Adventures in Self Esteem

My intern came into my office today and over the course of our conversation he mentioned that every night before he goes to bed he reminds himself of 5 reasons that either today was productive, or why he likes who he is. While this sounds, in theory like a healthy, self-motivating habit – considering his sometime overweening ego, maybe he should cut back to 7 things once a week.

ANYWAY –while he was explaining this practice and the motivations behind it he suggested that I take it up. I laughed it off and he said, “I’m serous, Red! I think it would be good for you. Find 5 things you like about yourself right now.” I laughed and replied “Intern, why don’t you find 5 positive things about me first”.

So he made the following list on my wipe board:
1) She doesn’t like John Kerry
2) She is genetically sound (Irish)
3) She has good taste in beverage & roommates (he has a crush on OC)
4) She has a nice raincoat
5) He’s still working on #5….

So thank you, Intern. I’m sure with that list of accolades I’m sure to win the self-esteem beauty pageant.

Sarcasm aside…maybe this isn’t such a bad idea. I find myself finding more fault with me than my mother usually (and let me tell you that takes some doing!). However, I think 5 is a bit excessive and could possibly lead to severe self-esteem inflation which is, frankly, not very attractive. So we’ll start small and try it for a week and see if it works. I think to temper this however I should add one thing that I want to change as well – just to keep it real.

So for Tuesday, the things I like about Red are:
1) Her hair (love the color – hell I’ve devoted a blog to it!)
2) Her ability to make people laugh with her quick, smart @ss remarks
3) Her fabulous taste in trendy, yet classic footwear

And let’s change: Her need to tell everyone exactly what she thinks exactly when she thinks it…being a little more tactful when propriety dictates.

Come on, people! What do you like about yourself – this is not the time to be modest!




Song obsession of the moment: “Taylor the latte boy” – Kristin Chenowith

Layer Cake
This was stolen from Isabella Snow:

Layer one:
Name: Style Girl
Birth date: May 1977
Birthplace: The Peach State
Current location: Semi-Small Town America
Eyes: BrownHair
color: Brown, soon to have highlights
Height: 5ft 8 when out in public
Left or Right: Righty
Sign: Taurus, I'm as stubborn as they come!

Layer two:
Heritage: Scotch-Irish
hoes: High heeled ones, mostly
Weakness: Left handed men (my husband)
Fears: Spiders, being lonelyPerfect
Pizza: Cheese, and lots of it
Goal: Pay off all debt by the end of the year

Layer 3:
Most overused phrase on IM: LOL and I refuse to use it, ever
First waking thought: Snooze goes off in 9 more minutes
Best physical feature: Girls say hair, boys say boobs...
Layer 4:Pepsi or Coke: Coke
McDonald's or Burger king: McDonald's
Single or group dates: Single
Adidas or Nike: Nike
Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate
Cappucino or Coffee: Venti triple nonfat latte

Layer 5:Smoke? Quit
Cuss? Love to
Sing: Sure, if you want me to
Do you think you've been in love? I have been and I am
Want to go to college? Did it for 8 years
Liked high school? Hated it
Believe in yourself? You're damn right I do
Get motion sickness? Nope, the rougher the better.
Think you're attractive? I can definitely turn myself on.
Health freak? Mostly
Get along with parents? Absolutely
Like thunderstorms? Bring it on
Play an instrument? Flute in Middle School

Layer 6 I
n the past month:Drank alcohol? Of courseSmoked? UnfortunatelyDone a drug? YesMade out? YesEaten sushi? YesBeen dumped? NoGone skating? NoGone skinny dipping? Does the Shower countDyed your hair? NoStolen anything? NoLayer 7...ever?Played a game that required removal of clothing? Yes, I didn't winBeen intoxicated and can't remember? UnfortunatelyBeen caught doing something? This just isn't specific enough.Been called a tease? In High SchoolGot beaten up? NoChanged who you are to fit in? Never.Layer 8:Describe your dream wedding? I did.How do you want to die? In my sleepWhat do you want to do when you grow up? Be happyWhat country would you like to visit? France, even though they hate usLayer 9:Number of people I trust with my life: 10Number of CD's I own: I have no ideaNumber of piercings: 4Number of tattoos: 0Number of times name has been in newspaper: A handfulNumber of scars: Loads.Number of regrets: 1

Operation Normalcy

I woke up Saturday morning with a mission: to reclaim my life. The past two weeks have been a blur at best. My life has looked like mine – same job, same schedule, same apartment. My life has sounded like mine – same phone calls, same friends, same music, same lectures from my mother. But it hasn’t FELT like mine more like I’ve been watching it, not participating much.

For example, my diet – not “diet” but daily intake of food. I have not eaten ANYTHING in the past two weeks that hasn’t been 1) ordered and prepared in 3 minutes or less, 2) delivered to my apartment or office door; 3) cooked in the microwave or 4) come out of a vending machine. So basically I’ve had no real nutritional content whatsoever.

Second – my job has had me so stressed out, overtired and feeling an like inadequate f*ckup that by the time I DO get home, between 8-9 in the evening, I am brain dead and too exhausted and unmotivated so that even simple tasks such as laundry, or ironing, or bed making or cleaning in general have seemed too overwhelming to tackle.

And you can forget personal maintenance! Not only was I in the most desperate need of a haircut, manicure and facial of my life but as a result of the malnutrition and exhaustion the gym, while in close proximity, might as well have been in China (and I was convinced that the ache I was feeling in my lower back was the onset of my recently unexerted abdominal muscles atrophying). And as an ultimate result, I was sick – came down with the first cold of the season, not pretty.

