I once went on an awkward date during which I was asked if I had had any work done. At the time, I was shocked, confused and self-conscious. I felt terribly concerned that something on me was fake-looking. I never really figured out what that something was.
Well, today, I think I have figured it out. When logging on to Facebook, one of my announcements was that my date from two years ago had posted some new pictures. I was slightly curious, so I decided to check them out. And, oh my god! His date looks to be about ten years older than me and like she had implants done when she was 18. They are obvious (if you've ever seen fake tits, then you know that they often have a weird ridge on top), and they are sinking down her chest (as they do over time), so they are now about 6 inches lower than boobs naturally occur.
So, the mystery has been solved. My boobs are apparently in the fake size range. And my bad date was just hoping they were, in fact, fake.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Hard as Nails
Most of my friends from middle school and high school stuck around the area for college. Not me. I went really far away. Consequently, I did not see my friends very often. The summer before my junior year, I spent at school, so by the time Christmas break rolled around, I had not seen my best friend from childhood for 8 months. We were both very eager for me to come home and had made plans to do several things. One of those things was to go to a New Year's Eve party together, as well as spend the day before the party together.
Fred showed up at my house the day after Christmas on very short notice and insisted that I come up to New York with him. I explained that I absolutely had to be back by Dec 30 because I had plans for early in the morning on the 31st. He acknowledged that I had made this request, so I assumed that he was OK with this arrangement and I went to see his parents. On the morning of Dec 30, he suddenly remembered that his family was going to have a dinner that night (they did this every night, so it really was no occasion) and he insisted that I stay. I reminded him of our original agreement and reminded him that I had made these plans with my friend several weeks ago, so it would be inappropriate to cancel on her now. Furthermore, I would see Fred at school, but I would not see my friend again until summer vacation.
He flipped out at me for "refusing to spend time with his family." Then he demanded to know what my plans even consisted of. Ok, so look, when I hang out with my friends, we aren't exactly saving children from burning buildings, or finding a cure for cancer. My plans in this particular case involved brunch, nail appointments and shopping. Yes, I will admit that none of these are really important on their own, but it was the fact that it was a day that both me and my friend had off and were willing to set aside for each other that made this important to me. I honestly don't care about brunch or nails or shopping very much, but I do care about spending time with my friends.
Fred seemed to miss the point in a lot of the things I did or said. Fred failed to see the whole bit about wanting to see my friend. And instead flipped the fuck out that I was "so superficial" and it was going to be so embarrassing for him to have to tell his family that I couldn't come over because I was "getting my nails done."
He really could have saved himself the embarrassment if he just told his family that I had made plans over three weeks ago, and this entire trip was sprung on me at the last minute and under the agreement that it would work around the plans I had already made, but Fred never did want to do things the unembarassing way.
Fred showed up at my house the day after Christmas on very short notice and insisted that I come up to New York with him. I explained that I absolutely had to be back by Dec 30 because I had plans for early in the morning on the 31st. He acknowledged that I had made this request, so I assumed that he was OK with this arrangement and I went to see his parents. On the morning of Dec 30, he suddenly remembered that his family was going to have a dinner that night (they did this every night, so it really was no occasion) and he insisted that I stay. I reminded him of our original agreement and reminded him that I had made these plans with my friend several weeks ago, so it would be inappropriate to cancel on her now. Furthermore, I would see Fred at school, but I would not see my friend again until summer vacation.
He flipped out at me for "refusing to spend time with his family." Then he demanded to know what my plans even consisted of. Ok, so look, when I hang out with my friends, we aren't exactly saving children from burning buildings, or finding a cure for cancer. My plans in this particular case involved brunch, nail appointments and shopping. Yes, I will admit that none of these are really important on their own, but it was the fact that it was a day that both me and my friend had off and were willing to set aside for each other that made this important to me. I honestly don't care about brunch or nails or shopping very much, but I do care about spending time with my friends.
Fred seemed to miss the point in a lot of the things I did or said. Fred failed to see the whole bit about wanting to see my friend. And instead flipped the fuck out that I was "so superficial" and it was going to be so embarrassing for him to have to tell his family that I couldn't come over because I was "getting my nails done."
