Oops, I Did it Again

Apparently in addition to celebrity gossip sites and fast food, I accidently gave up blogging for Lent. My deepest apologies, to any dear readers I have left. It seems like when I have the most notable things to write about, I use my business as an excuse not to write.

Since my last post, I've agonized over an amazing job offer and possibly had the shortest non-relationship ever.

I was offered an event planning job that wanted about twenty hours of work a week from me. While it's everything I've ever wanted, it would also mean I'd be working about 55-60 hours a week for the rest of the semester (between all my jobs), as well as going to class. 

As a result, I'm still looking for a summer job.

On the romance front, I met an amazing guy (actually the one from my last post). Great conversationalist, lots in common, sweet. After a few dates (Thursday night, we sat on the roof of a campus building for about two hours and just talked)  and group hang outs, we essentially spent the entire weekend in bed together. The thing is, physically, the relationship hasn't progressed past the point of a very conservative 10th grader. I'd just forgotten how nice it is to be held and lay in bed with someone all day laughing.

However, Saturday night he told me that he had had feelings for his best friend. After vocalizing them, they hooked up a few times, only for her to (apparently) go crazy and not want to speak to him again. This all happened about two weeks before we met each other and he's been in a fairly dark place.

He jumped between saying 'I feel like this is a mistake, but I want to make it,' to saying maybe it's good for him and asking if I thought he'd make it back into my bed again. 

He's stopped by a few times since then to get some music from me and hang out and there have been some great online conversations. However, our hanging out has had zero physical interaction, aside from his hand on my hip for all of two seconds. 

I guess I'm just frustrated. Everyone else seems to find perfect things; why can't I? Everyone who gets to me is so damaged, they feel they're beyond repair. What am I supposed to do with that? Plus I don't want to throw myself into a situation where the other person is still attached to an idea. 

He took the bulk of the initiative in all of this. If you're not sure if you're ready for anything romantically, then don't ask a girl out for brunch; don't make an effort to go out and meet her friends; don't walk her home; and don't stay until one pm the next day.

I'm excellent at compartmentalizing my life. I've become cynical to the point that I can block out a lot of things from my heart. But stuff like this? This is how you get attached.

Pair that with the fact that my roommate is so coupled up with her boyfriend, I don't think I've seen her alone in well over a week, and, well....I'm just going to set up camp in my bed with Radiohead on repeat for the night. Don't mind me.

Please Check Yes, No or Maybe.

I have a crush.

I don't think I've typed these words since I was in junior high school and adventuring into the realm of instant messenger for the first time. However, I have all the symptoms: butterflies in the stomach, hair flipping, nervous giggling.

One of my one campus jobs has about 80 employees; I recently worked a rotation with one I had never met and the four hour shift literally flew by.

Pluses: He caught my nerdy references (such as when I mentioned Caligula), he makes mixed CDs and he considers Natalie Portman in Garden State to be his ideal woman (a guy once compared me to her; I still consider it the greatest compliment I've ever gotten).

Drawbacks: He plays his acoustic guitar at coffee houses (ack. emotions?), he wears white tennis shoes with jeans (I abhor tennis shoes outside of exercise) and he may or may not have a girlfriend (his relationship status isn't listed on Facebook and his wall is taken over by some girl)

The jury's out on how this will end up, but for now, I don't mind the ride. There's nothing wrong with a few unnecessary butterflies. 

Academics and Other Regrettable Endeavors

So it's time for me to perform an academic audit since I'm an upcoming senior (oh christ....)

As a government major, I have to take two quantitative courses, which translates roughly to 'bane of my existence requirements.' I'm not good at math or science, which is exactly why I'm a government major. I don't deal well in absolutes. 

So I thought I was done with this terrible requirement UNTIL the audit occurred. Apparently for all major requirements, you have to have a C or better. In one of the classes (which ruined my life last fall), I got a C-. Now it might not even count for anything.

Fuck my life.

What I don't get is why the plus / minus system even counts for anything here. They doesn't change our GPA at all unless grad schools recalculate them.  That's going to be my argument when I meet with an advisor. 

Then again, it's possible this will all be a non-issue. I discovered this late Friday night, so I've had all weekend to dwell.

In other news, I survived Valentines weekend mostly in tact. The only real problems are the fact that I've lost my voice and probably overworked my liver. No biggie.

Southern Hospitality

One of my favorite things about my current politico-job (okay, internship) is  that there's a real speaking tradition. People in the elevator are are wishing you good day and everyone you make eye contact with asks how you are, regardless of gaps in job titles.