I woke up Saturday morning, got my butt out of bed and into the gym. It felt great (although not entirely up to par with physical performance in times past). And after 200 crunches and showering I headed off to seek the help of a stylist I met at CNN awhile back (she consults with and does hair for Jena & Barbara Bush – and I thought major reinforcements were needed to tackle my beauty problem).

So I get to the salon, Celeb Stylist “consults” and says reassuringly “I’m excited! This is going to be the makeover of the day.” So I feel a tad reassured that all hope is not lost until she runs away to get the sandblaster (kidding) and I’m left looking at my reflection in the gilded mirror without makeup (cringe) and think “can we add some Botox and liposuction to this makeover?”

Then in the midst of this self-deprecating inner-monologue, I notice the male (sexually ambiguous) stylist blow-drying an older woman next to me keeps staring in my direction. So I think “great! It’s completely obvious, I don’t belong in this upscale celebrity salon where everyone is already beautiful, blonde and French speaking” So I look away and pretend to be intently reading an article about male G-spots in Cosmo but he comes over and says :

“I’m sorry, but you are so beautiful! What’s your name?”
(stunned…looking around for the other person he must be talking to) “huh?”
“Your name”
“oh…uh…Red”
“Is this your first time here?”
“Yes” (still stunned)
“Well you’re stunning, and I just wanted to tell you”
“Uhh… Thank you – are you sure? I don’t even have any makeup on!”
“You don’t need it” and he walked away.

Well, I don’t know if he needed a new contact perscription or it was just a salon policy for clients to be told that they’re beautiful by hot, sexually ambiguous stylists but I say: That’s the kind of customer service I’m talking about! Every place of business should have someone that will come up to you and say “you look great today” or “you’re beautiful” or “great shoes!”

Well when I came out of that salon I felt like a million bucks (or at least $250) –my hair looked bright, shiny and fabulously cut (ala jessica simpson - even though it was a few inches shorter than I wanted), my facial had left my skin glowing, eyebrows were perfectly arched, my ego had been patted and I felt human again.

The rest of the weekend fell into place. My room and kitchen are now spotless, the cat has been fed, I got some work done at the office Sunday afternoon, and most of the laundry is hanging neatly in my color coded closet.

Hello, my life. How I’ve missed you.

Umm...EWW

I just had to share this because....Ummmmm...EEWWW

This is just disguisting! I don't care what she's doing, whether it's bullemia, anorexia, or coke - woman NEEDS to eat or ...SOMETHING! How can ANYONE think this is in any way attractive??

Nichole, honey, do yourself a favor...do the paparazzi a favor...do anorexic teenagers everywhere a favor and have a big mac and fries.

I love my job

The body and mind start to do crazy things when they've been deprived of sleep, substantial nutrition, are running on 72 hours of caffeine and adrenaline, and are shut into an office space with other sleep deprived, malnourished, sugar-high ridden, caffeine junkies.

The following comments were made in the office today....

10) "What's that banging sound?" "It's red banging her head against the wall"

9) Uhghghghghghg (in a Tarzan-like voice) (VP)

8) "It's fuzzy....Women like to touch it" (Intern)

7) (in response to #8) hm...Sounds like a personal problem

6) "Hello, I'm returning your call"..."great! Do you remember which client I called you about?"

5) "I want 4 kids" intern replied "you mean there are going to be 4 Red's running around and making fun of everyone??"

4) I'll come to your office for a meeting if I can lie down on the floor

3) ...You can't lay down on the floor...The CEO is already lying there (VP)

2) I JUST WANT SOME NUTS (CEO)

1) Sorry, I can't talk to you now - I'm making up facts!

OH - and about 5 minutes ago, the four offices next to mine all broke out in a wildly off-key rendition of "I just called to say, I love you".

Oy! What a day!

Table for 1?

I think I can honestly say for the first time since I was about 14, that I am honestly happy to be single and I Honestly DON'T want a relationship right now.

Before when I would say that it would most certainly be a lie and only told for one of two purposes: 1) to appease my relatives at a family gathering, or 2) if I were talking to a guy and wanted to act like the independent, non-threatening, type so as not to scare him off. Don't get me wrong, I've never been the "out for marriage, MRS degree" type, hell! I've turned down 3 proposals already - if I wanted to get married I could have done it by now!

But honestly, I don't want a relationship.

It's so odd that this phrase is coming out of my mouth (or keyboard) and its actually sincere. It feels so good to admit it. It's really liberating! I don't feel the need to date. I don't feel a compelling reason to go out other than to hang out with my friends. No ulterior motives. No searching for a future ex-boyfriend.

I can't tell you the precise motivation behind this realization. Perhaps it's because I'm working so much and so all my free time I feel is best allocated to spending time with my friends and getting my MTQ (Me Time Quota - an integral role in my sanity level). So maybe it's just a lack of downtime that hasn't left me wanting for a relationship.

Perhaps I've just gotten USED to being single. It's been almost a year since my last relationship - somewhat of a record for me. Maybe I'm just fed up with the bullshit. Maybe I'm so sick and tired of all the games, bad dates and general BS that one has to put up with while trying to find the fabled "one" that I would rather spend time receiving unconditional love from my cat than seeking it from a guy (but I'll bet you that's what the 80 year old cat woman living next door thought when she was 26...so perhaps this is a dangerous road to travel).

The thing that actually surprises me most is that I LIKE being alone! Recently I've even taken to having dinner alone on occasion. Sitting at a booth in my favorite dive bar working, writing, having a beer (sometimes a Marlborro Light as well) having a grilled cheese sandwich (on wheat bread with tomato). I LOVE it! I also went to see a movie this weekend - alone (a small, indy film I didn't want to have to talk my friends into seeing or apologize for if it was bad). And I didn't feel like a looser.

