The best compliment I've had in a long time:

"You have all the checks. When someone meets you it's like check check check check check check check."

I'm gonna make a t-shirt outta that.

On dating- Book nerd standards:

The article, It's Not You, It's Your Books, in the Times this Sunday talking about how people's choice in books could be a dating deal breaker was pretty on point.

From the article:
“Manhattan dating is a highly competitive, ruthlessly selective sport,” Augusten Burroughs, the author of “Running With Scissors” and other vivid memoirs, said. “Generally, if a guy had read a book in the last year, or ever, that was good enough.” The author recalled a date with one Michael, a “robust blond from Germany.” As he walked to meet him outside Dean & DeLuca, “I saw, to my horror, an artfully worn, older-than-me copy of ‘Proust’ by Samuel Beckett.” That, Burroughs claims, was a deal breaker. “If there existed a more hackneyed, achingly obvious method of telegraphing one’s education, literary standards and general intelligence, I couldn’t imagine it.”

I agree with Burroughs- if a guy reads he's definitely got my attention (so I guess my standards are pretty low at this point). So far, I haven't had book deal breakers- aside from guys who say, "Uh, I hate reading, it's so boring," or something along those lines. Barf. Why don't you just tell me you eat glue for fun and walk away.

Dear MTV:

I watched a rerun of True Life: I'm a Jersey Shore Girl this morning while eating and almost lost my breakfast as a result of watching your poorly researched and completely inaccurate depiction of a true "jersey shore girl." It should have been called "True Life: I'm a BENNY"! Or to be even more accurate, "True Life: I'm a stupid neon tube top- platform flip flop- shirts that say Drama Queen and Princess-too much eye makeup wearing, midriff bearing, fake tanning, acrylic nails, no class, slutty ass, fist pumping, flat ironing, summer house renting, think I'm hot cause I have a belly ring ho from NORTH JERSEY. Now that would be more accurate. Thank you, half-wits, for giving the real shore girls a bad name.

Overheard:

Coworker 1: I'm taking my lunch.
Coworker 2: What are you having?
Coworker 1: Sex.

The "All Sex, No Lunch Diet".

It's Official- I'm Crazy

This morning when I was walking to work I came to the realization I was talking to myself and had been for quite some time. I was even talking back to myself.
Me: What did I need to do today?
Me: Transcribe interview, call some stores, organize credit info...
Me: No, didn't you already do that?
Me: No, idiot, why would you think I already did that?
and so on...I had caught myself but then being the person who always has to have the last word- I needed to finish the conversation- even if it was with myself.

TMI?

A reblog from Julia Allison's reblog:

Guy: i might check out your blog
Lena: hmm. okay. can't stop you ;)
Guy: well, if you think i might get the wrong (or a skewed) idea of you by reading the blog, maybe i should stay away from it altogether.
Lena: thanks. if you can't help yourself, i'll forgive you. but i'd like for you get to know me first.
Guy: well, the important thing is that i understand conceptually what the blog(s) mean for your life.
Lena: haha conceptually? the blog means i smile and nod when perfect strangers ask me about my love life in public. it means i started having panic attacks over the holidays. it means every time my mother calls me, i am terrified she's found out. it also means i know for sure that i want to write, and that i know what it feels like to be able to really resonate with people, to make someone half a world away not feel alone because i expressed some feeling they couldn't put into words themselves. i think the most important thing is that i learned those who love me will continue to love me no matter what, but the blog will prevent a lot of people from ever getting to know me well enough to appreciate me beyond what's online. and i guess that's why i don't really want you to read it. yet.

I only found out about a month ago what TMI stood for (Too Much Information for those who are also not in the know) and that was only because someone was telling me that I was sharing TMI. I was surprised especially since I did not consider the story I was telling to be anything out of the ordinary. I tell many stories that start with, "One time...." or "Oh god, last night..." or "If you think that's bad, listen to this..."- without really thinking twice about it. It's what I do- I tell stories and being a narcissist, they're mostly about me. But also being a self-deprecating narcissist they're usually ridiculously embarrassing or incriminating stories about myself. Last year I started my blog that's pretty much about anything and everything. I typically don't give out my blog to people I've just met, especially people I'm dating, for the same reasons as Lena. People would pre-judge and draw conclusions about me. In this day and age when everyone can be googled there's no mystery anymore. Don't get me wrong,I'm guilty of it as well- I go straight home to google people after I meet them. It's just too tempting-like an unattended phone (ha), too easy- Especially how fast paced my life is- I don't have that much time, so sometimes when I meet someone I want all their stats in front of me to see if it's even worth my time. But the other end of this spectrum- it can be really nice to slowly get to know someone- to learn something new about them each time you hang out- as long as you're not finding out on the third date that they're married or a registered sex-offender.

Nobody wants to be pre-judged- you don't want someone finding out something about you-without knowing the story behind it. But in the end though, I wouldn't want someone who couldn't handle the details disclosed by my blog. I mean, if you stuck around you would eventually have to find out who the real me is anyway. I wouldn't want to have to pretend I'm something that I'm not. So here it is people, I'm fucking nuts- now love me.

Last night's dream- The Mousacre!

So in this dream, borderline nightmare, I was in my bedroom, a certified disaster zone, and these little teeny tiny pinky size brown mice would just scurry across the floor. And then another, and then another...So then I started stomping then out like you would a cockroach and I would have mouse guts all over my floor. But they kept coming. And then the mother of all rats came out, the size of a Chihuahua, and I tried to stomp it out like the baby mice, but it was too big. That's really it. A littleanti-climatic but definitely disturbing. I searched online dream dictionaries and nothing came up for mini mice invasion/mouse
massacre/attack of the dog sized rat. Any ideas?

