#realtalk

me:  do you think it is easier for stupid people to have successful relationships than intelligent people?

Ryan:  absolutely

did you ever notice that poor, uneducated trashy people fall in love and have babies every week

me:  its true. they don't question anything

i put more thought into which toothbrush to purchase than most individuals seem to put into the decision to marry or procreate

Why Dating is Hard

Some women are really good at being demanding and getting what they want; this appears to work in their favor when it comes to the dating game.  I, however, suck at it, apparently.  I don't like to demand... I guess I expect people to read my mind, which makes it worse. While I could be pretty easy-going, which is typically only applicable when my basic needs [humor, education, laughter, fit, food, booze, genuine... which is a gray area] are met, there are some definite deal-breakers that exist.

Here is a brief list, compiled by Amara and I:

•  if he orders take out and picks up a bottle of wine and its yellowtail. done. next. 

• if he lists "Yes, Dear" or "Two and a Half Men" as favorite shows. done. next.

• if we go to a casino together and play blackjack and he hits on a 13 when the dealer is showing a 5. done. next.

• if he thinks chicken parm is real Italian food. done. next. 

• has nicer eyebrows than me. done. next.

• if he orders Hennessy at 2pm. done. next.

• if his choice beer is Corona. or Bud Light. or Coors Light. or Shock Top. done. next.

• his last name is "Patel". done. next.

• if chicken is their favorite type of meat. done. next. 

• if they talk with their mouth full or chew with their mouth open [and poor table manners in general]. done. next.

• if he is unable to compose a word earning greater than 9 points in Words with Friends. done. next.

• if he draws unnecessary, inappropriate, sexually explicit images in Draw Something. done. next.

• if they assume Sri Lanka is an extension of India. done. next.

• if he uses the word "hot" as a compliment. this can also be extended to include banter consisting primarily of uni-syllabic words. done. next. 

• if he txts lyk dis. done. next.

• if he orders a bottle of wine and basically shares it with himself. then cannot drive me home [you'd think that would be a no-brainer, but it obviously happened to me]. done. next.

• texting to say they are outside instead of coming to the door, like a man. done. next.

• if they consider The Olive Garden a restaurant. done. next.  

and on that note, I'm done. Next.

I met a boy-

Well, technically, he's a man. He is 33 and has a career, blah blah blah. We have been talking for roughly the past 3 weeks and things are too comfortable. So comfortable that I am uncomfortable. Regardless, the manner in which we crossed paths deserves recognition because I think it is hysterical.


It was a Mir & Sandra date-night; we decided to hit up Porta in Asbury Park. Sandra, as per usual, was breaking her own damn neck on the prowl for men. I was just sippin. Fast forward to last call; I am at the bar, Sandra is outside smoking a cigarette. She comes in, or I go out, its blurry... regardless, she wants to go back to this guy's place, and that is soooo not typical protocol. After much begging and bargaining I agree to go back for A beer... so we are back at dude's apartment, waiting for his friends to arrive with said beer. At this point, from my recollection, I am basically watching he and Sandra conversate, because I could care less about anything other than being within sprinting distance to the nearest exit.

Anyways, I had mentioned to this young man, Tim, that my friends and I were interested in moving to Asbury at some point, so he gave me his card to get in touch with him when we were ready to begin our apartment hunt. Now, at some point, the banter between Sandra and Tim took a turn for the worse; she had been pressing him for his monthly rent payments and he flipped a switch, feeling as though she was trying to feel him out for how much money he makes in a year [intuitive], and I begin frantically motioning for us to get the fuck out. As we are on our way out, Sandra cursing at Tim, Tim cursing at Sandra, I am in the middle, side-stepping in my 4 inch Michael Kohrs heels, Tim's business card in the air, motioning ,"I can still call you about the apartments, right? We're cool? You'll help us out?" And so it began... and now it proceeds.

