From the Desk of the Mayor

In the midst of my whining about all the boys I like who don't seem to reciprocate the feeling, I forgot about the one that got away I kicked to the curb:

Yes, ladies, this is the Mayor in all his Hangover-lovin' glory. I know, I can't believe I "dated" this fool for a month either.

I was perfectly content with the way that our relationship had petered out - the whole thing reminds me of a defective sparkler that lights for a few seconds, making you think that maybe - just maybe - it will catch fire and turn out to be awesome. Until it abruptly sputters and dies. Another dud. Ah well, moving on. Let's light the next one.

And so I did (move on, that is) and had seen nary a Facebook post from the Mayor - speaking of, I should probably "hide" him (my favorite course of FB action when it comes to ex-bf's). Until: 2 albums (of approximately 130 pictures each) showed up in my Facebook newsfeed, documenting his recent excursion to Sin City. In which he wore his ugly Zach Galifianakis-baby-shirt on several occasions.

I tried not to click on them, I really did. I don't know what it is - Rachey, does this qualify as CGS? Or just further proof that I have no will power or self control?

Either way, it was a big mistake, as I found myself perusing 200 + pictures of the Mayor posing next to 200 + pairs of boobs - in varying degrees of attractiveness. For your viewing pleasure, please see below for my extremely accurate recreation of what just about every single one of these pictures looks like:

I must say, the girl "pictured" above is probably 5 times more attractive than any of the sluts the Mayor found in Vegas. The Situation would be appalled by the number of grenades that grace these albums. And the Mayor will probably be appalled when he finds out he got an STD just from motor-boating one of these bitches.

All in all, I'd say the thing that bothers me most doesn't really have anything to do with the Mayor. I'm more afraid about the fact that I actually hung out with this guy (EVER), and how it must reflect extremely poorly upon my judgement.

Was I depressed or bored or something? Needing validation? Or, did I honestly just not realize what a colossal douche this guy really is? Maybe he did a good job of hiding it for a month?

I can't remember - I think I've blocked it out as one of those traumatic experiences.

In any case, Facebook strikes again. It's definitely put the kibosh on "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Otherwise, I could have gone on blissfully unaware.

Damn you, social media.

Futurama vs. South Park (OR: The EyePhone vs. Kip Drordy)

I posted this over on 20SB, but wanted to share it here, too since I think (OK, hope - but what do I know) that some of you might appreciate it. And be slightly amused (or just reinforce that I'm not entirely crazy and that you know what the eff I'm talking about).

Because of yesterday's post on the frightening similarities between owning an iPhone and crack addiction, and how Apple users are pretty much brainwashed for life once they convert (or, at least I was ...), I got to thinking about a recent episode of the new season of Futurama (which warrants a whole new tangent that I'll spare you) featuring the Mom Corporation and its EyePhone 2.0 and her evil plan to control users via a viral "twit-worm."

And because my poor brain works like one of those Plinko boards on The Price is Right, the thoughts kind of bounce around willy-nilly from here-to-there with no clear logical path.

The first bounce left me giggling over the South Park episode that similarly rips upon another fave social media tool - good ol' FB - and the way in which the characters readily discard reality in favor of living a life on the interwebs. (Stan, poke your Grandma.)

Both episodes are absolutely hysterical to me - probably because I'm the very sort the creators of both shows set out to mock - the heavy internet user, ever reliant on Twitter, the iPhone and Facebook, just to name a few.

So, I continue pondering, and the Plinko-chip-thoughts bounce around in a few other directions, ending up where they may, namely on the following two quandaries that I think I need your help answering:

1. Which episode do you think is funnier?


2. If Bender, Frey and their army of Twitcher followers faced off against Stan and his 845,000 Facebook friends in a dark alley, who would win?
   

I'm listening.

Celebrity couple nicknames and my Jessica Simpson tendencies.

One of the rooms recently [mysteriously] started receiving OK Magazine in the mail – naturally I’ve added this to my list of her other mag subscriptions that I steal and consume on a monthly basis.

While I’m guilty of an US Weekly obsession, I’ve never really gotten down with OK. I realize to the lay-person they may appear exactly the same. However, I can somehow justify US whereas OK is just too over-the-top. Come on ladies, I know you agree.

I know, I don’t get it either.

Anyway – the point – ever since I read OK’s last “RPatz and KStew” update, I’ve been obsessed with giving our coupled friends ridiculous “celebrity” nicknames. I won’t reveal them here [just to protect the innocent] but instead will tell you that one sounds vaguely like a dinosaur specie and the other like a porn name.

In short – awesome.

So this got me to thinking … I fear that I will never be eligible to receive a celebrity couple nickname and will instead be of the single-friend contingent for eternity, forced to settle for coining hilariously inappropriate monikers for everyone else instead.

Seriously, I can make "boyfriends" with the best of them. Just yesterday, I went to buy a new AC unit for my window and was asked for my number within about 5 minutes – after telling my hilarious who-could-possibly-be-dumb-enough-to-drop-their-AC-unit-out-the-window-onto-the-sidewalks-of-NYC?: this-girl story.

