Confessions of A Naughty Girl

That's Mine, This Is Yours

I miss my toxic friend.

Yes, I'll admit it. It's been less than a week and I'm already thinking about apologizing. That's the guilt of My People kicking in. I refuse to apologize, though. That's the stubbornness kicking right back.

The whole thing really gets to me because I've been great friends with this person for almost a year, since I first moved here. Many of my nights out since include memories of him - of inside jokes, of total mayhem. My toxic friend was definitely my partner-in-crime. He was the only person in the world that I would trust if we were lost in the wilderness somewhere. I was the only person who laughed at his jokes. And now, unless someone buckles, I am going to be a lost Girl Scout with nothing left to offer the wildebeasts unless I choose to use my girlish charm and offer BJs. And now, no one will ever laugh at his jokes because they're stupid.

I have seen Toxic multiple times in the last few days, and, much like a bad breakup, it is very awkward. Suffice it to say that there are a lot of uncomfortably long silences. And staredowns.

This sucks.

It did get me thinking about next steps though, which I suppose is good. Forward-thinking attitudes are good, right?

In any significant friendship or relationship that comes to an end, we must first acknowledge the dissolution of the relationship. This can be accomplished by any of the following singular instances, or a combination of them:

-screaming matches
-scathing rhetoric in emails or instant messages
-throwing beer bottles at one another's heads
-flat-out silent treatment
-repeating "I hate you I hate you I hate you" out loud

Once that's out of the way, you can go all Kramer vs. Kramer on the person. And this is where the real nastiness kicks in -- in the custody battle and division of assets.

Tonight kicked off our custody battle, when I was invited to play trivia with some of our mutual friends. I've been invited multiple times and this was the first week I could go. But since the Dissolution happened late last week and the team captain is my Toxic friend's best friend, I had to make sure Toxic wouldn't be there. And then I had to ask for permission to come. Otherwise, it would have been too weird. As if it wasn't weird enough that I had to actually ask for permission to come to trivia.

It strikes me very odd that in order to fully separate from something intangible, you have to divvy up tangibles. And although I haven't had a nasty breakup in quite some time (thank you Jesus for sparing me), I need to get back into the swing of claiming, "This is my shit. That's your shit. Piss off."

In college, I dated someone for close to two years. I hardly mention him because despite being what most might consider my most serious relationship, the breakup was so nasty that I think I've pulled some sort of Freudian shit and blocked quite a bit out of my conscious. He dropped out of school. He accused me of ruining his life. Yet no matter how much I have forgotten, it's not enough to forget that the division of property was like the f*cking "War of the Roses".

We lived together at the time we broke up. I moved out for the summer (and permanently, for that matter) and took his computer monitor, jewelry he gave me, digital camera, and various CDs I felt I was entitled to. I even took a few for posterity, which is why I suspect I now have shit like NoFX and Bootsy Collins in my music collection. I mean, it was totally unnecessary of me, and I certainly question my selections. What level of punishment I was really aiming for by stealing Bootsy? The result of all of this is at least one box full of his shit that has now traveled with me to three different cities. I have Bootsy, I have a monitor, and I have a 24K sterling silver necklace that I can't stand to wear not only because he gave it to me, but because the pendant looks like a big penis and I feel like a pervert wearing it. I think I understand why eBay does so well, and now that I think about it, they might have some new auctions headed their way. But after two years of my life, I still felt kind of cheated.

The same thing happened with a boyfriend in high school. After a year and a half, I had to retire all of the jewelry I had acquired into the safe. My mom suggested pawning it (it was 1997, pre-eBay), but I refused. I'm still very good friends with this particular ex, so now that I look back, I'm glad I kept it, because every time I pull it out of the safe, it floods me with good memories. But for a long time, I felt very cheated. And not just because he literally cheated on me and slept with another girl.