Should I feel like an anti-social recluse? Or should I feel like an incredibly self assured woman who sometimes prefers her own company to that of strange men she pretends to be interested in for the evening? I'm hoping it's latter, but maybe I'm in denial. Wouldn't be the first time ya know.

I'm looking at this as a healthy thing and I hope you'll agree but it may make me look like a jaded, romantically cynical cat lady. I suppose though there are worse things to be.

Adventures in Babysitting

Friday night, when all of my blogger buddies were apparently having a grand old time at Lucky Bar, I was reliving my teenage years – flashing to back to when I was fifteen and making my bi-monthly Saturday night appearance at the Smith residence.

The Smith’s had 3 boys, ages 4, 8, and 10 and it was a pretty easy job seeing as how they were all pretty self-sufficient, no need for diaper changing or human interaction really as they were perfectly content to spend the evening watching tv and playing video games. All I had to do was to cook them dinner (usually no more complicated than ordering pizza or making pasta, and its sad to say that the growth in my culinary repitoire has since plateaued) and the send them off to bed (at wich time my boyfriend would come over and we would “watch a movie” and we all know this phrase is fifteen year old speak for makeout for 2 hours).

This fun little evening would end around midnight when he would have to move his oh sooo cool red, Pontiac Sunfire (hey, I was a country girl…yes I thought his red Pontiac was cool) from the gravel driveway so Mr. & Mrs. Smith didn’t suspect that their babysitter was doing anything immoral while their darling boys slept overhead.

Well, my Friday night was spent babysitting my boss’ daughter (who is, by the way, a precious moments doll come to life). Boss lady asked my if I would be cooking for her to which I replied, “not unless you want your daughter to have pizza, pasta or something that can be made by pressing the express-cook button the microwave.” So pizza it was! It was a harsh night, full of defeat – I got shut out of “Hungry Hungry Hippos”, got my @ss handed to me in “Candy Land” and at one point she had me under the dining room table glueing popcicle sticks together – Oy!

So I put her to bed around 9 after reading her two bedtime stories (beauty and the beast and Cinderella – a story I will NOT be reading to my own daughter) and tucked her in. About an hour later I heard her crying over the baby monitor. So of course I rushed in and picked her up, tried to calm her down.

I’m thinking “oh god! What’s the matter? Does your tummy hurt? Did you have a bad dream? Do you need water? Did you wet the bed?” And she’s just crying and crying and crying and I can’t calm her down! This goes on for like 5 minutes! (Felt like 30) I’m thinking “OMG!”

This is my boss’ kid! I’m going to get fired! Should I call 911? Should I call my boss? And then – she just stopped and went back to sleep! Apparently she has NIGHT TERRORS! This would have been useful information to have say at the beginning of the evening.

That took 2 years off my life I swear! *Sigh of relief* Well maybe someday I’ll have a little red headed, green-eyed terror of my very own….but for now I’ll stick to my birth control patch and my cat.

I'm "one tough dame" :)

Thought this was cute! Thanks Jordan for passing it along!

I am.....
Joan Crawford
You scored 40% grit, 28% wit, 28% flair, and 19% class!

You are one tough dame, as tough as they come. You've had to fight long and hard to get where you are, but you always knew you'd do whatever you had to do to get ahead. You aren't above committing crimes (or seducing others to do them for you) to get what you want. You want to be happy and comfortable, but you usually always manage to get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. Even your kids are usually against you. Your leading men include anyone you set your sights on, even married guys that are never seen on-screen. Watch your back.
Link: The Classic Dames Test

A Maize-ing Disgrace

Do you hear that sucking sound?? Listen closely…..

It’s the sound of Brady Quinn kissing the Heisman goodbye!!

That’s right. The Michigan Wolverines dominated….no..they SPANKED the irish in the highest point total by an opponent in Notre Dame Stadium in 46 years, and the first time Michigan has won in South Bend in 12 years!!!

You might be saying, now Red, you’re an irish girl! You went to Notre Dame Prep* for high school! Why in the world would you be happy that that got the ASS KICKING of a lifetime!?

Well, I’ll tell ya.

#1. Because I come from a proud family filled with UofM alums.
#2. Because most ND fans didn’t go there…they don’t even know anyone that went there and they’ve never even been to South Bend (because if they had, there’s no WAY they would be able to respect ND), just because they’re irish or Catholic they’re fans
#3. Growing up in such proximity to two rival teams breeds a unique strain of animosity
#4. ND fans are PERTICULARLY obnoxious
#5. RUDY SUCKS!

For those of you that missed the fierce looking Wolverines (a team with college football’s all-time leader in winning percentage I might add) the final score was 47-21…hehehehe.

Yesterday was better than Christmas! I gathered with beloved Michigan Alums at the Pour House on Capitol Hill … and boy did we party!

Now my friends, you have not watched a football game until you’ve watched one filled with loud, friendly, laid back, drunk and elated Wolverine fans chanting, singing the fight song, benching girls above their heads while counting the number of points scored, bringing people to the front of the room and giving them beers to chug, and spontaneously chanting such rhythmic phrases as:

Fuck – The – Irish;
O-ver-rat-ted; and
It’s great to be a Wolverine

Oooooo, it was sweet my friends. Nothing makes me feel at home like Michigan football and damn…what a homecoming!

*So calling the school because it was filled with ND faculty brats, was located about 6 blocks from Notre Dame campus, and something insane like 80% of graduates go to either Holy Cross, St. Mary’s, or ND.

Hail to the Victors
Back in Business!
Don't Call it a Comback!

Thank you. Thank you.

