Older Than Me

I was going to write a post about my impending birthday (next week) and whinge on about being 34 and how the idea of that just seems to suck lately, and how I am feeling old but young...

...but then I spent the afternoon in the ED with a survivor whose 20th birthday was yesterday...

...and it suddenly seems more important to get out of the house and go running than to dwell in my self-absorption.

Book Club

I only had time yesterday to run to Barnes and Noble after work, grab a copy of 'The Memory Keeper's Daughter', and then skim the first chapter whilst in the B&N cafe, devouring a rice krispie treat. (I have no excuse or discernible reason for not having purchased/read the book during my vacation, or at any point during the previous month while I was not working.)

Due to my lack of preparation, it was only fair that all of the major plot points of the book were revealed during the discussion, including this gem: 'I just can't figure out why [the author] kills off [the main character] at the end of the book.'



Quite Contrary

- After a week of acting like a surly teenager, I am now sitting on my couch, missing my family and wishing I was with them again.

- I went to work today, and it was amazing. I never thought I'd have a job like this.

- Due to a lack of caffeine in my household, I was forced to visit Starbucks this morning, where I couldn't seem to just get coffee, but went for the Grande Mocha and Oatmeal Banana Bread. Damn you, Starbucks!

- I didn't have the heart to tell 'Blanco' that his monumental efforts at styling and shaping my new haircut would not be appreciated by the masses tonight, unless you count the people I walked past on the way to my apartment.

- I've happily continued my trend of eating hummus and Wheat Thins for dinner.

- My SIL was right about that dress at Banana Republic being useful someday when I had nothing to wear to work. And when I say 'someday', I mean 'Monday, August 28th'.

- Beach attire and business casual are very far away from each other on the clothing style continuum.

- I have not heard from the ARH and I have a weird feeling that I am never going to see him again.


I Just Walked In The Door...

...and I think I start my new job tomorrow. That is, I've been cleared by Human Resources to start my new job tomorrow, but have not received 1) an official letter which offers me the job/clarifies my salary/initiates my union membership OR 2) a return call from my supervisor indicating my start time.

I am in desperate need of a haircut and a pedicure. This has very little to do with my job, but I feel it ties in with 'general preparedness' so I'm mentioning it here.

Along the same tangent, I don't think I have any coffee in the house and I'm not sure what I'm going to wear to work.



I'm starting a new list called 'Unsolicited Opinions of Ridiculouschick's Character Traits, Offered By Someone She Is On A Date With.'

So far we have:

Reserved (Old Man)
Obstinate (Musician)
Not Italian, Irish (Leprechan)
Kooky (Just A Friend)


Ok, I lied.

I'm not on the beach.

Today is L's surprise baby shower. This blog was used as a part of the scheming (non-evil variety) to keep my trip to Boston a secret. However, as of last night, approximately 7:03 pm, the gig is up. Were you surprised, L? Did it work? Because I'd hate to think I manipulated my readers for no good reason...

[The Reporter just pointed out that I didn't completely lie, as I am in a place that starts with 'B'. Good one. ]

We'll be celebrating today with most of the girls (sadly, The Librarian and Nashville are missing) and lots of food. Because what you really want to do is bulk up before spending a week on the beach.

Time on the beach, for the record, will begin with a long-ass car trip tomorrow morning at 6:00 am.

And I swear I'm not lying about that one. Honestly.


ridiculouschick, out!

Ok people, I'm outta here.

I'm off to sit on the beach for a while, and to not think any more deeply than to worry about my tan lines.

My heart has experienced some contusions this week, but that always heals...and I'm not sure it's my heart we were dealing with anyway.


I'm beautiful like me.


The Good News

I do not have tuberculosis.

My past employers are able to write coherent references (which was in some doubt with JC at TelecomCompany).

With a few minor changes, I can accept the proposal of the random stranger I met on the C train today ('If you get rid of tattoo and nose jewelry, you can be my wife.')

I will be on the beach in less than 48 hours.


