Sunday, December 27, 2009
New Blog Site: www.3thw.com
Going to be blogging from a new site with two of my amazing friends. Check it (NOW!!):
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I'm kinda sad but my hair looks fucking amazing.
How many post-hangover blogs have I written about losing my phone? Umm...a lot. The only difference is before I had a raggedy-ass cell phone that only worked with the help of super glue and crossed fingers. People returned it to me just to see who would actually carry the thing around. With the iPhone, there is pretty much zero possibility of me ever getting my shit back.
Fuck.
However, I did wake up this morning with perfect hair. It's the kind of hair that makes you want to run into your ex-boyfriend on the street so he can see how fly you are now.
So here I am.
Hungover.
No cell phone.
No date for Gabbi's thing tonight.
Alone, but with really sexy hair.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Brunch
Rolling Dunes on Lakeshore in Oakland. Cute spot. Locally owned. They serve wine in mason jars and always remember your face. My usual was Pancakes Meets Eggs. His was the Denver Omelet (then the Healthy Start Omelet, post LA).
It was our first day.
She's behind the counter. We're at the coveted corner table next to the window. My back against the exposed brick with S settled across from me. The sun framing him with affection and gently warming my arm.
It's the first of many brunches together. This was our first Good Afternoon, after our first Good Morning, after our first Good Night. He looks like he's on fire and twists his wristwatch as he speaks. I throw my head back to laugh at something simple, but it's genuine. My hair is huge and disheveled and falls everywhere on everything. He doesn't break eye contact and leans in as if he's about to tell me a secret. Grabs a lock of my hair and takes a deep breath right in the middle of conversation. My skin and my hair and every single one of my gestures wreaking of just-been-fucked, and it's like a magnet to everyone around me.
And I'm not even trying.
Then she comes over to refill our glasses.
The first Dominicana I've ever encountered on the west coast since sixth grade. All green eyes and almond skin and hips and grace and confidence and thick curls down her back. Smiles when we order mimosas and coffee and soda and water and tea and pancakes and eggs and salad and an omelet to share and whatever crepe is her favorite.
Whatever is her absolute favorite.
I think it's cute how S is trying so hard not to check her out.
"She's got a nice ass." I say.
And he grins with his mouth full. Smiling so broadly his eyes become slits.
Like clockwork, we're there every other weekend or so. Me starting out 80 miles east, then ending up just on the other side of Lake Merritt on 17th and Madison. Him starting out within walking distance, then ending up over 500 miles south off La Brea.
He can further his career in Los Angeles.
I'm supportive and encouraging.
I'll be fine. Anyway, I can just get cable.
So eventually, instead of playing footsy underneath the coveted corner table next to the window, he's constantly checking his blackberry while I try unsuccessfully to crack the crossword in the Times.
Dammit, I can never get past Six Across.
He has toned up and slimmed down. Tan and athletic and hot as hell. He tells me I'm sexy and means it. I can't thank him or maintain eye contact.
He gets up to use the bathroom. She swings by the table and leans down to refill my coffee. I notice her weight shift from left to right. I also notice one of her curls dipping into my mug, but don't mind. She's lingering longer than is necessary.
I stare at her.
"I think he's cheating on me with some Cambodian girl in LA."
I can feel her face get hot.
"And maybe this hippie bitch on Haight and Ashbury."
She sucks her teeth and ambles back toward the kitchen.
Time passes. Break up. Make up. Seasons change. All that bullshit. Arguments and fights and broken glass. Still, out of loyalty, I never bring the hot bank manager to Brunch. Or the hot tortured artist. Or anyone at all, hot or not.
This time we're at Birds in Hollywood. Talking shit and drinking champagne outside on Franklin. And then, seemingly out of the blue, in an absurd last ditch effort to save us, he asks me to move to LA.
"Yes."
It feels like a reflex. I'm fairly sure I don't mean it.
The waitress gives me an odd look.
Sometimes loneliness trumps reason, but eventually you come to your senses.
A good six months goes by before I'm back at Rolling Dunes. I'm visiting from New York and ask Carlos to join me. We're laughing and catching up and he tells me I'm pretty fucking dope.
And I'm not even trying.
Carlos gets up to use the bathroom. She comes over to refill my coffee.
"This one is in love with you." She says.
I look out the window and count how many people are holding hands on Lakeshore. Notice we're not at the usual coveted corner table.