The same thing happened with a toxic friend I dumped a couple of years ago. She got my Rollerblades, I got some of the t-shirts and pajama pants I borrowed after many a night crashing at her house after too much drinking, we divvied up the friends (thankfully I got most), and went our separate ways. And yet still, I felt a little cheated.

My past lessons have taught me well, because now, at the dissolution of any relationship, I am sad for the loss, but always looking ahead. And if I may offer a few pointers to any of you out there, I'd offer this tried-and-true advice:

1. Go after the good stuff. Electronics, CDs, and eBay-able things are best. The division of property is a sad, but exciting time. This is definitely the time to channel Cuba Gooding Jr. and demand that someone show you the money. It's the least they can do for your suffering.

2. F*ck the trinkets. No one is going to want to pay $15.99 for some snotted on Pooh Bear stuffed animal wearing a "I love you Bear-y much" t-shirt that you got for Valentine's Day 2002. Burn it, or if you must, store it somewhere so that one day, you can pull it out and laugh about how ridiculous it was. Trust me, it will definitely amuse later.

3. Places. If you always went to certain places, just avoid the places for awhile. Don't go there on a date (especially not the first one!), don't show up with your friends, just avoid it at all costs. Find a new place. Preferably one with good-looking single people in it.

4. Friends. This one is perhaps the toughest to tackle. If you have a lot of mutual friends, try to keep the relationship good. Don't let the fact that you are no longer a part of this person's life decimate your friendships with shared friends. But don't spend all your time with mutual friends analyzing what happened, asking about the person consistently, or worse yet, talking shit about them. Obviously they are mutual friends for a reason, and you really don't want the other person to find out from your friends that you're that broken up about it. (And they always always always will find out - I promise this.)

5. Use the dissolution as an opportunity to do other things, or meet other people. No one knows better than I do that your best friends and lovers often come out of the woodwork after the shit blows up. I always say that the best thing to come out of the Midget Troll was the evolution of my relationship with his former best friend Chris. And it always will be.

But back to my most recent Toxic friend...who knows what will happen. It seems like a reconciliation is inevitable, even if I suspect that we will go through this cycle a million and one more times.

And if not, I'm still prepared. He can have at trivia and I'll just take my chances with the wildebeasts.

posted by KA @ 10:36 PM 0 comments

The "Ram"-ifications of It All

Remember "The Ram" from the Valenstein's Day party?

I do.

I can't forget him.

I have seen him at least four times in the last three weeks in various locations. Apparently we live, eat, shop, work out, and poop in the same 5-mile vicinity.

He is everywhere.

The slumber-party-Cheetos-craving-PMSing-romantic-comedy-watching girl in me wonders if this is some sort of sign that he's my soul mate and shit. I mean, what are the odds that I ran into this guy three weeks ago and now I see him everywhere? So far I've seen him at a party, at Bagel Palace, and at the gym. And I think I saw him out last weekend at a bar, but I'm not sure. You may want to try asking the barrel of pinot grigio and two vodka tonics that are still swimming in my liver. My point remains: isn't this a little bit odd? This is a big city. There are a lot of places to be.

Then again, if he is my true soul mate, does my soul mate really work out in a track suit? Does he really go out to bars wearing suede blazers with a ram embossed on them? Does he really buck the rules of fashion (pun absolutely intended) and express such blatant disregard for appropriate young male attire that he may be subjected to mockery and merciless teasing by picky bitches like myself?

Thankfully, my Wife lent me some insight this morning when I inquired about the Ram. Apparently, she knows him from growing up and says he is a (and I quote for emphasis), "douchebag".

Well my Wife, point taken. But he is a douchebag that shops at the same grocery store, lives in the same area, and works out at the same gym as I do. So what does that make me?

posted by KA @ 1:03 PM 0 comments

I'll Have Another Vodka Toxic, Please

A vodka toxic is not an obsession. No. It's quite complicated. Lust, or at least fascination, is definitely a part of it, but that certainly doesn't define it. What defines a toxic relationship is usually some sort of "oh shit" feeling, usually at the moment you meet the other person, or shortly thereafter. The "oh shit" feeling that leads to that gut feeling that you are no longer the same kind of person because here is someone who is somehow going to shake you to the core, even though you don't know them well and don't know how they're going to shake you. It's a kind of chemistry. Magnetism. Insert dramatic simile here.