I finally rang him, approximately 2 weeks later, and received voicemail: "Hi, this is Miriam. You kicked my friend out of your apartment two weeks ago, but you said I could call you and you'd help me find a spot in Asbury. Give me a call back, xxx-xxx-xxxx." He rings me back, hungover and in bed, he had completely forgotten about that incident until my voicemail, regarded as the "greatest voicemail ever." And so we have been bantering back and forth, and it has been fun. It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of meeting an intelligent, funny man... and now I am just waiting for the shit to hit the fan. As it always does. 5-4-3-2...

controversial

Today's epiphany: I like to think people know how to act right... Which is likely why I'm constantly discontent with the general population.

With that said... anyone who reads this blog [ie. anyone that correlates themself to any of the pseudonyms in my posts] will likely exclaim, "Bitch be trippin! Talkin' bout actin right but airin' all this shit!" And they are possibly entitled to feel that way, with the obvious exception of Yance because he is the most ridiculously deluded individual to roam the earth and the only thing he should be entitled to is a mirror that slaps him in the face every time he looks into it, however, I like to think my actions are OK, based solely on my respect for punctuation and illustrative articulation.

more miscommunication

As we know, on Sunday I committed a complete technological blunder and messaged the wrong person with all of the things I was saying about that said individual. Of course I immediately reported the story to Amara so that she could empathize with my mortification and laugh at the general absurdity; the one thing she did not take away from the wreckage was to be mindful of where she points & clicks....

So I'm hanging around at my friend's house and receive the following text:

"Ugghhhh I was stalking one of bf's exes on fb and I accidentally added her as a friend"

Followed by:

"Whyyyy is this happening to us!!!!"

And then defeat:

"I just deactivated fb. I can't handle all this right now."

Brilliant. Kudos to genetics, social media, and the extensive arrays with which we continue to accidentally humiliate ourselves and isolate others through such networks. I think I prefer my embarrassment the old fashioned way: in person. That way, at least the other person knows it was a genuine accident and not someone using technology as a shield, or as yet another excuse not to act right.

Current timeline of Awesome

• 3 weeks ago: Closest friend since high school professes real love for me. Just to put it out there.
  
• 2 weeks ago: Cali-state of mind
• 1 week ago: Boca eats two boxes of Raisinets and has to be hospitalized for 1.5 days.
• Yesterday: mortify myself via g.chat.
  

#unlucky

Sundays have always been my favorite day of the week... my day of sloth and gluttony. Optimally shared with people I love.

Last Sunday started off nearly perfect, despite the exam I had to take; I went to Philly with my boys, met up with Jackie, and sampled Damon's new spot, Alla Spina. Anyways, everything was great, until I got home. The raisinets I had bought for Chris and forgot to bring to him were devoured by my 26 pound Boston Terrier. Two boxes of chocolate covered raisins [which is like arsenic coated peroxide soup dumplings for humans] were gone, with nothing but the remnants of the old-school packaging I had instagrammed hours earlier. Fuck. The next day I brought Miss B in to be hospitalized for a minimum of 36 hours to be flushed out. Cheesus.

And now, one week later... enter emotional absurdity. Or maybe simply catastrophe.

I've been on a bit of a Kelly Clarkson kick. It started toward the end of my relationship with boo in Vermont; "Mr. Know It All" really caught my attention, for reasons that I cannot effectively articulate via text right meow. Speaking of improper articulation via indirect mechanisms, let me air my most recent faux pas via g.chat...

Anyone who follows this blog knows whats up [Hi, Amara.], and so I will just paste it, I guess. I mean, who fucking cares at this point anyways, right? It has already been read by the worst case scenario, so why not let the rest of the world [Amara, again] see it?!

A couple of things to note before reading:

1. Only me.
2. The g.chat box to said individual was CLOSED. I had only one box open, wherein I was typing at Miss Rosenberg, so I have NO idea how the stars aligned against me to formulate this...
3. #icant [I should probably provide some background info regarding the individuals in this unrequited love affair, but it's a waste. This is simply for those in the know. Those who have known, and those who know what a damn dis@ster I am.]