She turns to walk away and I grab her arm, jerking her back and almost causing her to drop the coffee pot.
"I think you're absolutely beautiful."
She leans down and huddles next to me, her curls brushing against my ear.
"I know." she sighs.
Ciudate.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
25 Things , or Ramona's New Tell All Blog, or How to React When White People Start Discussing Wu-Tang
1. OK, so I'm getting some communications borderlining on hate mail about not posting a new blog. I'm flattered, and also a little afraid for my life at the same time. So I guess I'll use this 25 Things business as a way to put it out there. As I do with most things, I've tweaked the rules to fit my own agenda. This counts as #1, right?
2. Almost busted my ass the other night trying to flip my mattress. What prompted this sudden urge wasn't a desire to prolong the life of my bed, but me discovering that I created an obvious Ramona-sized dent on one side from sleeping alone for three years.
3. I feel like my Myspace blog is on some really fucked-up Dear Abby shit. Why do people ask me for advice? It's like the blind leading the blind. Actually, it's like the blind/deaf/and retarded leading the blind.
4. OK, going through more Myspace mail and get a question about how to be popular. I'm thinking this is from a high-schooler but this chick is a grown ass woman. My thoughts:
5. Despite being very active in the spelling bee and reading Isaac Asimov, I was insanely popular in elementary school. So much so that I run into a few people in my hometown that can't get over it. That means I peaked in 1989, people. What still works to this day:
6. Be a nice person. And if you can't be nice, at least try to recycle or something.
7. Tell funny stories.
8. Self-deprecating humor is better than talking shit about other people. Unless you're unattractive. Then it's just kind of sad and pathetic.
9. Give people stickers. (This worked in 1989, let's test it out as adults).
10. When I was like maybe six or seven years old, I got into an argument with my friend Darren that lived next door. So immense was my outrage that I decided to poison him with Coca Cola and Pop Rocks. I invited him back over, mixed the drink and disguised it as a peace offering. I end up feeling horrible about it and knock it right out of his hand, giving him a bloody nose in the process. Then my mom beats my ass for fucking up the carpet. There's a lesson here somewhere.
11. I hung out with a friend of a friend (now my friend, of course) that read my blogs before we actually talked. During our conversation they were surprised when I said I've never tried coke before. This is about the 10th time I've heard this. People are often surprised that I've never smoked crack/dropped acid/freebased. They're also surprised that I actually have a real job. But...never surprised I don't have a man.
12. I always talk shit about not having a boyfriend but it's probably that I'm just freezing my ass off in New York. I've also stood up three people in the last two weeks with the following excuses:
13. Bachelor 1: His clothes are too tight.
14. Bachelor 2: He doesn't know who Robert Plant is.
15. Bachelor 3: He's one of those people that talk into his phone like a walkie-talkie. You know, when they pull it away from their ear and talk? Ew.
16. Going back to the early years. Once Pops asked me to toss his cigarette when we were in Waldenbooks at the mall. I intentionally decide to throw it in the trash can instead of the smoking receptacle right in front of me. Smoke rises slowly out of the garbage and I'm mesmerized. Then the shit catches on fire and is up in flames in like eight seconds. The whole mall gets evacuated. Pops suspected nothing. I still get a happy meal, a new book, and Prince cassette.
17. Still in the early years, the Karate Kid Soundtrack and Dolly Pardon's Greatest hits were on heavy rotation. Pops didn't mind Dolly, but "Glory of Love" made everyone want to puke.
18. Went to Flatbush Farm and that song Ghostface sampled in Cherchez Laghost comes on. This sparks a conversation from all the hipsters about their favorite Wu-Tang cuts and "real hip hop." Oh. My. Gawd. I looked around for someone to share my horror but of course my pitiful ass was there alone, drinking by myself. "Check please!"
19. Big (still calling him that strictly for the sake of continuity) didn't come to my birthday party because he got too drunk before hand. And I had an amazing time anyway. Good thing he kept his ass at home because my energy was focused elsewhere. I haven't seen his ass in ages. Fuck it. I'm so over it. Welcome to your 30's.
20. Speaking of focusing energy. I've been told I'm focusing it in the wrong place, which is why I stand up nice guys that ask me out on nice dates. It's a recession, so if anything I should be getting all the free dinners I can land. Ugh. This is too much to think about, so right now I'm gonna focus my energy on making a vodka tonic. I'll be back.
