Real Time, Real Talk

Guys, this is a REAL TIME SITUATION. IT JUST HAPPENED. ARE YOU READY? (I am well aware that when I say real time, this will get posted 10-12 hours later. Not at all real time. Thanks for calling me out.) 

(Aww, cahmmm ahhn guys! I promise it's a good story!)

So, after this ridiculous weekend, I realized I needed to cool it Monday/Tuesday before I head to New York. It doesn't hurt that my Monday night schedule usually allows me to go to the gym (blech, gross), make dinner (make an omelet, duh), and watch RuPaul's Drag Race (because I am a flaming homosexual)... all things that allow me to "cool it."

I decided to be a little more productive on this fine Monday than I normally am. Since I am going to NY in two days (Drinking game: Drink every time I mention NY... also for every time I have already mentioned it. Let's get schwasted!) I decided that I needed to do laundry and straighten up my apartment after I went to the gym. I even tweeted about it so the whole world would know I was doing laundry. I'M RESPONSIBLE. 

(I'm clever and realistic.)

In all of these adult-like activities that I was doing, I decided to try and multi-task. (You know, because I have a record of being smooth and adept to situations enough to multi-task -_-) I grabbed the overflowing recycling bin in my apartment and was taking it down to switch my laundry since they are all in the basement. The laundry room is locked with a key that all residents have and the recycling is around the corner. (I promise, this is all important.) As soon as I dragged the recycling out of my apt and closed the door, I realized... I had locked myself out. 

(O-Face or being shocked...or BOTH?)

I wasn't even surprised, to be honest. There was a moment of "What the fahk? REALLY WORLD? Thanks, Obama." Then I had to figure out the next best move, which meant to call the roomie, KG. Being the amazing half-Jew that I am, I forgot that it was Passover. Meaning he was at a Seder. Meaning he wasn't coming home anytime soon. MEANING I WAS FAHKED. 

I decided to call the emergency management company to come and let me into my apartment. The conversation doesn't exactly go the way I planned. 

Me: Hi, so I was an idiot and locked myself out of my apartment.

Responder: We can fix this. We will send a tech over as soon as we can. 

Me: Awesome, do we have a timeframe on this?

Responder: As soon as we call someone, and then however long it takes them to get to you. 

Me: Oh, so, like, no timeframe?

Responder: No, unfortunately, I don't. 

Me: What if I told you there was a baby in the apartment?

Responder: Do you have a child in the apartment?

Me: Would that make them arrive faster?

Responder: I would advise you to call the police to get the fastest response. 

Me: Would you say the same response if I told you I left my stove on with boiling water?

Responder: Yes. 

Me: ... and three candles?

Responder: Are any of these situations real, sir?

Me: No, I will be in the lobby in all my glory. 

Responder: Are you nude? I would tell you to wait in the stairwell then.

Me: NO! I'm not an animal! 

Responder: Okay, I'm going to hang up now and call the tech to get over to you.

I don't do well in situations with indefinite timeframes attached to them. I can honestly tell you that I said all of these things in the hopes that the emergency apartment responder would tell me that someone was coming in 5 minutes. PART of my fear in all of this was that I was dressed in my "giving up clothing." (This entails an oversized sweater, short gym shorts... short, and a gay rights T-shirt. I am constantly winning.)

Face burning red, I grabbed my recycling and brought it down to the lobby. I didn't at any point think that maybe I should take my recycling down and empty it while I waited for an unknown period of time. No, instead, I sat in the lobby in my "giving up clothes" as people traipsed in and out, judging me and my massive pile of recycling. 

(Ashley Olsen wears my giving up clothes out in public. She is worth millions. I think I am doing things wrong.)

I waited for a solid 45 minutes. I met neighbors for the first time, who decided that the homeless looking gay man with all of the recycling obviously looked like he wanted to meet people. They all made a variation of the same joke involving waiting for my "roommate," "significant other," or "special friend," while mentioning that if I waited much longer, I'd have to sleep in the lobby. I fake chuckled at every single one of them, silently rueing the day they were born. 

Finally, when the tech showed up, he had the audacity to discuss his journey to the building.

Tech: Wow, I am surprised I made it here so fast. I definitely thought it would be after 10 p.m. by the time I got here. 

(Biiiitch, please.)

Once I remembered that it wasn't his fault that I was sitting in the lobby, I pulled back the snarky bitch vibe I was giving off and tried to get through the process. After all was said and done, I was out $25, and I am pretty sure that most of my apartment building has an intimate knowledge of how I parade around my apartment. (I also need to get longer shorts to do my laundry in.)

Laundry: Not worth the pain

Responder: Not having it 

Tech: Not as smooth as he thinks he is 

Fabulously Lost: Failed at being a grown-up 

Thoughtful Thoughts

This is going to be a post about a couple shiznat happenings in my life. I do what I waaaant.

Shocking Events

I have to discuss with you guys a major issue that arose today. Last week, whenever anyone asked me to do anything, my immediate response had been yes. Movie? Yes! Trivia? Why not? Random semi-political concert in support of peace between Israel and Palestine? ... Sure!? I was just so enamored with the idea that I could finally do anything after work and go to my apartment and sleep in my own bed. So, it came as a massive surprise to me when I was asked to go to happy hour (my second favorite meal behind brunch) and I responded, "No."

