Sneak a peek into the life of a single, 20-something female who is not in the entertainment industry and who does not have fake breasts. Yes, we do exist. What you are about to read is based on fact and is not for the weak of stomach. You have been warned.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Change Up
You know how sometimes when you're convicted of drinking and driving they install those blow-in-the-tube things to start your engine? Well, I think there should also be one for people when they walk into a bar. You blow into it and if it registers "Angry", "Pissed Off" or "Bitter", you should be denied a drink. Turn your ass around and take the negative vibes home to beat up your pillow.
Life would be simpler.
In case you haven't noticed, the drinking of alcoholic beverages has a tendency to increase the intensity of crap feelings. Sad, mad, distraught - they are strongly magnified with a little bottle therapy.
I was in a pretty foul mood yesterday for no real reason. Just giving that negative vibe. No Sunshine Sally here. I've decided that what I need to pull me out of this funkarama was some good, quality time with Gay Jay.
Sidenote: I believe that it is a necessity for every woman to have at least one or two really good gay guy friends. They add additional balance. But, don't have too many because then they will refer to you (as Jay does to some) as a Fruit Fly. And, FYI, that's not endearing.
Anywho, our happy hour conversation, or gossip session, actually did, or so I thought, put me back into a good mood. By my second glass of wine I was laughing and really enjoying our time together. But, like everything else, all good things have to come to an end. Jay had to pursue additional social obligations and I should have taken this opportunity to go home and rest my little head.
But that would be too easy.
I planted myself at the sushi bar (my friend is a waitress there) and decided to treat myself to some Big Eye Toro sashimi and some additional prosecco (because it's my favorite). Well, bad move. First, the Toro sucked (and for $30 for an order of sashimi that sucks too). And, with Jay's absence, my bad mood returned and it was time to dial-and-bitch. Target? Charlie. Yes, Charlie.
To his future dismay, he actually answered the call. Things that have been brewing for months on end decided to come out all at once (by the way, I had luckily dismissed myself from the public arena by this point). Word vomit. And none of it positive. I would like to attribute my temporary psychotic break to my friend lacing my Prosecco with truth serum or PCP but we all know that is unlikely.
At the time, I felt relieved. I had said my "piece". I was woman.
But I woke up this morning with a stinging headache, a missing license, smeared mascara and that horrible feeling of dread - the one you feel when you review the "Dialed Calls" on your cell phone. Oops.
So that's why they need this new invention. To keep boneheads like me from drinking and bitching. As if losing all sense of composure wasn't enough, now I also have to apologize to my ex for the word vomit. And there's nothing less gratifying than that.
Children, children, children. Come on now. Men have feelings too. I hear so often that I'm too "one-sided" (DUH) so I thought I'd balance it out with some guest thoughts from a man that gave me some good, harsh advice. No worries, Blog Mommy Rachel will not leave you. (And no, Kutas, he wasn't Dr. Phil - if he were Dr. Phil he would have tried selling you some books and DVDs and crap like the used car salesman that bald freak is.) You have to give him credit, though, the man had some good points!
I actually took most of yesterday to process what "eatinfrontofyou" said about the "time release capsules" that should be the emotional Rachel. I do have a tendency to jump head first (shocking, I know). I don't think I'd ever order salmon and a serious relationship at once, but, you never know. Do I do this because the perceived man pickings are so slim in LA or are there deeper, more psychosis-inducing reasons for my being an emotional blabfest? (Shrink note: Mom and Dad Rachel were love at first sight and to this day remain together and adorable. So is that what I'm looking for too? Hmmmm.)
But, like a good sport, I'm going to give the slow release a shot. What's the worst that can happen? As we all know, the definition of "crazy looney toons" is doing the same act over and over and expecting different results.
From this point on, just call me Cool and Reserved Rachel.
You have to admit, though, it is pretty amusing that when it is usually I that suffers from "premature verbal ejaculation" (as I've termed it), I made a point this time (with Hercules) to NOT and work on time release. But then !HOT DOG! Hercules goes and does it for me. What gives? Is there ever a middle ground?
Sometimes, a girl needs a good ass-kicking from her friends. After all, that's what they're there for. In particular, our guy friends - gay or straight - they love to whip us into shape. Today I had a prettty eye-opening experience with one such friend (straight). And I couldn't put it any better than him, so, I'm going a little nutty today and he's going to guest blog it for me. A man's touch to the 20-Something Chronicles.....