...All my troubles seemed so far...no. No. Fuck that. All my troubles were pretty much right there, staring me in the face. Mocking me. All. Day.

Luckily, my quasi-trauma was mitigated by a lovely afternoon yoga class with Cliff, who is fast becoming my favorite instructor. And then a really funny conversation about toilet-papering with The Lawyer, and high school reminiscing/internet smackdowns/boy advice with MC. And following that, a dive-bar night out in Soho (in which 3 separate people asked me directions - sadly, I was of no help, but hey, psyched to be asked) with The Leprechan.

And I didn't even stop to get pizza on the way home. Imagine that. My thighs are thanking me even as I type.


Doing The Limbo

I have a confession to make: I'm no good at waiting. At heart, I'm a planner. I live by my calendar, my appointments, and my schedule. As much as I'd like to be a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl (what does that mean anyway? pants?), I can't let go of my need to organize and obsess.

Lately, my life has been all about passing time. Everything feels like it is on delay. I can't start my job until I pass the physical exam, the tuberculosis test, and the toxicology screening. I can't go on vacation next week until I am sure that the above requirements have been met.

I stay home, and I suddenly want to be outside. I go out, and then all I want is to be back in my apartment, buried under my covers. I call friends to talk, but just want to be left alone.

This is a strange and beautiful time.


Little Ms. Crankypants

No sleep. Employee health worker at Dream Job attempting 5 tiimes, in 5 different spots, to find a vein from which to draw blood. PPD in my arm that is slightly oozing. A 2 mile walk through Manhattanville (the A train does not stop at 96th street - go figure). Immobilized right arm from the last of my Hepatitis B vaccinations. Hungry. Over-zealous GNC employee trying to sell me vitamins, chewable acidophilus, herbal supplements, and protein drinks. Long line at the grocery store. Apartment hallway smelling suspiciously like vomit.


History and Mystery

At what point do you talk about your past with the person you are dating? When can you be sure that your ugliness/their pity won't permanently frame the way that this person sees you? Do you really want to look into someone's eyes and know that they're seeing the person that was? How much of that girl is hidden until you tell them? When do you stop erecting the walls and dancing out of reach? Can you trust them? Can you trust yourself?

In any event, it's too complicated to figure out tonight...



Excessive drinking is also an excellent way to dumb yourself down.


The Exception to the Rule

I'm generally concerned with trying to turn my brain off. I tend to over-analyze, over-think, and complicate even the most simple situations. Sleep used to be an excellent way to achieve thought-free bliss, but that's not happening much lately. Perhaps a lobotomy is included with the health benefits at my new job? At some point in my life, I'd just like to be dumb and happy.

This morning, though, I've realized that there is an area where my stupidity can excel. Dating turns me into an absolute fool. Correction. Dating someone that I really like turns me into an absolute fool. I become so idiotic that I could probably be called Fool and The Gang, because my lack of common sense is Just. That. Large.

Case in point: I went out with Anti-Robin Hood last night and couldn't stop kissing him. In public. And we were sober. Given that I usually mock overly-affectionate couples, this is quite alarming. I also couldn't seem to complete an intelligent sentence or stop looking at him and grinning. Everything about last night is kinda hazy, except for when I finally reigned myself in, had a semi-graceful panic, and abruptly left his apartment around 1:00 am.

Oh Snap!

Ok, I kinda love The Lawyer. I mean, she's one of my closest friends, so of course I love her, but it's stuff like this that makes me really, really love her. Maybe even want to be her for a little while.