So sorry I’ve been MIA this week. Between crazy busy times at the office, the return of Barbie #1 from Paris, and my father calling every 30 minutes to make sure I’m safe and that I haven’t killed myself...things have been hectic. He wants me to move back to Dallas and live with him and Sally so that he can take care of me all the time and protect me from the bad people in this world.

I told him, “Dad, if you make me move to Dallas and live with you…I WILL kill myself.”

But it’s not his fault. He’s just reacting like any normal father I suppose. I’ll go there for Thanksgiving and put his mind at ease.

Well, don’t worry, I won’t be taking a hiatus as so many bloggers seem to be doing lately. I will definitely update this weekend – I’ve just had a crazy week.

On a personal note, I’d like to thank my ‘blog friends’ for all of your emails, e-cards, and encouragement I’ve received over the past few days. Ya’ll are just amazing. I had no idea when I started posting my ramblings I would ‘meet’ such wonderfully fantastic people.

Thanks again and great big cyber hugs to you all!

Nine hours...

Reading all of the musings and reminiscences of yesterday, September 11th, five years prior, I began thinking about how just one day – one random day – and one random moment has the ability to change the course of events in a person’s life or impact it significantly. One minute your life is in order…makes sense…and the next…

I was reluctant to post this entry as its subject is not one of levity and I know I am potentially opening the door to scrutiny. But I have found that since starting this blog, thinking things through and letting thoughts flow via my keypad has proven to be cathartic. Perhaps it is at times like these that a certain amount of anonymity comes in handy even though some friends of mine do read this blog. Besides, I've never exactly been one to hold back.

A friend of mine came to me and told me she had been the victim of an unconsensual sexual experience. You can imagine my shock. I do not feel the need to describe the circumstances, just that apparently over 80% of women who are sexually assaulted know their attacker.

When she woke up the next morning, sore and bruised, she tried to shake it off. It didn’t happen. She had had sex before…hooked up…sometimes regretted it, sometimes not…why was this any different? Well, because she hadn’t planned on doing it. Because she didn’t want to hook up. Because she had said "no".

So while attempting to shake it off she moped around the house, spent most the day on the couch, and avoided most human interaction. Unmotivated. Numb. Unhappy. Confused.

She called a friend and relayed the course of events. Of course she expected the outrage, she herself was very uncomfortable with what happened, obviously. She was still in disbelief. But what she didn’t expect was for her friend to say – “You were raped. You need to go to the hospital NOW”.

And go she did but just to make sure she was OK physically. She didn’t want to press charges. She didn’t want to over dramatize. She just wanted to be responsible and take care of her body. And move on with her life. But her spirit was another matter. To make sure she was OK mentally she called a counselor who met her at the hospital.

And they waited.

Nine hours they waited. Nine hours under fluorescent lights. Nine hours of scrub-clad men and women, limping patients and overworked nurses walking in and out of those swinging doors waiting for her name to be called. Nine hours of sitting there, thinking about why she was waiting and why she couldn't leave. Nine hours of talking with the counselor. Nine hours of making jokes to ease the tension, crying, feeling detached, feeling numb, feeling afraid, feeling ….sorry. She was so so sorry. She was not limping, or gushing blood, or pale with an illness as the other names on the sign-in sheet. Her pain was internal, it kept running through her mind and created bruises no one could see.

And after she was called, after the Dr.’s had come in, and come out, and said words like HIV, STDs, therapy, exam, lacerations, sample, bruising, shots, pills….she cried…and then cried some more. She ached inside and wanted to die. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and away from her head.

She wanted to feel like she did last week, when the world made more sense, when her life felt like her own, when the decisions she made were still hers.

I’ve been trying to think what I should do to help her make this as painless as possible, make her recovery as complete and as swift as I can. But guilt is a powerful thing and it seems to block out everything that is said. The thing I have kept telling her is….

It’s not your fault…
It’s not your fault…
It’s not your fault…

Maybe if I keep saying it…someday I’ll believe it.

Do you have any STDs?

Last evening, hot gals (XO, VT, OC) gathered at Casa Red for a little pre-gaming before a night on the town. And did we ever pre-game. Yep. Four gals just sitting around comparing notes on anti-depressants, Match.com dates, episodes of Laguna Beach and downing barcardi and diets and chasing them with shots of Citron. You know...your typical Saturday night.

Before heading out we stopped at a shin-dig happening in the party room in my building where we had drinks and TOOK THEM WITH US. Yep - we thought it would be a good idea to take Open containers onto the sidewalk while we hailed a cab and went to a U st. bar where...you guessed it, we drank some more.

XO's latest love interest joined up with us at some point and before she left with him, I apparently had the following conversation with him:
You had better take care of XO tonight! Do you have a criminal record? Do you have any STDs? I know EVERYONE who works at this bar, if you use her or hurt her you'll never be able to come here again!

I think there were some other threats made but you get the general idea. Apparently I'm feisty when I'm drunk.

To make a long, and kind of fuzzy story short, we were lucky we didn't get arrested last night. Besides the open containers, there were several other mistermeanors and one felany committed last night. Not only that, but I have a number of bruises and a gash on my leg that could have only been the result of some kind of fall...that I don't remember. Oy!


OOOWWWWWW!

Summer Lovin'

So after sharing a many bottles of wine with my roommate this week, I did something I know I should NEVER do – I drunk dialed my ex boyfriend (SA).…yes, I’m THAT girl. I hadn’t talked to him in years but surprisingly enough had his number in my phone.

OK, bit of background – SA and I dated many many moons ago. 1999 to be exact. We were kids! It was the summer before my sophomore year of college (summer lovin’ had me a blast…sing it with me now). Anyways to make a very long and very complicated story short…we dated for about 9 months during which I got mindf*cked left, right and backwards which is not the sole reason but certainly a contributing factor to my sliding into a depression and a very serious eating disorder. Ya…not pretty. (He’s since apologized and I’ve obviously moved on emotionally).

