The Roommate, pt 2

PLEASE start with Part 1!


"What...?!" I pulled away from him and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh, no kiss?"

"Uh... No?!" What the hell?

"See? Now I know that you don't feel comfortable kissing me."

"What? You couldn't have just asked me?"

"Well, now I know."

What was he talking about? "So that was a test?"

"Essentially. If you had kissed me, it would have told me that you were into me. But since you didn't, it's still up in the air."

Did he just make a game out of making me uncomfortable? ... great. I went to the bathroom and checked my phone: pretty much out of batteries. I had a message from The Ex, wishing me a happy 40 month anniversary, and wished I was on a date with him instead of this ridiculous, strange person. When I returned to the table, he make a very misguided joke about putting a roofie in my drink. He then immediately laughed it off and took a sip himself as proof of his innocence. Superb...

I quickly told him that I hadn't realized how late it was and needed to get home. "Stay a little longer!" He whined.

"No, I seriously have to go."

He paid for the drinks and walked me back to the apartment. On the way, he childishly demanded a romantic kiss in the falling snow. "No, I don't think so." He leaned in anyway, and I tried to back away without slipping on the slushy sidewalk.

"No! Didn't I say no?!"

"Oh, come on! It's just a kiss!" He continued to lean in, sounding pathetic as usual, but also a little frightening: this was the first time I had pulled away that he had actually continued trying to kiss me. I spun around trying to avoid him, and he followed.

"SERIOUSLY! Stop it." I pushed him away. "Please, just take me back to your place so I can get my things."

He laughed good-naturedly at me and took me back to his place. When we arrived at the apartment, he told me that I should take my shoes off so I wouldn't track water onto the floors. "I'm just going to be putting them right back on," I protested. He hadn't asked me to take my shoes off when I came in the first time.

"Fine, keep them off. You'll just be taking them off anyway," He said, the chime in his voice sounding like a wink.

We went up to his room and I gathered my things. "Nooo! Stay a little bit!"

I pulled out my train schedule to "consult," and then informed him that I really seriously had to go right away so I wouldn't miss my train. He was adamant, and I was becoming afraid that he would switch his act from pouty to angry. I kissed him once, hoping he would shut the hell up and stop whining about me leaving. Since I really wanted him to let me leave as soon as possible and I felt more comfortable being with him in public, I asked him to walk me to the subway. "Of courseI will; I'm a gentleman after all."

As we approached the subway, he asked me when we would see each other again. "Uh, I don't know?" (How about never?)

Not wanting to deal with an angry person who wouldn't take no for an answer, I simply reminded him that he had my phone number from my earlier calls. He asked me to give him a kiss goodbye, and I gave him one on the cheek, then skipped through the turnstile to freedom.

The Roommate, pt 1

In trying to help S find an apartment in New York while she's still out of the state, I agreed to check out rooms for her. She got an account on a website that has roommate profiles and started shopping for places to live and people to live with.

Yesterday I went to look at an apartment in Chinatown. I threw on an outfit, ditched the idea of a shower, and rushed to catch the train, which I missed anyway. When I arrived, I called the guy who was showing the room and he met me outside the building. "Hey, come on in" he said, opening the door for me and showing me to the elevator.

He took me up to the roof and pointed out all of the useful places nearby: a supermarket, a deli, a laundromat. "Are there any cool bars nearby or anything like that?" I asked. Yeah, of course! Do you drink?" He asked. I told him I did. "Okay, well maybe we'll grab a drink after you take a look at the room." Cool, that would be a good way to get to know the neighborhood, I thought.

We went to the apartment to look at the room, which was pretty much not a room so much as a closet with an inappropriately large bed stuffed into it. He then led me back to his room so we could talk about the living situation. I was still half-considering it at this point because I thought the room might be acceptable if a smaller bed was moved in and the nook outside could be used.

We sat in his (much nicer) room and talked about the owners and rent and all that. We also talked about his upcoming film project and other less businessy things. Then someone called him and he said something about the Oscars. "Oh shit! I can't believe I forgot the Oscars!" I admonished myself. I had planned on writing a review of the Oscars to show up the Other Intern, who would most likely write an awful piece about them.

"There's a bar right down the block that's probably playing it, do you want to go?" I wasn't that intent on seeing the show now that I had missed part of it, but we seemed to be getting along pretty well and I still had a couple of questions about the room, so I agreed to go. As I gathered my bulky bag, he told me I didn't have to bring it. "We'll come back before you leave, don't worry about carrying it around." I grabbed my cell phone and went outside with him.