I would like to redirect your attention to a blog entry from a couple weeks ago - the one that dealt with the idea of "if it's not one thing it's two of another". Here's a perfect example. So Hercules is really great. He's smart, funny, successful, sweet, attractive and goal-oriented. He's NOT an alcoholic. He doesn't sell Australian meat pies for a living. And I highly doubt that he would throw a hissy fit if I asked him to go to a play.
But wait, did I mention that he's moving to Phoenix?
O, Rachel, what to do. The bomb dropped Friday evening after a great evening of sushi and conversation. We were getting snuggly on the couch watching the world's worst movie (next to "Glitter" and "Gigli", of course), "Constantine", when the words "I need to talk to you about something" shattered the good times.
Before he could speak, a number of thoughts flew through my head: he's married, he has herpes, he's a transexual, he likes to wear women's panties, he has four illegitimate children, the worries were endless. Luckily, without giving me much time to my imagination he launched into what I see now as an incredibly honest and mature conversation but one that, unfortunately, deflated my "potential". He's moving to Phoenix. I literally heard the needle scratch the record.
Now, apparently, I'm supposed to take this as a good thing. He said over and over that this wasn't "an excuse" but he wanted to give me all the information so that I can make decisions regarding "us" knowing the situation. My friends say it was "mature" and "respectful" and "proof that communication in men exists". But all I could hear was: Hercules is saying peace out to not only me, but the whole CITY on our third date. Wowsers.
Ok, so I listened to him a little more and turned off the "exaggeration" chip in my brain (temporarily). Bottom line is, the timeline is vague but the ultimate decision is made - that is where he wants to be in the long-run. He wants the house with the pool and the yard and not a condo on PCH.
I didn't really respond to him at first. I told him I was "processing". But to be honest, I was, for one of the first times in a very long time, speechless. (I hear those of you who know me gasp.) Perhaps I'm not used to men who openly and maturely communicate. Maybe I'm not used to a man whose desires in life extend beyond next Saturday's BBQ at Hooters. Perhaps I'm not used to a man with his own set of goals.
When I look at that, I think that maybe the conversation was a good thing, like people are telling me. But I can't help it. I am actually thoroughly and completely confused. And my reaction probably wasn't stellar either.
I managed to squeak out something about how there are two schools of thought when it comes to situations like this. One (my school), is that we take everything in stride, maintain open and honest communication and cross the phantom bridge when we get to it. The second (his school) is you lay everything on the table before the relationship really gets going and make a decision to pursue or not to pursue. Free-spirited vs. methodical (marketing vs. lawyer - our occupations). There's no right or wrong, per se, but dang it, I've met my match. Then I muttered something like, "Figures."
A man has left me speechless and confused - all for the sake of communication.
O NO YOU DIDN'T.
Unfortunately, I will have to remain confused (definitely not speechless) for the remainder of the week as he is out of town for work until Saturday. In the meantime, I will be sure to scratch my head, obsess and over-analyze the situation. And here I thought communication was supposed to make things easier! Pfffft.
It's interesting that when you meet someone you begin to look at them in terms of "potential". In physics, "potential" is defined as: "The work required to move a unit of positive charge, a magnetic pole, or an amount of mass from a reference point to a designated point in a static electric, magnetic, or gravitational field" (ha ha - they said "pole"). But, contrary to physics, there's no quantifiable way of measuring "potential" in people.
I'm preparing for a third date tomorrow with a really cool guy. Throughout my preparations (which include the purchasing of a new skirt, top and shoes), I've been referring to him as "the cute guy with potential". It appears that people know what I mean when I say it but I still can't help but wonder how I've come to this conclusion. And what is he "potential" for? A boyfriend? A boy toy? A husband? A new shopping buddy?
I was talking to my guy friend, Richard, about this, because, as a woman, I am forced to over-analyze everything. I just couldn't figure out how we come to the conclusion that someone is "potential" and how it's measured. "Potential" has to vary from person to person so how is it so universal?
Of course, being a man, he had an answer that was simple and clear as day. He said, "Rachel, 'potential' is something that meets your expectations. And some things can not be measured, deal with it."