(But. Whaaaat?)

There are only three possibilities for why this could happen:

1. I've just discovered that money doesn't grow on trees.
2. I'm going to Miami in May for work, and I need to start working out instead of eating out.
3. The Apocalypse is upon us.

Well, if you guessed ALL three of these, then you are right. (But mainly, you should probably start preparing for number 3, because that shit is real and not okay.) As I mentioned above, I have been going out on a regular basis since I moved to the city and pretending that I have unlimited funds for these things. I def needed to take a week off from spending money and what better way to spend my time than going to the gym? (I COULD THINK OF A MILLION THINGS I'D LIKE TO DO THAT DON'T INVOLVE A GYM. Sorry. I just. It's. Ughh.)

Remember that time I slipped in there that I am going to Miami in May and pretended like I wasn't going to talk about it? HAHA! I'm a sneaky mothatrucka. Real talk: My company is sending everyone to Miami in May for our company meeting. 

(Oh deary me!)

We have these amazing trips every year for our company meetings out on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Everyone just assumed that when we got too big we would end up stopping these events. INSTEAD, THEY ARE TAKING US TO MIAMI. (I'm prone to outbursts, sorry I'm not sorry) We are going for three days the week after Memorial Day. I have never been to Miami before, so I decided that I was going to stay an extra few days with a couple of gals, a couple of gays, and a straightee thrown in there.  In order to get my shit together for those buff, tan gays down in Miami, I have decided that going to the gym is actually going to be worth it. I am also going to be sucking up enough UV rays to power a solar-powered car for a cross-country trip. You know, 'cause that's healthy. 

(Basically, what I wanna be. Sans the boobs... and the sex tape.)

Barista Boyfriend

Since I moved in a little over a month ago, I have put my love life on the back burner. (I like pretending that I have a love life that can be placed somewhere other than in front of me.) I decided that it was important for me to get myself established in the city and set up my home for any possible suitors to see. (After AT least the third date. I'm classy like that. Also, #celibacy2013.) This hasn't stopped me from the occasional sloppy makeout at the local gay hangouts, I've just been more picky about who gets to see me sober. 'Cause that's a healthy way to date.

There has been one consistant man in my life since I moved to DC and he, my friends, happens to be the local Starbucks barista. 

(Oh, I wish I was that latte.)

The issue I am running into here is that I have created a fictional relationship with him. He is very, very nice and always has a gregarious greeting for me... just like he does with everyone else. I have also been there frequently enough for him to remember my drink — sorta.

Me: I would like a...

Barista: Don't tell me, I got this! You want a venti caramel macchiato, right papi? (Did I mention he is Hispanic? OH, I didn't? Welp, he's Hispanic.)

Me: So close! I would like an iced venti skinny vanilla latte!

Barista: Ahh, I was close. I'll get it next time! 

Me: No worries, you're so good at drinks making of them and such. (Remember how awkward I am?)

Barista: And your name is Steven, right?

Me: Close again! Its Mm...

Barista: I got this! It's Milo!!! 

Me: Close enough for today...

It's not Milo. Due to these brief interactions and the consistency with which I see him, I have decided he is currently my boyfriend. 

(Insane in the membrane!!!!!!) 

Concerts and the City That Never Sleeps

Next week, I am going to New York to see Taylor Swift! 

(Imma let you finish, but SUCK IT I'M GOING TO SEE HER.)

The concert is on Wednesday, and I'm going to be there for a few days of debauchery and other fun activities. We know how aggressive NY can be, so, hopefully, we will find ourselves in a game of Russian Roulette with a bottle of vodka and prowl the town for boys.

Until next week...

Bush: Puzzled about everything 

Miami: Heyyyy gurl

Kim Kardashian: I think I need to make a sex tape to get famous

Fabulously Lost: Workin for da man and livin an abbreviated dream

High Anxiety

I am an anxious person. This may be news to the people who consider me to be their closest friend, but the people who are actually my closest friends, this is very accurate. Basically I get really awkward and weird (more than normal, obvs) when I get into a situation where I feel really anxious. I have decided that you are all worthy recipients of the list of things that make me weirder than I am on a normal basis.

(What is this baby looking at? WHAT is so concerning? I am forever in awe of weirdo babies)

~List of reasons why I'm an anxious freak-a-do~

Silence

What does this mean? How does silence make someone anxious? Shouldn't silence make you zen and calm?

ZEN? ZEN? DOES THIS SOUND ZEN? UGHHH YOU'RE THE WORST...and by that I mean I am the worst.

I have no idea why this affects me so much, but I cannot handle silence. I don't just mean when people meditate and it happens to be silent. I mean that if there is no noise whatsoever, I begin to have an irrational breakdown. My ears begin to feel like they are going to fall off and I need some sort of noise. I usually have music playing constantly. When I say constantly, I actually mean every moment of my day up until I fall asleep. I panic when I sleep over friends places because it is weird to turn on music as you are trying to fall asleep. Because I'm a freak.

(This is what happens when you are silent. People. Die.)