Note [again]: this should be to my girl Jackie:me: i miss you

and i think i am "out of love" with Rajdulari [name has been modified to protect whatever is left to be salvaged]

and i'm likely to be wrong.... but that explosive kiss was right before i moved to VT for 2 years. there was no one there and that was all i had to look back on

12:01 AM and while i may not have found that same chemistry with someon else, there is no shortage of handsome and/or successful men loving me since i have been back in NJ, reminding me that any penis that doesn't recognize is a MORON

oh fuck

great.

that was obviously not for you

hmm... last sunday my dog ate two bozes of raisinets... and now this

awesome.

12:02 AM howwwwww and WHY does this happen

22 minutes

12:25 AM Rajdulari@gmail.com: sup g

12:26 AM wow

12:29 AM hello



#winning.

could it be an omen... ?

Dating troubles me, or perhaps it is simply the fear of the unknown. Or maybe the thought, or possibility, of wasting all of this time getting to know someone, developing feelings and a level of comfort and then feeling completely deflated once their pants come off.

I'm getting wayyy ahead of myself here, but now that we're there, let me tell you this: Size matters. To me. Another thing that matters to me? Larry David. How the fuck do these two things correlate? Let's proceed...

The year was 2007; I was primarily studying the art of deliciousness at the Culinary Institute of America, but every now and then my eye would wander to this rather tall, thin, "scenester", inked up, handsome young man [yum.], his name shall be omitted to protect the un-endowed. We had hung out a handful of times and I could not quite tell whether or not he was interested in partaking in much more than that with me [as if any straight male really just wants to "be friends"], during these hang-outs I introduced him to my man, LD. At the time I was particularly taken with the "Wide Vagina" episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Based solely on dude's height, I assumed he couldn't be less than average and deemed it safe to indulge in some "wide vagina" vs. the small penis banter [as I type this, I am beside myself. WHO AM I?!], I would also flash him the "wide vagina" hand sign when walking past his class room sometimes [who does this?!]. Fast forward to post-dinner date [I guess he was interested] hot & heavy makeout sesh... articles of clothing are being discarded and hands are wandering... and wandering... NO. No way. NO WAY. When I tell you it was about the size of a baby carrot, a small baby carrot- mind you, I am NOT exaggerating. If I were plummeting to my death, I would not be able to reach up and grab a hold of that [lack-of] thing to save my life. The next day all I could feel was humiliation at my blatant airing of the "Wide Vagina" episode [peep clip here]. The incident has stayed in the back of my mind but never really plagued me, until incident number two...

I had been dating this really wonderful, tall, dark, and handsome type. The conversation was great, excellent sense of humor, decent physical chemistry, and a shared love for LD. Somehow we begin talking about the "Wide Vagina" episode and he remarks, without my prompting, that he is fine in that area. I took his word on it. Fast forward to a few weeks later- hot & heavy makeout sesh, clothing is coming off, and then its game time. WOMP WOMP. Now this was much bigger than a baby carrot, I will give him that, but it did NOT live up to its "hype". I would liken it to a smaller summer squash [my loves of food and men run into one another, what can I say?], and a huge disappointment.

Once again- the "Wide Vagina" episode comes back to haunt me. Could this episode, and the banter surrounding it, be some sort of indicator that I should zip up my pants and run? And furthermore, will my lack of tolerance for anything short of my standards [no pun even intended] prevent me from ever finding "The One"? Or am I wrong to believe that "The One" will have it ALL? Literally- the complete package.

I just don't know. I don't know anymore. And by the way, my vagina is not the problem. I can give you a list of credible testaments if it ever came down to it. With that said, I think I have provided enough information to make individuals of all genders and sexual preferences uncomfortable.

ghosts

Whenever I am driving late at night, on empty roads, somewhere in the back of my mind I am constantly anticipating a car to manifest out of thin air and blind-side me. This may seem bizarre, but after this weekend it is beginning to make some sense...