It's very reminiscent of all the southern schools I wish I had applied to when DC hits mid-January.

So today, upon passing a Senator I frequently deal with in the hall, I nodded and smiled.

The (gentle)man with him, a lobbyist I think, winked at me.

Dear Sir:

While I may look young for my age, I am still old enough for this to fall strictly in the realm of 'creepy' and far from the realm of 'cute'.

Good day,

Your Friendly Local Intern

If This Isn't Nice, I Don't Know What Is

Ugh. Currently, I'm sitting in my in professional writing class. It's supposed to be a focus on persuasive writing; instead, the perpetually gloomy professor (think a 6'5 Eeyore) focuses primarily on descriptive writing and we spend the bulk of the 3 hour seminar doing out loud read alongs.

Also, whoever is next to me keeps farting. Charming.

However, I can't complain. The weekend was great - the weather was beautiful and I spent most of Saturday letting myself get lost in familiar places throughout the city. When it comes to good weather in February though, I know the east coast is a fickle lover and I should probably expect snow within the next week (it's actually on the forecast for Saturday...)

Also, as a treat to myself, I went and got my makeup done on Saturday night. In an effort to instill more class into my life, I'm going to try to make red lipstick 'happen' for me. While any Star Wars nerd would readily tell you that according to Yoda, there is only do or do not, no try, any woman who has dabbled in stark red lipstick would readily agree that there is a very definitive realm of trying.

It's kind of sad that I feel like I have nothing to write about when my life isn't falling to shambles, but I think Kurt Vonnegut was onto something: 

"But I had a good uncle, my late Uncle Alex. He was my father's kid brother, a childless graduate of Harvard who was an honest life-insurance salesman in Indianapolis. He was well-read and wise. And his principal complaint about other human beings was that they so seldom noticed it when they were happy. So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is." So I do the same now, and so do my kids and grandkids. And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.' "

He's Just Not that Into You

So the winner from Saturday night's debacle contacted me today...I was willing to try to play the whole situation off, take the fall as the silly blacked out girl (I was nowhere near blacked out, for the record) and move on. This is where my PR skills should have been shining.

He left mid-convo (damn internet conversations), so I posted this charming bit on his facebook wall:

my roommates informed me I was the better side of drunk on Saturday. When I black out I'm sloppy and try to fight people....sorry if my social niceties were on par with a drunken sailor or a grizzly bear.

And he deleted it!

CLEARLY, he was just SO attractive, I couldn't help myself and just HAD to be with him again.

Please. I just wanted to make in unawkward when we inevitably ran into each other in the future at the one of five area bars. 

After a marathon viewing of Sex and the City with my sick roommate this week, I'm starting to think most of the situations aren't quite so outlandish.

Jane Austen Would be Disappointed

It's a truth universally accepted that otherwise successful women will spend far too much time lamenting about the men in their lives, or the lack thereof.

Over the past two day, I have dealt with both of my roommates / bestfriends in tears over guys who don't call as often as they should. One has a boyfriend who is dark and brooding. The other is having sex with a guy who dumped her over six months ago but they're "working through things."

Maybe it's just me, but complaining about your "terrible" love life to your eternally single friend seems just a tad insensitive. 

To be frank, my romantic life sucks. Sure, everyone swoons over this guy who calls or that guy who wants to take me to dinner. But they rarely call a second time and dinner usually ends up in some sort of disaster.

Sure I make a big joke of it all and amuse everyone with my antics, but let's be honest, if I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying. And I do cry sometimes, but I have the decency to do it silently in the solitude of my own bed. I'd appreciate the same courtesy. 

I understand friends are supposed to pull each other up, but it's emotionally exhausting, especially when it's the same old issues they have the ability to fix.

Maybe I'm just in a terrible mood: the constant cold is getting to me, I'm overworked, I just found out a trip to London I'd been looking forward to is now canceled and my own mother paid more attention to American Idol than me on the phone. 

Happy Wednesday....

And they say romance is dead....

There is a fine line between "drunk enough to be a good time" and absolute disaster. While I have always known this, I  generally considered it one of those facts that you do not believe until you experience it, much like toast always landing butter side up. 

Well, I got a little schooling last night.

Last week I met this guy at the bar. Overwhelmingly good looking, I was shocked to hear from him later in the week, hoping to hang out this weekend, giving me his number, making small talk. While the banter was certainly strained, I was hoping he'd be a bit more witty after a few drinks.

