While discussing what day my parents can come over to help me with something:
Mom: We can come on Memorial Day. But isn’t there a race that day?
Me: A race?
Mom: Yeah - a marathon across the city. The Crosstown…something…
Me: The Crosstown Classic?
Mom: YES!
Me: ….
My Dad (in the background, to my mom): WHAT?! Where the HELL have YOU been?!
Dear Tourists,
Thank you so much for spending your hard earned vacation time in our wonderful city. Welcome! As someone who lives in the neighborhood, I thought I’d offer a few quick tips and tricks to make sure you get the most out of your time in the Windy City. This is all based off of…
I have a problem.
I can NOT make eye contact. Period.
To clarify, I can make eye contact with people I know… but even that is sometimes a bit painful. Sometimes, when someone is talking to me I can’t pay attention to what they’re saying because I’m all like, “OH SHIT, where do I look?! I don’t want to look into their eyes because they’re going to suck my soul out of me, but I don’t want them to think I’m rude so I’ll just stare at their nose oh shit they’re going to think I’m staring at their nose because it’s big WHERE DO I LOOK!”
Anyway, I turned 30 a few weeks ago. My resolution for this year is to learn how to make eye contact. So far, I’ve failed miserably.
Today, a hot guy at Starbucks kept trying to catch my eye. I walked past on the way to the bathroom and he turned to look at me… and I decided to find the floor very, very interesting. Then, he went outside to smoke, and after he was done i went out…. and he followed me outside and faced me and tried to make eye contact some more. Instead, I pretended to find the road construction down the street very, very interesting. DUMBASS.
Fifteen minutes later, I see someone approaching me out of the corner of my eye (but of course, I’m too scared to look). I think to myself “YAY hot guy is approaching and I didn’t even have to make eye contact!”
I look up, and it’s not hot guy… just some random ass dude that I accidentally made eye contact with earlier.
Him: “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Me: “No, I don’t believe so.”
Him: “I swear I do.”
Me: “Sorry, you must have me confused.”
Him: “Are you Latina?”
Me: “No.”
Him: “What are you then?”
Me: “Bosnian-Serb and German”
Him: “Is your last name Solis, by chance?”
Me: (Wouldn’t that make me Latina? Didn’t I just say I’m NOT Latina?) Nope, sorry.
Him: “Are you sure you’re not involved in the Latin community?”
Me: “Pretty sure.”
Him: “I know I’ve seen you at fundraisers for the Latin community before.”
Me: “Wasn’t me. Sorry.”
Him: “Do you have Latin friends that attend fundraisers for the Latin Community? Is that it?”
Me: (Thinking: What is this guy’s obsession with the Latin community?!) I do, but they are not involved with the ‘Latin Community’, sorry. NICE TO MEET YOU.”
Anyway, hot guy left, Latin Community Man decided to come back and ask me one last time if I was involved in the Latin Community via whatever-blibbity-blah-blah-nonprofit, and THIS, my friends, is why I don’t make eye contact.
I’ve decided to live-blog my thoughts for 5 minutes as I check my messages on OKCupid… because, to be honest… I think my friends are getting sick of receiving Facebook messages with links and editorial comments.
#1: Oh, he looks cute. Wait… he says he likes… penguins… more than he likes people?? And he spends a lot of time thinking about BATMAN? IS THAT A DOLLAR SIGN TATTOOED ON HIS LEG?!?! Who the fuck gets a DOLLAR SIGN tattooed on their calf?! DELETE!
#2: Meh, he may be handso… wait, nevermind. He somehow went from receding hairline to bald between pictures #1 and picture #2. NOT INTERESTED. I’ll save this message just because I feel like a jerk for judging someone who is probably a perfectly nice person based on their lack of hair. God, I’m a jerk. Does liking men with hair make me a bad person? I wonder…
#3: Hi, Matt… thanks for sending me a messa…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..Delete.
#4: Shrimp balls? Who the fuck lists SHRIMP BALLS as something they can’t live without?! Delete.
#5 Nice try Mr. Hot Macedonian Guy… you live 1,000 miles away and we’ve all seen Catfish. This could be amusing. I’m totally responding…. for entertainment purposes only, of course. Not because I want to have his baby in the off-chance that he’s a real person. No, not at all…
#6: Helpful hint, dude: when you start off an email with “let me be straight-forward” - 9 times out of 10, you’re about to say something that I don’t want to hear. DELETE.
#7: If you’re “Chicago’s Finest” then I believe it’s time for me to relocate. Then again, perhaps I should save this message for later… you know, just in case…
#8: “tall, lean, fickle, playful, pliant, flexible, succulent,witty-ish,and your mother will love me.”
…you forgot to add CREEPY. And really, a 51 year old man should NOT be posing like that. And that drink with me that you’re “still waiting for” … well, you’re going to be waiting quite a while, old man. Delete and BLOCK.
#9: You want me to come over and WHAT?!?!
#10: Dear sir, thank you for being honest about your desire to bang every chick on OKCupid… but no thanks. I’m fucking logging off of this shit.