Dark Clouds

This one is hard for me to admit to. I really love a good thunderstorm and I like being in doors watching them from the comfort of my own home. This doesn't change the fact that for the first 5-10min of me watching ominous clouds descend upon the land, I am convincing myself that it is a tornado. (Yup, you read that right. No need to second guess yourself) 

(OUT OF NOWHERE? HOW IS THIS NOT SCARY? This photo has set me into an anxious state)

I am not a fan of scary movies. I hate them more than life itself. I don't find it entertaining to have the living shit scared out of me for 2hrs. I don't like walking into a movie knowing that I won't be able to sleep later that night, no matter how much music I have playing. (See above random excuse for anxiety) So you may find yourself pondering, much like I do, why I would agree to sit down and watch the hit '90's movie titled Twister. They aren't hiding it in the title, they weren't trying to pretend like it was anything other than what it was, a movie about a tornado. I took one thing from the entire movie (mostly because I was watching the entire thing through the cracks of my fingers, judge me not people) and that was that you can tell when a tornado is about to hit because the clouds are green. Green. The color green. 

IS THIS FUCKING DOCTOR SUESS??? I can't trust green clouds? Does this apply to other things that are green too? Are all green things working together to ruin my life???

The short and simple answer to all these questions is, yes. Yes this world we live in can be figured out through color (heeeyyy girl, I'm a rainbow. SURPRISE) and green clouds are the worst thing you could ever see in the sky. I am astonished because I have seen green clouds, no less than, 10-15x in my life since I have seen this movie. Luckily, none of them ended up in a tornado...at least to my knowledge.

Sweating

I talk about sweating a lot on this blog. I talk about it because it plagues my life. I get it, I'm not athletic and I start sweating if the temperature is above 66 degrees (that is, unfortunately, not an exaggeration). So why put this in this post? WELL, thanks for asking kiddies! I add it in here because I have begun, in the last year, sweating when I think that I might sweat. 

('Guuuh-huh???'- thats the noise (s)he is making. Duh.)

I, once, was a carefree kid who didn't recognize all of the situations that he would sweat in. Then, like 5 years ago, I became overly aware of the sweating issue and would start to panic when I felt that first bead of sweat roll down my face. The first drop was the bane of my existence and then became the sole thing running through my head. If you see me slightly gaze off into the distance or try to "discreetly" wipe my brow, it usually means that I hace completely checked out of our conversation and I am trying to plan my escape so I can go sweat by myself in the corner. The corner of shame and dispare. 

Large Groups of People

HA! Good thing I just moved into a city. A city with lots of people...some may call it a large group of people. I moved here for so many reasons and one of them, surprisingly, was not for the abundance of people cramped into small areas. I get irrationally awkward when there are too many people in elevators and the only way I know out of it is by making weird conversations. 

Examples: 

*Cramped elevator the other morning*

Me: No stairs for anyone? So, guess we all aren't going to be winning the weight loss challenge. 

*Cramped metro car*

Me (to my friend): Wouldn't it suck if  everything just stopped and we were stuck for an hour. I would have a panic attack. 

*Cramped into a small work space for a happy hour at work*

Me: I am definitely sweating in places I didn't think possible. 

(Where's Waldo wasn't a fun book for me, it was, and is, my personal hell)

So, you see, it doesn't matter whether I am with friends or not, I shut down and become like rain man about one extremely awkward thing. (Yet another reason why meeting a boyfriend in a public space will NEVER happen for me. *wink, nudge, nod*)

Silence: Horrifying

Dark Clouds: I blame Helen Hunt for this one. I am not Mad About You, Ms. Hunt. 

Sweating: A constant worry

Crowds:  Brings on sweating and creates a silence...in my heart.  

 

Welcome to the Jungle

Guys, guyssss, GUYS! I'm in a little bit of a panic because I haven't spoken to you in 2 weeks. Whose fault is that? Why didn't I write more? Who drugged me for TWO WEEKS and told me not to write it out? These are all mysteries of the world at this point. I do know that I packed, moved, and set up my new apartment in DC and have already had some interesting adventures.

(Ohhhh hey, gurl... I'm into it)

There are certain things that I forgot about myself from when I lived on my own (and not with the greatest roommies ever). Can we talk about some of them? I mean...do you have a choice? I like to list things out because...well...because lists are fun. (Cahmmm ahnnnn, get on board with me)

1. I am the next Tyra Banks...

This is a ballsy statement. I know it, you know it, effing Tyra knows it! (Does anyone else notice how often I bring up Tyra?) I, in no means, mean that I am going to be a high fashion runway model, nor do I mean that I am going to have a reality show about models. I did notice, though, that on my new commute to and from work, I am doing a lot of walking.  On these walks I constantly have music playing, like I have a soundtrack for my life. During these walks, every once in awhile (read also: every single time), I come across a crosswalk and out of nowhere my body is overcome with the unnatural urge to glide across it like a runway. That's right, you read that. I strut my stuff like all eyes are on me and I am OWNING that crosswalk. 

(Get. It. Ty.Ra)

I didn't realllly realize I was doing this until the third or fourth day, when I struck a slight pose at the end and looked to see if anyone noticed. I realized a moment after that that I really wanted someone to notice. To be honest, I have always had an unrealistic dream that someone is just going to "discover" me wherever I go. (No, but seriously.) So, basically, if you ever are walking around Washington, DC and you see a gay man strutting his stuff like it is New York Fashion Week...you have probably discovered me. 