AHA! That makes so much sense!
Like our expectations, "potential" in people and relationships mutates and changes constantly but it always (or should) remains constant to what we are searching for as an individual. Two women who are best friends can meet identical twins with the same job, same education, same personality, etc., but, since both women have differing expectations and relationship goals at that moment, the "potential" will always vary. But it always infers (in my opinion) a positive connotation - hence it being universal.
One thing I need to learn and comprehend is that unlike physics, human relationships can not be quantified. It's just not gonna happen. Measuring "matters of the heart" (pardon the disgusting cliche) is like trying to make a square fit into a triangular opening (I was going to use other shapes but it got a little phallic and that's not where I was trying to go with this - for once). Perhaps that's the beauty. We know someone or something has "potential" but the beauty is in the mystery of just what that is.
So, I'll continue to say that this new man, whom we'll call Hercules, has "potential". And for now, I'll stick with fourth date potential because I'd really hate to get ahead of myself. God knows I've NEVER done that before.
So, I forgot to mention an interesting detail from K's 30th Birthday celebration:
We partied with Kevin Federline then deserted him at Sonny McClean's. Yes. We left the most fertile human being at Sonny's to go bowling.
Ok, so maybe he wasn't Kevin Federline but he was definitely his doppelganger. Not only did he look just like him but he also gave off that creepy/slimey vibe. "Kevin" claimed to be a club promoter but we knew he just sat at home all the time singing "PopoZao".
"Kevin" had a thing for Gwen and everywhere we went he went too. Although, he refused to wear a sombrero, which got the thumbs down from me right off the bat. Then, when we were moving from one bar to the next, he said he "don't take cabs" and then proceeded to literally bite her ear. The look on her face was priceless but at that point is when I yanked her into the cab.
But after we deserted "Kevin" we kept asking ourselves, "Maybe it was Kevin? Maybe he needed a night on the town sans his baby's mamma. Maybe if we had only asked he would have done an impromptu rendition of "PopoZao" and how lucky we'd be!" Not. We could care less. He was a freak - just like the real Kevin.Can you tell the difference?
Sorry guys, I needed a day to recover from a total weekend of debauchery. That is what happens when St. Patrick's Day and your best friend's 30th birthday both fall on the same weekend. TROUBLE.
St. P's Day was a see of green and beer - but no green beer. We ran around in our "I'm with stupid" shirts and caused chaos throughout the entire West Side. Unfortunately, at one of the bars on our crawl, the teeshirts became blank canvases for people to write on and we didn't have the smarts to not use industrial strength permanent markers. So when I awoke Saturday morning I had marker bleed all over my upper body. I also decided to become an impromptu stunt woman earlier during the day. I jumped on the hood of my friends moving (slowly of course) truck but my shirt was slippery and I fell off. Bonus for the Irish girl! No more stunts for me.
Sunday was K's 30th birthday fiestas (yes plural). We took her on a beach side scavenger hunt/bar crawl where the ultimate goal was pure fun and embarrassment and she took it like a champ! At each stop we got to "decorate" her with all sorts of fun. Tee shirt, beads, a penis on a rope, blinking penis horns, whistles, sombreros, you name it, she was wearing it. She also received a Butt Pincher that provided hours of fun on the tandem bike ride, the bars, and of course, sitting on the patio of Barney's Beanery on Third Street Promenade pinching all the unsuspecting tourists. The scavenger hunt ended with a surprise "White Trash" party at the local bowling alley. For this final extravaganza, we went all out. We donned the bikini and body tee-shirts, metallic mullet wigs and of course, we retained the sombreros. We looked HOT. O, and did I mention K's date? Bob the Blow Up Doll? He too was hot.
I must say, that for a group of girls living in LA LA Land, we are really very blessed to have found others that don't mind a little trouble and embarrassment once in a while (or, twice in one weekend). When all is said and done, we're going to have memories and stories galore and those who forfeit fun and laughs for the sake of "reputation" and "looks" will be left with nothing but a giant plastic surgery bill and a life less than ordinary. Sometimes, you just have to remind yourself that age is merely a number. And at 30, you're still a baby - just a baby with a paycheck.