So anyway we chatted for the first time in about 3 years (he’s in London) doing well, blah blah blah tells me all about his new girlfriend and …I find myself… eerily disturbed. Not because I would EVER take him back but because…I don’t know…I don’t think it’s fair of him to treat someone better than he treated me? Because I was sooo young and gorgeous and skinny (maybe too skinny…) and not so much anymore (ok, well I didn’t turn UGLY in the past 6 years…but…you know). And she’s uber pretty, skinny, blah blah blah.

Am I jealous? Is it my wildly competitive streak? Did I just hear is deep voice with that thick accent on the phone and remember how the wild and crazy kids had wild and crazy sex all summer long?

Are these thoughts unhealthy? Yes. Immature? Most definitely. Needy? Fine. Natural? I sure as hell hope so. Perhaps I got mind f*cked and didn’t even know it? Entirely possible.

No…I’m not jealous. She can HAVE him – but I still want him to want me more…or at least want me even though I’m not 19 anymore. To validate that yes, I am in fact more mature, more attractive, more confident, more together, blah blah blah than I was even 2 years ago…let alone 6! I know I should be comfortable in the knowledge that this is all true and leave it at that.

Have you seen THIS man??

This morning I woke up early – gotta love breakfast meetings! But the good news was that I had gotten up extra early, looked very cute and pulled together in chic Irish Red ala Jackie “O” style (oh you know I had on the pearls, the heels, the black glasses…mmhhmm).

Anyway, it was 7:00 a.m. (ugh) and I’m not completely awake, but notice that I have 4 minutes till the train comes, so I sit down at the third bench in, as is my custom every morning (I’m a creature of habit, what can I say?), get out the Post Express crossword puzzle…and waited for the train.

A quick side note: I enjoy my morning commute. It takes roughly 20 minutes and which is apparently a perfect time for me to do a crossword puzzle, relax, and sip some coffee (Yes, Metro Nazi, I know you’re not supposed to do that on the metro…call me a rebel). I really enjoy my routine and it is an essential ingredient to my functionality and morning productivity. To insure that I am not disturbed in my early morning meditation you will usually find me wearing sunglasses (in a dark tunnel…yes…I’m THAT girl) and I’m plugged into my i-pod. This all adds up to a deliciously caffeinated, dark, noisy 20 minutes that I cherish almost as much as my grande-skim-toffeenut-latte-no whip.

So the train comes and the familiar “ding dong” chimes of the opening doors release the wave of office-goers onto the platform. As I wait for the last passenger to trickle out, I notice a man standing in the doorway…noticing me…noticing me notice him…and I take off my sunglasses so that he can see me noticing him notice me. So eye contact is established…and then he smiles, not some big cheesy smile, but it’s 7 in the morning I can’t believe we’re waiting for all these people to unload” kind of smile.

So I did what ANY NORMAL person would do…I kissed him! No no, I’m just kidding. No need to send for the men in white coats. Hehe

As I was saying…I stepped onto the train and smiled back and sat down in the first row of seats…facing him. And then we did the dance…the he looks, you look away, you look he sees you looking so you look away smile, smile – Tango.

I even take my earphones out so as to say – LOOK! I’m not isolating myself in my dark noisy world…come and talk to me!

Alas…sigh…we ended up Tango-ing into Virginia where he exited the train, but not before flashing a KILLER smile at yours truly before he exited the train.

MISSING
Roughly 33, 5’11, dark hair, studios yet stylish looking glasses, tan coat, KILLER smile.

Has anyone seen this man?? I came out of my Gucci adorned, indie rock cocoon for you..and you left. *Sigh*



Just as well…he might have turned out to be a face licker…or an Ohio State fan. Better to just hang onto the dream

Mamma Said There'd be Days Like This*

I was angry when I got home. Just in a f-o-u-l mood.

Maybe it was because of the stress of the day. Maybe it’s just because I’m frustrated at work because I don’t know where to begin on a new project. Maybe it’s because when I walked into my bathroom this evening, the vanity lights that hang over my mirror had fallen off the wall and were hanging precariously by two, rather thin, electrical-looking wires…Just the way they were this morning when I told apartment maintenance about the problem and was assured it would be remedied by 5:00 p.m.!

Maybe I was mad at myself for not getting my butt out of bed this morning and going to the gym and my oh-so-cute little black skirt was feeling..little-r than usual. Maybe I was frustrated at one of my VPs for turning a simple, rational project into an arbitrary, unorganized MESS!

Maybe it was because my friends, including Barbies #1, #2 AND #3 are no where to be found! #1 is off in Paris with a beautiful man having lovely sex, Parisian style; #2 is lamenting the fact that her boyfriend just started his first year in law school; and #3 is just plain MIA.
Maybe I was pissed at myself for not having plans on a Wednesday night. What happened to the dating MACHINE that WAS Irish Red?? Well let me tell ya, she was stupid. She broke all her rules. She cared a little too much about someone who she professed meant nothing (WPB). And it’s come back to bite her in the ass!

Of course it didn’t help that all of her favorite CDs now remind her of him or that she happened to be playing said CDs constantly. Either that or reflective, acoustic music to slit your wrists by recordings (ala Joni Mitchell) – leaving her ultimately uninspired romantically.

Oh sure, she still flirts, and even gives out the occasional phone number (something she should really start to curb …Mr. Theology called yesterday!). But even the male attention wasn’t as gratifying as it used to be. Maybe THAT was it, ultimately she was sick and tired of thinking about him. Emotionally exhausted. Why wasn’t he as utterly unforgettable as the rest of her short-lived romantic trysts?

