#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.