We walked along in the falling snow, and stopped first at the grocery store so he could get bills for a bag of change he had. "This would be a funny story to tell people about our first date," he laughed. I laughed too, because... well, we weren't on a date, so it was funny.

As we left the store, he asked me to take his hand. "Huh?" I asked, confused.

"You may have heard of this, it's what your parents do when you cross the street when you're a kid. It's for safety, I don't want you to fall." He held his hand out.

"Um, that's okay. I think I'm good." I laughed at him. What a silly person... he must've thought that was cute or something.

We got to the bar and found out that the TV playing the Oscars was on very quietly and in a poor location, so we gave up and decided to sit at a table in the back. He ordered us both beers, and I realized that I had left my wallet in my bag in his room so I couldn't pay for my beer. Oops... He assured me it was okay.

Our conversation continued, but he became increasingly irritating. Not only would he jokingly slip into conversation our future as lovers and parents, but he kept asking me questions so he could find out certain things about me. I can't even remember what they were... but it was the equivalent of asking my favorite color and then telling me "Your answer tells me this about you." And the way he said it was always off-putting. He kept concluding that I am defensive, incredibly intelligent, and open to new things. Oh, and beautiful of course.

"I'm defensive because you keep doing things that are offensive. What else can I do?"

By this point, I was letting him hold my hand because it seemed useless to protest: I was sitting in a public place with him, and my bag was in his room. I wasn't quite ready to leave behind everything except my cell phone with low batteries just because this guy was being an incredibly aggressive flirt.

"You shouldn't be defensive," he countered. "You have to be open to new things, to get past those boundaries so you can find out if you are ultimately going to get along with people. Take the hand-holding, for instance. Earlier on, you weren't okay with that. Now look; we're holding hands and it's not uncomfortable." Suddenly his face was rushing towards mine.

Part 2 will be posted in 24 hours...

The non date

Oh my goodness. You know when you're hoping that a "sort of" date is actually not a date at all? And then you get the feeling that the other person is hoping that it's very much a date?

In all fairness, I probably misled him. I took a shower, curled my hair, put on a smokin' outfit and plenty of makeup. I was dressing up because I thought I was going to a club after my drink with BlogNerd. But I didn't tell him that, so he probably assumed that all this was for him.

He took me to a champagne lounge, which was very nice. I saw the quality of the place and immediately knew that he was trying to impress me. And I was impressed: the champagne was great. Fortunately, we had no trouble keeping up conversation.

After a couple drinks there, he asked me if I had eaten yet. I hadn't eaten yet and I was having fun with BlogNerd, so we went to a restaurant down the street for another drink and a meal. At this point, I started feeling bad because I had planned on meeting my friends downtown and we had tentative plans for dinner. "Oh well, I'm sure they won't miss me too much and I'll see them after they eat."

Dinner was fine and the conversation was okay. Except for when I told him to list all the words he knew that started with X. That part of the conversation wasn't really okay, but he didn't seem to mind. The only problem with him was that anytime I wanted to reference something from my past, it was obvious how much younger than him I was. When he brought up a TV show that he used to watch, I said "I don't remember that show very well."

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"Well, when did it come out? 1997? Yeah, I was in middle scho--"

"I don't want to know..." He cut me off and changed the subject, as if ignoring our difference in age would actually make it disappear.

From then on, I tried to consciously leave out any mention of my age when telling a story. It got pretty irritating, especially since he knows my age. Get over it, dude.

After dinner (I offered to pay, he refused...), I called my friends. I had to do it in front of BlogNerd, since we had already left the table and there wasn't really a nice way to say "I'm going over there to talk to some other people, you wait here in the cold and pretend that's not weird." I tried as hard as I could not to ditch either party.

"We're almost done with dinner, what are you doing?"

"I'm still hanging out with..." Oh shit. What do I call this guy? I can't use his name, because that would imply that I had told my friends about him. Which I hadn't. And even if I had, I didn't want him to think that. "Someone." He did a head bob, repeating "someone" as if to say "Ah, I see."

I asked my friends what they were doing after dinner and we made plans to ride the train home together. "Call me when you're coming to the train station," I said.

Since we were both going to Grand Central, BlogNerd took me there and we went to a bar while I waited. I probably should have refused another drink, but he was so insistent... I should clarify, here. Insistent not in a creepy way; more in a "I can tell you want another drink, so I'm going to get you one."

So we hung out at the bar and kept talking. It was pretty fun, except for the whole pretending I'm not in college and only 21 thing. But seriously, where were my friends? And his nose is really big. What can you do with a big-nosed guy who won't let you talk about your age?