We finally agreed to hang out last night. Oddly enough, I was nervous. Absolutely convinced of my aweseomeness, I am never nervous. This resulted in my not really eating all day and drinking heavily, a wise combination.

The plan was for me to bring my many attractive female friends, him to bring his entourage of bros and us to dance drunkenly through the night. However, when I got to the bar, I received a call that he was at a different bar. And wanted to meet. At 1:30.

 Any meet up starting at 1:30 in the morning does not have good intentions.

After many texts - and many drinks -  I finally agreed to meet him, explaining that we were NOT going to sleep together. 

The walk home I was slurred and stumbling and apparently he's the strong silent type. We were quite the couple. Upon making it back to my bedroom, the activities were less than wedding night, but would still make my mother blush and probably be very disappointed in me. 

I was drunk to the point that I could possibly be a very good partner and I even fell off the bed a few times.  Oh god.

Upon completion - because that's really the best way to describe the entire experience - he clothed himself, got on my computer without asking (good thing I hadn't left his Facebook, which I had been lurking, up) to check bus schedules back to his apartment and called another girl. 

"I'm going to go hang out with my friend. See ya."

I know I may not have been in top form, but HE certainly enjoyed himself far more than I did. 

I've spent the bulk of the day wishing I had drank even more so I would not remember the entire thing. 

Good News for People Who Love Bad News

I haven't posted much in the last week or so, if only because nothing interesting is really going on, aside from the usual dramas.

Roommate 1 / bff is wallowing right now. Last semester I was casually seeing this guy - we went on a few dates (a formal date? in college? I know, I was shocked too), he said a lot of really sweet things. I was genuinely ready to turn in my party girl stilettos and maybe settle down.

Then he got weird. Not replying to messages, disappearing for days a time, when he did want to hang out, it'd be a group thing and he'd call my roommate to set things up. 

I was out of town for a week and come home to everyone acting very suspiciously. To make a long story short, they had been seeing each other behind my back. A lot of tears and arguing later, my bff (as she will be referred to from here on out on the blog) decided she wanted to pursue things with this guy.

Fast forward two months and everyone is civil, even friendly. I've realized that I avoided a romantic grenade with this one - he's far too needy than I could handle.

On the downside, they fight a bunch and she'll lay in bed all day and mope. So he's not even my boyfriend, yet he's still managing to (relatively) ruin my life. Charming.

I did get some good news though: If my schedule works out the way I'm hoping (fingers are crossed), I won't have any finals. Meaning I get out of school a week and a half early. Meaning I can satisfy some of my wanderlust and visit my friends studying abroad.

I just need to find a (legal) way to make $1000. Any suggestions?

St. Crispen's Day

You know, I'm always reluctant to blog about hot topics; I honestly believe that my appeal lies entirely in quirky irrelevance. 

But here's the thing. It's the night before the inauguration and after a marathon viewing of Band of Brothers (which I've been trudging through all winter break), I just....well damnit, I feel hopeful. 

I won't lie: my inner cynic wants to watch Obama's inaugural speech at a bar tomorrow and drink every time I hear the words "hope," "change" or and allusion to a speech by Abraham Lincoln. But for the first time in a long time, I want to set aside that cynicism and believe that maybe, just maybe we have a clean slate. 

Maybe all those campaign promises weren't promises. Maybe we can fix some of the damage of the past few years. Maybe we can look past our differences, be they obvious or a little more hidden, and focus on our humanity.

I have my doubts, of course and I certainly disagree with Mr. Obama on many big policy points.

But at the end of the day, he makes me hope, against all reason, that there may be a better future just around the bend, for extraordinary times break the mold for the ordinary men. 

Goodnight and good luck Mr. Obama; Lord knows you'll need it.

Rookie of the Year.

This post is in response to the January Blog Carnival over at the 20 Something Blog Ring, all about First Kisses.

While it's entirely possible my first kiss was earlier, the first one I remember was at the tender age of 15.

 I think I reached my romantic peak somewhere around kindergarten, as I don't think I'll ever be able to top having two very public boyfriends at the same time and having it be perfectly acceptable. Then again, maybe the key to the success of those relationships was that they were entirely platonic. 

Complements of puberty, I went through a really lengthy awkward stage post kindergarten, ending with my first (and only) boyfriend during my sophomore year of high school. 

As a sophomore dating a senior, I thought I was possibly the coolest person ever. I had his class ring, a chauffeur with a sky blue  Coupe de Ville and my best friend was dating his best friend. It was like something out of my late 90's teen movie dreams.