21. OK, I'm back. My crush still makes me regress to feeling like I'm in 8th grade. Which is good and also horribly awkward. Sometimes I leave feeling giddy, but most of the time I'm like, D'OH!!!
22. All I have been wanting to do lately is go see live music. I've lucked out and got to see some amazing performances lately. And I miss my San Francisco concert partner, Chelsea. We were like professionals. You wanna see a show, you call me.
23. I've said it once and I'll say it again: NEVER FART WITH HEADPHONES ON!
24. Best advice I ever got was from Pops: If he doesn't have bookshelves with actual books in them and a decent record collection, run. Sorry, I'm on some I-miss-my-Dad shit.
25. I miss California. I miss my West Coast familia and friends. But this move was the best decision I ever made, even if just based on the relationships I've managed to build here. I might try to switch coasts during winter, but for the most part....I ain't leaving. However, I'm in Cali so often that most people in Sac don't even know I've relocated. Coco, Alissa, Alana, Marissa, Ang, Carlos, Chelsea, Val, Siobhan, Nikkisha, K, Raven, Jason, Sarah, Matt, Jeff...WTF BOOK YOUR TICKETS FOR SPRING, DAMMIT!
2. Almost busted my ass the other night trying to flip my mattress. What prompted this sudden urge wasn't a desire to prolong the life of my bed, but me discovering that I created an obvious Ramona-sized dent on one side from sleeping alone for three years.
3. I feel like my Myspace blog is on some really fucked-up Dear Abby shit. Why do people ask me for advice? It's like the blind leading the blind. Actually, it's like the blind/deaf/and retarded leading the blind.
4. OK, going through more Myspace mail and get a question about how to be popular. I'm thinking this is from a high-schooler but this chick is a grown ass woman. My thoughts:
5. Despite being very active in the spelling bee and reading Isaac Asimov, I was insanely popular in elementary school. So much so that I run into a few people in my hometown that can't get over it. That means I peaked in 1989, people. What still works to this day:
6. Be a nice person. And if you can't be nice, at least try to recycle or something.
7. Tell funny stories.
8. Self-deprecating humor is better than talking shit about other people. Unless you're unattractive. Then it's just kind of sad and pathetic.
9. Give people stickers. (This worked in 1989, let's test it out as adults).
10. When I was like maybe six or seven years old, I got into an argument with my friend Darren that lived next door. So immense was my outrage that I decided to poison him with Coca Cola and Pop Rocks. I invited him back over, mixed the drink and disguised it as a peace offering. I end up feeling horrible about it and knock it right out of his hand, giving him a bloody nose in the process. Then my mom beats my ass for fucking up the carpet. There's a lesson here somewhere.
11. I hung out with a friend of a friend (now my friend, of course) that read my blogs before we actually talked. During our conversation they were surprised when I said I've never tried coke before. This is about the 10th time I've heard this. People are often surprised that I've never smoked crack/dropped acid/freebased. They're also surprised that I actually have a real job. But...never surprised I don't have a man.
12. I always talk shit about not having a boyfriend but it's probably that I'm just freezing my ass off in New York. I've also stood up three people in the last two weeks with the following excuses:
13. Bachelor 1: His clothes are too tight.
14. Bachelor 2: He doesn't know who Robert Plant is.
15. Bachelor 3: He's one of those people that talk into his phone like a walkie-talkie. You know, when they pull it away from their ear and talk? Ew.
16. Going back to the early years. Once Pops asked me to toss his cigarette when we were in Waldenbooks at the mall. I intentionally decide to throw it in the trash can instead of the smoking receptacle right in front of me. Smoke rises slowly out of the garbage and I'm mesmerized. Then the shit catches on fire and is up in flames in like eight seconds. The whole mall gets evacuated. Pops suspected nothing. I still get a happy meal, a new book, and Prince cassette.
17. Still in the early years, the Karate Kid Soundtrack and Dolly Pardon's Greatest hits were on heavy rotation. Pops didn't mind Dolly, but "Glory of Love" made everyone want to puke.
18. Went to Flatbush Farm and that song Ghostface sampled in Cherchez Laghost comes on. This sparks a conversation from all the hipsters about their favorite Wu-Tang cuts and "real hip hop." Oh. My. Gawd. I looked around for someone to share my horror but of course my pitiful ass was there alone, drinking by myself. "Check please!"