At any rate, the problem with toxic relationships is that they are exactly that - toxic. More often than not, these relationships do not result in best friendship. They do not result in marriage. They result in months and sometimes years of personal interrelationship hell that is bound to give you enough baggage to qualify you for free Super Saver Shipping on Amazon. They seep into your life and threaten to poison you if they are left to their own devices. They cause you undue stress and anger, and I can almost guarantee that you will turn to vodka at least once to take the edge off of some scathing comment the person made to you - hence, the vodka toxic.

It starts innocently enough. You have a lot in common, you want to hang out all the time...there is a certain degree of mutual admiration and emulation of one another. You think the world of the person. They can do no wrong. You guys laugh. Occasionally, someone cries, and the other person proves themselves able to pick up the pieces. It is people like these and feelings like these that make you glad you're human. They make you glad to be able to relate to other people, to feel like someone actually "gets" you.

Then, one day, something changes. Everything you loved about the person is now incredibly irritating. You f*ck one another over. You realize it's kind of fun to kiss and make up. You do it some more. You begin to attribute everything to character flaws...but continue to make excuses for their behavior. And then one day, with the shift of a wind, all of that chemistry manifests into hostility. And the next thing you know, all you ever do is push one another's buttons and do things to hurt one another. The more hurtful, the better.

Some people call this a marriage.

If that's true, it's no wonder the divorce rate is so high.

Every single good friend I have has had, or has, one of these types of relationships. One friend of mine has it with an ex. Another has it with a good girl friend. I can count two that I've had in the last two years (one a relationship and the second a friendship), the second of which promptly combusted in my face today. After months of turbulence within this particular friendship, it blew up. Friends no more. Done. Finished. And this time, unlike all of the other times, there won't be any drunken apologies and love and hugs like there have been a million times before. There will only be the sad realization that there's no point in bothering, because no matter how much I really love this person, they just complicate shit. And let's face it - the last thing anyone needs in life is more complication.

This isn't a boo hoo. Don't cry for me. It really is okay. But I guess more than anything, I'm just very angry that it is what it is. I am angry that we grew apart. I am angry that I saw this coming and didn't try to change it. Overall, I wish that there was less immaturity and more articulation, less stubbornness and more laughter.

Toxic relationships are a necessarily evil, one that I am still trying to figure out. But until then, thanks for the goodtimes Buddy, you know who you are. May you be blessed with the enlightenment of what a total fuck-up you really are, and may you live to regret it. I think I'll pour myself a glass of wine now. Cheers.

posted by KA @ 9:05 PM 0 comments

Cardio Kickbox is Bullshit

You know, the other day, I had a revelation.

It's about time I went back to the gym.

It's no different from last time. It's the three month pattern. I usually work out for two months, and rest for three. It would be a good plan, really, if calories and carbs and trans fats didn't count. Sadly, they do. And the buildup always leads me to look in the mirror three months later and say to myself, "Shit, you're a cow. Get your fat ass into the gym."

So in the spirit of my two-three plan, I headed to cardio kickbox the other night.

Big mistake.

The class was taught by an entirely overzealous 18 year old who probably toned her quads with some knee squats in the football locker room in high school.

Fact: her body was amazing.

And...

Fact: she was doing her best to keep the class interested.

But...

Fact: She took punching air reeeeeeallllly seriously and insisted on showing us proper form - like anyone needs proper form to punch oxygen molecules.

Fact: she tried to make everyone in the class say "Woooooooo!!!" when we were doing five consecutive minutes of jumping jacks twenty minutes into class. Wooooo? I can barely breathe, bitch. Give me a noise I can work with, like a grunt. Or a thud. I can definitely do a thud. I felt like I was consistently on the verge of collapsing. Easy sleazy.