When the bar was closing at 1, he went to the bathroom and I called my friends. "Where are you?" I asked.

"We're on the train, where are you?"

What?! I had been waiting for them in Grand Central and they left without me? Gah! I guess I deserved it for ditching them earlier.

BlogNerd and I walked down to the main area in Grand Central and talked for a minute or two before I left to catch my train. I noticed him take a small step toward me, so I took a little step back, because if he stepped forward again he would basically run into me. Then he did it again, so I stepped back again.

"Why are you backing away from me?" He asked with a laugh.

"Why are you stepping toward me?" I returned, with an embarrassed smile. (I smile a lot when I'm embarrassed)

"That's cool, keeping the distance."

"Uh, yeah... what else would I do?" What the hell? Couldn't you have just bought me five drinks and dinner and sent me on my way? "Okay well I should catch my train, but I'll talk to you soon."

He gave me a hug and said "Have a good trip home."

"Okay, I will, bye!" I said and walked away.

If I just ignore that last part, I'd say it was a good time. And maybe if I ignore it, it'll disappear.

How did she get into college?

Do we all remember the Other Intern? To recap: we do the same job, but while I am cool, she sucks.

Even though Awesome Intern told me that GayBoss likes me better than Other Intern, I had doubts. I mean, how could I know for sure? I'm never there when she is, so I can never tell how GayBoss treats her. And she at least seems to get a lot of work done, so she can't be that much worse than me...

After thinking these things, I become insecure again. I know, it's sad that I need to be better than this girl. But if I can't be better than her, I have no proof that I would be competitive in the job force, and with all these interns lying around I can tell that real jobs are scarce.

Well, now my sad need to feel superior has been fulfilled. Awesome Intern ran into my office and exclaimed, "Did you see the competitive coverage report?"

At a lot of TV channels, someone in the office puts out a report of different shows that played during the week, mostly "notable" programming like season premieres, specials, etc. so that people can stay current without actually watching all those shows. Everyone at my office can submit a review for the report, and apparently everybody who submits gets in.

Awesome Intern showed me the report and I found out just how inarticulate Other Intern is...

About E!'s coverage of the Grammys, she wrote:

"I have to point out that in the middle of the show there was a shot of Jo and Slade taking pictures in front of the step and repeat, which for any of the Orange County fan there will be no guessing for what will happen to the couple this season. Usually The red carpet show with E! this season have been fairly boring but something was in the air...or their drink pre-show because Sunday night Ryan Seacrest and his fellow hosts were not going to hold back with any gossip and fashion opinions. It was nice that the show was live too because it added to the some what unorganized events on the red carpet, typical for the red carpet and entertaining for the people at home. All in all it was a great start to the beginning."

I keep wanting to bold something, as if to point out "Here is the part where she's stupid." The problem is that almost the whole thing would be bolded. I guess I would have to choose the last sentence. Let's re-read that one:

All in all it was a great start to the beginning.

I don't even know what to say.

Okay, okay. Maybe she was just warming up or high on Vicodin. What did she write about the actual Grammys?

"By far the most entertaining awards show of the season so far, I'm doubtful the Oscar's can be more entertaining. Normally this awards show is a good background noise show while I'm cleaning the apartment but Sunday night it proved to be much more then just background noise. The Grammy's this year felt more like a concert with a couple breaks in between songs. The show started off with a much anticipated and memorable performance by the Police. Honestly I didn't think the show could get better from that point.....o but it did....the Dixie Chick followed with a heart felt empowering number and the show continued to know the audience off with one great performance after another."

At some point in here, I start wondering if it's actually me who is too stupid to read. Please tell me I'm not insane. Please?

TAB, the no-fun drunk

On Friday, I spent the evening with my roommates out on the town. And let me just say, it's almost appalling how little my inhibitions change after drinking alcohol.

We were at a bar, the kind where no one really mingles. So we ended up watching (making fun of) the people in the establishment. There was a couple on a date who became more and more... affectionate... as the night progressed. (Free porn? Awesome) There were a bunch of bored-looking chicks at the bar. And, most importantly, there was a cute busboy and a very cute bartender. Unfortunately, though I had received several stares on my way to the bar (all pointed out to me by Heterophobe), neither busboy nor bartender was checking me out at the bar (although I am pretty oblivious).

Since there were no other cute guys around, I kept putting dishes on the edge of our table for the busboy. "We should order more drinks so he'll bring them!" I whispered to Miss Responsible.

"Ooooh, look who has a crush!" She slurred.