19. Big (still calling him that strictly for the sake of continuity) didn't come to my birthday party because he got too drunk before hand. And I had an amazing time anyway. Good thing he kept his ass at home because my energy was focused elsewhere. I haven't seen his ass in ages. Fuck it. I'm so over it. Welcome to your 30's.
20. Speaking of focusing energy. I've been told I'm focusing it in the wrong place, which is why I stand up nice guys that ask me out on nice dates. It's a recession, so if anything I should be getting all the free dinners I can land. Ugh. This is too much to think about, so right now I'm gonna focus my energy on making a vodka tonic. I'll be back.
21. OK, I'm back. My crush still makes me regress to feeling like I'm in 8th grade. Which is good and also horribly awkward. Sometimes I leave feeling giddy, but most of the time I'm like, D'OH!!!
22. All I have been wanting to do lately is go see live music. I've lucked out and got to see some amazing performances lately. And I miss my San Francisco concert partner, Chelsea. We were like professionals. You wanna see a show, you call me.
23. I've said it once and I'll say it again: NEVER FART WITH HEADPHONES ON!
24. Best advice I ever got was from Pops: If he doesn't have bookshelves with actual books in them and a decent record collection, run. Sorry, I'm on some I-miss-my-Dad shit.
25. I miss California. I miss my West Coast familia and friends. But this move was the best decision I ever made, even if just based on the relationships I've managed to build here. I might try to switch coasts during winter, but for the most part....I ain't leaving. However, I'm in Cali so often that most people in Sac don't even know I've relocated. Coco, Alissa, Alana, Marissa, Ang, Carlos, Chelsea, Val, Siobhan, Nikkisha, K, Raven, Jason, Sarah, Matt, Jeff...WTF BOOK YOUR TICKETS FOR SPRING, DAMMIT!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Boys Part II
Due to pressure from family and friends, I finally upgraded my cell phone. Sent out a mass text message to inform everyone in my phone book. Let me share the response I received from my Ex-Boyfriend (not to be confused with West Coast Ex). Keep in mind that I haven't seen him in two years or spoken to him in nine months.
Me: It's Ramona. Moms made me get rid of my raggedy cell phone. Here's the new number.
Him: U live in da Bay?
Me: No, still in NY, just got the phone in the bay. How r u?
Him: U comin to LA anytime soon-I wanna plow that sweetstuff. Damn...
Me: Are you fucking serious???
****
Ugh! How did we go from 'how are u' to 'I wanna plow that sweetstuff?'
And who the fuck says 'plow that sweetstuff'?
I'm embarrassed that he was even a part of my life. I swear, hot guys can get away with a lot of bullshit. Seriously, the only good part about my past relationships was my being in shape. I mean I really worked at keeping it together and sex is the best cardio you can ask for. But that's mainly because I was dealing with a selfish, lazy dude that made me do a freakin' quad workout every time we got down.
Since I don't have a man now and get laid rather sporadically, I've been hitting the gym pretty hard. I'm trying to get healthy and look decent for my 30th Birthday party next month. Took a bootcamp class at the Prospect Park YMCA last night that really kicked my ass. Towards the end of the class we had to partner up with someone for sit-ups. I just agreed to partner with the person to my immediate right, which happened to be this old Willie Nelson looking white dude.
I hate partnered sit-ups. I'm always afraid I'll fart in the persons face or something. It happened once in Mrs. Watts' aerobics class in 9th Grade and I still have flashbacks.
So the sit-ups are going fine, he's encouraging me and avoiding eye contact. And pretty much acting how you'd expect someone who resembles Willie Nelson to act.
The only thing is, later on after class I'm in the locker room and discover there's a HUGE rip in the crotch of my leggings. I'm wearing pink panties underneath and I'm sure Willie Nelson thought he was getting some kind of money shot.
D'oh!
And I think I may have gotten stood up this weekend. What's weird is that I'm not really sure if it counts as being stood up. Either way, that shit hasn't happened in like, ten years.
I'm off my A-Game, folks.
Also, cutting the alcohol intake quite a bit. I didn't drink for five days then went to the Manjinga party at the Brooklyn Museum on Saturday night. J. Walder kept the drinks flowing at Soda Bar and I found myself extremely drunk after only two and a half drinks. I mean, it usually takes five or six cocktails. Abstaining rocks!
