair Huxtable." what. That is fucking weird. You don't know me.

- He keeps making references to me as his future wifey. "...lets say, you and I get married...." And he keeps pouring compliments on me. All I can think is "this wasn't supposed to be a date."

- He was weird about food. I order a fat Omelet and he gets pancakes. He doesn't use the butter and he askes for sugar-free syrup. Not a problem at all.... but he kept like talking about it. Things like "I've been back in the gym lately" or "if you and I have kids, we'll have to make sure they are active in sports because their daddy has big genes." whyyyy.

The end of the night:

We leave IHOP after a good conversation, and a part of me is sorry that I can't/won't date this kid. A small, small part.

He tells me that he'd like to take me out again on Feb. 19th. Somewhere downtown for jazz, and he let me know upfront that he was comfortable being #2 right now and that he was working for the #1 spot. That made my skin crawl. I felt like Carrie in the episode when she and Miranda are trying on ugly wedding dresses, and because Carrie doesn't really want to marry Aiden she has the aaa (acute anxiety attack) and has to rip the dress off. I NEVER confirmed these dates. I NEVER did anything to make him think I was in to him. I treated him like I treat all my platonic relationships. I swear.

We get to my house and I tell him good night. He insists on walking me to my door. I am dying. At the door he starts in on the speech about how great the night was, etc. I give him some awkward hug and try to slip in my door. He has my arm and pull me back. DIE.

He gives me a kiss on the cheek and I return it. I don't even know why. Then he goes for ANOTHER kiss on the cheek-fake-out and tried to fucking kiss me. Here's where shit gets real.

I PUT MY HAND OUT TO HALT HIM. (read: sp awkward and unpleasant for everyone.) and I am visible shaking my hand and I may or may not have been hand gesturing to him as well. Here is me: "No, no, no, no, no. No, Elliott. No. No." Really, Sesh? Like.... seriously?

He then proceeds to beg me. Yup. Shameless begging " Please.... Please, just one Kiss? Please."

Me: (more hand gestures) No Elliott. No..... but, I had a great night, drive home safe!" POOF: I disappear into my building feeling all icky and sick.

Then the texts, and calls begin. I find out that this "date" on the 19th is actually his birthday. Who asks a stranger who isn't that into you to be the birthday date? I spend most of the week ignoring the calls and responding to the text as seldom as possible. It gets worse when I find out from E that Elliot told E's boy that he felt like we had a major connection and really clicked. What. What. Whatttttt is this!?

"Elliott, No." Is the new punchline between me, my sister and my Mom. It's the 2010 version of "Scotty, Don't" that SM and RSJ coined in 2007.

Thing is, I don't know how to get out of the date on the 19th. Yea, thats on Friday. I don't want to be a bitch, but I am not going. I like, cannot go. I feel so bad that my drunk ass somehow made this boy feel like he'd met his future wife. Even worse.... if he didn't lay it on so thick and scare me so much we could have at least been friends. my best guy friend Karl is going to be in town on the 19th, so I'm hoping I can somehow use that as a valid get-out-of-date-free card.

In this scenario, I am the dope. All night I thought I was runnin things. And end the end I got knocked the fuck out.

Venus vs Mars: on Communication.

I mentioned that in my brief time away, I would randomly think of things I wanted to write on my blog, I'd start the post, then just save it as a draft. Well, all of those stories/snippets/I'm sorry for partying/life lessons, have turned in to a lil somethin' somethin' I'm going to call "Venus vs Mars." Why? a) When Jay-z's Blueprint 3 came out, banker and I heard that song, resolved it was written about is and geeked out about it for about 2 weeks. b) over the weeks, I have had numerous "oh, word??" moments with the Banker. You know what I'm talking about.... like, something happens that is good for the gander (read: NOT good for the goose) and ALL I can think is "Oh, wooorrrddd????" Like, this is so not gonna work. For like... me. At all.

As these little situations have come and gone, I have had time to reflect on them, on me, on girls in general. You know, all that "self-awareness" that I am learning at school (see how applicable it all is??) Figured I would share them because really as far as you know, all I do in New York is stand around taking pictures of myself in clothes/whine about being busy/listen to songs with awkward love undertones. Not (completely) true. I just hit my 100th post the other day, and figure anyone who still reads should be privy to a little more inside information. Lets see how many of you are left when I get to the 200th post.... so, here goes:

In the inaugural post of this nature, I'll hit you with the most recent.

