"Things are more like they are now than they ever were before. " -Dwight D. Eisenhower
I like to sometimes think of my life as a children's book geared toward new adults. Is this absurd? Absolutely. Is it somewhat appropriate? Maybe! Being a young twenty something fresh out of college is kind of like being a child on their way to adulthood (aka the sixth grade). [Editor's Note: Both B and I, in the sixth grade, thought we were adults. Like: "Welp! I'm in middle school now, I must be an adult!"] Something I have been learning a lot about up until now has been compromise. I've noticed that there is a HUGE difference between what I feel and what I know up in that old brain of mine. This is a very hard concept for many people to grasp. It is also a very delicate balancing act that we all must participate in (heyyyyo circus of life!). One very large element of this daring balancing act is of course compromise.
I'll give some examples: when I was but a young 20 year old I had a friend who had a crush. I did not know about this crush until I had already started drunkenly chatting him up outside of a fraternity on a blustery January night. She then proceeded to capture my attention and tell me "anyone but him, I've had a crush on him for forever." Because I'm kind of a bitch and was (am?) a lot immature, I manipulated her into agreeing that it was fine and that I shouldn't worry about it a couple hours later. This led to a short relationship, a terrible finale, and losing a few really close friends. Was it worth it? Absolutely not. Would I ever do it again? Not in a thousand years! So even though that idiotic action led to disaster, I learned a lot from it and like to spread that wisedom to others when the situation allows. If ever placed in this situation again I would learn the compromise: which is forget the guy and do not compromise your friendships / crush your friends dreams.
Similarly, learn to compromise with society. I am a little crazy (who isn't ammmirighhht?!), and I like to do whatever the f#@k I want regardless of social conventions and the opinions of others. As an adult, I've had to realize that perhaps this is not the best course of action. UNLESS, your goal is to be the creepiest person on the bus/subway/other method of public transit, then you should go absolutely throw caution to the wind! When it comes to guys, I normally just did whatever I want regardless if it was creepy or weird. Once out in the real world, I realized perhaps this is not the best option. So I learned that I should not friend someone who is not searchable on facebook and uses their middle name in lieu of their last name (the only way you found them was because your friend searched for mutual friends and looked for someone with his first name and school information that matched your knowledge of his background). That would be creepy. But in this day and age, you know what else is creepy? Hanging out with a gentleman for a month and be excluded from his online identity. However, I must choose the lesser of two awkwards and refrain from the creepster friend. Instead B suggested I casually bring up being gchat friends, that being a very direct and nonawkward topic to broach (since we've already discussed his habit of spending the day on gchat). I will take your compromise madam!...but I'm still going to grumble about how weird it is that we're not facebook friends.
So there you have it. As an adult you cautiously walk the path between fEeLiNgZ and reason and choose your best footing, using the best tool out there: compromise. I think the best way to find those compromises is to acknowledge your feelings (I know, gross right? Plus feelings are hard) and to attempt to apply reasonable actions to them. In summation, being a grown up is harrrrrd.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Waiting Game
From the wise, wise pages of Wikipedia:
Patience is the state of endurance under difficult circumstances, which can mean persevering in the face of delay or provocation without acting on annoyance/anger in a negative way; or exhibiting forbearance when under strain, especially when faced with longer-term difficulties. Patience is the level of endurance one's character can take before negativity. It is also used to refer to the character trait of being steadfast. Antonyms include hastiness and impetuousness.
In the grown up word there is a lot of waiting. This waiting often comes when you are in no position to want to wait: waiting on approval for you new apartment, waiting to hear back from the job you just interviewed for, waiting for men to text/call you back. Yes, lots and lots of waiting. I seriously hate waiting. I am probably the LEAST patient person on the face of the earth. Thus, when forced into a state of wait, I become a petulant, insane child.
I just got a new job (YAY!). But! On the way to this job I had to go through three interviews. THREE! After each interview I was nervous and anxious hoping to God that they liked me, going over and over in my head the things that I said, that they said. Finally, I got the call today that they did in fact like me and that they hoped to bring me aboard! What great news!