St Patrick's 2008

What's a St Paddy's Day without a leprechaun, a bull, a gorilla, and a THONG TH THONG THONG THONG!
AND Danity Kane! OMG ISLALG (I screamed like a little girl)!!!



(ps. girl on bull is NOT me! Just a random girl making her parents very proud).


Seriously though, St Paddy's at Johnny Utah's was like Spring Break in Midtown. Somehow made my way to the train at the end of the night and woke up at 3:30am in Jersey City. Not fun! Deliberated for 20 minutes on calling out of work the next morning but then figured it wasn't the best idea to say I was "sick" after St Paddy's. And then God (or TONY) must have really wanted to teach me a lesson on being a drunken fool because they were doing construction all day. Jackhammers, drills, and hammering DO NOT go with hangovers. AND THEN as if I hadn't suffered enough, at 5:30pm when I thought I'd be able to sneak out I was asked to go on the streets to interview strangers. Gah! It's the last thing you want to do when your eyes are barely open, the room still spins, and your mouth still tastes like tequila and vomit. Mmmmm picture that.

The morning after

On Gchat:
Me: I smell like rotting garbage. I need a shower.
KC: omg that is hilarious- keeping that one for nina's greatest hits

A Perfect Sunday

3P.M. wine tasting with V-Spot crew where everyone had just woken up only an hour before and was seriously hungover. Equipped with coffees, gatorade, and sunchips, we all reluctantly drank 26 bottles of wine. Our manager told us we could spit but fuck who wants to waste all that wine? What do you guys smell was answered by, "I smell rotting fruit! I smell urinal cake! Jigga what? I smell feces!" What do you guys taste was answered by, "I taste fruity bramling bushes! Mmmm it's world class! I taste wine! I taste earthy funk! Everything tastes great with sun chips!" You can't even handle the maturity, class, and sophistication that was "broughtened!"

We later trampled through the streets, drunk, carrying the leftovers of all 26 bottles, to Elly's boyfriend's apt. Tried to get Taco Bell but goddammit it was shut down! Holly had a nervous meltdown right there.


Of all the places to eat in Manhattan, all we wanted was a beefy burrito! We settled for cheesesteak, fries, and 3 large pizzas. Mmmmmmmm the perfect Sunday!

Tool Bags

On a busy Saturday night a man flags me down and says, "Ay yo, let me get a Corona, one of those strawberry things, and a glass of water, mami. You got that? Here's my card, start me a tab, only for myself, nobody else goes on this, got that?" He gives me a wink and adds, "And don't worry I'll take care of you. I'll tip you real good." From experience anyone who says "I'll tip you real good" never actually does. A couple drinks later I check on him to see if he needs anything else. "No, mami, close out my tab. Unless ya'll play better music, close out my tab." Was that a threat? And what do you know, he leaves me 15%, hardly "A real good tip," and he winks again, hands me the credit slip and says, "Was that tip good enough for you? Or do you something else, like a massage or someone to walk you home?" Um, how about 10% more on my tip, loser.

Hours later I still see him hanging at the bar. Guess the music thing worked out. Then I see him getting kicked out by the bouncers. Then the bouncer returns and asks me if I've seen his wife. The guy was outside and wouldn't leave until we retrieved his wife. So then I walked through the bar, vision slightly impaired, searching for what looked like his wife. I approached a girl who could be either Indian or Spanish or both-"Hey, sorry, were you here with your husband? (Cause his stupid ass got kicked out." Girl says, "no, honey, I came with friends." Oh sorry. I walk around some more and approach a different girl at the bar, "Hey, sorry, were you here with your husband? (Cause his stupid ass got kicked out)" Girl grabs my shoulders and said, "No, honey, I already told you, I'm single! I came with friends!" Shit, I asked the same girl twice. Well, goddammit you look like her.

But seriously though- not only do we have to remember your drink order, what you look like when you order a drink and then walk around the bar, what the name of your tab is, but we also need to keep tabs on what your ugly ass wife looks like?

My better's better than your better

Guy to his friend: Yo she's kinda cute.
Me to Guy: Kinda cute? (insert neck roll) Are you blind?

Some people get beer muscles...I get vodka ego.

Californiaitis

My friend Kristine told me that when her friend C, a hot-headed North Easterner who uses expletives between every other word, went to California, she returned reincarnated into someone who was relaxed and laid back. "Watch out," she warned me, "Cali's contagious." Yeah right. Me? Relaxed and laid back? Pffft. At first I was total city girl separated from her city. I was guilty of comments like, "LA is making me dumber by the minute," or starting sentences with, "Well in New York, we...." Yeah, I was a total NYC snob. Well! It seems, halfway through the trip, I was feeling myself relax a bit. I totally welcomed the sunshine, the open space, and the views. While it wasn't the tropical vacation I had hoped for (it was freezing!), it was definitely a much needed escape from my daily grind. And for once no one was invading my personal space, I didn't smell poo all around, and I wasn't grimacing at people. The past 3 days I've been extremely cheerful and positive. It was quite scary actually. I said things like, "What a beautiful day!" and "hella cool!" I smiled a lot, even at people. I was at a near skip on my walk home. I'm surprised this has gone on for so many consecutive days- could my Californiaitis last? I'm feeling rather optimistic so we'll see!

Californ I- A!!

LA boys got game!

This guy started talking to Kate and I at the bar. After a few minutes of pointless conversation, nodding, and blank stares, he wrote his email on his business card and handed it to me.

His business card with his email:


I turned it over and it seems he had already written another girl's number on his card. Smoooooooooooth!