Oh Man, I Suck at Blogging

But when you work full-time, go to school two nights a week, and have to deal with everyone/everything else in your life, something obviously is going to give. It's not that the funny/embarrassing/dumb stuff that normally happens to me has stopped - if anything, it may be getting worse - but my motivation to write has been superceded by the motivation to sit on my couch and watch DVR'ed shows while doing homework (that is kind of sad). Fear not though, as I did find something that I had started awhile ago and never posted, so for everyone's enjoyment, here is the story of the first part of my Valentine's Day shenanigans (the second part was featured in this post ).

I've told this story to a couple of people already, but it still cracks me up. Despite the fact that I am single, I really don't hate Valentine's Day. I've never taken to my bed in fits of sadness/rage at being alone on this holiday - I think I have had a boyfriend once on Valentine's Day, and it was long distance, which meant that he had his mother send me some lovely roses (I miss her). This lack of Valentine's antipathy probably has something to do with the fact that for as long as I can remember, my dad has come up with a Valentine for me, usually involving flowers, candy, or stuffed animals, and while I am usually a mean, bitter spinster, there is something about opening a box with a stuffed monkey holding a box of chocolate that makes me not resent the holiday (by the way, this year's gift - a box of Godiva that I will be hoarding). With the philosophical stuff out of the way, I can now explain how I probably had the most ridiculous Valentine's Day ever (beating out the time that I spent Valentine's Day with an ex who I hadn't seen in over a year getting drunk).

With Girl Roomie out of town visiting her parents and Boy Roomie off with his girlfriend who knows where, I had free run of the house for the weekend. I decided to go out to my favorite local coffee place on Saturday morning to do some homework in order to expunge any Catholic guilt that would result from spending the rest of the weekend drunk and/or lying on the couch. This is important - when I went to study, I took my purse (which I only use on weekends) and my ginormous commuter bag for my books. I got my work done, got in some solid people watching, ran some errands, and then went home to drop off my car and my ginormous bag to walk to my neighborhood salon to get a haircut. The plan was to get a haircut, spending the rest of the afternoon catching up on DVR'ed shows, and then leisurely get ready to meet friends out at a fancy bar around 6. The plan proceeded swimmingly enough - my haircut and blowout turned out lovely, a random stop at a neighborhood boutique yielded a $23 black sweater bargain, and I was putting on my A-Game (it is amazing what straight hair does for this Elf). And then I got to my front door ....

And realized that I didn't have my house keys. I knew as soon as I turned my purse upside down that I had placed my keys in my ginormous bag out of reflex (since I do that 5 days a week) when I had stopped home. Ok, panic time starts as Girl Roomie is two hours away, and I have no idea where Boy Roomie is. I give him a call, and when it goes straight to voicemail, I start to panic. Thankfully, since I have been waiting in dread for this day to happen (that's so Virgo of me), I keep my car keys on a separate ring, so at least I don't have to sit outside on my steps. I talk to my friend who I am drinking with that night (JB) and let her know what the situation is and that I will keep her posted. Then I do what any sensible person would do in this situation - I drive over to the nearest Marshall's to buy myself an outfit for the evening, since my Juicy Couture sweats, hoodie, and sneakers aren't going to work. I manage to kill an hour or so in Marshall's and pick up a cute top, $19 jeans (thank the lord for dieting that I can fit into cheap jeans again), and a pair of snakeskin slingbacks that are just on the trashy line. With meeting time approaching, I call JB and tell her that I'm still locked out and plan to go change in a bathroom stall at the nearest McDonalds like a homeless person so I can meet her in an hour. At this point, sketchiness be damned, I am going out and drinking on Valentine's Day as the good lord intended.

I decide to give Boy Roomie one last shot and finally get a hold of him (unsurprisingly he hadn't listened to my voicemail). I find out that he is with his girlfriend at a hotel two towns over, and I beg him to give me his house key so I can wear my real clothes, put on some make-up, and go drink my face off since I'm now completely freaked out. He was nice enough to put his pants on and meet me in the lobby of the Doubletree to give me his key and listen to my profuse, sweaty apology (a combination of running, hyperness, and too much caffeine) as we both try to ignore the "so you are shacking up with the girlfriend for the weekend huh" subtext. All I can say is that I am thankful that Boy Roomie didn't go too creative and got to Vermont and instead picked the chain hotel near a Costco.

I Wish I Had Come Up with This One

Well known facts - I am a healthcare nerd, and I love cartoons. This puts those two together.

From Buzzfeed via Jezebel

Some Advice

DO NOT read anything on the internet if you or someone you know has any kind of medical condition. You will freak out, conjure up improbable scenarios (did you know that upset stomach is a symptom of a heart attack?), end up mainlining an iced Americano filled with contraband (dairy), and feel like you are going to simultaneousy cry and puke.


DO use the movies as an escape from your Easy Bake Oven of a house during a heatwave. I managed to go see (500) Days of Summer and The Hangover over the weekend. I forgot how much I love going to the movies. Bonus Advice - go see (500) Days of Summer - great movie, great soundtrack.

DO NOT ask someone questions about two seasons worth of plot while they are watching a highly anticipated, one year in the making, season premiere. They will get angry and shush you like an unruly five year old in the library.

I Am Now Officially A Crazy Spinster in Basement

Well, I am at work anyway since the "swing" space that I use at the hospital was moved from our temperature irregulated garden level office to one that is in the basement with all of the radioactive material (seriously, there are signs about warning of this) and mice. I miss the little tiny window that we had and the gigantic one stall ladies room that was right next to our office, but I won't miss the fact that some guy (I'm talking to you creepy guy from neurology) that would invade our ladies room and talk on the phone in there. Oh well, working in a hospital is still neat-o, so I won't complain too much.