"Whatever, I just want to look at him a little bit longer."

"Ask him out!!" Miss Responsible nudged me and winked.

"No way."

"Come on! What have you got to lose?" She nudged me again.

I smiled with embarrassment and laughed at her simultaneously. "My dignity? I'm sure these guys get hit on all the time. Besides, they should be asking me out if they want me."

"Come on, TAB! You're the hottest girl in this bar. They'll be lucky to have you. Just walk up to one of them and give him your phone number."

I was starting to wonder if I was a lame drunk. Shouldn't I be stripping on top of the table by now? Asking a guy out while incredibly drunk should not be a problem. "Maybe if one of them was smiling at me, exchanging words with me... or even looking at me at all, I'd do it. But they're not."

I hoped that this was true and not just an excuse. Otherwise, people will soon realize they can't convince me to do embarrassing things when I'm drunk and stop inviting me to parties.

BlogNerd, master of "sort of" dates

If my current internship is at "Cool" TV channel, then last semester I had a different internship at "Nerd Central" TV channel. It was fun, though, and no one who worked there was actually that nerdy. On my second to last day, (way back in December) one of the staff members asked me to lunch with a convincing line: "They can't have you work here for free and not buy you a lunch!" I accidentally told him I hadn't eaten yet, and awkwardly accepted his invitation to go to "the best Chinese in this part of town" (which could really mean anything, couldn't it? How small a "part of town" are we talking, here?).

In spite of my terrible fear that this lunch was actually a date (he was paying and he wasn't in my department), we had a pretty fun time. After I carefully over-analyzed his opening the door for me (although, someone has to open it, right?) we sat down and had a pretty good time. As we talked about my plans for winter break, I mentioned that I would be at home for my 21st birthday.

"What day is it?" He asked. When I told him, he got very excited and said "Well, you're not going to believe me unless I show you so..." He reached into his wallet and handed me his driver's license. Sure enough, we had the same birthday. I not-so-quickly did some math to discover his age: 32. Now I was even more fearful that this was a date. But he was really nice, and we did have one tremendous thing in common: a love of blogs.

Soon enough we whisked ourselves back to the office, and he said "Hey come write down your email address for me so I can send you a link to that blog I was talking about."

As I stood at his desk with a piece of paper and pen in my hand, I panicked. "Which email should I give you? Work, or personal?"

"Whichever you want."

Oh crap. Now I not only had to decide which email to give him, but it would be even more obvious that the choice was deliberate. If I gave him my work one now, it would seem a little bit... I don't know, rude? I wrote down my personal email address and went back to my desk.

After sending me the link, we started writing each other about once a week. I found his emails to be clever, or cute maybe? ...basically, I looked forward to reading them. And since I'm such a ball of wit, I enjoyed responding. After our birthdays, I related to him my trouble getting myself drunk on the special day and thereafter.

Last Thursday, I checked my email before going to sleep and saw that I had a new one from him. It was my turn to send him something, so I was a little surprised to see a message from him. It read:

Hey [TAB],
Got a favor to ask you: I want to get MS Office for my MacBook at home, and CompUSA happens to sell a discounted version to students (you may have heard of this phenomenon). I was wondering if you might be up for accompanying me to one of their stores sometime next week for a quick flash of your coveted student status. In return, I could help you out with that (lack of) drinking problem of yours afterward. I mean, c'mon, you've gotta have your first appletini sometime. Up for it?
[BlogNerd]

I thought about it for a day. Does one appletini make it a date? I couldn't tell, but I knew one thing: I liked his emails and I enjoyed his company. I also got the feeling he was a nice guy who wouldn't exactly be expecting me to give him a blowjob under the table. After consulting with S and confirming with a roommate that we could meet somewhere afterward, I came up with this response:

[BlogNerd],
Of course I'll help you stick it to the man. Always a worthy cause. And... about the appletinis. I've become a little more adventurous with my drink selection, so I'll let you pick the drink (as long as it looks delicious). What is your schedule like next week? The only day I can really do anything after work is on Friday, is that okay?
[TAB]

So... hopefully I can pull off an hour of not being awkward. Afterward I'm meeting my roommate at a bar with "tons of hot guys," so I know I'll have something to fall back on. Whew.

Best valentine ever

After drinking a good amount of wine, I was on my way to bed last night when I decided to text The Ex. Even though we're not together, we still text and talk a lot. In general, he usually calls me and he had already texted me a "Happy Valentine's day" earlier, so I thought I'd shoot him something. I wrote "I miss you" and went to sleep.