Because he kept calling? Because she kept answering the phone? Because she broke her rules for him? Because he was the first man in 6 months not to declare his undying affections after two dates? Because she took the time to get to know him? Honestly, she feels like SUCH an idiot! I KNOW I KNOW he’s a jerk! He slept with who KNOWS how many women over the course of our 6 week involvement and let’s not forget the threesome incident!

UGH! Maybe she had been on one too many bad dates and it was nice to know she’d have a good time (the devil you know…and all). Maybe it’s because I don’t have anything or anyone else distracting me at the moment. Lord knows I don’t want a relationship….but…I guess I wasn’t ready to end it and I have a problem with that - call it my need to control a situation? Discussion for another entry perhaps?

Well, dahlings, you’ll be happy to know though that through this ranting, I have calmed down a great deal since I first sat down to write**. I even think that incorporating my WPB rant was somewhat therapeutic. So thank you for indulging me this evening.

The world's smallest balcony...

Yes, I am feeling much better. I’m sitting on the world’s smallest balcony overlooking downtown, DC, sipping on a glass of wine, smoking my precious Marlboro Ultra Lights, and attempting to exhale all the problems of the day through either the smoke or these laptop keys before I inhale the stress of the morning.



* OC takes credit for her words of wisdom
** And the maintenence guy came up and fixed my lighting situation after I complained, so again, day got a bit better towards the end

Dear Mr. Reader:

Ok, maybe I’m new to the whole blogger popularity thing and perhaps ‘hate mail’ is a common occurrence (perhaps some of you veterans comment on this?)

I recently received the following email and it starts off nice…

Hey, just stumbled across your blog. You seem like a smart, classy girl and you also like college football, which is awesome. It’s interesting to read.

Thank you so much! (smile…blush)….reading on….

Oh but wait, then I saw your tribute to Sex and the City. Sure, lots of girls like that show, but if you think of Samantha as a role model, that’s pretty sick. You like her because she slept with younger guys and made cursing less shocking or something. So you obviously admire foul-mouthed, shallow, and slutty women. Perhaps you’re like that yourself. I hope not. I’m going to hope that that old post was a momentary lapse. Or maybe you were just drunk. Which you seem to be often.

Mr. Reader

My goodness, Mr. Reader! Well, first of all, thank you for reading and if you weren’t TOO off-put by my Ode to Carrie Bradshaw, I hope you will return from time to time.

I felt compelled to respond to this email, not because I feel that I need to defend myself, necessarily…while it is tempting..but perhaps to offer some amount as clarification. Please do keep in mind that this blog and the ideas spewing from my laptop are, in fact MINE, being forced on no one, so there really is no need for name calling is there? However, if you would like to engage in a lively discussion, let’s go!

Round One (DING!)

Let us review what exactly I said about dear, dear Samantha Jones:

Samantha is my religion. She demystified the F-word and put a nice feminine spin on it. 'Fuck' is like brunch' - it's trendy and necessary and very specific. It's bigger than brunch, frankly. It's more important. It's hotter. Its shocking, but not. It's not because Samantha said it. She wins. And when she wins, we win. Look at Smith Jerrod, for god's sake. She clearly WON there. So, we won too. Week after week of looking at that yummy boy was a party favor we did not deserve.

Second, Mr. Reader, let’s review your take on what I said:

1. You think it’s “sick” that I think of her as a role model
2. I like her because she slept with younger guys and she swears a lot
3. Therefore, I am slutty, shallow, and foul-mouthed

A-hem (clearing my throat, trying not to giggle). Let’s address these concerns one at a time, shall we?

1. I have chosen a smart, successful, beautiful, strong, independent, and honest woman as my role model. Good Lord what HAVE I done!? Samantha Jones owns her own business, does not rely on a man or anyone else to take care of her, she is over 40 and is not freaking out because she doesn’t have kids, you don’t see her waiting by the phone for some guy to call, or taking any abuse from cheating men either. She’s not a hypocrite like so many women I know. She puts it all out there. She says “this is who I am and if you don’t like it, then F*ck off!”

Oh! Not to mention that she dealt with BREAST CANCER with grace and dignity. She’s a fighter, she’s a survivor and most importantly she’s there when her friends need her most. While I don’t think I specifically referred to her as a role model…I guess she is. Maybe not for six year olds, but for women in general, abso-frecking-lutely.

Round Two (Ding!)

2. I do not like her because she’s slept with younger guys. I like her for all the above mentioned reasons and because Smith Jared was IS SUCH a cutie! That’s all! We should all be so lucky to find, not only a boy that hot but one who would shave his head for you!

Round Three (Ding!)

3. That I am Foul Mouthed, Slutty and Shallow – wow, Mr. Reader! You could tell all that from the fact that I like Samantha Jones? Hello, Mr. Perception.

As for the foul mouthed: granted, I probably swear more than I should but I’m not a sailor and can certainly rein it in whenever inappropriate.

Slutty: well, I guess it depends on your definition so you’ll have to enlighten me since I can not refute a claim when I don’t know your definition of Slutty. Alas, I will not innumerate my sexual escapades for you, but I will say that they are seldom random, that I have a healthy sex drive for a 26 year old woman, and yes, do enjoy sex. I suppose I am somewhere between virginal and Samantha Jones, I guess. (But then again, most of us are.) If that makes me a slut…so be it. Get me a T-shirt and let’s call it a day.