Today is my favorite 'holiday' of the year. A strong shout out to my fellow Irishpeeps. I especially love that it's a great excuse to wear ridiculous apparel and drink bad green beer. Who doesn't love St. P's Day?!
Following tradition, today's annual St. P's Day Beach Bar Crawl is beginning at 1:33 pm (come on, we have to be exact about things). And as with most successful bar crawls, it is imperative that we wear dumb matching tee-shirts. This year, we decided to go with the oldie but goodie green "I'm with stupid" shirts. After all, by 2:33 pm that statement will be completely valid.
Well, wish me luck. Happy Beer Day to you as well!! Pictures and details to come. I have to go find my fellow stupids now.....
What is the deal with me and my friends going to events but not actually making it into the event?
Last night, Gwen and I went downtown to see the LA Kings play. As we were walking into the Staples Center we made a last minute decision to run into the Fox Sportsnet bar for a "quick drink". Can you say SAUSAGEFEST?! Don't get me wrong, I understand that men (at least in LA) are the primary attendees at hockey games, but, wowsers, we were two of four women in the whole bar. And I like those odds.
We instantly made friends with the bartenders because that's what you do when the odds are in your favor. They were actually very sweet and, interestingly enough, rather intelligent. I'm not saying that bartenders aren't intelligent, but, sometimes, at least in LA, the pretty ones fall a little on the dumb side. Rachel and Gwen like sweet, smart, pretty bartenders who pay them attention and give them free drinks. In fact, we like them so much that we forgot to go into the arena and watch the game. Every intermission we said we'd go in for the next period. But after the third period, we didn't have that option anymore. OOPS. Damn those free drinks and man soup!
That makes two events in two months that I made it to, but, never actually went in. I have issues.
But, we had a great time and the Kings got their asses kicked (we did watch some of the game on the big-screen tv) and as an added bonus for the evening, the cute Aussie that I met last Friday called me last night. Not holding my breath that he will actually ask me out on a date, but, initial contact is always a plus - particularly in the land of "non-callers".
So, let's see the score recap: 3 bartenders + 1 hot Aussie = 4 hottie evening for Rachel and Gwen.
Not so shabby for a Tuesday night. A girl needs a little boost once in a while.
I had to go to the dreaded Valley this morning at the ass crack of dawn for a conference and, in typical Rachel style, misjudged the traffic and got there an hour ahead of time. So I decided to brave the Valley locals and grab some breakfast at what struck me as a diner gone truckstop dropped smack onto Ventura Boulevard.
Because I was alone and had no one to yap my trap at, I did what any normal person would do - eavesdrop. Like I said, it was 6:30 am in the Valley so the waitresses were not aspiring actresses (they all need their beauty sleep) so I found their conversations most interesting.
Sue and Ellen bantered back and forth about kids, car problems, personal health issues (I tuned out during some of that so as to not yack up my breakfast), and, of course, men. About halfway through my runny egg whites I tuned back in and heard one of the two make the greatest statement: "Well, if it's not one thing, it's two of another." Now, I have no clue what context Sue or Ellen used this in, but, I was astounded at how applicable the statement is in my life.
At first I thought it was incredibly "glass half empty", but, when I really thought about it (because God knows I had nothing else to think about at 6:30 in the morning), it wasn't pessimistic at all. Realistic, yes. We always find faults in the things that we have and not until they are gone do we realize that they should have been valued more. We pick, pick, pick on that one thing that makes a person, relationship, health, possession, etc. imperfect. We move on to something new in hopes of eliminating the need to pick and finding the perpetual "greener grass". What we don't realize is that, as Sue/Ellen said, if it's not one thing, it's two of another.
No one and nothing is perfect (this includes the attempt at hashbrowns that I was consuming) Accepting and, when applicable, embracing imperfections seems far easier than picking at them and seeking out the absurd idea of perfection. Think about it - do you really want to dump that boyfriend of yours because he snores? The next one down the road may not snore, but, you might come home someday and catch him wearing your panties and singing showtunes. I'd stick with the snoring.
Now, I need to never ever wake up that early again.
I was having a conversation with a girlfriend today who recently started dating a new guy. Very quickly, she found out that he has a problem with saying he is going to call to make plans and doesn't. In the middle of the conversation, she asked me the following question:
"If a person is handicapped, can you fault them for what they can't do? Because I really feel some men are severely handicapped in certain areas of life."