Ten minutes later, I really began to dislike her. This is where the "mean girl" in me kicked in. I started wondering if she really thought she was tough. And somehow I sincerely doubted she was. Sure, she was muscular and fit, but if I accidentally spilled my drink on her at a bar, she wouldn't pull a "step-to-the-right, step-to-the-right, jab-and-uppercut-woooooo!!!!!" No. She would be pulling hair and biting just like the rest of us bitches.

Nevertheless, I stuck it out and killed the last twenty minutes by playing "Which eating disorder does she have?" with the 5'9, 95 lb. girl in front of me who looked like she was going to snap in half.

Not that I am poking fun at disorders whatsoever. After all, I'm pretty sure I'm an overeater. Looks like there's a lot more cardio-kickboxing in my future.

posted by KA @ 7:19 PM 0 comments

Note The Time On This Bitch

I am still at work.

I would sleep here, except for that I don't have a change of clothes other than some mesh shorts, a Nickelodeon t-shirt, and an extra blazer I keep for last-minute client visits.

I'm going to lay my head down on the keyboard now and cry.

posted by KA @ 9:43 PM 0 comments

Fry Baby

In between checking media buys today, the following instant messenger conversation ensued after I decided I was going to buy a crock pot online, and sent my sister a link for a crock pot in the shape of a football:

KA4 (1:31:01 PM): this is what i'm buying
SA2 (1:31:21 PM): cause you are such a football fan
KA4 (1:31:33 PM): you know me
KA4 (1:31:37 PM): i am an athletic supporter
SA2 (1:31:55 PM): it should really go with your decor
KA4 (1:32:00 PM): yes
KA4 (1:32:11 PM): i will place it right underneath the deer head on the wall
KA4 (1:32:24 PM): and the "fry-daddy" french fryer
SA2 (1:32:46 PM): remind me to tell you a sick story about the fry-baby
SA2 (1:32:55 PM): the fry-daddy's smaller version
KA4 (1:34:22 PM): ew
KA4 (1:34:23 PM): ok
KA4 (1:34:38 PM): if it involves [name of her ex-boyfriend] and a hot glue gun and a box of twinkies and a fry baby, don't bother
SA2 (1:34:52 PM): no, it involves a lawsuit that was filed
KA4 (1:35:02 PM): against a french fry?
SA2 (1:35:19 PM): a mother was deep frying some food in the fry-baby (the name of the product)
SA2 (1:35:51 PM): her small child grabbed the cord and because there was no safety mechanism, the fry-baby tipped over and scalded the child severely with the hot oil
SA2 (1:36:02 PM): the manufacturer of the fry-baby was sued
SA2 (1:36:50 PM): and, before the case ever went to a jury, the manufacturer fought a big long lawsuit over whether the plaintiffs were allowed to utter the name fry-baby since the product did actually fry a baby
KA4 (1:37:31 PM): no way
SA2 (1:37:45 PM): yes way
KA4 (1:38:08 PM): that is the best story i've heard in a long time
SA2 (1:38:27 PM): glad to have amused
SA2 (1:38:47 PM): the sad part is, i can't remember if they won or not. I think they lost since it was the actual name of their actual fryer
KA4 (1:40:06 PM): no, the sad part is that you didn't buy one
SA2 (1:40:15 PM): true

posted by KA @ 12:40 PM 0 comments

Ringling Brothers: We Don't Suck

This past weekend my friend J, my other friend J, my sister and I went to see the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus, courtesy of some free tickets from a vendor.

Good thing the tickets were free - I almost asked for my money back.

Now is probably a good time to mention that I have never been to the circus in my entire life before last night. My parents, having given me a pretty awesome childhood, were really good about most things. We went to the Icecapades, we went to WWF wrestling matches (it was the 80s), and we went to the Louvre. We did not, however, go to the circus.