If only relationships were this easy (WHAT?! Getting a job in this economy?! You're trying to tell me that getting a job is easy?!....My response: Have you recently tried getting a man in this social economy of virtually ubiquitous Peter Pans??) But the exact part I'm talking about is the one two punch of interviews. The prosepective goes on anywhere between one and three interviews (dates, let's be real), and by the end a decision is made! The best part? They CALL you to tell you what they've decided! How great! How modern!
Dating seems (from my limited experience) to be so muddled, confusing, and irritating that I halfway want to throw in the towel. It feels like nothing is ever going to work out and I'll probably be alone forever (an object at rest stays at rest, etc), but I know that this isn't empirically true....a force almost always acts upon that object at rest. Right? Right. But needless to say, here I am waiting (again) to see if that force will act against that object and things will move into motion. However, how long before I know they're in motion? Like for sure. Like indefinitely? Like exclusively? God only knows. Perhaps after the eleventh interview we can just assume I got the job...or didn't. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
Patience is the state of endurance under difficult circumstances, which can mean persevering in the face of delay or provocation without acting on annoyance/anger in a negative way; or exhibiting forbearance when under strain, especially when faced with longer-term difficulties. Patience is the level of endurance one's character can take before negativity. It is also used to refer to the character trait of being steadfast. Antonyms include hastiness and impetuousness.
In the grown up word there is a lot of waiting. This waiting often comes when you are in no position to want to wait: waiting on approval for you new apartment, waiting to hear back from the job you just interviewed for, waiting for men to text/call you back. Yes, lots and lots of waiting. I seriously hate waiting. I am probably the LEAST patient person on the face of the earth. Thus, when forced into a state of wait, I become a petulant, insane child.
I just got a new job (YAY!). But! On the way to this job I had to go through three interviews. THREE! After each interview I was nervous and anxious hoping to God that they liked me, going over and over in my head the things that I said, that they said. Finally, I got the call today that they did in fact like me and that they hoped to bring me aboard! What great news!
If only relationships were this easy (WHAT?! Getting a job in this economy?! You're trying to tell me that getting a job is easy?!....My response: Have you recently tried getting a man in this social economy of virtually ubiquitous Peter Pans??) But the exact part I'm talking about is the one two punch of interviews. The prosepective goes on anywhere between one and three interviews (dates, let's be real), and by the end a decision is made! The best part? They CALL you to tell you what they've decided! How great! How modern!
Dating seems (from my limited experience) to be so muddled, confusing, and irritating that I halfway want to throw in the towel. It feels like nothing is ever going to work out and I'll probably be alone forever (an object at rest stays at rest, etc), but I know that this isn't empirically true....a force almost always acts upon that object at rest. Right? Right. But needless to say, here I am waiting (again) to see if that force will act against that object and things will move into motion. However, how long before I know they're in motion? Like for sure. Like indefinitely? Like exclusively? God only knows. Perhaps after the eleventh interview we can just assume I got the job...or didn't. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Hint of Salt, Shot of Tequila, Adulthood Chaser
Tequila. Ouch.
In New York City there are many ways to experience the city: going out to bars, sightseeing, taking a famed yellow cab, overpaying for drinks, food, anything in Times Square, etc. I live in NYC and I am an adult (last I checked), so some of these things are not for me (see: anything touristy).
In the spirit of B's post, about how being twenty-something is a mixed bag of adulthood and irresponsible/immature childish behavior, I am going to recap my weekend. Last weekend I had a revelation, going out to bars does not always have to mean going out on the prowl. There IS such a thing as going out, not looking for a member of the opposite sex, and just having fun generally. I know that this is a novel and strange idea, but just go with me.
I would like to preface my story of the weekend with these preponderances about dating:
Being twenty-something and single is confusing. On the one hand, I am very used to the way things worked at my college: drunkenly make out with someone you've heard of before (see: small campus), hook up with them (extra long twin bed WHOOP WHOOP!), exchange numbers, continue to hook up several weekends in a row, and finally be exclusively hooking up for perhaps the rest of the term (#NOTADULT). On the other hand, I AM an adult now (or so I'm told) and I should be following a more mature set of steps towards coupledom. I am fairly sure that these steps are: meet at some random location that is not a bar (so far step one has COMPLETELY eluded me in my adult life), exchange pleasant banter and digits, party #1 calls party #2 on the telephone (step three, also seeming very mythological to me) and sets up drinks at a point in the near future, date #1 is had, more dates are had, there is a discussion about exclusivity, and then you're dating...like Facebook official...like indefinitely (decidedly #adult).