He really could have saved himself the embarrassment if he just told his family that I had made plans over three weeks ago, and this entire trip was sprung on me at the last minute and under the agreement that it would work around the plans I had already made, but Fred never did want to do things the unembarassing way.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Animal House
Vengeful exes are the worst. You might think of us as vengeful, but we aren't. We story tellers. If we were vengeful story tellers, we'd use their real names.
Now you remember Diego. There was a girl who had a major crush on him after he and I broke up (when he still wanted to rekindle our relationship) who took to name-calling. She thought I had puffy cheeks (I think I was chubby in the picture she saw - I am less chubby now) and she decided to call me a "chipmunk."
Diego never really stood up for me, but no matter, we weren't dating by then anyway. While it irked me because of the childish nature of it all, it was really not a huge deal. It was really more that I wanted to make a point that her immaturity was detrimental to her ability to attract men.
Until he made it a big deal. Diego and I finally called even a friendship off for good. I simply couldn't stand him anymore, even as a friend. He wanted more from me than I was willing to give because I had started dating a guy who I fell very hard and very quickly for. I mean, we're moving in together in a few months. It was a serious relationship that I wanted to be giving my all to. Point being, we had tried being friends, and it just wasn't happening.
Now you remember Diego. There was a girl who had a major crush on him after he and I broke up (when he still wanted to rekindle our relationship) who took to name-calling. She thought I had puffy cheeks (I think I was chubby in the picture she saw - I am less chubby now) and she decided to call me a "chipmunk."
Diego never really stood up for me, but no matter, we weren't dating by then anyway. While it irked me because of the childish nature of it all, it was really not a huge deal. It was really more that I wanted to make a point that her immaturity was detrimental to her ability to attract men.
Until he made it a big deal. Diego and I finally called even a friendship off for good. I simply couldn't stand him anymore, even as a friend. He wanted more from me than I was willing to give because I had started dating a guy who I fell very hard and very quickly for. I mean, we're moving in together in a few months. It was a serious relationship that I wanted to be giving my all to. Point being, we had tried being friends, and it just wasn't happening.
Diego invited my roommate (who he met when he came to visit me and try to get a job... you remember...) out to visit him. So yes, they became friends. My roommate posted a few pictures of me on her facebook page, which wasn't a problem. However, it promptly became a problem when he took one of those pictures and posted it on his page with the caption: "There was a recent report of rabid chipmunks out... they tend to have issues with bright lights beware... and yes I stole this from {Roommate}."
I found out when my current roommate emailed me from Russia asking about the picture, and when RGB and SJT pointed it out to me.
It bugged me. Probably more than it should. While I didn't want him in my life anymore, I certainly wanted it to end amicably. I had to hear from my friends that it was not some ignorant ho calling me a rabid chipmunk, but someone who I used to care very deeply about. And he did this from a forum that was not just enough people to count on one hand - which would be the equivalent of all the readers of my blog (yaaaaaay)- but on Facebook. Where every person who knows him and knows our history could see it. Yes, I DO consider that betrayal and vengeful.
Diego used a picture of me and a spiteful caption in a location that all of his friends could see, but I couldn't. A blog at least you have access to, and all discussants have aliases. I almost wish my friends would have just let it die, but they felt the need to ask me if something had happened that prompted you to call me a "rabid chipmunk." Calling me names for the sake of calling me names? Juvenile is putting what he did nicely!
But Diego felt bad. He pleaded with me to understand his "joke" and to not be upset and cut him out of my life. Ok, I would get that, except that there was no way for me to "get" the joke. I didn't have access to it. If he had sent it to me via email and said "you look like a rapid chipmunk who's afraid of bright lights..." well then I might have laughed with him. But with poor execution, it simply reminded me of what I need to do to keep myself happy. Get rid of Diego.
Cuz name-calling and facebook are childish. Let's be honest. All the grownups use blogger.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Spelling RG Bee
My name, first and last, is ten letters. Ten. Even the most simple-minded person can remember a string of ten letters with five minutes of rehearsal. Unfortunately, Fred is unable to do this. Even with two and a half years of rehearsal.
The other day, I received a check in the mail from Fred. The first thing that caught my eye was the fact that my name was misspelled on the envelope. I figured it was just a fluke, but no. The check had the same misspelling.