He called a couple hours later and I answered in a daze. "I miss you a lot too," he said. We went through the usual "I wish you were here so we could be together", and even though they were all honest, they were starting to wear me down. Okay, you wish I was there. You want to be with me. How does this help us? After a few more minutes, there was a pause and I started to get off the phone.

"Well, I should probably go back to sleep. Unless there's something else you want to say." I was hoping for some kind of conclusion that would make a repeat of this conversation unnecessary.

"Well actually, yeah there is something else."

"Okay, what?"

"Well, I kind of have feelings for this other girl." My stomach dropped a little, but I wasn't as disappointed as I thought I might be.

"Okay... so...?" What did he want me to say?

He explained to me how difficult this was for him. "I don't know what to do. I want to be with you at some point. I don't want to lose you."

"Well I can't guarantee that you won't lose me," I told him. Just the truth: that's all I could do at this point.

"I don't think I'm going to do anything about this other girl, I really don't think I am."

Great. Was this supposed to be comforting? All I felt was lost: weren't we already broken up? It was easy to be "friends" when neither of us was seriously thinking about pursuing someone else. But now, I realized how much would change if he ended up dating her or anyone else. The text I had sent earlier? That wouldn't be happening. Saying "I love you" at the end of a conversation? Not anymore. Even having a conversation? Sadly, not so certain.

We discussed all this, and he continued to tell me how important I am to him. "Ever since we've broken up, nothing seems to make sense to me. Even interacting with my friends is different. I feel like everything is falling apart and you were the best part of my life. I don't want to lose you as someone to talk to... I love just talking to you."

Whoa. Hold on. Stop the bus. Doesn't that sound a little bit like an "I want you back" speech? So he's mixing "I love you and want to have a future together" with "I might date someone else"?

After we had both speculated about the whole situation and arrived at no conclusion, I simply said "I don't know what to tell you. It's not my choice to make, so I'm just not going to worry about it any more than I have to."

"Well, what kinds of things do you want me to tell you about?" He asked. The classic question we had always debated back when we had considered an open relationship. Where do you draw the line? Do you want to hear about them kissing or falling in love? Or imagine it all anyway? Another question for which I had no answer.

"I obviously don't want you to lie to me, but it's really up to you. I don't want to have to ask, but I'm sure I'll think about it every time we talk. Just tell me whatever you want to."

As the conversation came toward a natural end, he stalled. "I just don't want to get off the phone, because everything will change."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about that." Part of me didn't want to get off the phone either, but a bigger part was scolding myself for staying on the phone with someone I'm not dating when I needed to get sleep. When we got off the phone, he said "I love you" and I returned the favor before falling asleep.


After reasoning through some of the situation today, I still didn't come to many conclusions. Except that I'm tired of dealing with this and that it's pretty unfair to pull me into this decision-making process. Luckily, I've closed myself off from being too vulnerable about it. He's going to date someone if he wants to, no matter what I tell him.

And then I cackled when I saw that I had another facebook message from The Musician:

"hey there, i'm back safe and sound from south america. at the moment i'm on tour in washington state but i'll be back on monday for about a week and a half or so. wanna chill sometime in there?

have fun in the snow!"

Where's the action?

Valentine's day is tomorrow. I know what you're thinking: "Why aren't you dating?"

... you were thinking that, weren't you?

Okay but if you weren't, now you are.


Well my friends, I'm not going to lie. The men at my school are gay. Gay or socially inept. Gay, socially inept, or taken. And sometimes all three.

I've been trying this new thing though, called "shopping for sluttier clothes." Now before you tell me that I shouldn't have to look slutty to get a man's attention, I should clarify: I don't have to. I can wear some pretty boring clothes and get attention (especially if I sing really loud in the subway. And even then, some of those sidelong glances are pretty lusty). But if men are going to gaze anyway, why not look absolutely delicious and make them sorry they're not getting off at my stop? Honestly, it's the only cruel thing I'm capable of doing to strangers. And lately, I feel like doing bitchy things.

Other than fantasizing about men fantasizing about me, though, I've been pretty celibate. Some of you might be thinking "That's okay! You don't need a man, you just need a vibrator!"

To you, I say "I don't have a vibrator." And even though I do have fingers, I forget about them. I'm a sexual person and all, but every time I think to myself "I'm going to masturbate tonight!" I end up forgetting. When you have to remind yourself to masturbate, I have a feeling you're not really into it.