The Setup: A friend of a friend, G, was seriously flirting with The Lawyer while at a party this past Saturday. Things have been, um, boiling between then for a while now, so The Lawyer asked G to meet up for a drink at some point this week. G replied that it sounded too much like a date, but that she'd be up for 'some fun'. Since The Lawyer is on a quest for non-committal sex (she calls it her 'holy grail') she replied that this would be perfect for her. G then proceeded to hedge and waver between suggesting that they 'make out' and telling her that she was still hung up on her ex-girlfriend. After going back and forth most of the day via e-mail, The Lawyer responded:

'I stopped thinking about this 3 hours ago. You’re all over the place. In one email you would make out with me. In the next email you’re telling me that you can’t predict your mood. In another email you want to have fun. Your vacillating feelings are overwhelming and I don’t want to deal with it. I’m not comfortable with the fact that you’re a different person to me every five minutes. And besides, what makes you think that everything is about you? This is not entirely your decision. I have a voice in it as well. I wouldn’t have even addressed the issue on Saturday but you seemed pretty willing. And the part where you screamed sexy to me when I was on the phone with M while you were in the cab gave me a clue that you may have wanted something. However, that will not be happening.
I don’t know what kind of women you’ve dealt with in the past but I can assure you that I don’t play these types of games. If you’re head is not together then by all means take whatever steps you need to get it together. I certainly don’t want to see you emotionally distraught over anything. So we’ll see each other when we see each other. I still like you. You’re funny and sometimes have interesting things to say. You’re a good acquaintance and fun at parties. We’ll continue as we have all along.'


Sum, Parts, Whole

1. I made the unfortunate decision to weigh myself this past weekend after eating all of Boston. It was quite unpleasant. This is why I don't own a scale. And also why I had an apple for dinner last night.

2. Apparently, all of the arm strength that I've built up over the last several months can suddenly disappear if I skip yoga for a week. I couldn't even get halfway up into a headstand last night.

3. At Big Daddy's suggestion, I spent much of my time in Boston trying to 'dumb it down' (he's convinced it will improve my dating life) with moderate success. Just need to subtract the vocabulary and add more hair twirling.

4. Honeychild also contributed her theory: 'Make his personality your personality. You are a blank slate and have no interests of your own, other than doing shots or watching SportsCenter.'

5. MM might be moving out of the 'hood, which devastates me. I can't possibly be expected to walk longer than 5 blocks or get on the subway for our weekly ridiculousness.

6. I believe I am going to join my family at the beach, even though this summer has been one long vacation with bouts of job hunting thrown in. Plus, who could resist spending a solid week with The Peanut?

7. I am currently waking up around 6:15 each morning without the aid of an alarm clock, a fact which remains constant regardless of my bedtime. I'm sure this will change in a few weeks when I am working, and will be dragging my ass out of bed at the last possible minute to run for the subway.



Very unexpectedly, I started sobbing at the end of yoga tonight. Luckily, we were in Savasana, so I don't think anyone witnessed my breakdown. Which is good. I like to keep my occasional craziness confined to my home. Or my blog.

I'm not sure what this was all about. Perhaps it was the slight fun-weekend-hangover I've been feeling all day, or the ton of hip-openers we did during class.


Honeychild and Big Daddy are amazing hosts. That being said, I am truly happy to be home today. I'm sitting on my couch, drinking iced coffee, listening to iTunes and writing.

The only way this could be better is if I had remembered to buy toilet paper and cereal last night...


L is for Loser

Sometimes I amaze myself with just how sad I am.

This morning, I flipped on the television in the guest room where I am staying. It hadn't been on since I stumbed to bed in the early hours on Sunday morning, where I vaguely recall watching about 15 minutes of...something...before I passed out. The television is currently on the same channel. Which is Lifetime.

I'm so glad to be entering this new phase of my life. Apparently, I'm a sad, middle-aged woman with too many cats who enjoys 'Television for Women'. Gah.

Booty Vortex, Geek Vortex

On Friday night, after a shitty 6 hour bus ride up to Boston, Honeychild, her husband, and I went to a local pub to see Georgia Overdrive, who "play the best (and some of the worst) classic country from Merle Haggard and Johnny Cash to Glenn Campbell and Johnny Paycheck, paying homage to the great songs and artists of country music songs about truck drivin', heartache, and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer".

(By the way, Honeychild's husband has a new moniker, and shall heretofore be referred to as 'Big Daddy', at least for the purposes of this blog).