I quickly intervened because she was a little off. And that's my job. Puther straight.
There is a difference between being handicapped and being challenged.
You can not be angry at an individual who is a quadriplegic (handicap) for not being able to play basketball.
But a child with dyslexia (challenge) can become great world leaders like George Patton and brilliant inventors like Thomas Edison.
It's all about examining oneself and figuring out how to overcome the areas that you are challenged in.
(For the purpose of ease, I'm speaking about men and women who have not been diagnosed with a concrete handicap, so, no peanut gallery comments.)
Men are not handicapped. Some men (and sure, yes, women too) are challenged in certain areas of life - absolutely. Generally, men (particularly those residing in the greater Los Angeles area) are challenged in the area of romantic relationships and communication. But, again, they are not handicapped. So to answer her question? Yes. One can hold them at fault for mistakes that they make within a relationship. But, as I stated before, the key is to learn from challenges and mistakes and adapt and grow as to not make the same mistakes more than once.
SO?
Well, my advice to her and to people who suffer from challenges a partner brings into a relationship is this: they are not handicapped so don't give them the benefit of treating them like they are. When a challenge is presented - confront it ONCE. Let him (her) know the issue. It's then up to them. They have a simple choice: fix it or don't. If they don't, buh bye, sayonara, au revoir, adios. If they do, then they are a person (mature at that) who wants to learn from prior experiences and not be continuously crippled in relationships by their own shortcomings, ahem, challenges.
Perhaps I'm dumbing it down a bit, but, when you really stop and think of it - it is pretty simple. We all have our shortcomings - some more than others - so instead of enabling those shortcomings, address them and put it back in their court to change or remain challenged. Easy as Paris Hilton, no?
COMPLETELY UNRELATED SIDENOTE: What's with that cheerleader that fell on her head and continued cheering while being carted away on the stretcher? The girl's got some serious spirit or brain damage, one of the two. Dang.
Albert Einstein once said, "Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal." Obviously, Einstein never read my blog.
But I have to admit that he was onto something. Sometimes, particularly in relationships, technological "progress" can rear it's ugly head creating headaches where headaches didn't used to be.
I've had a number of conversations (in person mind you) with people in the past week alone regarding this topic and the stories trip over each other for reasons why sometimes, excessive use of technology in relationships, can backfire like a '72 Pinto.
The following are experiences of mine of recent or those of my friends, but, I know it's happened to us all....
Does this sound familiar?
You forward an email from the guy you have a little crush on to your best friend. You hit "send". She opens the dude's email (attached to the one you sent) and in all her excitement, just hits "reply" with tips on how to make this guy fall head over heels for you, etc. But it never gets to you because she opened HIS email and replied to HIM and your message was attached. Oops.
How about when you get in an argument with your friend and decide that since you're both stubborn you're going to text message or email each other and the situation takes a serious Gonzo nosedive because you each put your own interpretation on the written messages. What could have been settled with a quick conversation explodes into crap feelings and mixed messages - quite literally.
Or what about the time you sent your co-worker/friend an email that was bitching about how much your boss sucks and how hard he's riding you and, oopsy, you sent it to the whole office. Ouch. Can you say "pink slip"? (Note: the 'reply all' button should be removed from all email accounts)
My favorite: you send a text message to an ex accidentally (this happened just the other day when I started receiving random text messages from EC - when I called him on it the messages stopped - what a MORON). Hint: there is a delete option on your cell phone for a reason.
We have become so dependent on technology for communication it's actually crippling our already arduous ability to communicate in relationships. When I sit back and think that back in the "dark ages" (i.e, circa 1996), there was no such thing as Instant Messaging or text messaging and only a select few people had cell phones (unless you count those GIANT boxes that they called cell phones) and email, it seems like a whole different world. To communicate with someone, we actually had to pick up a telephone (land line) or, god forbid, go see someone in person. There was no possible way to get into an argument with another person except in person or at the very least, on voice to voice contact. Now, entire relationships begin and end with very little, if any, human contact.
Does this worry anyone else but me? If the modes of communication have changed this dramatically in 10 years - where will we be in another 50 years? Perhaps Einstein was right.... he nailed that relativity thing on the head...
