Judging OkCupid First Dates Based Solely on Usernames (pt. 2)

Mhm, yah, ok, I am wine drunk and am not listening.
This guy went to Syracuse and majored in American Studies. You might have thought he would be a Finance or Business major, but you'd be mistaken. He didn't really get his shit together to impress his dad, plus he clearly has a knack for word play and nostalgic cheeky humor. We would go to a nice dinner with table cloths. One that maybe had two or three $'s next to it in NYMag.

He wears a fedora 6 days a week. Bowler cap on his day off.

If you were at a party with this dude, he would know at exactly at what point to start playing 90's nostalgia music. Which is cool, but he prides himself on it too much. And our date would consist of watching Youtube videos of sports bloopers.

Genuinely nice dude, and not like the 'nice guy' that the internet is suddenly hating on. OkCupid is still incredibly overwhelming to him and it is 85% luck, 15% slapstick humor that he managed to show up to the right place at the right time for your date (5pm, Happy Hour Nachos.) It'll be a fun date, but for some reason you won't be able to stop humming the Rocket Power theme song for a few days after.

Oh man, what is one thing this dude likes? Sports! Okay, okay, lets try hard to think of ONE MORE THING thing dude likes. Aw, fuck it, he just LOVES sports. You'll go to a pre-season baseball game which is super dope, but he won't notice when he spills an entire beer on your head from jumping up and down with excitement. Also, when he courteously asks you what you're interested in, and you mention liking Joni Mitchell and folk music, he'll just blurt out BOB DYLAN and smugly return his attention to the game.

See "PureIntentionsX"

*as always, I did not actually go on dates with any of these bachelors. 


Emergency Boyfriend

In case you haven't checked any social media in the last week, you might not know that the mid-atlantic and northeast regions of the United States are going through a full blown Day After Tomorrow deep freeze. But honestly, if you aren't going outside AND you aren't living under your blankets live-tweeting your Netflix marathon, I 1) have no idea what you do and 2) we probably have nothing in common.

While the whole world is thinking up hilarious weather related puns for their Facebook statuses, I am living in a bedroom that currently does not have any heat. Now I am a Girl Scout Veteran so I have some experience in subzero (CELSIUS!) weather but in this case I'm not able to satiate my woes with pounds upon pounds of trail mix until I pass out from gluttonous exhaustion. On top of having to sleep in a full suit of underarmour (when I wear it I count it as a trip to the gym) our kitchen pipes have frozen and we have no running water in half of the apartment.

Where is Ty Pennington when you need him?! Fix that heat, get new pipes, AND MOVE THAT BUS!

Here is a little snow bunny who is trained in the ways of staying warm.
Alas, our building's Ty Pennington is this dude named Max*, who other than making prolonged eye contact with you while nodding his head, has nothing else in common with the bronzed god of Extreme Home Makeovers. (Also, I think Max might be just dozing off and thinking about nachos...)(but who can blame him??)

Anynoodles, my heat isn't working which has turned into an unsuccessful attempt to quickly find an emergency boyfriend who has heat and will let me sleep over. So far, these are the following things that will definitively not get you a quick boyfriend:

  • Ask if he has temporary room in his bathroom cabinet to store your meds.
  • Call him up and chatter your teeth menacingly into the phone, never explaining who you are.
  • Call him up and sob into the phone, never explaining who you are.
  • Get pregnant with his baby.
  • Stand outside his window with a boombox, because even if he thinks it is cute, in this weather you will freeze and die. And we don't have room in our hearts for another Manti Teo situation.
  • Send him this song, mostly because he will be disappointed when you turn out to not be Aaliyah.
  • Tell him you will literally die without him. 
  • Ring his doorbell and while waiting for him, start a small fire outside to keep warm. Sing traditional hobo tunes. Start living the hobo lifestyle. Never look back.
Welp, hopefully you weren't trying to actually trying to get an emergency boyfriend, because those were the opposite of tips. In the meantime, I am going to go complain to Max and make him scream MOVE THAT BUS until I am satisfied. 

Stay warm, stay strangers!