Venus vs Mars--- Communication.


Allow me to set up the scene:

[End of September]

Me: Banker, my schedule in November is totally erratic. I'm going home the first weekend for a wedding, my mom's gonna come up for like a week, You know, I'll leave for Thanksgiving....
Banker: How do you fill up your whole November when it's September?
Me: I don't know... but we're like, never gonna see each other.
Banker: It will be fine, I usually go on Vacation in November, this year I'm thinking Barbados, maybe Cabo.
Me: What.
Banker: I'm not going to forget about you because I'm going on vacation.

Whats wrong here?? In theory, nothing at all. In fact, I'll give the boy snaps for picking up on the mini freak out I had when he mentioned "Cabo" (in my defense, I think it was a reflex! Seriously, though...who the eff is like, "hey, boy-I-wanna-date, please, run as fast as you can to Sodom and Gamorrah-- no worries here." Please.) In the conversation above, indeed: Whats Good for the Goose, is Good for the Gander.

Lets come back to this little scenario: [last week]
sidebar: This is about day 12 of mess. Schedules are all over the place, he's doing ~60hrs a week, I'm waking at 5:00am and going to bed at 1:00am. It's an all around sucky crap-tastic time.

Me: Banker, I'm gonna be up for another couple of hours, you wanna call me here now in a few so I can take a break. (a text, obviously)
Banker: Can we talk tomorrow?? I'm half way to being asleep..... I'm sorry, Goodnight babe.

[here is the 10 minute window of angry silence that translates as "no text back"]

Banker: ?? hello?
Me: well, you know I'm going home on Thursday, and when I get back my mom is here for the week. I have no clue when we're gonna hang out, what, in December? [this is the blog-better version of my text back. the REAL one was full brat mode. but, for self-preservation, I've edited it. At least I admitted it though....]
Banker: I'm going to Barbados next week.

And: I promptly call SM, which is crazy because I don't like talking on the phone. Mid-SOS phone call the Banker Beeps in.

We talked, we mended. All is well. But let me break it down:

*Boys and Girls are different. Very different. Not the same at all. And sometimes, no matter how wonderful everything else is, the fundamentals can get a little messy. Take communication: Banker figured I remembered he took vacation in November. Yea, I remember him saying it, but I had no clue in real life. Me, I wanna know things like "Hey, I'm thinking of going on holiday, ________ week" or "I just got tickets for vacation!" Little update are nice. Being in the loop is GOOD FOR THE GOOSE. If the Goose is happy, the Gander is happy! Isn't this a basic concept?


The only way this is even remotely tolerable, aside from my ride-or-die girls, is the Banker himself. I am fortunate to have a nice boy like the banker. The little (and not so little) hiccups are made that much easier because he isn't a jackass. In fact, most of the time when these Venus vs. Mars differences occur, I am ready to peace out. I'm a quitter sometimes, I'll confess. My friends (who are all "team Banker" as they so readily remind me) are quick to give me some perspective: Good guys are few and far between. Banker is no angel-- but he always tries. I means, lets be honest, I'm not Sandra Dee. I'm more of a Rizzo. And that can be a lot of fun, until it's not fun anymore more, I'm sure. Basically, the only way to fight is to fight fair, and, a lot of the time, all a girl needs to here is "I'm sorry." It seriously wins 1/2 the battle. So, take that little pearl (little brother of mine, I know you're reading...)

I share this story specifically because I know how to do a lot of things, and the things I can't do, I can fake it til I make it. Except for dating. I don't do it. It's like, pointless and annoying and I can't stay still long enough to bother with it all. So I've just played the game my own way for the past 4 years or so. I'm Boss Bitch at being single, complete 5th grader at dating. I remember before I moved, good ole Grace told me that as soon as I met a guy that was worth it I'd give in a little. And, as my friend Kells would say "You're little ice box is more of a slushie now." I think about one of the final scenes in The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and how his heart great 3x bigger after hearing the people of Who-ville sing. Not comparing myself to the Grinch, obviously I'm not out dicking people over, left and right.... I guess I wanna find the happy medium between Boss Bitch and Stupid Girls, and I suppose now is a good time to figure it out.