So I went out Saturday night with the intention of just having a good time, meeting some new [PLATONIC] friends, and getting a little wastey-face (notice how I said "A LITTLE"). This idea = verrrry #adult. The previous weekend I had made out with a young, finance gentleman at a bar (#notadult), and he had taken my number so we could hang out sometime. I find that young gentlemen that find their way into my life are also quite baffled by the ways of twenty-something dating. They, too, are torn between the ways they're used to (see: boning on twin size bed) and the ways of adults (see: dating). When a guy says (cough texts) "Let's hang out some time," that could mean either let's meet up at 2 am and go back to my place and bone on my futon (#NOTadult) or let me take you to this secret, underground, amazing speakeasy bar in the East Village and we can talk for a couple hours and decide if this is worth the time, energy, and money (#adult). So far, I'm led to believe that gentlemen met in bars are decidedly in favor of the former plan of action.
I started the night off with plans to meet an old acquaintance at her friend's apartment, which was only a block from mine. She just so happened to tell me to go up to 2G and NOT 2H, 2G being the complete wrong apartment full of strangers. I knocked on the door and was ushered inside. New York City is not famed for it's large apartments, so I think we can all assume what this apartment looked like. That being said, I was face to face with ten completely random strangers, none of whom were my friend. I laughed and played it off and they were friendly enough to demand that I partake of a beer with them. It was altogether not horrible and it turned out that many of the strangers actually knew people I know (heyyooooo NYC being a small world). So with incredible poise and grace, I made the best of a decisively awkward situation (#adult) and chugged down that Bud Light (#NotAdult).
After making it to the CORRECT apartment, I proceded to make polite conversation and be generally friendly. We then ventured to a bar on the Lower East Side, where I took not one, but many, tequila shots. Whoever invented tequila must have hated mankind. By the end of the night I was wandering aimlessly through the bar, nearly blackout drunk. At that point I'd had wine, beer, whiskey, tequila, more beer, more whiskey, more tequila...in short, nightmare. Mixing alcohols: #NOTadult. Typically in such a state of disarray, I would do something stupid: see drunk text messaging, making out with strangers, saying mean things to people I just meant, brutal honesty, hooking up with people I KNOW I shouldn't, etc etc etc etc. I did walk up to a guy who was standing semi near a girl (AND GROUP OF PEOPLE) and hit on him only to find out he was "kind of seeing" the girl he was standing near. That's a little embarrassing, but not altogether horrible. It's definitely been worse! (Sad? Should I not admit that?) The finance gentleman texted me a bit with a desire to come meet me, but his friends weren't cooperating so I made it out of the bar without temptation of a late night hang out.
I made it home in one piece and didn't do anything that made me feel too awful the next day....except for all the tequila, and beer, and whiskey.....welllll maybe Sunday wasn't so pretty after all. I actually wanted to die Sunday and thought I actually might, but luckily it wasn't from embarrassment, it was just alcohol poisoning. Victory!....right?
In New York City there are many ways to experience the city: going out to bars, sightseeing, taking a famed yellow cab, overpaying for drinks, food, anything in Times Square, etc. I live in NYC and I am an adult (last I checked), so some of these things are not for me (see: anything touristy).
In the spirit of B's post, about how being twenty-something is a mixed bag of adulthood and irresponsible/immature childish behavior, I am going to recap my weekend. Last weekend I had a revelation, going out to bars does not always have to mean going out on the prowl. There IS such a thing as going out, not looking for a member of the opposite sex, and just having fun generally. I know that this is a novel and strange idea, but just go with me.