2. I think I am the worlds greatest chef

One of my favorite YouTube channels is My Drunk Kitchen. It basically is run by this awesome woman, Hannah Harto, and she just gets drunk and cooks things. (She is, casually, everything I hope to be when I grow up) Anywayz, since I have been in my apartment I have decided to drunk cook no less than 4x. I am not sure when it happens, but I get this urge that takes over in my altered state of mind that I need to forage and provide for all of my friends. I need to prove to all of them that I could easily win a challenge on Top Chef or Chopped. Unfortunately, it never turns out that way. 

(THIS IS HANNAH. SHE DRINKS TOO!)

On a recent post-8hr boozy brunch experience, I decided I needed to make chicken I had purchased the day before. I took the chicken out, I tried to season it and this is pretty much where everything went down hill. Since I am Italian, I like to put garlic on everything, unfortunately for me, the garlic powder I have has a faulty top that I didn't remember it in my boozy haze. So with wine glass in hand, I poured a solid 2 cups of garlic powder on 4 pieces of chicken. BUT WAIT, it gets better!!! (No, not like the charming LGBT anti-bullying campaign. More like the feeling you have when a horrible event has just occurred and even though something terrible is going to happen, it's not as bad as what just happened. You with me? Whatever. I get it)  

I, if I'm being honest, had not used my oven before this event and didn't really know how to turn it on. After a valiant effort, that lasted 2min, I decided that I was going to make all of the chicken in a frying pan. Just to recap what has happened so far for you, I poured garlic all over my chicken and now I was going to fry it.

(He dun did it)

This whole debacle ended with me burning 5 pieces of chicken, setting off the fire alarm...2x, and making the most terrible salad I have ever made in my life. Salad is impossible to make terribly...it's lettuce and toppings. I ruined it with garlic burned chicken. (Ru.In.Ed *gay claps*)

3. Eggs are appropriate food at all hours

It is no shock to anyone that I enjoy a solid brunch just like any other resident of our nations capitol (and anyone else who is good and right in this world). I have taken this to a whole new level. Beyond the fact that I have boozy brunched twice since moving to the city and it hasn't been two weeks, I have really embraced the ease of making and eating eggs. My parent's set me up with a good amount of food when I moved in (because I'm mildly spoiled. I own it), and the thing I ended up utilizing the most was the 18 eggs they got me. 

(Gimmeeee gimme gimmmeee)

I have officially had eggs at breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, dinner, and late night snack. I make omelets like its my job and will put everything in them. I have put normal things in them like cheese and bacon. Then I got feisty and put cream cheese in it. Then I put turkey lunch meat in it. THEN I STARTED PUTTING RANDOM FOOD IN IT. (I typed that in all caps because then I feel like you judge me less). In one of my quests at becoming the next Drunk Top Chef moments, I decided to take a Harry&David "Buffalo Blue Cheese Dip" and put it in the omelet. I can tell you, right now, without a doubt, this is the one time that cheese was NOT the right choice. It had a weird consistency that made me feel weird at the beginning of my consumption...by the end of the entire thing (because I ate it like a CHAMP bitches), I was convinced I had ingested a large amount of snakes.  

Did this deter me from making eggs? NOPE. Guess again! Instead I went back to the chopping blocks and decided to take part of a pasta Lean Cuisine and make an egg pasta dish. (Yup, yet another Drunk Chef moment) This one, surprisingly, ended up being quite delicious. I am not sure if it was good because I am actually a genius or because after drinking all day all you want is food in your mouth no matter what form it comes in. What I am trying to say with all of this is...I effing love eggs. Eggs and cheese. Two peas in a pod. (mmm maybe Ill put peas in my next egg concoction. Gotta write that down for drunk me) 

DC: Homo sweet homo

Bravo: My guide for living life

Fabulously Lost: America's Next Top Egg Chef Model. (new category of awesome. I'll email ya soon Andy Cohen *wink, nudge, nod*a)

Sports and Stuff

Like I seem to do at the beginning of every post, I want to mention a few major things going on in pop culture/my life (because they go hand in hand).

• I'm recently prone to random outbursts of emotions as well as hot flashes. It's either because I am menopausal...or...or...nope, the only explanation is that I am menopausal. I have really high high's and then I get really sweaty for no reason. I bring layers to work and then slowly peel them off as I heat up...or I keep them on because I am fearful of the wonderful sweat stains. (I'm quite the catch bitchessss)

(Vampires sweat too)

• I am in the process of SUCKING at packing. I have been avoiding it like the plague because it adds to my stress and it also adds to my menopausal breakdowns (see Robert Pattinson). I am 8 days away from moving and my looks like I'm nesting. 
• I haven't written about my favorite southern hillbillies in awhile, but Honey Boo Boo should be very proud of Mama June because she has lost 100lbs (according to her). Mama June is telling everyone she didn't change her diet or even set foot inside a gym - she is blaming being famous (Just sit with that for a minute). But, like, is that why I can't loose weight? Am I just that unfamous? I never thought that Mama June would contribute to my low self-esteem, but by George, SHE'S DONE IT. 