We dated for two and a half fucking years and he never bothered to learn how to spell my fucking name. Not only did he not bother to learn it, he must have actively fought learning it. He had emailed me the day before sending the check and apparently did not notice the spelling of my last name in my email address. Seriously, what the fuck? You have to spell my name correctly to even email me! Furthermore, he has seen my name written out a million times and yet, somehow the ten letters did not string together in his head.
Although, this honestly shouldn't surprise me. This was the same guy who could not spell his own sister's first name. While trying to address a card to her, I asked Fred whether she spelled her name with an "e" or an "i" and Fred drew a blank (I ended up having him call his mother). I suppose that if after 18 years of his sister's life, he could not learn to spell her (very basic and very common) first name, then I really shouldn't have expected him to figure out my last name without at least 50 years' practice (I thank God every single day that he will not have the opportunity to practice my name for 50 years).
So, remember kids: pay attention in school. Misspellings are adorable when you're six, but when you're twenty-six, it's just fucking pathetic. Now I am stuck with a check that the bank most likely won't cash because someone is a fucking retard.
Nice going, douche.
The other day, I received a check in the mail from Fred. The first thing that caught my eye was the fact that my name was misspelled on the envelope. I figured it was just a fluke, but no. The check had the same misspelling.
We dated for two and a half fucking years and he never bothered to learn how to spell my fucking name. Not only did he not bother to learn it, he must have actively fought learning it. He had emailed me the day before sending the check and apparently did not notice the spelling of my last name in my email address. Seriously, what the fuck? You have to spell my name correctly to even email me! Furthermore, he has seen my name written out a million times and yet, somehow the ten letters did not string together in his head.
Although, this honestly shouldn't surprise me. This was the same guy who could not spell his own sister's first name. While trying to address a card to her, I asked Fred whether she spelled her name with an "e" or an "i" and Fred drew a blank (I ended up having him call his mother). I suppose that if after 18 years of his sister's life, he could not learn to spell her (very basic and very common) first name, then I really shouldn't have expected him to figure out my last name without at least 50 years' practice (I thank God every single day that he will not have the opportunity to practice my name for 50 years).
So, remember kids: pay attention in school. Misspellings are adorable when you're six, but when you're twenty-six, it's just fucking pathetic. Now I am stuck with a check that the bank most likely won't cash because someone is a fucking retard.
Nice going, douche.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
What Not to Buy Your Girlfriend on Valentine's Day
So, I'm probably beating a dead horse by making another bad gift post. But, it's Valentine's Day, and bad gifts never fail to be hilarious. So, suck it up and pretend you haven't heard this one yet.
What I have recieved in the past:
Fred: The first Valentine's Day we were together, he gave me nothing. The big fucking goose egg. We had dated for 6 months, so I kind of expected something, but was left empty handed. I recieved flowers from 4 other people and he still didn't take the hint. I canned his ass shortly thereafter. We got back together and the next Valentine's Day we were together, he mailed me a care package from Walmart. Now, I love Walmart as much as the next person (ok, probably much much more than the next person), but V-Day is not the time to get me Walmart knick-knacks. A box of batteries, cans of soup and beef jerky hardly constitutes a romantic gift. And a big stuffed dog is hardly appropriate for someone who is not a child.
Shrek: Gave me a box of chocolates. But then he ate them. Seriously, he presented me with a half-eaten box of chocolates as a gift. And the only ones left were the ones he didn't want. Why even bother?
Fruit Fly: Gave me a vase that was covered by a stuffed koala...it's hard to explain, but basically, it looked like a red plant was coming out of the koala's ass. Also, he gave me a chocolate bar that fell on the floor at work and he therefore obtained for free.
Boris: Ok, this is actually really really sweet, but a little misguided. He decided to be very romantic for Valentine's Day and got me two dozen roses, a huge box of Godiva truffles, a big heart-shaped balloon and a card. Except, he did this at school (I was 16 at the time), so I spent the entire day lugging around my Valentine's Day bonanza (my locker was way too small for the balloon and roses). Also, I was (and still am) really shy, so I didn't exactly love all the attention these things brought me. I loved the gifts, but I would have preferred recieving them at home.
At this point, I am over the idea of Valentine's Day. This year, I am just hoping for a good dinner and a lot of alcohol.
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