I would like to preface my story of the weekend with these preponderances about dating:
Being twenty-something and single is confusing. On the one hand, I am very used to the way things worked at my college: drunkenly make out with someone you've heard of before (see: small campus), hook up with them (extra long twin bed WHOOP WHOOP!), exchange numbers, continue to hook up several weekends in a row, and finally be exclusively hooking up for perhaps the rest of the term (#NOTADULT). On the other hand, I AM an adult now (or so I'm told) and I should be following a more mature set of steps towards coupledom. I am fairly sure that these steps are: meet at some random location that is not a bar (so far step one has COMPLETELY eluded me in my adult life), exchange pleasant banter and digits, party #1 calls party #2 on the telephone (step three, also seeming very mythological to me) and sets up drinks at a point in the near future, date #1 is had, more dates are had, there is a discussion about exclusivity, and then you're dating...like Facebook official...like indefinitely (decidedly #adult).
So I went out Saturday night with the intention of just having a good time, meeting some new [PLATONIC] friends, and getting a little wastey-face (notice how I said "A LITTLE"). This idea = verrrry #adult. The previous weekend I had made out with a young, finance gentleman at a bar (#notadult), and he had taken my number so we could hang out sometime. I find that young gentlemen that find their way into my life are also quite baffled by the ways of twenty-something dating. They, too, are torn between the ways they're used to (see: boning on twin size bed) and the ways of adults (see: dating). When a guy says (cough texts) "Let's hang out some time," that could mean either let's meet up at 2 am and go back to my place and bone on my futon (#NOTadult) or let me take you to this secret, underground, amazing speakeasy bar in the East Village and we can talk for a couple hours and decide if this is worth the time, energy, and money (#adult). So far, I'm led to believe that gentlemen met in bars are decidedly in favor of the former plan of action.
I started the night off with plans to meet an old acquaintance at her friend's apartment, which was only a block from mine. She just so happened to tell me to go up to 2G and NOT 2H, 2G being the complete wrong apartment full of strangers. I knocked on the door and was ushered inside. New York City is not famed for it's large apartments, so I think we can all assume what this apartment looked like. That being said, I was face to face with ten completely random strangers, none of whom were my friend. I laughed and played it off and they were friendly enough to demand that I partake of a beer with them. It was altogether not horrible and it turned out that many of the strangers actually knew people I know (heyyooooo NYC being a small world). So with incredible poise and grace, I made the best of a decisively awkward situation (#adult) and chugged down that Bud Light (#NotAdult).
After making it to the CORRECT apartment, I proceded to make polite conversation and be generally friendly. We then ventured to a bar on the Lower East Side, where I took not one, but many, tequila shots. Whoever invented tequila must have hated mankind. By the end of the night I was wandering aimlessly through the bar, nearly blackout drunk. At that point I'd had wine, beer, whiskey, tequila, more beer, more whiskey, more tequila...in short, nightmare. Mixing alcohols: #NOTadult. Typically in such a state of disarray, I would do something stupid: see drunk text messaging, making out with strangers, saying mean things to people I just meant, brutal honesty, hooking up with people I KNOW I shouldn't, etc etc etc etc. I did walk up to a guy who was standing semi near a girl (AND GROUP OF PEOPLE) and hit on him only to find out he was "kind of seeing" the girl he was standing near. That's a little embarrassing, but not altogether horrible. It's definitely been worse! (Sad? Should I not admit that?) The finance gentleman texted me a bit with a desire to come meet me, but his friends weren't cooperating so I made it out of the bar without temptation of a late night hang out.
I made it home in one piece and didn't do anything that made me feel too awful the next day....except for all the tequila, and beer, and whiskey.....welllll maybe Sunday wasn't so pretty after all. I actually wanted to die Sunday and thought I actually might, but luckily it wasn't from embarrassment, it was just alcohol poisoning. Victory!....right?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Valentine's Day, Time for a Big Slap of Reality to the Face
B was telling me the other day that she underexaggerated her relationship with her boyfriend when telling her cousin about him a few weeks ago. This led to him being almost insultingly surprised that "that is still going on." I find that, when talking to family members, I often OVERexaggerate my relationships with men. I have several reasons for doing this. Reasons being:
1. "Sooooooooo......meet any guys out there in New York City???" -My stepmom
-Translation: "Sooooooo....have you purchased any cats yet?....You know, to sate your unremitting
loneliness?"
-Rebuttal: I AM TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD, NOT FORTY!
2. "C, are you.....................................................................................weird?" -My mom
-Translation: "C, are you a big, butch lesbian??"