I did have phone sex with The Ex a couple weeks ago. I don't really regret it, and I probably wouldn't have done it if I wasn't drunk at the time. Oh yeah, The Ex! What's with that? I haven't mentioned him in... a month? Well, he calls me almost every day and we talk. It's not awkward and I'm not obsessed with him and I don't notice it when he doesn't call. I think those are all good things, and I'm glad we have what appears to be an understanding. And I'm glad we're not together. Now I don't feel guilty for lusting after the cute boss in my office or putting Adam Brody on my desktop.

It's nice to be single. Happy Valentine's Day!

Not a great start

"We're having a party on Valentine's day," my housemate R told me with glee.

"Really?" I was surprised. I've only seen R drink one time this year, and that was at the Superbowl. Perhaps she liked it, because I could already tell that by "party" she didn't mean hair-braiding and toenail-painting.

"Yeah, we're all going to dress up and drink wine and be fabulous."

In the days that followed, I worried about this whole "wine" business. Unlike crappy vodka, which can be mixed with sweet juices and sodas, crappy wine is just unenjoyable. And expensive. And my knowledge of alcoholic beverages encompasses only mixed drinks. Wine is for grown-ups.

Last night, R brought me her wine handbook that describes different wines in terms of flavor, acidity, and all those other bells and whistles. After realizing I had no idea what "high acidity" would actually mean, R and I gave up. "You just need to drink more."

This, I could agree with.

Today, R and I went to the wine shop. Instead of guiding me through the store in a nurturing manner, R ran off to some corner of the shop while I gazed at the wall full of bottles. As I wandered to the back, one of the workers asked "Can I help you with anything?"

Reasoning that he could probably tell I was lost, I decided to tell him the truth. "Yes, actually. I don't know that much about wine."

"Well, are you looking for something to cook with, or to drink?"

"Drink" I said abruptly, then felt a little embarrassed. Did that make me sound like an alcoholic in the making?

"Well, what do you want?"

Wait, what? I just told you I don't know anything about wine and you're asking me what I like? "Um..."

"If you tell me something you like, I can give you suggestions."

What the hell? He didn't even start with the basic white/red, sweet/dry... How could I speak to this man? I gave up and just threw out the name of the last red wine I'd drank. "Pinot noir?"

He showed me a wall of pinots and walked away. Superb. The fact that they were all different brands meant nothing to me, except I guessed that, as with vodka, the cheapest one was the worst. I grabbed it anyway. I definitely should have pretended I knew something about wine, I decided as I snuck a glance at R, who was casually perusing the Merlots.

After letting her pick another bottle for me and grabbing two handles of vodka, I was at the checkout counter. "How old are you, miss?" Asked the kind-eyed woman behind the counter.

"Twenty-one, just turned actually!" I chirped.

"Can I see your ID?"

For once, this didn't sound like a threat. Unfortunately, I realized that I might have a smidge of a problem when I pulled out my expired license with a hole punched over my date of birth, and my temporary license... y'know, the one made out of paper.

"Honey, I can't see your date of birth on this one, and the other one could be from anywhere."

"But... I'm twenty one... I don't know what to tell you."

"Do you have a passport?" It was in my room. Lame... "I can't sell anything to you, we could get in big trouble for that."

The lady kindly let R pay for my drinks and we left. If I had manhood, it would be crushed. Instead, when I look at my precious bottles of wine, I can see them mocking me.

Sweet smell of victory (for now)

News on the OI front!

So at the office, there are about 8 interns (aka slaves). The two who matter so far are:
1) OI, who is my dull-witted competition, and
2) AI (Awesome Intern), who is... well, awesome.

On my first day, AI was there and while we went on an errand, she explained the entire office to me. Sort of like in Mean Girls (except replace the word "office" with "school"). She told me the names and positions of all the executives, how long everyone had been working there, and - most importantly - that the exec I would be working for is hot. :) And married. :(

Sure enough, when I met him I was able to confirm her story. And I figure if we have the same taste in men, we can definitely get along. So AI is on my good list. And I'm on hers.

When we were both working this week, I expressed my concern about OI. "It seems like I break everything and she fixes it," I whined. "Everyone's totally going to think she's better than me."

"No way," She consoled me. "She's not that great. And I know for a fact that your boss likes you better."

"Really? How do you know?"

"Because he told me when he chose his interns, 'I picked two interns. One of them is fabulous, she's awesome. The other one... I'm not so sure about.'"

I was horrified. "How do you know he wasn't talking about OI? He totally was! Oh shit."

"No, he was talking about you! He didn't say your name but he told me the good one was getting surgery."

Whew!

"And remember how you had him send you those DVDs?"