You can imagine my excitement to see the lions and tigers and bears - oh my! But perhaps part of the disappointment was that I think I've confused a circus with a carnival and a zoo. I was shocked (and sad) to find that there were no bearded ladies, no funhouses, no monkeys, and most importantly, no circus peanuts. How the f*ck do you not sell circus peanuts at a circus?! Tell me how this makes sense! I demand an answer! Defend the hypocrisy!

There were tigers. There were weird chicks in spandex toe-touching, a la Jane Fonda exercise tapes on VHS, circa 1984. There was a ringmaster (see above graphic) who strangely resembled Vanilla Ice, and his sidekick who drove a giant train shaped like a shoe, who looked a hell of a lot like Ryan Cabrera. There was a little troupe of Asian men who jumped through hoops and made Yao Ming look like a joke.

Maybe I've been a little too stressed out lately, because I found myself wondering if I would make more money in the circus as opposed to at my real job. Sadly, I found that I would. Tumbling class, here I come!

To add injury to insult, we were totally ass-raped into spending $10 on cotton candy (although it did come with a multicolored hat that would be perfect for my outfit the next time I attend a Gay/Lesbian/Tranny parade), $18 on this spinning light thing that I insisted on buying simply because I like shiny things, and $6.75 for a cheeseburger that caused hours of entertainment for my large intestine.

This whole experience, while worthwhile (but just so that I could say I've been to the circus), prompted the four of us to come up with new taglines for Ringling Bros. Formerly "The Greatest Show on Earth", we proposed the following:

Ringling Bros. - "The Greatest Show on Neptune, Perhaps, But Just A Decent Show on Earth"
Ringling Bros. - "A Decent Show on Earth, If You're Willing To Pay For the Tickets"
Ringling Bros. - "We Don't Suck"

That pretty much sums it up. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to practice my toe-touches and aerial gymnastics.

posted by KA @ 6:31 PM 0 comments

The Mashed Potato Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree

Don't ask how or why, but tonight I discovered that my cat (final given full name: Oscar Gargamel McMuffinpants) loves mashed potatoes.

It is this very fact that leads me to believe he must be my true offspring.

posted by KA @ 10:35 PM 1 comments

Twas Valentine's Day, The Top Day For Spreading STDs

Guest columnist Chris Dickerson is a former/current flame, best male friend, and experienced male dater. Over the course of our six year friendship, I have watched Chris date skanky hoes, dumb sluts, and a few normal girls. Chris is currently single, but in all likelihood will not stay so for long when he meets some lucky bitch once he relocates to Tampa, FL from his native Cincinnati.

In honor of Valentine's Day, Chris has written the following poem, and I thought that due to lack of anything remotely original, I'd rip him off. For more of Chris (he does tend to be addictive), please check him out here:


Twas The Night Before Valentine's Day

Twas the night before Valentine's day, what a pity
Four days til the weekend
The weather still shitty
A holiday almost as bad as the weather
I think we should drop this whole thing altogether
There's teddy bears, candy and flowers aplenty
Wait, Dickie's just pissed....
Cause he's not getting any
You're right
Cause I won't spend tomorrow as planned
Unless it included
Some sex with my hand
So I sit here thinking of things I can do
To give cupid a stiff middle finger
Times two
And cupid for one,
Haven't we learned a lesson
Hasn't Columbine showed us we can't give kids weapons
He's so cute and cuddly, that loveable sniper
Just wait until someone makes fun of his diaper
Okay,
Yes I'm mad that I'm not getting laid
But I've hated this holiday since second grade
And all of the imagery, cuteness, sweet verse
Is just an excuse to increase some commerce
It's not that I'm bitter
Cause really, I'm not
But I just can't celebrate what I ain't got
So I'll take my dollar
And skip the romance
Be Prudent, be wise and invest?
No, Lap Dance!!
And I can ignore countless love movie reels
While staring at girls
Wearing only spiked heels
I'll toast to the single life spent with some friends
With Candy, and Summer, and Lacey... again
With five dollar beers, black lights, cheap champagne
I'll flush all this Valentine's shit down the drain.....
So this story's over,
It's finished, no doubt
I've run out of things to keep ranting about
So if you get some flowers,
Some candy
Some cheer
I'll just think to myself
"Hey there's always next year"