The band was really entertaining, and we amused ourselves further by looking over the other bar patrons and attempting to figure out if they had been there since happy hour (in most cases, it was readily obvious: eyes at half-mast, rumpled business attire, stumbling). The bar was very crowded when we arrived at 10, then cleared out around midnight (most celebrants left to pass out, or vomit, or both). Around 1:30, Honeychild and I were sitting at the back of the bar, while Big Daddy was off performing his unofficial social duties as the mayor of Davis/Porter Square, and the bar got super crowded again, with people stopping by on their way home from somewhere else. We were still listening to the band (and I was hoping for an introduction to the lead singer) when we found ourselves surrounded by a whole new cast of characters.

These boys were very drunk, slightly geeky, trying to hook up, and not at all subtle about any of it. We named some of the more interesting contenders: Samurai Lumberjack (ponytail on the top of his head, beard), The Lizard (platinum-dyed hair, disturbing stare), Mr. Clean (bald), Striped Shirt Guy (um, striped shirt, bad sandals). A few approached, and we did our best to rebuff kindly. I got trapped in a conversation with The Russian, who told me that I had 'big eyes' and that I reminded him of his 10th grade math teacher, whom he wanted to 'bang'. Honeychild was accosted by Mr. Clean, who walked up, kissed her hand and then stood there and said nothing. Most of them just stared at us, and there might have been some winking or smiling. Hard to tell through the laughter.

After enduring about 10 minutes of this, we spotted Big Daddy talking to the band, and we escaped the vortex to hang with them. Which was infinitely better.


Guest Post By Honeychild

Hello Babies! Honeychild is so honored to be guest blogging today. I’m 34 now. Officially in my “mid-thirties.” Had a fantastic birthday that turned fantastically ugly just after midnight.

My girl ridiculouschick came up to Boston to celebrate her new job and my new gig with the righteous funk band Booty Vortex. Got some badass gifts from my family (a red rubber dress can only be described as bad ass), went for a hike, had a delicious lunch, then headed out to the club. The gig rocked. (Or more appropriately, it funk’d) The band sounded great and lots of friends turned out to celebrate with me. That’s where the trouble begins - many friends wanting to buy Honeychild shots for her big birthday. What’s wrong with free drinks you say? Honeychild isn’t much of a drinker. But birthdays and post-gig adrenaline have been known to paralyze the judgment of even the most conservative people.

Here now are some of the lessons learned on my 34th birthday:

- Don’t do shots (especially 3 different shots, especially when you don’t usually drink more than a couple glasses of wine a week)
- Don’t mix shots and gin and tonic
- Don’t do all of the above in the span of one hour

Thankfully, the lovely ridiculouschick and my very understanding husband were there to hold my long, curly locks and coach me through a very painful 3 hours of retching, during which I distinctly remember:

- Hearing “Time of My Life” on the radio, feeling my stomach turn, retching again, then screaming for someone to TURN OFF THE FREAKING 80’S STATION!
- Telling my dog Stella that “Mommy is drunk” and then begging someone to remove her from the bathroom in a lame attempt to protect her opinion of me

So, I spent my 34th birthday acting more like I was 24…okay 14. Good friends got me into it and good friends got me out of it. Friends are good, Maker’s Mark is bad.


Celebration Tour

I arrived back in NYC last night (where was the apocryphal rainstorm they were predicting?). I'm off shortly to Dream Job HR to receive a formal job offer, negotiate salary, start date, etc.

Then it's onto another bus to Boston to visit Honeychild, celebrate her birthday, and rock out to her band.


When The Going Gets Tough...

...I go to the beach.

I'm leaving this afternoon for the Jerz shore. Given my badly sprained (and self-doctored) taped-up thumb, the pending collapse of my bathroom ceiling, and the sweltering humidity - I'm out.

PS: The Lawyer says that my apartment karma is so bad that I must have been a slumlord in my previous life. Heh.