After a few weeks of dating, my boyfriend, his best friend and my best friend all came over to my house for a snowy evening full of sledding, hot chocolate and trivial pursuit (clearly, I ran with a wild crowd). 

As things were winding down, I walked Matt to his car, having a hunch that this would be the setting for the big kiss - I mean, it HAD been a few weeks, after all. It couldn't have been more perfect: the full moon reflecting off the snow, the stars glimmering overhead. Dreamy.

Of course he leans in for the kiss, I lean in, there's contact...and the next thing I knew his tongue was essentially down my throat. But mind you, it wasn't really moving, it just kind of...sat there like a rock or a dead jelly fish. As the same time, his lips were going crazy, like a fish gasping for water. 

It's a good thing he had his eyes closed, because I'm pretty sure mine were popping out of my head.

I broke  the kiss as quickly as possible - I may never have been kissed before, but I certainly knew it shouldn't be like that!

With that, he looked down at me, eyes glimmering and whispered, "I love you." 

I'm still not sure what alarmed me more about that statement: the fact that we had only been dating a few weeks at the time or that this was his response to that vaguely terrifying kiss. 

Of course, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "I'm really cold."

I put Shakespeare to shame when it comes to romance.

That first kiss was so scarring, there never was another. I constantly made up excuses - I'm sick, you're sick, my teeth hurt, I burnt my tongue - until we broke up a little over a  month later.

 In hindsight, I don't know why he dealt with me for so long. A senior in high school dating a girl who won't even kiss him for over two months?  The poor guy must have really liked me.

Actually, I didn't have another kiss for almost two and a half years, not until after graduation, a debacle detailed here.

Second Star to the Right and Straight on 'til Morning

I'm really lucky in that my family and I are incredibly close. I spent most of winter break at home, avoiding phone calls from friends in order to spend more time around the house. 

On the same note, I had an amazing childhood, complete with a tree house, being terrorized by the neighborhood dog and epic games of jailbreak and kickball.

The downside of all of this is I have a massive Peter Pan complex. Occasionally, I'll spend random weeknights up until the wee hours, fretting at the prospect of growing up. It's not that I hate responsibility - I've had plenty of serious internships and jobs - I guess I'm just worried  that I'll never be that genuinely happy again. 

I'm also scared my house is going to stop feeling like home. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but last summer was probably my last 'real' summer of working as few hours as possible, lounging around the house and maximizing time at the beach.

 Now that I have an apartment with a year-long lease, I'll probably spend this summer down here,  working something similar to a real job (to the tune of 40 hours a week). Next Christmas, I don't expect to be home long, as I'm hoping to study abroad for our January term. The next think you know, I'm graduated and apparently supposed to enter the real world.

I've talked to my mom about this and no matter how many times she says home will always be home, I'm always terrified that that moments'  going to come and it'll be a threshold I can never go back  from. 

You know, it's entirely possible my parents did too good of a job.

Then again, with my luck, I'll probably move back home after graduation and stay there until my late 20s or my parents kill me, whichever happens first.

International Man of Mystery

Life's been a bit boring lately. I've moved back into my apartment at school and along with it has come a healthy dose of drama (messy roommate issues, of course). I'm hoping things will get better after a sit down talk, so I won't write about it (yet). I'm trying to approach it rationally so the less crazy dwelling on it, the better. 

I also have my first day of work tomorrow. Without giving away too many details, I'm working for a governmental committee. My boss is an absolute sweetheart and has already called me several times to see how my holidays have been. The schedules going to be a pain (I havent seen the 'waking up' side of 7 am since high school), but it should be a great networking opportunity. 

In other news, this guy from my 'past' sent me the ever-romantic Facebook IM trying to make plans for this weekend. To appreciate the humor in this, a bit of back story is necessary. 

I'm vice-president of a campus group that frequently attends conferences held by large universities. While there's definitely an academic element, anytime you have 2,000 college students in a hotel, shenanigans are bound to ensue. At a conference we went to in November,  the host university rented a club.  

Our school has a reputation as a bit of a party school, so we hosted a pre-party. I'm about as white as it comes to dancing, so I prepared myself by skipping around the hotel room with a bottle of jager. Some military cadets were crammed in the bathroom around a bathtub full of beer, not a girl in sight. A couple was making out in the closet and people were jumping on beds. If this was the pre-party, it certainly bode well for the rest of the night.

By the time we made it to the club, I was the better side of drunk. One minute I'm dancing, the next thing I know, I'm making out with some random boy. After what feels like an hour later, he looks at me, laughs, and shouts gleefully, "I'm gay!" Vaguely terrified, I run away.