I’m reeling this afternoon after reading an aimless hit piece on the city of Chicago — thinly veiled as a “book review” — that appeared in The New York Times today.
I simply have no idea what author (and, bafflingly, apparent Chicago resident) Rachel Shteir’s purpose was, apart from…
Last night, I had three glasses of wine while hanging out with a guy I was (previously) dating, slipped up and called him the nickname he does not know he has.
1. This is why I don’t drink.
2. Secret nicknames are bad
3. I shouldn’t be hanging out with people I’ve nicknamed “___ Douche” anyhow.
4. I’m an asshole.
I’m not impressed with this melon in the Meaningful Beauty infomercial. I once had a squash sitting on my kitchen counter for 9 months and I’ll be damned if that squash didn’t age. Cindy Crawford needs to make some motherfucking Meaningful Squash serum.
Today I read an article in Cosmopolitan which stated that men under psychological distress tend to be more attracted to women carrying extra body weight.
Suddenly, everything makes sense.
Forever21 is selling a dress identical to the one I wore for my 10th birthday. I started laughing by myself at how funny it would be if I wore it for my 30th birthday in a few weeks and subsequently scared a bunch of preteen suburban girls.
In short, I learned two lessons tonight:
1. I’m officially old enough to see bad fashion from my childhood recycled
2. I’m almost old enough to be “stranger danger.”
This afternoon, I stopped at CVS on the way to the gym. While in the store, I ran into an old client… with a pregnancy test in my hand. He looked at me, looked at the pregnancy test, and then we both pretended we didn’t know each other.
I drove to the gym and pondered my shitty luck. I stopped at the light by my gym, looked to the right… and saw the cause of said pregnancy test standing at the bus stop. As in, the one that dated me for a few weeks, then fell off the face of the earth as soon as we slept together.
Afterwards, I realized it would’ve been perfect if I had just whipped the pregnancy test at his face.
Oh, and by the way… I’m not pregnant. I do, however, have crap luck.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve written for myself. I started thinking about how… crazy… my 20’s have been. Two months left. What a fucking ride… looking back, it’s insane how much I’ve grown (but I guess that’s a given, right?)
I started my 20’s by breaking up with Dave after six years. It was scary - terrifying. I no longer had a security blanket. I had no idea who I was - I hadn’t been my own person since 14.
I was naive. So, so naive. I didn’t realize how lucky I had it in that relationship until the next one I ran to.
R showed me how deceitful men can be. How someone can look you in the eyes and just lie. I learned that just because you’re sleeping with someone, it doesn’t mean they love you… or even care about you.
M - as awful as it sounds - showed me that I could snag a gorgeous man (OK, a conceited, self-absorbed man who dumped me for the HS prom queen - which looking back is actually kind of funny)
S reminded me how sweet and thoughtful some men can be. He also showed me that when you fall in love with someone, what they look like stops mattering. He also showed me that I can’t be with someone who doesn’t love themselves as much as I love them.
M - not a relationship - not even close. But having a one night stand in London who’s from Ireland but living in Belgium and expecting to never see them again - and then bumping into them on a street in Chicago showed me that maybe those cheesy romantic comedy moments really do exist.
C. My first real 100% adult relationship. He showed me how much passion you can share with one person. He taught me to follow my dreams and make happiness a priority and not conform. He taught me that I can not make someone commit to lovingme if they aren’t ready to. He showed me how really, truly undeniably happy I could be - how beautiful relationships can be when they’re good - how they can literally make you glow from within… and he showed me how undeniably painful they can be. He showed me what it was like to have my heart ripped out - to feel as if I was drowning, dying from the pain. He showed me that I should never, ever spend one year (or one month) hoping someone will love and adore me as much as I love them.
N. showed me how someone else can violate you and hurt you to the point that you end up hurting and hating yourself.
J… what the fuck was that? He showed me how interesting a relationship with an emotionally “off” person could be.
B. - showed me how men can go from hot to cold in two seconds flat… and to not be surprised.
W. God. Showed me that a relationship, in retrospect, can actually make you feel like vomiting. Showed me that I should never, ever stay with someone out of pity because it drags you down in the process. Showed me that you should never date someone because they’re harmless things are “easy”.
W taught me that it is possible to separate love and sex.
M taught me to not trust the seemingly trustworthy. To not open up so fast. Reminded me of every. single. thing. I learned with Chris.
And here I am… two months until 30. This decade, I hope I can take the lessons of my 20’s and find someone that will make every single one of those lessons worth it. Whether that’s who I’m dating now, or someone 20 random dates from now, he should be worth every lesson.
Until then, I’ll keep wracking up the lessons…
The moment when you realize you’re 3 cats and some upper lip hair away from turning into your mom’s crazy cat lady spinster friend.
Love what you do, it’s so important. If you’re not happy right now, go out and find your happiness.
Just to mix things up a bit, we like to type things out in our shared client’s ridiculously heavy Chicago accent. We’re pretty much going to hell.
ZOMG, butterflies. Major, major butterflies.