Friends: The Birthday Party is on Saturday, January 10th. Sake One is being imported all the way from San Fran to spin.
Book your plane tickets. Pencil me in for the 10th. It's goin' down.
Me: It's Ramona. Moms made me get rid of my raggedy cell phone. Here's the new number.
Him: U live in da Bay?
Me: No, still in NY, just got the phone in the bay. How r u?
Him: U comin to LA anytime soon-I wanna plow that sweetstuff. Damn...
Me: Are you fucking serious???
****
Ugh! How did we go from 'how are u' to 'I wanna plow that sweetstuff?'
And who the fuck says 'plow that sweetstuff'?
I'm embarrassed that he was even a part of my life. I swear, hot guys can get away with a lot of bullshit. Seriously, the only good part about my past relationships was my being in shape. I mean I really worked at keeping it together and sex is the best cardio you can ask for. But that's mainly because I was dealing with a selfish, lazy dude that made me do a freakin' quad workout every time we got down.
Since I don't have a man now and get laid rather sporadically, I've been hitting the gym pretty hard. I'm trying to get healthy and look decent for my 30th Birthday party next month. Took a bootcamp class at the Prospect Park YMCA last night that really kicked my ass. Towards the end of the class we had to partner up with someone for sit-ups. I just agreed to partner with the person to my immediate right, which happened to be this old Willie Nelson looking white dude.
I hate partnered sit-ups. I'm always afraid I'll fart in the persons face or something. It happened once in Mrs. Watts' aerobics class in 9th Grade and I still have flashbacks.
So the sit-ups are going fine, he's encouraging me and avoiding eye contact. And pretty much acting how you'd expect someone who resembles Willie Nelson to act.
The only thing is, later on after class I'm in the locker room and discover there's a HUGE rip in the crotch of my leggings. I'm wearing pink panties underneath and I'm sure Willie Nelson thought he was getting some kind of money shot.
D'oh!
And I think I may have gotten stood up this weekend. What's weird is that I'm not really sure if it counts as being stood up. Either way, that shit hasn't happened in like, ten years.
I'm off my A-Game, folks.
Also, cutting the alcohol intake quite a bit. I didn't drink for five days then went to the Manjinga party at the Brooklyn Museum on Saturday night. J. Walder kept the drinks flowing at Soda Bar and I found myself extremely drunk after only two and a half drinks. I mean, it usually takes five or six cocktails. Abstaining rocks!
Friends: The Birthday Party is on Saturday, January 10th. Sake One is being imported all the way from San Fran to spin.
Book your plane tickets. Pencil me in for the 10th. It's goin' down.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Boys
I guess this is my penance. For all the years of pushing the ignore button on all the phone calls from all the countless Whats-His-Names, I come home to find that my only text message is from Sprint.
Apparently my bill is past due.
Past due, huh?
Having a busy social calendar helps keep the demons away. I need a blackberry to keep up with the cocktails. The shows. The openings. The exhibits.
Tonight I'm out with a friend.
A more-than-friend?
"You wouldn't go out so much if you were single."
But, I am. Single, that is.
Yeah my 401(k) sucks right now but my lip gloss collection is phenomenal.
And anyway, I had a boyfriend in California. I still was out a lot. WE were out a lot.
"That's because he wasn't as smart as you and couldn't converse for shit."
Yeah, well. But he sure was fine!
"It's not like you don't have any prospects. Sometimes the answers are right in front of you."
At least I have marriage pacts with my best friends. Technically I'm engaged thrice over.
"So why are you still single, anyway?"
What exactly is the problem with that? Maybe I'm not ready for all that sharing.
"Why don't you call me anymore?"
Why are you asking so many questions?
It's another lovely night. I decide to edit a couple of names in my cell phone. Now when they call it'll say: He's Not That Into You.
"Ramona, you're not paying attention."
You're right, I'm not. I can't.
It's such a beautiful night. But instead of enjoying it, I just look into his blue eyes and run my fingers through his blond hair.
"You look so amazing." He says.
And you look so...white.
THE END.
Apparently my bill is past due.
Past due, huh?
Having a busy social calendar helps keep the demons away. I need a blackberry to keep up with the cocktails. The shows. The openings. The exhibits.
Tonight I'm out with a friend.
A more-than-friend?
"You wouldn't go out so much if you were single."