Unable to find my friends, in true drunk girl style, I find myself dancing with another guy.  Luckily, my friends were slightly more sober than I was and found me, dragging me home before I made an additional spectacle of myself. Angry at the time, I shouted my room number over my shoulder, while loudly calling my friends cockblocks. I was in rare form.

After falling out of the taxi, our boys put me to sleep in their room (we had connecting hotel rooms). Who knows how long I was asleep for, but suddenly, I heard knocking on the door. Apparently, the boys found an after party, because I was home alone. Creeping to the door, I found my dance partner. Apparently he was good with numbers.

I started to pull him into my room next door, until I realize there was a random guy in my bed. I didn't think I had  been that drunk, so I frantically looked around. Much to my relief, my roommate was passed out on the bathroom floor. 

Never an exhibitionist, I pulled my dance partner into the hallway and up the stairwell. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was the better part of naked. I guess I had some sense knocked into me after being pushed against the wall, but I looked this fellow square in the eye and informed him I was NOT that kind of girl and I would NOT sleep with him. I'm sure I was quite convincing in bra and underwear. However, he took me for my word and we agreed this had just been a one time thing. He wouldn't even tell me his name and I gave him a fake one. 

Two weeks later, I get a friend request on Facebook. Oh, hello guy from the stairwell. I still have no idea how he found me, but after we got past the awkwardness of my fake name giving being uncovered, we talked a bit and have kept up over break. He goes to school nearby and now wants to go on some sort of date this weekend. 

He's certainly nice enough, but I definitely had my beer goggles on that night. Plus, I see face-to-face conversation being limited at best. There's only so much time you can fondly look  back on a thirty minute ordeal. 

"Oh, haha, remember that time you did some serious searching on Facebook to find me after you wouldn't give me your name?" The future grandkids will love that story.

Rest In Peace, You Wascally Rabbit.

After almost eight years, my bunny died today.

 I know that the death of a childhood pet is part of growing up for most people. I just didn't expect to be this upset. 

When we first got him he was about as awkward as I was, a scared little ball of fluff in the back of the cage. For the first few weeks, I'd sit down in the basement and do my homework on the floor with the cage open until he felt comfortable enough to approach anyone. 

After countless fights with my parents, breaking up with my boyfriend and getting rejected from my top choice university, I cried into his fur while he licked my face and tried to eat my hair. 

And during insomnia filled breaks from college, I'd lay on the couch while he snored in the corner.

He'd be acting a little weird lately and while I knew he was certainly getting old, I was optimistic it was just a stage. Then tonight while hopping around the basement, he laid down. As I was getting up to pet him, he started having a seizure and died while I was petting him and yelling for my parents. 

Rest in Peace Bugsy. I hope bunny heaven is full of bananas and cheerios. 

2009, so far you've been nothing but bad news.

You Want to Put WHAT In my Mouth??

An Open Letter to All Dentists:

I appreciate all that you do - personally, I would not want to stare into the mouths of strangers all day (even if they did pay well). This is why I generally limit my contact with strange mouths to dimly lit hallways after much liquor consumption - after all, alcohol kills germs and everyone knows the dark kills ugliness. 

HOWEVER, if you are going to scrape apart my gums while trying to scrape goo off my teeth, do not yell at me for  bleeding, apparent evidence of not flossing enough. 

That's like a doctor yelling at you for breaking your ankle if you fall 20 feet: "Should have drank more milk...."

It's 2009. We've put a man on the moon and I can lurk strangers with my iPhone. There has got to be a better way to clean teeth.

In other news, I think my bangs are an absolute disaster. They looked amazingly cute upon leaving the hair salon. When left to my own devices, however,  my hair looks like a mix of a 14 year old emo boy and 1985. 

Looks like the next few months will be spent avoiding cameras and untagging pictures on facebook at record speed while awaiting the bangs to grow out....

On that note, it's raining and icing out. I'm going back to bed.

Morality for Beautiful Girls

It's only five days into the new year and already I've found a resolution I really should have included: No homewrecking.

No, but seriously.

It's not something I'm proud of, but in 2008, I inadvertently ended one relationship, hooked up with one guy with a serious girlfriend (that I was unaware of) and engaged in countless flirtations  with attached menfolk.

I'm all for female empowerment, but few things feel worse than being the eternal mistress. It essentially boils down to a "Hey! You're awesome, but not awesome enough to date" slap in the face. Plus, I'm sure I'm not sending the best romantic karma into the world.