*one time Max drunkenly knocked on our door and just bellowed "I KNOW I SMELL CHEESE IN THERE."


And All That Vajazzle

I'm going to forgo a cute expository anecdote and just jump into this one.

Upon researching Vajazzling, I found a simple and sweet power point presentation that mostly answered all of the questions I had about the art form. What was foremost on my mind was where had this practice originated. And, luckily for me, the presentation answered that question.

But, unluckily for me, this just brought up more questions. Please indulge me as I try to make sense of the beauty and wonder that is The Vajazzle.

  • First of all, concerning Jennifer Love Hewitt, this slide makes it seem like she brought a invasive species into the country. Like, along with gypsy moths, Love Hewitt introduced a way to put rhinestones around your labia. Both are dangerous and should be cause for alarm.
  • That wasn't a question, however, but more of a tangent. My question is did Jennifer Love Hewitt get bored at Michael's Craft Supply one day and was like "fuck it, i'm gonna hot glue jewels to my cooch?" And then instead of shamefully covering up her failed craft project, she openly discussed it with this man on Broadcast Television: 

  • When was Vajazzling on the news? You could maybe stretch "news" to mean "Entertainment Tonight" but that sentence really evokes images of a woman standing in front of a WalMart or a crime scene at a WalMart explaining in a grave, but detached tone the severity of Vajazzling. Like, "We've seen an onslaught of bedazzled vaginas recently, but nothing could have prepared us for this," or "Late last night in the 1600 block of St. James Place, a young woman came home to surprise her lover with a blingy bush." 
  • My biggest "huh" moment with the phrase "community leadership." What does it entail to lead a community to the ways of Vajazzling? Is there like a Rev. Martin Luther King of Vajazzling? Does that person have a dream that one day people won't be judged by the color of their skin but rather by the jazzle on their va-jay? Perhaps there is a support group for Vajazzlers, almost like a knitting circle. But instead of patchwork, it's snatchwork.
I guess there are somethings that are meant to be unclear. Like the Holy Trinity and the genesis of Vajazzling. Just those two things. That's it. But I have a feeling both have George Lopez in common, so that's a start.


Pilatte' with Extra Whip Cream

I wouldn't go so far to say I am a Pilates freak, but I do love Pilates and I am a freak, so for the sake of this post, we will assume that I am.

There is a repose and vigor to the exercise. Plus you can casually give people helpful stretches or poses to do if they say their shoulder or sit bones hurt. But no matter what, there is a mental journey I go on during every Pilates or Yoga class. Please join me in this recreation.

You first arrive and are a little skeptical of your flexibility. Also of what you ate for lunch. Why must you always have hot wings pre-Pilates. Does everyone know? Are you allowed to eat meat and take these sorts of classes? What if I don't know what the newest kind of almond milk is? Who will love me in this small studio space?

Getting a little further into the class, you're more in the groove. Who cares if your form isn't perfect? You are a unique human being with a harmonious body and no one can tell you differently! Except maybe the super toned, beautiful, racially ambiguous class instructor who keeps correcting your downward dog. But maybe she just wants to touch my body. Yeah, that is definitely it. I practically am a downward dog.

Oh hell yeah, girl. You should be teaching this class. Quit your day job and just become a Pilates instructor who feasts on berries and tempeh protein shakes. Get rid of your cell phone and solely communicate through fuchsia energy waves. You could easily fall off the grid into a hammock on a Costa Rican coffee bean plantation and just live your life with a purpose only those who do Pilates can understand. Can you believe some people eat processed foods? It makes me so sad for humanity. 

Okay, wait, shit. This is really hard. You have tipped over the crest of that good-vibe wave and it is a serious wipeout. Pilates is not fun. The fear mongering liberal media has infiltrated your sweet baby brain to make you afraid of things that don't even exist like cellphone waves and osteoporosis. You are just a pawn in their long term plan to run this country on patchouli oil.

Fuck this noise. I'm gonna go home and watch some porn after this. That'll be more enlightening.



Supermodel (You Better Work!)

Ladies! Put your hands up! Put your hands down! Put them up again! Down! Up! Down! Okay, you can count that as going to the gym.