Hugs, Kisses, Eight dollars at the door, and a Three Drink Minimum....

posted by KA @ 8:09 AM 4 comments

Van Gogh Might Have Been Looking For A Valenstein

I feel like I've been hit over the head with a big bag of "What the F*ck".

No, seriously.

I work in advertising, and have for my entire professional career. I know enough to know that even when advertising the worst product, you must always play up the product's greatest strength - even if there's only a kernel of truth to it.

Despite its advertising a "cool" event for young, hip professionals, the Valenstein's Party was neither cool, nor hip, nor young, nor professional.

What a crock of shit.

Maybe it's my fault for going into the experience all bright-eyed and optimistic. After all, while brunching with my family, I did see a couple of guys at Bagel Palace that morning that looked decent. "Hey," I thought to myself, "I'd probably sleep with this guy. He's not bad, if you overlook his ears and maybe a few other parts of his face. He seems like he might like long walks on the beach and pets. He'll probably be at the Valenstein's party. There could be some hope here."

Instead of hope, I got five vodka tonics, not enough shots, a quasi-blown eardrum from the volume of "Gold Digger" remix being spun on the dance floor, and the bizarre desire to cut off an appendage to help shift the focus of my misery elsewhere.

You know, Van Gogh wasn't as f*cked up as we all thought he was. Maybe he was just misunderstood. I can definitely see how the whole cutting off his ear thing might have stemmed from being dragged to a neo-Impressionist Valentine's Day party and being surrounded by a bunch of talentless, abstract artist f*cktards.

I'm not quite sure how to describe the quality of men. The only thing I can think of is to say that if placed under the right circumstances, the entire vaginal population of China could be assured cleanliness by the number of utter and total douchebags in attendance. I questioned whether a few of their mothers had let them off the leash for the night, hoping some other would-be owner would take in a stray.

I was approached by a cute friend of my Wife's. I was thinking there was hope as we were making asses out of ourselves on the dance floor, until some supermodel that he had apparently dated walked up to us and started dancing with us, leading his eyes to wander and my thirst for another drink to quickly become apparent.

It was just after I had purchased the drink that I met a creepy guy from Russia whose intro line was, "I'm from Russia, but I've lived here now for a long time. Don't worry, I'm a citizen!" (What, do I have "Channeling Andie McDowell from 'Green Card' - will marry you for citizenship" plastered on my forehead?)

Shortly thereafter, I spotted a really cute guy, and told Wife's friend who was with us. Trying ever so hard to be the good friend, she stopped him as he was walking by and started to say, "Have you met my friend...." when he looked her straight in the eye and walked away. (Well, at least it wasn't me. That blatant dis might have reduced me to tears, and I'm pretty sure I saw a tear in her eye. She's a cute girl, and that guy was way harsh.)

The final straw came when an old childhood chum of the Wife's came over to talk, and while he seemed nice and normal at the outset, he made a special effort to turn around so that I could see a ram made out of suede that was embossed on the back of his blazer. A ram. I didn't misspell anything here. A ram. I just kept imagining myself bringing this guy home to Mom and Dad, and trying to sell them on him by pointing out the venison on his Armani Exchange pants. "Look Mom! Mark is a successful, good-looking single banker who has a hankering for wearing clothing that has redneck animals on it! What a catch!"