Unfortunately for him (and me) I really have no interest in hanging out with a guy that sells AC units for a living [ahem, or sanitation workers]. And the boys that I am interested in hanging out with seldom seem to return my admiration.

In short, a case of Jessica-Simpson-Syndrome.

Seriously, she could probably get any ol’ normal guy she wanted (in this analogy sanitation workers and appliance salesman are to me what normal boys are to famous pop stars).

But instead, she goes for the Tony Romos and John Mayers of the world and is rebuffed every time.

Seriously. The only explanation I can come up with, is that we both suffer from occasional lapses into full-on CGS territory – a term my friend Rachey invented to describe Crazy Girl Syndrome:

The condition where outwardly great females - beautiful, smart, funny, seemingly confident - turn into neurotic, psycho bitches who shamelessly obsess and go after typically unworthy guys far longer than they should.

Yep. It happens to the best of us. And approximately a year ago, I had a bit of a Tony Romo sitch on my hands, and decided that I no longer wanted to be that girl - prompting me to let it go and conduct the FB Master Cleanse.
 
Too bad the anonymous gentleman in that post has made a return. Along with my CGS.
 
Here's to hoping that I can hide it, break the Jessica Simpson cycle, and re-kindle my "relationship" with the infamous cleanse-inducer ...
 
Updates to follow I'm sure.

I love my friends.

Facebook and its many functionalities.

I recently wrote something for In It To Gym It on Facebook as a weight loss tool:

In addition to aiding and abetting my stalking habits, I’m realizing another, more useful – if not equally disturbing – Facebook functionality. Yep, Facebook as a weight-loss tool.

Who needs Weight Watchers when you have “Social-Network-Comprised-of-People-You-May-or-May-Not-Even-Know-or-Like Watchers”? I realize it’s important that I do this for myself in order for it to work, but knowing that the one guy that I have a really big crush on, or Momma J, or my marathon-running tri-athlete of an ex-boyfriend may one day stumble across a picture of me resembling Violet Beauregarde in the blueberry pie stage of her three-course dinner via gum makes me cringe with embarrassment.

To read the rest, visit IITGI . . .

The onset of OMG-It's-Almost-Summer happy hours, beer-league softball, and fucking ridiculous hours at work are to blame for my latest "come to Jesus" talk between myself and my reflection.

Hopefully for your sake (well, and mine) I figure out the equivalent of the Oompa Loompa's juicing procedure, or you're gonna have to hear about this shit on the blog waaaay too often.

Well, pending my ability to get my blogging-act together, I suppose ... 

That is all. For now.

The only crimson tide we fear...

As any good college football fan knows, tonight is the BCS National Championship game between Texas and Alabama.

Of course, I prepared accordingly this morning by donning all of the office-appropriate burnt orange attire I could find. A 'lil sneak preview for you:

Yes, that is a very large, bedazzled, burnt orange longhorn pinned to my jacket. And I may also be wearing a burnt orange scarf, bracelet, and earrings as well. And yes, everyone in New York City has been starring at me all day:

 

In other news, I leave you with the best propaganda I have seen on FaceBook all day - courtesy of El Arroyo (mmmm... queso....):

Update: Obviously the outcome of this game was not what we Longhorns had hoped. But, I must say that our baby-Freshman QB, Garrett Gilbert, deserves a ton of praise, even though many of my fellow fans don't seem willing to bestow it upon him. He did a pretty damn fine job considering the amount of playing time he's had throughout the season, and the amount of PRESSURE absolutely crushing him during that game.

And, I'd also like to note, that I was extremely weirded out by the number of fans talking about Garrett as if they're old buddies. I'd never really noticed the tendency that we fans have to do this... and the extent to which we do it... until now, as I know Garrett as a surrogate little brother of sorts.

His family is super close with my best friend from highschool's family, and we used to babysit him, his brother, and the other neighborhood boys circa their Power-Ranger-whitie-tightie years. I'm so proud of the awesome young man that Garrett's become, and can't wait to watch his continued success throughout the next few years. (Although I will have a hard time reconciling this new, "famous" Garrett with whightie-tightie Garrett... )

I also wanted to take a moment to note that I'm channeling all of my post-playoff energy into basketball season - Sexy Dexy and the rest of the boys are lookin' good, and I can't wait for March Madness.

Hook'em.

The crappiest "dating" tool known to man.

I’ve previously mentioned my hang-ups with “boyfriends” and Facebook statuses, but Facebook messages are clearly the more obnoxious and intrusive alternative to the (most often, if at all) subliminal messages ensconced within an innocent status update.

An update is meant for everyone, so I blame myself if I misconstrue meanings, or take personal affront. Messages addressed directly to me, on the other hand, are obviously easier to criticize and dissect.

Case in point: Jewish Boyfriend No. 1 (why the Jewish boys seem to like me, I’m not quite sure… ). JBN1 and I met one eventful Happy Hour through our mutual friend CB (whom I’ve mentioned before). I was late (per usual) and JBN1 was clearly flirting with one of CB’s co-workers when I arrived. We’ll call her Slutvana.