Who Will Stop the Rain?

It's been raining on and off since Friday. That's a lot of rain seeing as today is Wednesday. Now, in general I don't have a problem with rain. I always feel bad for the plants and animals when it doesn't rain.... but now, I just feel bad for myself, haha. New York sorta sucks when it's raining because it's still sort or gross. Like mud on stuff, wet seats, wet trash. just wet. Not to be a debbie downer, I still adore it here and, I mean, each place has there thing... at home sometimes it so hot and humid I remember feeling like there was no way to even go to my car. Anyways, things are very hectic for me, as I'm sure they are for everyone else, but I have some posts drafted and I work on them from time to time, so look forward to that. I'm got some stories... hahaha.

Oh, and let me let you in on a secret. I'm sorta short, but only because I have short legs. the drawbacks? I look like a little kid splashing around in the insanely tall rain boots. The benefits? I regularly buy shirts in an XL, belt them and, ta-da! it's a tunic (or a dress in the summer and I'm skankin.) I had to exchange some impulse buys at Old Navy and had a lil somethin to burn. I saw the white shirt I'm wearing today on the sale rack for $6.00. In my real size it was a cute long blouse for like, over jeans, but with leggings, sorry, you need to cover your booty (unless you're a model or somehow have overcome the overwhelming "i'm naked!" feeling you get when you first try out leggings-for-pants). So this shirt in an XL made for the perfect booty curtain!

Just thought I'd drop that lil life lesson on ya, keep the knowledge flowin. hahaha.

Tunic-- Old Navy
Belt-- Forever 21
Boyfriend Cardigan-- H&M
Leggings-- American Apparel
Rain Boots-- Hunter

SFP: A cautionary tale, in Pictures. Part 1

Prevention of SFP's is is very similar to what is taught in Sex Ed. The only TRUE way to stay SFP-safe is to abstain.

Let's be real. Abstinence only education doesn't work. So. here are some different forms of protection:



Do not take bombs.

a)

Do not take shots.

b)

Figgin do not drink malt liquor.

What the eff, get off the luge.

I'm sorry I partied 101. The Basics

The first time I was ever Sorry For Partying was also the first night I ever got torn up drunk. It was the last day of school, 10th grade, 2001. My 2 best mates and I came up with an elaborate lie in order to ensure that we we're going to make it to this keg party at Jordan lake. What did or did not happen that night is still open to interpretation/open for debate. The next morning waking up, covered in mud, soaked in beer, and after having slept in a Chevy Cavalier parked in a church parking lot, it hit me. Hazy memory, on puke-mode, dirty, uncomfortable, confused "what the eff is my life" feeling. It's more than a hangover, more than "dude I was shithoused last night" This is true SFP.

Let me clarify. Every night I go out doesn't qualify as a Sorry For Partying. There is a certain level of debauch redic-ness that must occur both the night of and the morning after. By no means am I an expert, but I will say, that my field training is extensive and well documented (thanks to facebook and a blackberry). While it's not exactly scientific, I think I've got the qualifiers more or less tacked down.

The night of can usually be measured based on your answer to these questions:

1. What is my mindset tonight?
2. How early am I going to start, and when will I stop?
3. The type of drinks do I plan to face tonight?
4. How much/What am I going to eat?
5. Where I am going tonight?

The morning after can be measured by asking yourself these follow-up questions.

1. Where am I?
2. Am I still wearing last nights clothes?
3. did I wash face/brush teeth/take out contacts?
4. How severe is my hangover?
5. Am I injured at all?
6. Do I know how I got home?

Additionally, some of these sure fire signs aren't questions, but more evidence. Some examples include:

• You end your night going home with/ bringing someone back with you whom you just met that night or only know from the scene.
• You lose your phone or get your phone wet
• Any item of your clothing is soiled, ripped, or ruined
• You puke before bed.
• You wake up to puke.
• You wake up in puke.

If you meet any of these, then congrats. You're Sorry You Partied.