Speaking of working in a hospital, I work in an area that is full of hospitals, schools, etc, and I take public transportation every day, so after awhile, you start to see the same people. For the most part, no one really acknowledges this fact, but in my mind I have built up a cast of characters like Very Hairy Guy with the Strangely Nasal Voice, Barbie and Ken Couple Who Get On at Reservoir and Talk Too Loudly, and Guy Who Wears a Pinstriped Blazer in All Weather that Doesn't Match with Anything. It entertains me to no end, since as we all know, I think I am hilarious.

Apparently the proverbial shoe is on the other foot this time, as I found out last week, in that someone noticed me on the T. I was sitting in my usual spot (middle of a new school T in the end seat), reading my book and not really paying attention to the people around me (it's usually better that way). I kept making eye contact with the guy sitting across from me but not really noticing him exactly, although I did notice that he was wearing shorts, which I found odd because most people aren't wearing shorts during prime commuting hours. I get off the train and go get some iced coffee, and who do I see (this should be obvious since the last sentence was relevant) but the guy from the T sitting at a table eating breakfast. With this fact duly noted, I keep walking to work and hear

Random Guy: Hey girl from the T!
Me: Hi?! (it took me a second to figure out he was talking to me since he snuck up behind me)
Random Guy: Enjoy your coffee!
Me: Thanks!

That was all I could get out since he said this as he was cutting in front of me to walk in to the hospital across the street from mine. I did manage to notice that he was wearing an ID badge for that hospital and figured out that he probably worked in a lab, since those are the only guys I see wearing shorts around my hospital. There wasn't anything sketchy or creepy about it - it was just ... nice. As I thought more about it, I realized that I have definitely seen this guy on the T several times before, but he hadn't been odd or annoying enough to merit a nickname. And for the record, he appears to be around my age, not bad looking, and not wearing a wedding ring. I just found it funny that someone took the time to notice me and say hello. Like I said, it was nice, which is kind of rare in the world of Boston commuting.

Post script: I saw the guy again on the T on Monday morning. He stood near me (and on a rather empty T too), and of course, I got all shy and retreated into my book. I saw him look over a couple of times, and I checked over myself, but I just couldn't bring myself to make eye contact or say hi because I am an idiot. Since I didn't need to go over to the hospital that day, I didn't have the chance to run into him again, and then I haven't seen him all week. Want to hear something funny? I was actually disappointed by this fact.

Yep, I Think People Might Have Noticed ...

if I started dancing around to Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon" when it popped up on my iPod on Friday afternoon when I was waiting on the subway platform. There is just something so infectious about that song that I had to remind myself where I was, or I would have probably given everyone a taste of my Elaine Benes like dancing.

Now that I think of it, I should have just gone for it!

Overheard in My Boss's Office

As I walked in to my boss's office for a meeting today ...

My Boss (on the phone): Well he's going to have a problem then ... So he doesn't want his wife to know? ... Of course he's going to get a bill ... He won't have to worry about this anymore ... Yeah, they are supposed to get rid of those 'exotic services' on Craigslist ... You know, because of the hooker getting murdered

Oddly enough, this was actually a business call.

Well That Was ... Underwhelming

In an effort to get some free food and liquor, add to my repertoire of bad dating stories, and cross off "embark upon mildly dysfunctional relationship" from my life to-do list, I decided to re-join Match.com. My first foray into this pool of Boston bachelors led to a few dates that ranged from horribly boring to spectacularly bad, but nonetheless, I have decided to try it again with much lowered expectations. Since I am a horrible person, I plan on documenting these dates for everyone's amusement (mostly mine).


Date #1


The Bachelor: a 31 year old accountant with an interesting side business, no interest in sports, supporter of public transportation, and proclaimed fan of smart girls


The Lead-Up: I sent him a wink because he had cute pictures, seemed interesting, and was different than my normal type. I realized a bit later that in his pictures he looked like he could be the older brother of The Fallback Crush (which is horribly embarrassing). We exchanged a set of straightforward e-mails, and then he asked me out for brunch or a drink. Since I never go to brunch, I agreed to meet him over in his neighborhood on a Sunday.


First Impression: He's shorter and thinner than he looks in his pictures. He's not wearing the glasses or the hair (I don't mean that he was wearing a toupee, just that he was balder) that he had on the pictures. He has bird poop on his jacket, and now he is trying to give me a hello hug, so I have to be careful not to touch the bird poop.


The Main Event: We take turns asking questions based on the information in our profiles; sometimes the conversation flows, but most of the time, it really doesn't. He is rather soft spoken and talks with his mouth full, which makes it hard to hear some of his questions. He is not particularly enthusiastic about anything, especially his job, which turns awkward when he tells me where he works and that he plans to quit in the next couple of years. He follows that up with "well not that you know anyone there, but don't say anything." As it turns out, I do know someone he works with and mention that to him; since it is a small company and my friend has an unusual name, he knows who I am talking about - things get a bit awkward, even though I promise not to divulge his secret.


Venue/Food/Beverage: The bar we are eating at was deserted (we were the only customers), which was surprising because my bananas foster french toast is quite yummy. I would have loved a mimosa, but I followed his lead and stuck with a non-alcoholic beverage.


Who Paid: He did, despite my offer to contribute.


The Big Finish: We said our goodbyes outside the bar since we were heading in opposite directions. I thanked him for brunch and for introducing me to a new place. He gave me another hug, I tried to avoid the bird poop, and neither of us brought up having further contact.


Duration: One hour


The Verdict: He was inoffensive (compared with some of my other dates), but kind of boring and without humor. We didn't click at all, and I felt like I was having brunch with a client from my old job. It was a good way to dip my toe back into the on-line dating pool again, and I found a secret brunch spot to which I will drag my friends.


So there you have it - one down, however many more I can tolerate to go.