When I first got this internship, which is in television, I asked my supervisor if he could send me some of our shows so that I could familiarize myself with the network. I truly wanted to watch them, but knew I was taking a gamble: I could come off as either enthusiastic or demanding.

"Well he loved that!"

"Really?!"

"Totally. He told me about it, he said it was great how excited you were to learn about the network. He told everyone in the office that you had asked for them."

Nice. OI is going down. And I have a friend who's on my side of the war.

I can go all night, but I don't recommend it

In case anyone here thinks I'm actually a responsible adult, let me set the record straight:

I'm not.

Last night, I accidentally stayed up all night because I had procrastinated too long on my schoolwork. Whatever, I can handle it every once in a while. Every time I pull an all-nighter, I just think to myself "You're young, it's not a big deal." Except that I also stayed up all night last Thursday writing a paper (for the same class? You betcha!). So I think both my brain and my body were beyond the "I'm a superhero" phase and more into the "Let's fuck with this bitch" mode.

How can you tell when this happens? Well, today I:

- Fell asleep on the train on the way to Grand Central, and actually did one of those lovely twitches to wake myself up. When I opened my eyes, one of them was tearing up because of the aforementioned anger felt by my body. I assume this resulted in mascara running. As soon as I was up, I checked to make sure my wallet was still in my bag.
- Almost ran into the wall while looking around the corner for cute boss. Three times.
- Lost the power to spell "clitoris" in my sex psychology class. I wrote "clitorous" and then stared at the word, bewildered that I had no idea about the correct spelling. I looked at the paper of the person next to me and realized my mistake.
- Was somehow unable to read during another class when my professor told us to quickly look something up. I panicked, then read the same paragraph five times. When that didn't work, I wrote the exact words in my notebook and read them. Smooth.
- Forgot the word "slow-mo" (as in slow motion). Instead, what came out was "Slow-Bo."*
- Think I spoke in some half-English language on the phone with L, who wants to interview me for some article. I can't imagine she got any good quotes.
- Told my roommate "You're like a pillow!"

At least I was charming when one of my sort-of crushes made small talk with me. Either that, or I think I was charming and he may avoid me for the rest of the year. I guess we'll see.

*This isn't a word, but everyone in the room liked it so I plan to continue using it.

Because I know you are more interesting than I

So not that I'm writing a screenplay or anything... not that I'm in a screenwriting class... not that I'm a writer at all, really...

But...

If I was writing a screenplay, and the topic happened to be dating, and I needed to do research...

Fuck it.

Hey guys, I'm in a screenwriting class, and I'm writing a script about dating. Specifically, Internet dating (think Match.com, not cybersex). If you have any stories for me about dates you've been on (particularly the bad ones), I would love to hear them. If you have any stories about Internet dating in general, I would also be delighted. If it's too long or too... um... detailed, email me at tabtheblog@gmail.com.

Detail is key. What makes the date memorable? Why did it work or not work? I do want to hear your thoughts about why a date in general works, but I also want specifics. Mostly, I want funny stories. This post, for example, would be perfect. First dates and your thoughts on them would be great. And, if you feel compelled to make up an imaginary date because you want to fool me or impress me with your witty imagination, go ahead. I want that too. If you want to send me your online dating profile and ask me out...

I'll think about it.


Oh. My next post will be about an awkward date I went on. I was going to bribe you with pictures of me, but I'm a wimp.

I said brr... it's cold in here

The heat in my house isn't working properly. The result is that when it gets really cold out, the house is only about 50 degrees Farenheit. But 50 is only a number. Let me offer some more graphic ways to understand what this means:

- When I grab silverware or dishes, it chills my hand.
- When I put food on my plate, it stays hot for about 2 minutes.
- With 3 layers on, I shiver and my feet actually hurt from the cold.
- To me, turning on the computer has now become a way to check email and heat the room.
- I am afraid to take a shower because I know it will be painful to get out.


Do something about this? We've tried. My housemates and I have called campus maintenance and had them come "fix" the heat about 7 times this winter. They tend to show up, wake everyone up, and leave abruptly without giving us a report.

Today I tested the temperature in my bedroom with my handy dandy thermometer, and saw that it was about 55. I closed my door and turned my hair dryer on, and about 40 minutes later the temperature was 65 degrees. I heard a knock on my door, so I turned off the hair dryer and said "Come in."

It was my roommate from across the hall, who recently watched An Inconvenient Truth. A few days ago, she presented me with a list of tips on how to curb global warming. She saw the hair dryer in my hand and frowned disapprovingly. "TAB, do you know how much energy you're wasting by heating the room with that thing?"