But, I am. Single, that is.
Yeah my 401(k) sucks right now but my lip gloss collection is phenomenal.
And anyway, I had a boyfriend in California. I still was out a lot. WE were out a lot.
"That's because he wasn't as smart as you and couldn't converse for shit."
Yeah, well. But he sure was fine!
"It's not like you don't have any prospects. Sometimes the answers are right in front of you."
At least I have marriage pacts with my best friends. Technically I'm engaged thrice over.
"So why are you still single, anyway?"
What exactly is the problem with that? Maybe I'm not ready for all that sharing.
"Why don't you call me anymore?"
Why are you asking so many questions?
It's another lovely night. I decide to edit a couple of names in my cell phone. Now when they call it'll say: He's Not That Into You.
"Ramona, you're not paying attention."
You're right, I'm not. I can't.
It's such a beautiful night. But instead of enjoying it, I just look into his blue eyes and run my fingers through his blond hair.
"You look so amazing." He says.
And you look so...white.
THE END.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Kiss the Sky
So, this Friday I'll be getting my post-Election boogie on at Diety in BK. Obah and Chris Annibell are spinnin', so it's sure to be a good thing. Last month ObaH did a party at Soda and I had to resist this almost primal urge to dance on top of a table (because that would be sooooo '98). The music is that good.
Also, I'm asking you to come because Big invited me to another party in BK on the same night. The more friends I have around me, the less likely I am to fall under his evil spell. If you go, I'll buy you a drink. Actually scratch that-if you go, I'll get someone else to buy ME a drink, then slip it to you when they're not looking. Times are hard, yo.
What happens when you don't blog for a month? Too much to write about. So I have to resort to bullet points. Let's start with the most recent activities then go back, shall we?
1. Obama
I mean, what more can I say? I went with Erin to a party at Renae's apartment to watch the results. We left early and decided to walk home. Brooklyn was the place to be. Drums, dancing, all kinds of crazy cool shit going down right in the middle of Dekalb Avenue. I made a few drunk/euphoric phone calls, only one of which I regret. I left a voicemail message for my Crush. Don't know what the hell I said. Maybe something along the lines of, "Can you feel it??? Can you????!!!"
Sigh. Please help me.
2. I will never be a pothead.
What is that called when someone kinda kisses you and blows smoke in your mouth? I don't know why I tried to be cool and participate. I get dizzy and disoriented. I feel slightly nauseous. I'm the girl that will ruin your high. It pokes holes in my memory in places where I want it most intact. And trust me, I needed to fully remember these moments because it's so rare that I get any action nowadays, dude. I'm like one of those people the anti-marijuana ads warn you about. As a result of THC I have almost gotten a concussion from falling off a bunkbed, confused several friends and an ex-boyfriend for Justin Timberlake, and read Life of Pi instead of going to a really fun disco in Amsterdam. Among other things. Just say No. From now on I'll just stick to heroin-laced happy pills.
3. Lil' Wayne
When I get drunk I say "A Milli" before every sentence. My apologies to Nicole for putting up with this. And to my other Cali friend, you know I have a crush on Lil Wayne, but please DO NOT TRY TO HOOK ME UP WITH YOUR YOUNGER COUSIN THAT LOOKS LIKE LIL' WAYNE. Only the real Lil Wayne works, feel me? Shit. Same thing with my crush on Dave Grohl. There are a thousand hipsters in Williamsburg that resemble Dave Grohl. I need the real Dave Grohl.
4. To those that voted to 'Protect Marriage.' Fuck you. Sincerely.
Seriously, do I need to re-register to vote in Cali?? I'm friend dumping anyone that voted Yes on Proposition 8. I'm almost 30. Life is short. I can't be associated with the likes of you. This isn't gonna work out. Please continue to preach to me about the sanctity of marriage then go on to have pre-marital sex and post pictures of yourself half naked and/or dry-humping random dudes at your local dive bar.
5. I went speed-dating.
For funny things to blog about, I dragged Gabrielle, Nicole, and Kimmie to a speed-dating event in lower Manhattan. It was fun! The men there were attractive, going well beyond our ridiculously low expectations! I didn't follow up with anyone, though. I'll go again, with plenty of material to blog about.
6. Sooooo much more but I have to submit this blog before 10pm tonight! So here's another empty promise: I'll try to write a blog a week. Ok?
You know I got commitment issues.
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