First, a brief sampling of past "what the f*** just happened?" collisions: Once upon a time, between the ages of 8-12, I was running toward my dad in a shopping center [typical Jersey strip mall] and somehow ended up running face-first into a large, brick column. Fast forward to the age of 22, I am visiting Amara at Cornell and we are walking along the side-walk either to or from the bar and low and behold a parking meter appears out of nowhere and I end up speed-walking into it with my face. And now let's recall this past weekend's wreckage...

Amara and I woke up around 8:40 on Saturday morning, parched and sloth-like. Amara proceeded to get ready for her Zumba class and I opted to stay in bed and be useless until she returned to pick me up for breakfast. Shortly after noon, Amara texted me to tell me she was on her way home; this was obviously my cue to get up and get dressed so we can get some grub, I obviously stayed in bed until my cousin was physically in the apartment asking me if I was ready. I not-so-quickly zipped up my 20-eyelet Charles David boots, paired with my two inches too short yoga pants, checked my hair [which was moderately disheveled, but I determined it to be acceptable], threw on my coat, and we were on our way to Mugshots.

I had just finished ordering my sandwich and fumbling around with the diverse drink selection when someone behind me said, "Hi Miriam". I turned around, and there was Yance [name modified to protect the awful], in all of his typical, ridiculous flair, and of course some female of Asian descent. I mean really- who wears a top hat? Get out of here. Anyways, I exchanged a hollow and unenthused "... hi ...", followed by, "Why does this need to be what I am beginning my day with?" The four of us then stood there, averting eye contact, for what was likely to be 4-5 looong, silent seconds before Amara suggested, aloud, that we should stand elsewhere, and so we walked off, without another word. When we turned around a few moments later, they had vanished.

The following twenty minutes were spent hypothesizing other reactions to my first Yance sighting since the summer of 2010, when he mistook me for a prostitute on my 27th birthday:

• "For future reference, you don't need to bother saying hi."
• "How could you possibly think anything positive would have come of this?"
• "Nice top hat."
• "WHY iS THiS HAPPENiNG TO MEEE???" [very loudly & slowly. totally super-dramatic]

There were some other gems, but I cannot recall them right now. What is important to ponder here is HOW and WHY did that happen? As far as I know, that fool does not live in Philly, and furthermore, what are the odds that he would happened to walk into the exact same sandwich shoppe, out of all of the sandwich shops & eateries, in the entire city of Philadelphia, at the exact same time that I was there. BOOM! Blind-sided.

About this blog...

I created this blog roughly 3 or 4 years ago... a significant amount of posts were written during my externship in Oklahoma, and the more boring, moderately asinine posts are from days that I blogged just for the sake of blogging, ie. this blog was my only outlet to keep me from losing my mind due to a dangerous cocktail of boredom and isolation in the outskirts of the bible belt [definitely not the proper environment for this Jersey girl]. I would like to apologize, in advance, for any posts pertaining to the awful relationship [this is more of me apologizing to myself, and expressing humiliation at having dated a complete psychopath] I was in at the time, and for my excessive use of vulgarities [I went through a phase where I thought I could outshine Susie from Curb Your Enthusiasm; charming as I may be, I aint's no Susie Green].

After this past weekend in Philadelphia, with my cousin Amara, it became more than evident that this blog needed to be dusted off. So much happened that Amara did not have enough room to include them all in her blog post. Furthermore, I am consistently finding myself in absolutely ridiculous scenarios [For instance, finding out my date was only 24 years old halfway through dinner and then having to launch an escape plan because he had clearly drank too much to get me back home. Thanks again, dude.] , and since no one has presented me with a reality tv show yet I will have to portray it myself, via this blog, to my non-existent fan base.

... So here we go again, or don't go- I'm really not that reliable with keeping these things updated.

if you're looking for a positive outlook...

You won't find it here.

Today marks the jump-off of yet another semester. I took full advantage of my "winter break" and did not use my brain at all for the entire month of January; big mistake. Now I have to "introduce myself" on the discussion boards, and I don't even want to know myself at this point in time.