Even with all this, I'm not going to be all Debbie Downer on you. Let's look at the three good things that came out of the night:

Good Thing #1: Perhaps the biggest irony to the evening was that I walked away with a number - from a girl. No, the party wasn't bad enough to "turn me into" a lesbian, rather, earlier on in the night, I spotted a girl who looked awfully familiar to me. As luck would have it, she turned out to be exactly who I thought she was - an old summer camp friend from Pittsburgh (now living here), and the younger sister of an ex-camp-boyfriend I haven't seen since 1996. (By the way, her perfect brother who was willing to date me long-distance and tried to get me to go to Penn State with him was perfectly dumped by me after a month for another guy I ended up dating for two years. My perfect Penn State guy is now engaged. To another girl we went to camp with. Of course! Of course he is.)

Good Thing #2: Having suspected that this would be a meat market, I decided to play up my strengths and wear a more conservative outfit. (And yes, I feel my strengths are in personality. Although my boobs are quite nice also.) My casual outfit of button-down, cashmere sweater, and jeans earned me quite a bit of attention, if only because at least five other guys had the same idea. I'm not sure if having so many male twins makes me a man. I'm even less sure I want to ponder that idea. At any rate, I did manage to secure photographic evidence of this phenomenon. As soon as I get to my home computer to post, I will update the post with proof.

Good Thing #3: I could have seen Cute Boy again this weekend. One of our friends was back in town and I'm sure he expected me to show. But in having attended this nightmare of an event, I managed to (at least in my own head) "play hard to get" with the guy and pull a whopper by not showing up. I am sure he barely noticed this.

In retrospect, it was a good experience in that at least I tried something new. And my formerly confidential (but now shared) resolution of trying new things and opening my eyes was at least exemplified just once by going to this thing.

I think I'm just glad that the feeling of consistent social discomfort is over.

posted by KA @ 9:01 AM 0 comments

My Funny Valenstein

Well kids, my second least-favorite holiday is upon us: the dreaded Valentine's Day. (The first, of course, is New Year's, although 2006 was so good it may just have bumped Valentine's Day into first.)

I cannot emphasize how annoying I think Valentine's Day is. All of the grandiose, romantic, one-day-show of affection is almost enough to make me turn away from my laptop right now and regurgitate the Little Debbie snack and glass of milk I just consumed.

Let me be the first to admit that Valentine's Day makes me jealous. And pissed off. For whatever reason, every relationship I've ever had has managed to evade this holiday. I do not think that this is a coincidence. Of all of the guys I have dated in the past, I am pretty sure that I have only celebrated the holiday in 1996, 2000, and 2001 - and only one of those years was good ('96 - courtesy of a ring, a box of chocolates, and a mixed tape featuring Beck). Every other year I've just been single, brokenhearted, or both. And I don't have recorded proof, but I'm pretty sure that in the last five years, I've been drunk on this day. Drunkity drunk drunk.

Many of my friends, particularly at work, are married or practically married, so everyone is going to be getting flowers or some shit on Monday. My desk will be filled with the usual - colored Sharpies (to make myself feel important), files with television and radio buys for 2006 (strategically placed to make me feel important), and my Office-Space-Milton-worthy trusty stapler. No flowers, no chocolates, nothing. The only thing I'll have to keep me warm at my cube is the red Clifford Beanie Baby my supervisor gave me as a joke, and the two bottles of unopened Biltmore wine that are still sitting in my cabinet from the holidays. Now that I think about it, if I slip some into my red coffee thermos I'm not sure anyone would notice that I was drowning my sorrows in a nice Merlot during the workday...

Actually, I forgot. One of the guys I work with, who is good-looking and sweet and otherwise engaged (no, literally), offered to buy me some chocolates. I politely refused, because although it was an incredibly nice gesture, my ass could do without the pity truffles.

Now I hate to bring religion into this, and I try to stay away from it because a) I don't want to alienate any readers, and b) I'm still not sure how I myself feel about the whole topic of religion, but this year, Moses will play his hand in my Valentine's Day Celebration.

Oh yes.

You see, this very weekend, I will be attending a "Valenstein's Day Bash".