(HOW? There are two things I want to point out. 1. The media LOVES finding terrible photos of this woman. 2. Get it Mama June, solid shirt choices)

• Beyond trying to figure out if I can get Mama June thin from being famous, I am trying to figure out how to lose weight before I got to Miami for work in May (No, I don't work at a real place). What I have resorted to doing is a diet known as "Slow Carb,"  which basically means 6 days a week you hate the world and don't eat anything fun and on the 7th day you may have a cheat day (I live for cheat days). If you remember correctly, I tried out #nocarbs2013 in January and I casually wanted to punch everyone in the face. Obviously, I make good choices in life by adding a restrictive diets to my already menopausal outbursts. (Hey good lookin, you tryna get at this?)

(Just a normal Friday night!)

Ok, let's get onto the real thing that has been having me all in a hizzy the last few days. In the last six days I have surprised myself more than I have surprised anyone else. I am sure you all heard that this past week was the Super Bowl, right? Well, I was planning on watching the Super Bowl like I normally do-- stuffing my face with food (in the name of sports!) and waiting for the half-time show (surpriseeee). Then, out of nowhere, my mind, body, and soul decided to to make a random foray into football fanaticism.

(Someone's mother didn't hold them enough when they were little) 

To tell you how uninterested in the sport I was, when Super Bowl Sunday started, I posted on Facebook "I hope the Ravens score a homerun today" (You'd be surprised how many people thought I was serious). I did, however, travel into Baltimore to watch the game because I lovveeee tailgating and wearing the color purple and having it not be a strictly "feminine" color. We began playing beer pong, drinking Irish coffee, and randomly taking shots around 2pm (in the name of sports!). 

Slowly, as the game creeped closer and closer, I felt myself buying into the Ravens. Everyone around me was wearing purple and getting really excited and I couldn't help having sympathy excitement. However, it wasn't until the first play of the game that my feelings towards this team went out of control. (I kept it real though, my first tweet about anything Super Bowl was about the M&M commercial featuring Santana from Glee. Facts)

It happened when the first touchdown happened for the Ravens. It was like my body was taken over and all I wanted to do was live tweet this event. I started to scream when we had the ball and was irrationally annoyed when things weren't going our way. My friends who were around me were astonished at how into the game I was. I was the person everyone thought was going to make snarky comments about the game. Instead I was hooting and hollering about the game as if I was a lifelong diehard fan. 

(He just gets me) 

As if I couldn't be tweaking out enough in an abnormal way, the half-time show came like a bat out of hell. For the whole first half of the game I had been this hetero-masculine being, tweeting, grunting, and emoting all my straightness. Then it happened; I'm not even that big of a fan...or so I thought. Trotting down the center of the stage Beyonce made her way straight into my soul. 

(Throw some shady STANK Bey)

I went from the epitome of masculine to a giddy 12yr old girl. I kept turning and spinning and trying to see if anyone else in the room was having n religious experience like I was. When Kelly and Michelle rose from ground to reunite Destiny's Child, I honestly questioned if my body could handle the excitement going on in my body. I kept saying "My heart, my heart, this is everything." (Why? Because I am a dramatic homosexual)

The second half of the game was more stressful and I was actually almost brought to tears at one point because I thought the Ravens were going to lose. I HAVE NEVER BEEN EMOTIONAL ABOUT SPORTS. I couldn't handle myself and there were a couple of times that I tried to snap myself out of it. I had mini pep-talks with myself in the bathroom.

"Get it together. This isn't you. You get emotional at Britney Spears concerts and during the months leading up to Christmas. You do not form deep relationships with football teams during a sporting event. You do not have panic attacks when "your team" misses a play. Get. Your. Shit. To.Geth.Er." (Gay claps implied)

Nothing I did would work, though. I still had so many emotions and when the Ravens did finally win the Super Bowl, I ran out into the streets with my friends and participated in a good old fashioned riot. 

(I'm in there! Can you see me??)

This was probably the least abnormal thing for me to partake in the entire evening. I like to break shit. 

This theme of random Raven fanaticism continued into the week as well. My boss convinced me to work my work schedule around being able to attend the Ravens Super Bowl Parade in Baltimore this past Tuesday. Not only did I gladly accept this reason to have an abbreviated work schedule, but I freaked the freak out about being able to see some of the players I had grown to love over the course of 72hrs. (Right next to all of the lifelong fans, they don't care, right?)    

I went, I wore purple, I screamed, I hooted, I hollered, I took 20+ photos, and 10 videos. I have mind boggled myself and I am just wondering at what point I was drugged by the sports fairy. Once I figure where this hetero-demon came from, I'll let you guys know.   

Football: Great for innuendo and rioting (Ill throw a ball in your end zone! *wink, wink*)

Mama June: Fame has really gotten to her...

Beyonce: Queen of Stank 

Fabulously Lost: Lost in a world of sports fandom (Like Space Jam)

Oy Vey

For those of you who do not know me outside of the confines of this blog, I am wildly proud of being half Jew. My father was born a Jew and lived happily as a Jew well into adulthood. My shiksa mother married him and they decided to raise my brothers and I as proud Jewish boys....until we were young lads when Papa Fab decided to convert. It seemed foolish to have two Christian parents and three Jewish children...so we were converted as well. I have always struggled with religion (mainly because I am an overly angsty homosexual who just wants to BELONG! Ughh is that so bad??), so I proudly hold onto the fact that I am a half Jew. I am a religious mut, if you will.