I glared at her, shocked and defensive. "Excuse me? Have you noticed how cold it is in our house?"

"Well yeah, but that takes up a lot of energy. That's not a good idea." She crossed her arms.

"I don't see what the problem is," I said, confused that she didn't understand. "If our heat was working properly, we'd be using more energy than I'm using by turning on my hair dryer."

She continued to disapprove, but I eventually shook my head at her long enough to convince her to leave. On my way out later on, I poked my head in the kitchen to see her standing next to the open oven, which she was using to heat the room.

I gasped (Jokingly. Nothing actually surprises me). "What happened to 'You're wasting energy?'"

"Whatever," she said in the voice of a 12-year-old.

... And now I know I can use my hair dryer whenever the hell I please.

I hate being 'it' in Tag

Okay guys, I'm drunk, I'm vulnerable, Chicago lost the Superbowl... let's do a post to reveal my crazy secrets...

1. Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you”.

2. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly.

3. At the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says “you are tagged” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

Weird thing #1:
All the guys I am attracted to are less into sex than I am. Great.

Weird thing #2:
I used to be neat freak, and even though I still feel like a neat freak at heart, I am pretty messy most of the time. (although maybe by "pretty messy," I mean not OCD... hmm)

Weird thing #3:
People think that I'm bitchy or rude because of the way I act, which they describe as "confident," whereas I am often extremely self-conscious. So... I accidentally come off as a bitch (hence my blog title)

Weird thing #4:
I hated (American) football until I learned about it this January. Now I love it. Call me a hypocrite, or just accept me as cool because now I'm one of the elite class of women who's into football.

Weird thing #5:
Much as I hate the gender stereotypes, I have to know that the relationship is "going somewhere" before I let a man touch me below the belt. Even though I feel like a prude for doing so. And am really really horny.

Weird thing #6:
Often, I think I'm more popular on my blog than I am in real life. I know that may sound sad, but in some ways it's very rewarding: I am a writer, and y'all don't know me, so it's even more of a compliment that you stick around. Sometimes when I feel like no one likes me, I remember how rewarding my blog is and it makes me feel better. Um... wow lame... forget that one.

Yeah I'm really drunk. Really. Mmmm... vanilla vodka. Who wants to make out?

The 6 I'll tag are the top 6 commenters on my last post (good job, guys!!):
1. Wanderlusting
2. GrewUpRural
3. The Ambiguous Blob
4. S (aka dropout)
5. Strange bird
6. monicker

Hah! That'll teach you not to comment first anytime soon!

OI? Oy...

At my internship this week, me and the other intern are covering for our boss, who's on vacation. I could basically do his job in my sleep, since all he does is set up appointments for his boss and answer the phone. The fact that he's my boss bothers me a little bit, just because... that's the easiest job ever. And he gets two assistants?

Anyway, since me and OI (other intern) are covering for him on alternate days, it can get kind of confusing to arrive at his desk and find a whole bunch of half-completed tasks. However, I dealt with it like a pro on Tuesday. OI, on the other hand, woke me up on Wednesday to ask me a shitload of questions.

"What's this CD on the desk that says '[whatever it said]'?"

"Uh... I have no idea. It was there when I came in yesterday. No one gave it to me."

"Why is there a problem with the computer?"

"I have no idea, there should be someone coming to fix it today."

"Well, what did you do to it?"

"Um, nothing?"

"What did [boss] say about the scheduling thing?"

"Oh, you didn't talk to him about that? Hmm. I didn't ask him."

She basically said a bunch of crap that made it sound as though I had left her with a crazy situation, when really she's just being inept.

So today when I arrive at the office, there's a PAGE LONG typed note for me. Fine. So I give her a call to ask what happened with the computer because it's not fixed and her note wrongly suggests that it is... She rushes off the phone for class, and then calls me a few hours later to check up.

"So have you talked to [boss] yet today?"

"No, he hasn't called."

"Yeah, he didn't call me at all yesterday. He doesn't pick up his phone and he's not listening to the messages I left him." It sounded like she was offended by this.

"Yeah, it's almost like he's on vacation or something!" I laughed, because... he is.

"Oh, well actually he is on vacation."

I had no idea how to respond to this. Obviously I was making a joke; I mean... He's on vacation. How could that have been confusing?

After an awkward silence on my part and a confused pause on hers, I just said "I know."

"Oh." She sounded annoyed. "It's hard to tell when you're being sarcastic."

... Great. Now I can't even make jokes.