March 2012
3 posts
The Pick-Up Artists
I took my friend C. to the opening party for Balena, that new restaurant in the old Landmark space, last week. There, we confirmed that men who go to restaurant opening parties are awkward.
Pick-up line A: “What did you just say about a Cameron passing out in your bed?”
We had said nothing about beds, or Camerons. (We had said something about passing out. To be fair, St. Patrick’s Day had...
He's a Survivor
Survivor could refer to: Gloria Gaynor’s 1970s power ballad, the washed-up CBS reality show (quick Wikipedia check: that thing is still on?!?!), a patient who has triumphed over a terminal illness—or, in my case, the ’80s band behind the song Eye of the Tiger, as made famous by the film Rocky. I appear on a local morning show every week for my job, and in the green room last Friday,...
When Love Takes Over
…you stop blogging, apparently. Long story short: went on a first date that involved a haunted house, an enormous New York-style pizza and a pinball tournament; got home; called a high-school friend in San Francisco and said, “I just met the man I’m going to marry.” Six months later, we’ve been on a trip to Costa Rica, have a date scheduled to move in together and...
September 2011
5 posts
Love and Basketball Legends
As of 5:24pm on a Thursday, HTTM has not answered a text I sent him around 11am…on Tuesday. A text that asked a direct, not-hard-to-answer question: How do you feel about Michael Jordan? The WTF flag is flying at full mast on this one.
The original end game here was to invite him to the opening party for the new Michael Jordan Steakhouse on Michigan Avenue, where No. 23 himself is...
The Real Deal
In March I briefly dated a Groupon manager, a friend of a friend who had a not-so-hidden crush on me for three years before finally asking me to dinner. After a few promising dates, he inexplicably decided to make our deal the kind that Groupon doesn’t hawk: adult entertainment. I was filed under booty call. How’s this for fine print: Not valid…ever. He still Gchats me when my status...
Party in the C.H.I.
J. and his motor scooter zoom around in a world where it’s perfectly normal to call an ex-girlfriend in the middle of the afternoon and ask for help picking out shoes. Specifically, help deciding between three pairs of caramel-hued Allen Edmonds, lined up like little premium leather ducklings in a photo he emailed me from the AE outlet in Wisconsin. For my input, I was rewarded with the...
Shot(s) to the Heart
Last week, I took a break from my all-Glee playlist (commute champion three weeks running) to revisit 2004 Hilary Duff classic “I Am.” Particularly seven words from the third verse: Sometimes I’m perfect, Sometimes I’m a mess. Let’s compare that to, oh, Saturday and Sunday nights of Labor Day weekend. Saturday night, I organized a “small dinner” that snowballed into a 10-person...
Bird Brain
Around 3pm yesterday, my phone lit up with a photo text from…J. It’s probably the first time in a month he’s contacted me at an hour that’s not 1am, 2am, 3am or 3:50am, which is when he left me an indecipherable voicemail last Friday. And what he chooses to send me is a photo of an absurdly large flock of pigeons gathered on a sidewalk. Granted, I am terrified of absurdly large...
August 2011
5 posts
Bruised is the New Black
Rescuing me from a night where I would have been one of approximately four single people at a 351-guest wedding: HTTM, who offered to drive two hours to meet me at the reception at the Country Springs Hotel in Pewaukee, Wisconsin after figuring out his commitment to teach a board-breaking seminar at his tae kwan do studio prevented him from leaving Chicago in time to make the ceremony. He...
The Name Game
On Tuesday, I spent approximately three hours and fifty minutes plagued by thoughts that my iPhone was broken, before the nice boy at the Genius Bar fixed it by pushing two buttons. He also “cleaned up some software,” a process that resulted in me losing a fair number of the phone book contacts I have added in the last year. But not any text conversations. Oh, 734-223-[redacted], also known...
Shake it Like an iPhone Picture
In case you can’t see, this is a copy of Hot Tub Time Machine, for which HTTM is named. We have a date to watch it Saturday night, along with Back to the Future, so we can finally have a proper debate of the accuracy value of the two films as it relates to hurtling through the time-space continuum. Also, there will probably be some kissing involved.
Breaking Plaid
On Monday, I rushed out of the office to meet a friend for lunch, flustered because I was late and she had already texted to say she was in front of Patty Burger. As I trotted down the street, tugging off my cardigan (standard issue in 50-degree work Antarctica; not so much in 90-degree Chicago tropics) while texting “2 min away” (lies), all while trying to stay upright in my heels, I heard...
The Heel Deal
On Saturday, after drinking Negra Modelo (him) and caipirinhas (me) at a Cuban restaurant and seeing a side-splitting Shakespeare act at Improv Olympics (he surprised me with tickets; major points), HTTM suggested we end our date with a walk. He asked which movie we should watch first—Hot Tub Time Machine, or The Jackal, a surely overlooked classic I received for being a Match Game ...
July 2011
11 posts
Who's On First?
Good first date with HTTM. Except for the part when he told me about his favorite college Halloween costume: a sexually inappropriate Mickey Mouse that the Disney superfan in me would rather not describe, or think about ever again. Upon finally learning his last name, excuse me while I go Google the next twenty to thirty minutes of my life away.
Flake Effect
Any astute reader of Cosmopolitan will tell you that men can sense when you’re taken, and that’s when they’re most interested. Some evolutionary hunting instinct blah blah blah. But it turns out that Kate White (I had to look it up, but yes, she is still editor-in-chief of that damn thing) may know more than I think. When we had the great bus encounter of 2011, J. had said he’d watch out for a...