(This accurately describes my constant feelings of "halfness")

You may be asking yourself many things right now about why I decided to tell you that little diddy. Things like: 

1. What the hell is wrong with him? 

2. Didn't he say he converted? How can he be a half Jew if he converted?

3. How did he find such a clever photo? I really like his photos. 

4. Isn't he obsessed with Christmas?

5. Does this mean he is going to tell us a story about a Jewish man that he went on a date with and it didn't work out and he somehow ended up in a HIGHlarious situation?

For those of you who thought number 2, HOW rude. PoTATEo, poTAHTo. For those of you who thought number 3, thank you! You are so sweet and most obviously my favorite readers. For those of you who thought number 1, see the link in number 4 and you will understand that there are lots of things wrong with me. And for those of you bright little munchkins who thought number 5....you are sadly correct. I went on a terrible awful date with Jake the Jew. 

(I generally follow whatever catchy advertisements tell me to do. This. Is. No. Exception. *insert gay clap*)

I met Jake the Jew (there is no clever name for him. Just facts) the way I meet all of my suitable suitors...on the World Wide Web. We messaged back and forth with quippy remarks about culture and music before he asked me for my number. The emails turned into texts and I had begun to really like this virtual man I had never met. An Interior Designer! 25! It's like a Jewish mothers dream come true (I mean...a doctor would be better, but they all can't be perfect). 

The day of the date, I do what I normally do - I tried to convince myself that canceling was a much better option and that my relationship with my bed was the only one I really need. I am lucky, however, to have a best friend who works right next to me and is a constant encouragement in life. She told me I needed to go on this date just in case it happened to be an amazing date and this was the man of my dreams or, more likely, this ended up a really good story that I could tell all of you about. (I'm a giver like that.)

When I arrived at our date I was greeted with a cute scruffy boy who had a hipster look without being too hipster. To my dismay, that was as far as my attraction to this scruffy Jewish interior designer would go. 

(womppppp, womp)

We sat down at Ted's Bulletin in Eastern Market for a burger and fries and some basic "getting to know you" conversation. Jake the Jew had this way of telling me a little bit of information and then going into a mini-awkward-giggle fit that both freaked me out and also caused me to be concerned he was having a seizure. 

Jake the Jew: I grew up going back and forth from Maryland and Florida. Bad things can happen in Florida. *hehehehaaha bahaha hmmm*

Me: Wait, are you okay? What do you mean?

Jake the Jew: Of course I am okay silly goose. Florida can be a dangerous place for pretty boys like us. *hahahbahahabooohahahehe* *wink*

I am still not completely sure what he meant by all of this, nor was I terribly interested in finding out how Florida would be dangerous for a "pretty boy like me." Our conversations were mauled by his outburst of giggles more often than I would have liked (i.e. more than zero times. I would have liked them to happen zero times. Never. Not once. EVER)

(Is that what dying sounds like?)

As if the awkward life-death sound he was making wasn't enough of a turn off, he was also casually flashy with his money. (I am sure he was blatantly flashy, but I couldn't tell due to the screech) Apparently his parents had separated when he was really young and they both had a good amount of money. A huge surprise (read also: sarcasm) came when he told me he was an only child and was used to getting what he wanted.

Jake the Jew: My parents had a hard time saying no to me, I mean wouldn't you have a hard time too? *snort, giggle, wiggle, hehe, haha, gaufaw*

Me: I guess its nice being an only child, I have two brothers so everything was split. 

Jake the Jew: Most people have a hard time saying no to me. It's a gift *hehehe hlerp blarg haha*

Me: Um, yeah I gathered that the first time you said that. Charmed life you lead. 

Jake the Jew: I bet you'll have a hard time saying no to me. *bleeehehe he*

Me: I say no more often then most think. 

As we all know, there are only a few things that I have a hard time saying no to, snorting Jewish hipsters is not on that list. Slowly over the course of the dinner I began finding out more tidbits that Jake the Jew decided to fib on on his dating profile. For example, he was actually just recently 22yrs old and he actually was unemployed. HE WAS LYING ABOUT EVERYTHING. 

(Ain't we all unimpressed. We're still fighting Obama)

At the beginning of the date Jake the Jew asked me when I had to leave DC by before I turned into a pumpkin. (Cute at first, in retrospect it casually annoys me) I had told him it would be best for me to leave DC by 10pm at the latest. This was meant, at first, as a reason for me to leave if the date went well (I'm tryna catch me a husband, not an STD), and a way out if it went poorly. This was meant as a guideline. I was thanking little baby Jebus when I looked at my phone and we had already finished by 8pm. I could get home and still watch some Sabrina the Teenage Witch before I went to sleep. (I never said every aspect of my life was glamorous...)

Me: Welp, it looks like we are finished with dinner. 

Jake the Jew: Yeah and it's only 8! We can go grab a drink.

Me: Uh, well, I was thinking I should drive home.

Jake the Jew: But you said you have to leave by 10, so we have 2hrs. See you can't say no to me. 

Me: But, I didn't, but, what?