This morning I was walking back from a really great coffee shop, feeling jazzed, mostly caffeinated, and a little sweaty and I saw this VERY attractive guy. And he was rocking those like, hip, urban, ear plugs, and strolling his beautiful, slim, bike along with him. He probably ran the coffee shop I had been at, or like, works in an urban garden, or stretches leather for saddle bags for underprivileged kids.

Anyways, my immediate reaction when I saw him was to somehow walk more attractively and overall just emote my interest towards him through an intense stare/affectionate amble. But as soon as you start thinking about how you walk or try to actively make your walk sexier, it turns into the exact opposite of that. Also, it should be said, that there isn't really a way to walk incredibly sexy. It usually has to do with the mood, or the lack of clothes you have on, or the dim lit candles you've strategically placed around you.

So, because I had run out of my on-the-go candles, and because it was 34° outside and I will never love anyone enough to be cold and uncomfortable by my own will, I decided to just try and walk sexy.

But as it was mentioned, that is impossible. So what it really was, was me kind of rolling my shoulders and and angling my torso in his general direction. I'm sure NatGeo could do a whole half hour special on Kady Ruth's failed flirty body language, complete with narration by David Attenborough.

It probably looked like a slow motion, sensuous, electric slide. Yeah, and I guess that wasn't really his thing. Because he didn't stop his walk to come over and start dancing with me. He did however, notice me. But that was because I sort of shimmied into oncoming traffic and a car honked at me. (Though, I think this was my subconscious way of creating a Damsel-in-Distress situation.)

Hopefully I'll see this mysteriouso maestro again, and this time I'll have my candles or something seductively foolproof like rollerskates (jk those actually fall on my list of unacceptable accessories: along with neck braces and toe socks.)

If anyone has advice for sexy walking or how to instantly attract a stranger who is standing approx. 5yds aways, 1) let a sister know, and 2) patent those moves and write a book like this.

Bonus video:


The Sorority Arm

Happy New Years you beautiful baby back ribs! Did you kiss who you wanted at midnight? And by that, I mean did you drunkenly eat a Banh Mi and whisper delicately "You are the only one who loves me."

Well, I hope you did. I also hope you reconstructed the events of your evening through photos, tweets, and text messages. I, for one, decided to retweet a lot of people I don't know very well at midnight. So I guess some part of me was excited that that girl from my English Major Sophomore seminar's resolution was to exercise more. (We were ALL waiting for that one.) (jk)

Anyways, if you did Sherlock & Holmes your night by looking at photos, or you are a respectable human being and didn't have to, I'm willing to bet money that you or a lady in your party caravan was guilty of...the sorority arm.

THE SORORITY ARM! You know what it is. Made popular by Miss Universe Swimsuit competitions and The Little Orphan Annie.

[Ikea instructions for Sorority Arm: Face Camera, Shift your body so it is perpendicular to the lens, The arm closest to the lens is placed on hip with elbow bent, Make sure leg closest to lens is moved forward in a toe tapping pose, Hide intake of Swedish meatballs,]

It's the one size fits all arm slimtasticer! It's like, I'm at a casual kegger but also on a Milan runway.
It's like, please don't confuse me for Gisele Bundchen, I'm just her body double! It's like "Oh, who me? Fine, Okay!" *pose**pose*.

Sorry, I'm a hater to the nth degree.But I too have been guilty of that hand/hip action. Sometimes I just want the internet or the instagram to know just how many five pound weights I've been lifting during a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. (That sentence didn't make sense because I only lift two weights, but I lift them A LOT OF TIMES.)

I guess I'm just not crazy about it because no one will ever look at a picture of a line of ladies doing the sorority arm and nostalgically say "Aw, that was such a fun/crazy/adventurous night." They are going to be like "Bah, should have worn spanx!" or "Why did we all get matching upper arm tattoos??"

Overall, it really does make the subject look sassier, Michelle Obama-y, and in control of their environment. So, sorority arm it away. I guess, just don't sorority squat. Because that is actually the most unattractive and strange thing in the entire world and it makes it look like you peed yourself a little! Happy 2013!