Hangge-ing With Mr. Trooper
Writing about the new soldier* in my life reminded me I never recapped my night out with the Air Force pilot. Let’s remember that this was after a Cubs game at which I had unlimited (free) wine available to me. I think his name was Tim. Tom? All I know is I have an excellent photo of him in front of a Styrofoam cooler sealed with duct tape, an innovative locking system crafted by a...
Once Upon a Time Machine
In May, I made login names on OKCupid, How About We and Match to track down singles to quote in an article I was writing about dating. I promptly forgot this until earlier this month, when a friend texted to inform me that my libertarian ex-boyfriend had popped up on OKCupid as one of her potential suitors. Naturally, I dug up my password (hats off, Gmail, for the instant recall of ...
No Strings Attached
Because delusion springs eternal, I unblocked J. from Gchat shortly after his Chipotle dinner party. This newfound e-relationship chiefly consists of me noticing he’s online and wondering if he’s reading my status messages. Then: He chatted me last Thursday, asking if I was still going to a big Dave Matthews-sponsored music festival on the South Side. Note: This is an activity we had...
Ex Marks the Spot
The guy whose last communication with me was a text inviting himself over to shower (Me: how about a real third date? Him: radio silence…indefinitely) has emerged from his cocoon of clueless and is once again Gchatting me. Am I going to Pride? What am I doing in Milwaukee? What’s upppppp? (8,000 extra “p”s: his.) Sorry, Mr. Clean, I heeded the advice of South Pacific and washed you right...
Bachelorettiquette
An open letter to men who approach bachelorette parties: 1) Use a better opening line than, “Uhhh….is this a bachelorette party?” What tipped you off? The member of our group wearing a cheap veil and sash that says Bride-To-Be? 2) Grabbing my left ring finger to check whether I’m also taken is socially awkward. And your hands are clammy. 3) Yes, the caliber of bar that draws rowdy...
May the Force Be With You
Why my friends are my friends:
M: Ohhh. I met a hot air force pilot who is also going to the Cubs game on the 18th. We’ll make sure to meet up.
So Your Ex-Boyfriend Rolls a Honda...
Sometimes I swear life is one big romantic comedy. Tonight I saw Page One, a terrific documentary about the New York Times, at the independent theater about a mile from my place. Walking home, I pulled out my phone to find one missed call and one text from… J. “Think I just saw you walking down the street. Want a scooter ride?” You bet your circa 2005 Honda Elite I do. A phone call...
Bringing My (CT)A-Game
Gchat, 10:04am me so this morning i decide to wear the shoes i wore on the yacht L haha ohhhh this involves tim, doesn’t it
me haha not even! but i walk out my door and see the bus coming so i’m sprinting in these giant heels, also holding a tray of leftover american flag rice krispies treats me so i burst onto the bus and there are no seats left and we know how wobbly i...
Forsaking the Band
As someone who listened to Friday (twice) on my bus ride to work today, I am not the type to end up at Schuba’s on a quiet weeknight, or ever. Schuba’s being a destination for touring indie bands who travel in dented white conversion vans and are in severe credit card debt to Amoco. But when in Rome…flirt with the band’s drummer? He drank Scotch. He griped about it being served on...
June 2011
7 posts
Mark My Words
About a month ago, I woke up to find my iPhone “blowing up,” as the kids say these days, with a flurry of semi-salacious texts sent between midnight and 3am. I should also add that I woke up on my couch, still in my dress from the night before, with a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of me. I should also add that the texts were all from two men named Mark, and I had no idea which was...
Hey, Batter Batter
Turns out comedy club guy was equally enamored with me… and has a girlfriend. Strikes one, two and three: He’s out.
It's Not Me, It's You
Friday night went a little something like this: I got home from work and was killing time before plans to meet my friends at our regular bar around 9:30/10. At the exact second I was pondering my freshly shaved legs and why I was even bothering to have freshly shaved legs these days, my text message noise trumpeted from the depths of my purse. (Side note: Does anyone else get a small leap in...
Where the Chips Fall
Into the front pocket of my purse, actually. Along with some errant nacho cheese.
Last night dinner led to drinks led to my friend M. taking shots with the 60-year-old guy from the Walter E. Smithe furniture commercials. I was not participating because my attention had been captured by a cute boy (man? but are they really men at my age?) who also happened to be a college friend of M., whom she...
Oh, What a Knight
A road trip this weekend took me past the oh-so-glorious Medieval Times castle in Schaumburg (nothing like a 300-car parking lot to put the r in regal), which reminded me of one of the more ridiculous man encounters I’ve had since moving back to Chicago: Sir Paul. It was 2009. Medieval Times was doing a buy one, get one free deal. Seemed like the right time to round up 10 girlfriends,...
Shake That Booty Call
As in, how to shake the ex who texts you at 1:23am on Friday night telling you he’s at the bar that exactly splits the four-block radius between your respective apartments and following with “what are you up to?” Being out of town helped. But this link helped even more.
Never Been Dumped (Until Now)
It’s not the most endearing problem to have. Drew Barrymore wouldn’t have gained as much empathy from her tweenage audience if that had been her major flick of 1999. But before last Tuesday, May 31, 2011, I had never been broken up with. Men had taken me out and never called back. Men had taken my number and never called, period. I had ended relationships, flings and one three-year love...