Finally, Shallow (these are all very subjective terms, Mr. Reader): if you are referring to my comments that “Smith Jarred” was hot, then yes, you are right. Are you ACTUALLY proposing that I am objectifying him??? Because THAT would be funny. “Hello, my name is Red. I love hot men”. Someone PLEASE recommend a 12 step program because apparently I HAVE A PROBLEM.

Round Four (Ding!)

Dear, Dear, Mr. Reader I was most disturbed by the “you seem to be drunk often” comment. First of all, you say it like it’s a BAD thing!? Hehe.

I must admit, many of my posts, especially the ones alluding to nights on the town and the resulting craziness, mention a significant amount of alcohol consumption. For the simple fact that the more interesting things seem to happen when I am, in fact drunk, or out among intoxicated people. Can’t have really anything interesting to blog about if I stay inside watching Law & Order reruns every night now can I? Actually many of my fun-filled-alcoholic nights are broken up over two posts, and most occur on Fridays. I would also like to point out the fact that I did NOT go out with my roommate last Thursday and I went out hard core ONE night over the long weekend.
*Sigh.* Mr. Reader is right again, folks. I enjoy going out and getting little crazy on Fridays.

So I surrender, Mr. Reader. You win. Please pass whatever judgment or punishment you deem appropriate for a strong-woman admiring, verbally expressive, sexually healthy, Absolut buying, draft beer drinking deviant.

Guilty as charged.

Crikey, Steve!

Poor poor crocodile hunter!

Crikey, Steve! You handle 50 foot snakes and wrestle crocks...How did you get killed by a sting ray?? I remember being at Disney world and sea world when I was 7 and petting the sting rays!

Oh, Steve. You were so cute with your cute accent and big smile. Plus you have two kids! How sad!

My heart goes out to Terri, your beautiful wife (not beautiful in a supermodel-esque way but in a down to earth, not too much makeup, so so nice, girl next door kind of way). And good for you, Steve for going with the down to earth gal!

How awful it must be for her. I mean, of COURSE they have life insurance, etc. The man thought Cobras were cute for cryin out loud! But you could tell they were so in love and such good friends. How terrible to loose not only your spouse but best friend. It's just so so sad.

Sleep well, Steve in that big-crock farm in the sky.

Autumn Mix

Oh! How I love the fall!

Thank you Ernesto for blowing it into DC ahead of schedule! Isn't it wonderful to walk out of your front door to be greeted not by a hot wall of 100 degree heat and humidity, but instead by the fluid, breathable air that is warm enough for flip flops but cool enough for jeans. And oh how I love jeans! Denim, beautiful denim, denim that negates the necessity to shave every morning, denim that covers thigh imperfections yet makes my butt look sooo good!

Autumn heralds the coming of change and of all things new. The fact that the New Year is a time for resolutions and new beginnings is a misconception. Think about it - your entire childhood and early adulthood (the formative years if you will) have revloved around the coming of fall. The start of new academic terms, new grades, new rites of passage, new athletic seasons, new clothes and new definitions of self.

Sadly as we progess deeper and deeper into our professional lives, the magical new beginning that was once September begins to fade into the flurry of activity that is office life. While we may find ourselves staring longingly at the school supply aisle in CVS or have the uncontrolable urge to sharpen pencils and tote our lunches in brown paper bags, for most of us, our adult Septembers bring with them only a sigh to the end of summer Fridays, Dewy Beach weekends, and sunlight filled commutes.

And so to satisfy these deeply rooted urges, I will put in an extra order for supplies at the office(pens, notebooks, etc.) on Tuesday, and will trade in my beach towl for a bail of hay next to a bon fire, margaritas for spiked apple cider, white heels for knee-high boots, baseball double headers for college bowl games and halter tops for turtlenecks.

But the true trumpting herald of autmn comes not with the propietary ban on snowy-colored footwear, or spotting that first bightly colored maple tree. It happend this afternoon as I walked into Rite Aid in search of liquid bliss (otherwise known as Diet Coke) and there it was - an entire display of ...candy corn...yes, my friends, fall has arrived.

Candy Corn* - that timeless, seasonal sugar high and my fat-free crack addiction of choice. While other once seasonal treats such as 'peeps' and red and green colored m&m's have sold out and are now readily available in addaptive form to accomodate most popular holiday themes - candy corn has held fast. It has refused to sell out. Maintained its dignighty. Is now and will forever be decidedly autumnal.

So have a wonderful evening readers as I sit here and nibble on my "Autumn Mix" (the name for the assorted (plain, chololate and pumpkin-shaped) bag 'o corn I purchased).

And happy fall.




*Did you know that candy corn has been around since 1904??

HP tagged me! I had no choice!

In an effort to blog about a subject OTHER than boys, I have been tagged into a book blog survey…

1. Book that changed your life: Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women by Elezebeth Wurtzel. This book is an astounding slap in the face to traditional thinking, media feedback, and definitely one to stock up on to hand out as gifts to your evolving friends. Her thinking, even manic and circuitous makes sense! Is there hope for us all?

2. Book you've read more than once: Northanger Abby by Jane Austen.

3. Book you'd take to a desert island: Depends, I suppose if I’m ever getting OFF the island. If I’m never getting off, I suppose some fabulously long book like War & Peace that I would never get around to reading otherwise.

4. Book that made you laugh: Kiss My Tiara: How to rule the world as a smart-mouth goddess. Some delightful gems in here that made me chuckle on the metro.

5. Book that made you cry: The Hours by Michael Cunningham – gives me goosebumps when I think about it. Themes rise to the surface, submerge, and reappear (purchasing flowers; a kiss shared between two women; a life-threatening illness; an interrupted attempt to run away from one's life; a suicide reconsidered)-just as in music. Let it wash over you rather than analyze it, and you will be well rewarded.