And with that I was on the search with Jake the Jew for a place to get a drink. Somehow I got roped into driving us to Dupont and looking for parking. I spent 30min circling for parking and trying to just get him out of my car as fast as humanly possible. (I didn't need a murder trial on my hands on top of everything else) When we finally parked, Jake the Jew told me he wanted to take me to this divey gay bar no too far from where we were. Luckily for me, when we walked up to Larry's Lounge we were greeted by a group of burly looking mountain men!

(My own personal heaven. Except not exactly like this...cause I hate the outdoors.) 

There was an event that was going on at the bar for prostate cancer and the amazingly cute bouncer asked me if I wanted to pay for the wrist band for cancer. 

Burly Bouncer: If you pay $10 you get this wrist band that gets you cheap drinks at three different bars and the proceeds go to Prostate Cancer. 

Me: Oh, well, as enticing as that is, I am only having one drink and then heading home. *casual giggle/side smile/hopeful flirting face*

Burly Bouncer: Aw come on, you know you want more than one drink. You have to stay and keep me company.

Me: Ah, if only I could! I have to get home, if only this was tomorrow evening!

Burly Bouncer: Is this because you hate prostate? *winks*

Me: *swoons* *silence* *giggle*

Then I remembered I was on a date and needed to get my shit together. I begrudgingly followed Jake the Jew to the downstairs area of the bar with a drink. Away from the Burly Bouncer. Away from true happiness. 

When we got downstairs, we started to discuss our passions which always ends up with me talking about music. He was as vapid as he was before and didn't have much to contribute to the conversation other than, "I love to listen to Paris Hilton's old stuff." But, like, how? How do you do that to me? How is that an answer? Does she have new stuff? What counts as old? WHO IS THIS?

(THIS IS WHAT YOU LIKE???)

The icing on our terribly made was when Britney Spears came on and I began to tweak out. 

Me: Ahh, Britney is like my kryptonite. Whenever she comes on I wanna go dancing. 

Jake the Jew: Yeah, I saw her in concert a couple of years ago and was unimpressed. 

Me: You mean you saw her in March of 2010 at the Verizon Center? The Circus tour? I was there...it was amazeballz. 

Jake the Jew: I wasn't pleased with it...and she screamed something weird out during it. 

Me: She screamed "Merry Christmas DC" and it was totally unexpected and awesome at the same time. 

Jake the Jew: Yeah...well...ever since then I haven't really listened to her a whole lot. 

Me: Welp, this is awkward. 

I know this is weird. I am aware that me deciding that this date was literally going to end at this moment makes me seem a little off my rocker. But it is not my fault that he preferred PARIS HILTON over BRITNEY SPEARS. You see the predicament I was in...

(I just...I just...love her)

We tried to make strained small talk after that, but it was apparent that this date had ended because of Ms. Spears. As we made our way to the front door the Burly Bouncer, standing with two other extremely attractive men, caught my eye and immediately began flirting. 

Burly Bouncer: Oh hey! *to his friends* This guy hates prostate. 

Me: *coyly* Whaaat? No! I don't!

Cute Friend: There is definitely know way this cutie hates prostate 

Me: I mean...

Burly Bouncer: *grabbing my arm* I'm positive you don't hate prostate. *wink, smile*

Ugh...I slowly began to slink out the door because I was technically still on the date. As we walked away from the bar, I felt my hopes and dreams being dashed on the side of the road. (Not to be overly dramatic or anything...)

When I move to the city (IN 2 WEEKS) I will venture to that little dive bar and hopefully run into my future husband. 

Burly Bouncer: Missed connection...

Jake the Jew: Sorry Yenta, not my match 

Britney Spears: A good indicator of a persons character

Fabulously Lost: Single...looking to mingle?

Why I Hate Surprises...

Before I get into my dating woes (because why would 2013 be any different?), I wanted to tell you a few quick updates about my life situation.

Mama Fab had only one thing to say after last week's post, which had a whole section dedicated to her sass.

Mama Fab: It's about time your friends know where you get all of your fabulousness. 

But, like, how is she right all the time? It's not like she decided to tell me it was a funny post, or that she enjoyed the part that she was in, but, instead, she made it about her. Obvs this woman is my mother.

(Like, I'm not saying my mother is NeNe Leakes, but I'm also not saying she isn't. #realtalk)

(Side Note within a side note: I don't think I could be more homosexual. I'm writing about my mother while watching reruns of RuPaul's Drag Race. I'm a living, breathing stereotype...andddd I lovvvveee itttttt- [said like Oprah])

Ok, the other news I wanted to share with you issss......KG and I....FOUND A PLACE. 

I have been waiting for this moment for.ev.er. I looked for the longest time by myself and out of nowhere I start looking with a friend and now I have a place. I couldn't be happier with the place and I am moving in three weeks. This is all sorts of cray. With all this time, I can guarantee you that I will wait until 6 days before hand and become a dramatic queen about everything up until the move. Luckily for KG, he will be in Israel and will only see me after I have already moved in. LUCKY HIM. I will be writing a farewell post to the best roomies (GET IT MAMA AND PAPA FAB) at some point rulll soon. Mmmk?