-Rebuttal: I love sex.....with men. THE END OF THE STORY.
3. "It's your turn girl!" -My mom
-Translation: "When you gon' be poppin' out some grand babies?!?!?!"
-Rebuttal: A. YOU ALREADY HAVE FIVE GRANDCHILLENS' CRAZY! B. I AM TWENTY-
TWO YEARS OLD, NOT FORTY!
So, when talking to family members, I tend to exaggerate my relationships. Repeat hook ups (read: F**k Buddy) with a socially retarded, med school bound hottie equals "kinnnnd of seeing this guy...but we're not that serious." Going on one date and planning a second, which never really happens because he's the flakiest man on earth, equals "Well there's this great British guy who I could see myself dating, we'll see where things go....could get serious." Because when it comes down to it, they're three thousand or so miles away, they'll believe what I tell them. Honestly, I don't really think that they're looking for the straight answer, they're really looking for what they want to hear (aren't we all?)....soooooo I justify the exaggeration.
With Valentine's Day looming, it becomes a time where we all really have to come to terms with the little exaggerations we've made in our love lives. If you're not spending the big night together (barring conscientious objectors), you're not dating, you're not serious, and it's possibly (probably) not going anywhere. Valentine's Day, while full of garbage and forced romantic exhibitionism, is the great revealer in so many ways. As for me, I'm pretty glad I'm not spending V Day with any of my recent exaggerations. I'm not sure I could handle a date that's sole conversational fare is comprised of soccer...and I certainly couldn't handle a V Day dinner with a mate who can't put his phone down for one second and passes out at 11 pm. These kinds of V Day losers sure make the time in between fun, but they're certainly no one to devote any real energy or special feelings towards. So thank you St. Valentine, for removing any kind of illusions I would have had about these men and replacing them with illusions of love to come. For now, I guess I'll just spend Valentine's Day, like I would any other day: watching How I Met Your Mother and being content with myself.
In the vein of illusions of the heart and mind, I would like to present the illusions of Taylor Swift's heart and mind with an in depth comparison of an element of her artistry.
Back to December: An Analysis of the Elements......
1. "Sooooooooo......meet any guys out there in New York City???" -My stepmom
-Translation: "Sooooooo....have you purchased any cats yet?....You know, to sate your unremitting
loneliness?"
-Rebuttal: I AM TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD, NOT FORTY!
2. "C, are you.....................................................................................weird?" -My mom
-Translation: "C, are you a big, butch lesbian??"
-Rebuttal: I love sex.....with men. THE END OF THE STORY.
3. "It's your turn girl!" -My mom
-Translation: "When you gon' be poppin' out some grand babies?!?!?!"
-Rebuttal: A. YOU ALREADY HAVE FIVE GRANDCHILLENS' CRAZY! B. I AM TWENTY-
TWO YEARS OLD, NOT FORTY!
So, when talking to family members, I tend to exaggerate my relationships. Repeat hook ups (read: F**k Buddy) with a socially retarded, med school bound hottie equals "kinnnnd of seeing this guy...but we're not that serious." Going on one date and planning a second, which never really happens because he's the flakiest man on earth, equals "Well there's this great British guy who I could see myself dating, we'll see where things go....could get serious." Because when it comes down to it, they're three thousand or so miles away, they'll believe what I tell them. Honestly, I don't really think that they're looking for the straight answer, they're really looking for what they want to hear (aren't we all?)....soooooo I justify the exaggeration.
With Valentine's Day looming, it becomes a time where we all really have to come to terms with the little exaggerations we've made in our love lives. If you're not spending the big night together (barring conscientious objectors), you're not dating, you're not serious, and it's possibly (probably) not going anywhere. Valentine's Day, while full of garbage and forced romantic exhibitionism, is the great revealer in so many ways. As for me, I'm pretty glad I'm not spending V Day with any of my recent exaggerations. I'm not sure I could handle a date that's sole conversational fare is comprised of soccer...and I certainly couldn't handle a V Day dinner with a mate who can't put his phone down for one second and passes out at 11 pm. These kinds of V Day losers sure make the time in between fun, but they're certainly no one to devote any real energy or special feelings towards. So thank you St. Valentine, for removing any kind of illusions I would have had about these men and replacing them with illusions of love to come. For now, I guess I'll just spend Valentine's Day, like I would any other day: watching How I Met Your Mother and being content with myself.