6. Book you wish you had written: Radical Sanity: Common Sense Advice for Uncommon Women, by Elizabeth Wurtzel. Radical Sanity offers hilarious, common sense advice in an unique and perfectly poised way. This book helped lift me out of a quarter-life mini-crisis. It is Sarcastic, Irreverent, Beautiful.

7. Book you wish had never been written: usually anything on oprah’s book club as they tend to have a reading level below 5th grade and fail to say anything of consequence.

8. Book you're currently reading: “Band of Brothers” by Stephen Ambrose. A non-fiction book about the 101st airborne in World War II.

9. Book you've been meaning to read: My Amazon.com wish includes: I Am Charlotte Simmons, Vanity Fair; Life Mask (by Emma Donohue); God’s Brothel: The Extortion of Sex for Salvation in Contemporary Mormon and Christian Fundamentalist Polygamy; Mistress of Modernism: The Life of Peggy Guggenheim.

10. Now tagging the following bloggers to make this same list with their answers on their blogs. Hmmm…I’m going to tag Sam and anyone else who feels like joining in! Thanks for the tag, HP! This was fun!

I'm never drinking again...until tomorrow*

Well, yesterday was the company retreat. We were supposed to spend the day golfing, but Ernesto seemed to have other plans for us. So the start of the day with a 9:00 a.m. tee time out in McLean turned out to be a 9:30 a.m. reservation at the Silver Diner complete with blueberry pancakes, maples syrup, coffee and Bloody Mary’s. YUM!

After immerging from our food comas we decided to do the next best thing to golf – bowling! So we went to Fort Meyers for a little beer and bowling. MMMM…an afternoon of my 2 favorite things…hot men in uniform and cheap beer.

So after many, many Miller Lites and light flirtation with big, strong, military-type boys in the adjacent lanes, we left to drive back into DC where co-workers decided that we should continue the merriment and grab some food at…you guessed it! The Front Page.

Well, as you can imagine, the wind and rain (and the fact that happy hour didn’t start for a couple of hours) kept most of the cheap beer drinking, wings eating, TGIF celebrating folks away.

Fast forward to 7 p.m….I went out to Hawk & Dove for a friend’s birthday party. This is actually the same group of friends that I was with last Friday so we’re talking very Republican, Catholic, nice, smart guys but…well…you know

And the drinking continued, but by the pitcher-full this time. Because the bar was hardly crowded, all of the people in the back bar with us were part of the group. And so I was walking around, and along the way said hello to a tall, not handsome but nice looking boy. Turns out he knew my friend through a Theology Happy Hour. Did you know these existed? (Because I thought they were an urban-catholic-school myth). Apparently you go to a happy hour and hear a lecture about theology. Who does this?? I mean I enjoy a good sacramental wine as much as the next person…but really.

Anyway, being the social butterfly that I am, I soon ended the conversation and moved onto a taller, more handsome lawyer across the room J At this point I was mighty tipsy (keep in mind that I had been drinking since 10 a.m.), kissing cheeks with red lipstick, etc. (which was a big hit).

Somehow (the details are kinda fuzzy), I found myself talking to Mr. Theology again and at one point he started touching me a bit on my arm then a hand on my back, etc. I went along with it. Not because I was particularly attracted to him, but because …I was bored? …because I had been drinking for 13 hours!? Who the hell knows?

While getting my bar tab he asked if I wanted a ride home. And I thought, why not? It’s raining cats & dogs, who knows if I’ll be able to find a taxi, besides, I just used the last of my cash to buy the birthday boy some shots! So we say goodbye and I jump into his car.

I was fine with the light physical contact in the bar, but in the solitude of a front seat, things weren’t quite as kosher. But I’ve been handling these kinds of situations since I was 15 so I thought: “I’ll be fine – besides, he goes to Bible-thumping* happy hours and he’s probably still a virgin! How bad could it get?” (famous last words).

Well…it certainly got….interesting. He started petting my face (not in a look each other’s eyes adoringly, caressing the face kind of way, but …he was driving! One hand on the wheel and one hand petting…actually petting my face.).

We finally got back to my building and he asked if he could walk me up. Now, I must say that I have a few rules when dating and they include: no kissing on the first date and definitely no one sees the inside of my apartment for the first few dates (not because my place is insanely messy necessarily, but because being inside leads to couch sitting, which leads to couch laying which leads to ….)

ANYHOO he walks me to my door, I say ‘thank you’ and goodnight. And yes, I broke the kissing rule, but come on…it was just a kiss…and we weren't exactly on a date. well, he got back on the petting thing, and morphed it into LICKING. Yes, people, he actually LICKED my face. On what planet is this OK? In what culture is this socially acceptable?? So I’m attempting to cope with the gross-out factor, physically PUSH him off of me and we initiated the hook up push/pull:

Mr. Theology: Let’s go sit down
Red: No, I’m pretty tired
Mr. Theology: But it’s early
Red: I don't want to move too fast
Mr. Theology: We're not going too fast
Red: My roommate’s in there…blah blah.

Good lord, people! You would think that Mr. Theology, a guy who attends Catholics anonymous at bars wouldn’t be so quick to um…infringe on a girl's purity…or LICK her face. Am I wrong? Or are all guys looking to hook up regardless of professions of piety?

So I woke up this morning and decided that I’m never drinking again…apparently it leads to getting mauled by drunk theology students. Maybe I need to lay off the church-going kids for awhile.

*Sigh* gotta go – my roommate is pouring me a drink…





* can't take credit for this title - i awoke to this txt message from my favorite irish boy in Detroit
** don't get me wrong, religion is a beautiful thing and I will no doubt be going to confession tomorrow morning...or afternoon depending on what time i get up