There is one other thing I would like to say (after I've had a glass of wine...or two). I am not trying to point fingers, because I'm not that kind of girl, but I feel like it is necessary for everyone to connect the dots. The inauguration just happened and I was reminiscing about where I was 4 years ago during the first inauguration. I was with my bffl Rachie and my big time college Ex (we were together at the time, duh), in my own apartment, casually successful in my job, had a world of dreams in front of me, surrounded by my best friends, slept until whenever I wanted, drank like a fish, and really just living the dream. 

Now, 4 years later I am living with my parents, single, all my friends are spread out across the country, I have to wake up when other people decide I am supposed to go to work, and I have to pay bills. I'm not saying it is Obama's fault, butttt CHU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING.

(Good point, RIGHT Obamz?)

Alright ladies, it's story time. This is a bit of a throwback to my college days when I was young, fabulous, and broke. (Not much has changed.) Remember that time that I made out with Black Bieber? Ok, well in that post I spoke about girlfriend, who is one of my nearest and dearest friends. We are kinda, sorta like the devils on each others shoulders. We often convince each other that whatever the worst thing you could possibly do in a night would be the best thing to do right then and there. (i.e. alcohol is usually involved)

Anywayz, girlfriend and I had this thing where we would casually go through attraction phases (we would be into the same type of men at the same time), and more than once we would be attracted to the same exact guy. One of these times, we found a guy who we were unsure which way he swung. (Shocker, I'm attracted to a sexually ambiguous man) 

(but...just...love...me)

We, of course, had to turn this into a friendly game where we would invite him to do things with both of us and then also try and get him alone with us. Once, girlfriend convinced all of us to watch Paranormal Activity and let me tell you...this bitch does NOT do scary movies. Apparently neither did our sexually ambiguous friend, we both ended up curled up underneath girlfriend until she agreed to turn off the movie. LET'S just say, we decided he leaned a little more to my side of the baseball end zone. (I'm good with sports)

So, you ask, where did the terrible date come into play?  Well, don't you worry your pretty little head, we will get there. You may also ask when his nickname is going to come into play, because you are aggressive and you can't be patient. You see, our little friend decided to ask me out on a date and wanted to plan it out himself. He told me he would pick me up and he was really excited to take me to one of his favorite places in College Park. I was the giddiest girl in all the land. 

(Isn't he just the cutest? Ugh, I love me some silver fox)

He picked me up and we started driving down Rt. 1 away from most of the restaurants in the area. I began getting excited that we might be venturing away from the places I had become to accustom to over the last three years. But then it happened, just as I thought we were going to get on the highway and drive away from good ol' CP, he turned into the Ikea parking lot. 

(It's just the pits)

Me: So, are we stopping here for a quick furniture run? Need to pick up some tupperware?

Ikea: No, goof, this is my favorite place to eat in College Park! I knew it would be a surprise. I bet you have never eaten here before. 

Me: Yup, you're right. I honestly have never consumed food at this lovely furniture store. 

Ikea: Well you're in luck, because they have the best meatballs ever. They are from Sweden! 

I forgot to mention, Ikea, is as dumb as a brick. He is hands down one of the most attractive men I have ever sort of shared with any of my friends, but the boy is clueless. He was one of those men that didn't need to say much, because he was just so pretty. He had these piercing blue eyes and a smile that made you swoon. So when he says things like "Ikea's meatballs are from Sweden" you just sort of smiled and pretended he never said anything. #denial

When we got inside, it took us twenty minutes to get to the cafeteria portion of this building, because it's an EFFIN' MAZE. I was getting more and more annoyed with every twist and turn and all he could do was talk about how excited he was for these damn meatballs. When we finally arrived, I wasn't even sure I was hungry and I realized I was completely overdressed for this place. This was not the date I had dreamed about throwing in girlfriends face later. (Bittttch puhlease, you know I was gonna make a big ta-do about this whole date. I had out done her! But not really)

Oh, but it gets better. Not only were we on this date where we were having real life Swedish meatballs, my lovely date felt the need to answer a call from his roommate in the middle of our date. 

Ikea: Hey Roommate, is everything okay?

*Pause*

Ikea: Oh man, that sounds awful. You know I'm out with Fab, right? I told you about the whole dinner thing. 

*Pause*

Ikea: I guess I could ask him. Hey, uh, Fab, do you care if Roommate comes and joins us? He likes Swedish food too! 

Me: Sure, that will just be the icing on the cake.

Ikea: Are we getting cake? Aw man, Roommate loves cake!!

But, like, that's just how on top of things he was. It was the moment that I realized I no longer wanted to compete for him. You know, besides the whole ambiguity of his sexual orientation and his general misunderstanding of most normal social situations. Roommate ended up joining us and added just as much to our conversation topics as Ikea had. We eventually did get cake, because I had put it into their minds that cake would be part of the date. 

girlfriend and I have not competed for any man since, but she is still one of the best wingmen I have ever had. 

I am going to casually try and go into hibernation over the next few weeks to save money for the big move. Being as fabulous as I am, this is going to be a very difficult task for a social butterfly. Also the guy who I went on a 3rd date with...total dud. I've given up on 2013 and finding love. (Calling all drama queeeeeens!)

DC: Ready or nottttt

Obama: The reason I am single

Ikea: A maze of both furniture and love 

Fabulously Lost: Curer of homosexuality #datingfail