In the vein of illusions of the heart and mind, I would like to present the illusions of Taylor Swift's heart and mind with an in depth comparison of an element of her artistry.
Back to December: An Analysis of the Elements......
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Valentine's Day
Last year, for Valentine's Day, I did a post for C and my former blog called "Conversation Hearts for College." As I stated then, "Valentine's Day is a pretty anti-climatic day at a college where hook-ups are the norm. With this in mind, I created some conversation hearts that communicate how most co-eds feel this weekend. And pretty much every other weekend." For V-Day 2011, I'll share the college hearts that are no longer approp and some that are still in play, as well as some additions for the world of twenty-something dating.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Sooo college:
Still somewhat in play:
The 20-something world of dating:
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Why Dresses are the Downfall of Men
Dresses are the downfall of all men. Want to know why? As I recently told B: "to men dresses are like straight jackets with a big hole in a too obvious place. It's like in adventure movies when the adventurer puts is hand in the mouth of some cave sculpture and it gets cut off." My advice to her, some advice that I COMPLETELY forgot when it would have been applicable to my life last weekend, was this: DO NOT WEAR A SKIRT IF YOU ARE GONNA BE MACKIN' ON SOME GUY! There is just nothing good about it. It's an issue for the following reasons:
1. It's gets all twisted up to high heaven, and then you're like "my legs don't even go that way, how the hell..."
2. Men do not at all understand the workings of said garment. Example: you could be wearing a very nice dress with a zip back (that is, for all intents and purposes IMPOSSIBLE to remove without unzipping) Your guy then attempts to pull lightly at the garment, in hopes that it will at least loosen...but NO! it is strong and will not budge. Leaving him looking puzzled and a little unsure of his next move. Thus you are forced to unzip the thing and take the whole thing off. If you're wearing tights, you obviously have to take those off too, because how unflattering is a pair of tights and tights alone?? Nothing about a second skin of black spandex that is pulled up to your belly button says pretty to me. Consequently you are very quickly in your underwear, which may be (and hopefully is) a lot more naked than you were originally planning to be.
3. To go along with number 2...easy below the belt access, impossible above the waist access. This flow chart of accesibility does not mesh well with the several step system that should be hooking up.
That's all I really have, so perhaps a list was unnecessary...but what's done is done. Moral of the story....skirts, great for looking fancy at work / maybe pretty grand for location hook ups (sex on a beach anyone??)....but not so great for beginning of the long road encounters. Jeggings on the other hand....I'm totally in favor of those.
1. It's gets all twisted up to high heaven, and then you're like "my legs don't even go that way, how the hell..."
2. Men do not at all understand the workings of said garment. Example: you could be wearing a very nice dress with a zip back (that is, for all intents and purposes IMPOSSIBLE to remove without unzipping) Your guy then attempts to pull lightly at the garment, in hopes that it will at least loosen...but NO! it is strong and will not budge. Leaving him looking puzzled and a little unsure of his next move. Thus you are forced to unzip the thing and take the whole thing off. If you're wearing tights, you obviously have to take those off too, because how unflattering is a pair of tights and tights alone?? Nothing about a second skin of black spandex that is pulled up to your belly button says pretty to me. Consequently you are very quickly in your underwear, which may be (and hopefully is) a lot more naked than you were originally planning to be.
3. To go along with number 2...easy below the belt access, impossible above the waist access. This flow chart of accesibility does not mesh well with the several step system that should be hooking up.
That's all I really have, so perhaps a list was unnecessary...but what's done is done. Moral of the story....skirts, great for looking fancy at work / maybe pretty grand for location hook ups (sex on a beach anyone??)....but not so great for beginning of the long road encounters. Jeggings on the other hand....I'm totally in favor of those.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Surprise Surpise
My sister is coming to visit tomorrow. Well she's actually leaving Colorado tonight and her flight arrives at JFK tomorrow morning at 6 am. She'll most likely arrive at my apartment at the crack of dawn aka 7 am. I am very excited for her visit, as is she. My sister is much older than I am, 36 to my 22. Growing up she was like an aunt more than a sister. She moved out of our childhood home when I was only 5 years old, and in with her (then) new husband. Things have changed and time has marched on; she is no longer 18 and I am no longer 5.