My Wife's friend, who insists on going to every Jewish singles event in Atlanta (and possibly elsewhere), gave Wife an ultimatum - get crunk with the Jews on Valentine's Day or else. Wife, being the sassy little bitch she is, threw a counter-ultimatum - either I go with her, or she won't go.

Ordinarily I would shy away from these types of things, but since my parents are going to be in town, and spending three consecutive nights watching "Dancing With the Stars" on TiVo at my sister's house does not seem appealing to me, I figured I'd approach Mom and ask to bail on whatever family plans we have on Saturday night in order to attend.

When I asked her about it earlier this week over the phone, you'd have thought the Messiah had landed on the doorstep of my parents' condo. "Of course you can go!" she said. "Maybe you'll meet a nice Jewish guy."

Note to Mom: A nice Jewish guy? How about a guy with two legs? The way my mojo is working these days, it seems I can't swing the obnoxious, ginormous Louis Vuitton bag I begged her to buy me for my birthday last year without knocking ten losers over at the bar.

Admittedly, I used to want to marry within my own religion. A part of me still thinks it's smart. Why not? It would certainly make it easier when you start shooting off babies and whatnot. But in recent years, I've come to realize that religion is not necessarily a big part of my life, and that if Seth Cohen celebrated Chrismukkah and turned out alright (although he is definitely a fictional character, but that's beside the point), then as long as I found someone who could put up with my shit, and someone who I felt I could sleep with exclusively for the rest of my life, then what difference did it make if he prayed to Jesus or the Jolly Green Giant?

Yet here I am, trying my hand at meeting some quality guys of my own Tribe. I have no idea how this is going to turn out, but I can predict that it will be a waste of time, seeing as (with all due respect to the men of my religion), I am attracted to maybe 1 in every 100 Jewish guys. Emphasis on the "maybe".

So while I'd like to think that I'm at least openminded enough to go to this thing, I would gently remind all of you that it's going to take one hell of a hot, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, not-really-religious, Aryan-looking Jewish guy to make this worthwhile.

The Valenstein's Day party (and yes, it is literally called this...I wish I was clever enough to have come up with it myself) is supposedly a "cool" event for young, single, professionals to meet and hang. The invite even states that admission is 1/2 off if you have a "stein" in your last name. Unfortunately for me, I do not (although I do have an "e" in my last name somewhere), so with $10, a thirst for vodka tonics, and two other ladies, off I go.

I'll expect to have some interesting stories. Or not.

Until then, Happy Valenstein's Day to all. I'll be back early next week.

posted by KA @ 10:50 PM 2 comments

Bode Miller Makes Me Want To Lick Things

Yeah. That's pretty much all I have to say.

posted by KA @ 8:33 PM 0 comments

"Grey" Is Definitely The New Black

Is anyone else as addicted to Grey's Anatomy as I am?

And after "Code Black" last week, I have been waking up every morning trying to figure out what day it is, so that I can then calculate how many more days are left until next Sunday.

I think I like it so much because it embodies every single one of my criteria for a highly-addictive, exciting show: good storylines, characters with depth, hot men (Alex), and great dialogue. I also love how every single episode has this theme running through it, similar to many of my blog posts. I'd like to think of this blog as a very, very, very poor man's "Grey's Anatomy".

posted by KA @ 5:24 PM 1 comments

If The Hematoma Won't Close The Deal, The Shrink Just Might

Apologies for my long absence. I believe the schedule is finally beginning to take its toll on me. My family is headed into town this weekend to help me (hopefully) finalize a deal on a new home. I am going into what I know to be an incredibly busy time at work. I need to get my new tags for my car. I am hiring a professional cleaning service to clean my house because I don't have time to clean. What a mess.

In the name of a good night's rest, I'll keep it short and sweet and just leave you with a trailer of the things to come:

Psychologists
Stalkers
Circus
"Code Black"
Great Superbowl Ads
A New Home
Bowling
Sexual Chemistry.

Discuss.

posted by KA @ 11:19 PM 1 comments