Aside from the fact that she sucks anyway, Slutvana just so happens to be from Oklahoma – and it’s my civic duty as a good Texan to discredit and harangue anyone unfortunate enough to be a Sooner. We commenced the standard TX/OU banter, and I quickly cemented myself as the more witty of the two of us. JBN1 quickly tossed her aside and set his sights on me.

Happy Hour turned into more hours, and we all moved on to JBN1’s place, then on to the bar. After an unsuccessful make out attempt, we went our separate ways and I didn’t hear from him again save the obligatory friend request on FB. Until …. :

As background, I – along with 10 other people – publicly endorsed his dumb status about milk steak and jellybeans (if you don’t watch Always Sunny then A) FOR SHAME and B) you have no idea what I’m talking about).

Which brings us back to my original argument that status updates aren’t meant to MEAN anything – they just are. Clearly JBN1 read more into the fact that I “liked” his status than he should have. And CLEARLY, I had to forward the resulting FB message to LP immediately.

Me: This was in my in-box yesterday …. [msg from JBN1 attached]

LP: Wait this is the NFL guy, right??? [Ed. Note: We’ll get to that guy later…] I mean he didn’t even take the time to proof read the note which makes me feel like he wasn’t trying too hard. That said, maybe he was just too nervous to reread it. Either way, I say make him sweat it out for a while. But, it’s kind of awkward to wait for a couple of weeks to see him again. Like are you gonna Gchat until Thanksgiving? What do you think? Does this guy have potential?

Me: LOL – NOOOOOOOO. This is CB’s friend JBN1!! From like, a YEAR ago when we had that 90’s dance party at that awesome bar that I’ve never been able to find ever again [Ed. Note: I am STILL looking for this bar… I think it’s in the West Vill? Maybe?]. And we went to their apartment in Stuy Town before that – memories??

LP: OMG!!!!!!!!! That’s hysterical. Wow…. I don’t even know how to respond to this.

P.S. OMG… WTF, LOL. What the crap.

P.P.S. What was his status that you commented on?

P.P.P.S. What made him wait “a couple of weeks” to contact you after you commented on his status? Like the year you spent with out talking to each other wasn’t long enough?

P.P.P.P.S. Can I tell CB, or is this better left between us?

Gotta love her – all appropriate responses, IMO.

Anyway, I was nice, I responded… And – SHOCKER – didn’t hear back for another few weeks. Also of note, I received the message shortly after posting a status about Mitzvah tanks. Freaking Jews…

Upon hearing this, LP admonished me to watch out, that he was likely going to try and convert me and that I should prepare myself by eating copious amounts of pork.

When I revealed that the message was an invite to hang out on NYE, LP pointed out that perhaps he just wanted to make sure he saw me once in 2009.

Anyway, the moral of the story is one we all already know but seemingly forget. Facebook is the crappiest “dating” tool known to man. That is all.

You know you've never left highschool* when...

(*specific to my lovely alma mater)

...your FaceBook fan pages consist of the following:

Index:

1. The lake we grew up on
2. The short-lived, crappy burger restaraunt started by some kid we graduated with (located approximately 300 yards from our highschool campus)
3. The amatuer band made up entirely of guys we went to highschool with (also of note, they are all related)
4/5. Italian restaurants run by your highschool buddy's dad (approximately 1 mile from our highschool campus)

In other hometown rants, please see the following:

 

Oh Amy, I sure did.

The Master Cleanse.

No, not that master cleanse. I’m talking about the Facebook Master Cleanse. About a week or so ago, I conducted an FB purge, cutting ties with any one-time hookups or fair weather friends whom I have no interest in keeping tabs on in touch with.

Feeling proud of myself, I eventually took it one step further and began to “hide” any people whose updates solicited instantaneous eye-rolls or feelings of irritation.

Most of my New York “boyfriends” (along with our mutual friends) made this list, save one. Reasoning escapes me at this point, because I’m pretty sure that 6 or 7 failed attempts to hang out qualify him for the TOP of the “I don’t want any reminders of you” list.

But apparently, some part of me was still curious, maybeeven holding out hope that we’d eventually hang out, despite the LP’s numerous reminders that he seems like (and acted like) a complete douchebag.

The offending update that finally relegated him to hidden status?

Seemingly inoffensive, yes. But further confirmation of the fact that he and I are pretty much the same person (minus the alleged douchebaggery) – same interests, same taste in movies/music/tv shows, blah, blah, etc.

[ And I have to add, that I absolutely loved that song before they put it in an effing car commercial ... ]

Anyway, suffice it to say, our level of banter was pretty awesome – I’m sure we both fancied ourselves super witty and amusing.

Then, nothing. Per usual.

Dating in the City is hard – I have a friend who writes a blog solely on this topic (Guide to Menhattan – check it out!). So you would think having things in common with someone from the onset would help, right?

Apparently wrong.

One more status update from him proclaiming one of my faves his faves just might put me over the edge:

 I need no further reminders of my failed dating attempts in NYC.