After I came home from college I was an adult (!!!)....or at least I wanted to be. I think finally being 22, finished with school, and on my way to branching out on my own made it possible for us to get close on a sisterly level....rather than the generationally gaped level we were on previously. But anyway, my sister is coming and we are going to booze our faces off. I was texting with my sister and she was asking questions concerning her upcoming visit:
"Is there a Victoria's Secret there?" Yes, this is NYC Sister. Hahaha.
"Can I use your shampoo/hair stuff/curling iron?" Absolutely.
"How cold is it there?" 57 degrees, cloudy with a chance of rain....per the weather app on my droid....you know, like the one you have...in your hand...right now.
"Can I wear your gray boots one night?" As long as I'm not planning on wearing them!
"Is there a Starbucks by your apartment?" Yeah it's just west two blocks.
The last question I assumed she asked because she's coming in at the freaking CRACK OF DAWN! I have taken this flight (one way trip to NYC September 2k10 HOLLA'!), so I know how absolutely trecherous it is. If you get stuck with a middle seat, your night will be a living hell. (ESPECIALLY if you have mono, stitches from having a possibly cancerous portion of thine own flesh (!!!!) removed, strep throat, AND are feeling violently ill and weak because your body hates antibiotics.....but let's not make this about me) So in my mind I was like "Ohhh she will probably want a blueberry streusel muffin and a piping hot peppermint mocha!" .....nope. That is not at all why my sister wanted to know where the closest Starbucks was. My. sister. has. a. date. In New York City. A destination she is visiting....for four days.
What is more, "OMG C he is my future husband!" -Sister. So, apparently he wants to take us out to dinner (I NEVER say no to a free meal, ESPECIALLY if it's from my future second bro-in-law...gotta start those ties (and expectations of free-loading) early!). I hope my sister moves out here, then I can go bother her all the time and make her listen to me whine, then we can go out and get drinks. Sounds wonderful. If she moves out here, my dad is going to kill me.
After I came home from college I was an adult (!!!)....or at least I wanted to be. I think finally being 22, finished with school, and on my way to branching out on my own made it possible for us to get close on a sisterly level....rather than the generationally gaped level we were on previously. But anyway, my sister is coming and we are going to booze our faces off. I was texting with my sister and she was asking questions concerning her upcoming visit:
"Is there a Victoria's Secret there?" Yes, this is NYC Sister. Hahaha.
"Can I use your shampoo/hair stuff/curling iron?" Absolutely.
"How cold is it there?" 57 degrees, cloudy with a chance of rain....per the weather app on my droid....you know, like the one you have...in your hand...right now.
"Can I wear your gray boots one night?" As long as I'm not planning on wearing them!
"Is there a Starbucks by your apartment?" Yeah it's just west two blocks.
The last question I assumed she asked because she's coming in at the freaking CRACK OF DAWN! I have taken this flight (one way trip to NYC September 2k10 HOLLA'!), so I know how absolutely trecherous it is. If you get stuck with a middle seat, your night will be a living hell. (ESPECIALLY if you have mono, stitches from having a possibly cancerous portion of thine own flesh (!!!!) removed, strep throat, AND are feeling violently ill and weak because your body hates antibiotics.....but let's not make this about me) So in my mind I was like "Ohhh she will probably want a blueberry streusel muffin and a piping hot peppermint mocha!" .....nope. That is not at all why my sister wanted to know where the closest Starbucks was. My. sister. has. a. date. In New York City. A destination she is visiting....for four days.
What is more, "OMG C he is my future husband!" -Sister. So, apparently he wants to take us out to dinner (I NEVER say no to a free meal, ESPECIALLY if it's from my future second bro-in-law...gotta start those ties (and expectations of free-loading) early!). I hope my sister moves out here, then I can go bother her all the time and make her listen to me whine, then we can go out and get drinks. Sounds wonderful. If she moves out here, my dad is going to kill me.
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