What really grates on me is that these guys push the issue even if I offer resistance in the form of "Hey, remember your girlfriend?" it seems to have no impact. They just don't seem to care. Now I'm not one to group all guys together, but when did it fall to me to be a pillar of morality?

I can't be trusted alone in a room with a freshly iced cake, let alone with  an attractive man. 

It's only January 5th and already I've had this resolution tested three times. 

1. The Flying Dutchman. This one's an on-going issue. Back in February, I was at a conference and met this incredibly attractive, charming Dutch guy. We had an amazing night together and (of course), I had to leave the next day. The entire 10 hour drive home was spent exchanging really cute text messages at extremely high international rates; I was utterly charmed. When I brought up us being Facebook friends, he admitted he had a confession: He had a girlfriend, but it was long distance, as he went to school in the Netherlands and she was in UCLA so they weren't that serious.

Well, ten months, countless inappropriate behavior via webcam and many attempts at sweet talking later, they're still together. This summer, he was in Los Angeles, working for the Dutch government. He offered to fly to DC, wine me, dine me, take me to an event at the Dutch embassy, the whole shebang, if only it ended with...well...she banging, pardon my pun. 

Now he's looking to go to grad school in DC and has excitedly told me of his big plans for his arrival here in the fall. Apparently there was some sort of language issue, because I don't think he caught my sarcasm about  how much his girlfriend will surely love him being in the US. I've already decided I'm not going to answer his calls when he gets here.

I frequently debate sending his girlfriend a tell all facebook message, but her family flew to the Netherlands to spend Christmas with his family. That's a lot of foundation to shake.

2. The Irishman. Maybe my problem here is international types. I knew  this guy when we went to middle school together. Inevitably he left, returning to his native Ireland. Reunited by the glories of the internet, we've started talking lately. A lot. Our conversations vary between the dynamics of the European Union and our mutual attraction.

He's going to school in New York and we've talked a lot about me coming to visit. The other day we go into an argument; apparently I'm being a tease because I wasn't planning on visiting for a few months (after he's single; I have little faith in the strength of most college relationships). He wanted me to visit at the end of January, so long as I wouldn't mind not going to parties (he wouldn't want his girlfriend to find out). 

His rationale is he would love to date me...if only I was in the same state. But because I'm not, there's no reason we can't "enjoy" one another while going on with our normal, at home lives. I've always hated this saying, but the situation really can be summed up with "You can't have your cake and eat it too."

3. The Southern Gentleman. This one's actually occurring as I type this. This one is another on-going, long distance flirtation. We used to talk nightly and joke about dating when he moved to DC for a government job. We'd be like something out of the West Wing. 

He got a girlfriend in mid-November and clearly the content of our conversations changed. That is, until tonight, when he tried to initiate some AIM dirty talking (oh baby, nothing is quite as sexy). 

The guy's supposed to crash in my apartment for the inauguration, but I'm tempted to text him tomorrow canceling his reservation.

I know this is a bit long, but I'm just so frustrated. I don't think I'm stuffy or a prude but it seems like my thoughts on fidelity are like something out of Camelot when compared with popular opinion.

First let me begin with a bit of a preface: This is my second, recent blog. I started blogging as a way to share my (mostly amusing) weekend conquests with friends in one, concise location and not much more. However, I'm trying to expand my network a bit and to be entirely honest, while funny, the image of a drunken trollop isn't exactly an accurate one of me. Not really wanting all my friends to read anything too personal, I've started this blog. I'm keeping the old one and still posting the most amusing weekend adventures.

You can read it here: Green Line Coed

Now onto a bit of substance.

Maybe I'm a bit late, but I figure a post about resolutions is certainly in order, if only so I can look back at this on December 31st, 2009 and chuckle at my ambitions. 

For this, I think its necessary to quote my favorite blogger, Ms. Bridget Jones.

Resolution 1: Will Obviously lose 20lbs. The standard female resolution

Resolution 2: Always put last night's panties in the laundry basket.  In my case, will stop throwing my shoes about the apartment upon arriving home from the bar. Locating said shoes is tiring, especially when they're under furniture, and I don't know how much more the walls can take.

Resolution 3: Will find nice, sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workoholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts. While men like this certainly make my love life more...interesting, I think a shift from 'interesting' to 'stable' may be in order. In my defense, I've never had a fling with a peeping tom...to my knowledge.

So here's to a new year, a new blog, new hair (something resembling bangs for the first time since I was 8...), a new wardrobe (professional clothing? ack) and a new start.