Dear Miss Swiss Miss, What is the deal with the marshmallows in your hot chocolate mix? It's a total rip. When did tiny white dots of sugar that you need a magnifying glass to see get categorized as "marshmallows"? And by the time you add water and it's cooled off enough that you don't burn all the skin off the top of your mouth, the marshmallows have completely disintegrated. Remind me to never try your s'mores. They probably suck too. Not cool. False advertising. I want my money back. Sincerely, Lost Without Mallows in LA
A great time for all is the local turtle races in the Marina at a bar called Brennans. They've been hosting the TURTLE RACES for years and has actually become a staple for young, single hot spots on Thursday nights. How I have never been there is beyond me. Apparently, it takes a little visit from the sister to get me out there (or so I tell her).
My first thought on the way to Brennans was, "Well, they're turtles. They are slow. What if they don't finish? Does everyone just sit around a stare at some slow-ass giant snails moseying across a finish line?"
Not even close. First, there are drink specials - BONUS. Second, you pay $5 and "adopt" a turtle for the race. Of course we needed to get one and Gwen named him Tulley. (I wanted "Manolo" but I was outvoted.) Third, average age of attendees was 23 - apparently the local college thinks turtle racing is a rager, so for the first time in a very very long time, we were the oldest ones in there. Luckily, we were recognized as attractive an old as the host/emcee/whatever guy kept referring to us as the "Desperate Housewives in the front". OUCH. (Can you say backhanded compliment? Well, better than than the "Golden Girls in the front.))
They go in heats (not IN HEAT, in heats), much like human races, except the turtles aren't wearing little spandex underwear (if they were, that could actually be pretty amusing) and I was astounded at how quick those little buggers are! The longest race took 39 seconds.
But here's the catch and here's where Tulley deserved a recount.
You can't point at the turtles. I don't have a clue why, but if you point at a turtle, the race has to be restarted. Well, Tulley took off out of the starting gate and jammed to the finish line lickity-split but then some nugget in the stands POINTED at their slow-ass mutant turtle. So back they all went. But, Tulley was exhausted. He had put 110% into the initial race and then was forced to race again. And he just couldn't do it. He went from the grand winner to the grand loser - all with a finger point. We wanted to break the kid's finger off his hand but bitter "old" woman breaking body parts over racing amphibians is never an hot attraction at any bar.
After a few tears were shed and a few shots were had we forgave Tulley and proceeded on with our evening which was a total blast (Tulley I'm sure crashed out on the nearest rock - or where ever those little guys sleep).
Next on our agenda? The paint drying Olympics - I hope they have drink specials too!
Why is the federal government so obsessed with my dating life? Sometimes, I feel like ole' Uncle Sammy is filling in for the creepy old aunt type who constantly inquires about your love life. "So who are you dating now honey? Any new beaus? When are you going to settle down?" UGH.
You know what I'm referring to: the "Martial Status" buffet of boxes.
I had the pleasure today of checking the "Single" box three times. Once for taxes, once for my Visa, and once for my passport update. In fact, on the latter of the three, I had to RECHECK it since nothing has changed. BONUS!
I think it is interesting and a smidge disgusting that when I go to check the box (which is NEVER an optional task - my email is optional, but god forbid them not know my love life status), it is almost always the LAST box. You know, below married, divorced, widowed, maimed, decapitated, etc. That says to me that being single is worse than being divorced or widowed (or maimed or decapitated in my non-dramatic phrasing above). Ouch. Why don't they just have a new box that says, "Only date commitmentphobes, men who are emotionally unavailable, alcoholics, drug addicts, men who think they are women and freaks - check here."
As if self-reflection is not enough. We now have to check boxes on a regular basis that forces us to announce to the world that we are social failures at relationships - spinsters. I don't have problem with being single because it's not a negative thing. But when you are forced to label your relationship status, it has a tendency to make you feel a tad bit self-conscious that the societal norms are once again pressing their pug noses up into your face. Do double-divorcees have to double check their box? Do separated people have to disclose the fact that their husband likes to wear women's underwear? Do I have to explain that because I won't settle, I'm still SINGLE? At what point did government forms because the W-2 of relationships?
Let's make it simple and efficient and self-preserving and save the confessions for church:
