Thursday, February 24, 2011

Honey, let's agree to lie.

I was new in town so I joined an online dating site. I thought he was a cutie and "winked" at him because his profile said he was looking for someone like me. His reply: are you for real? Our third date was a weekend trip to New York City... complete with boho dinner party at the Hotel Chelsea for our friends. He opens doors ...and pulls out chairs ...perfect. "Trip" is my favorite man. Ever. He's so perfect (in such eccentric ways) for me that when I describe him to my friends, they ask when the wedding will be. We have not gotten that far yet. Baby steps. One of the steps: meet the parents.

We were invited to dinner. Wednesday night. No big thing, right? WRONG. His dad's house is out on an island. You can only get out to the island (by car) if you have business on the island and there's a gate house on the bridge. It's VERY exclusive. His dad lives in an Italianate palazzo on "East Egg" Island and I grew up in a crappy condo in "The Valley of Ashes". The initial panic passed. I should have known that "Trip" came from money like that because his name is a Firstname Middlename Lastname III but it never occurred to me that it might be Like This. After dinner we're sitting by a roaring fire (the fire place large enough to roast a pig) sipping lovely red wine discussing stuff. Dim light glints gold off of the Directoire and Empire furniture's overstuffed silks. Yeah, it was like that... I felt like I had invaded Masterpiece Theatre. It was lovely. Absolutely lovely.

"So, how did you meet?"

Oh, crap. The evening started to crash. I looked at "Trip". He looked at me. Deer-in-headlights-style. Do we tell the truth? We have not discussed this yet.

"You just met a few times around at bars or something?" Dad's a psychiatrist, good luck lying to him. He sensed something.

"We met through new social networking tools. Computer stuff, dad."

GOOD SAVE. Dad does not check his e-mail often. Knows nothing of Facebook or internet dating sites. Leave it to a son to know how to lie to his dad.

I just wish that we would have discussed what we're going to say when people ask how we met. It's horrible to have to say that you met on an internet dating site. Or at least I think it is. I'm meeting all of his friends this weekend. Vague answers about the intertubes won't fly with them. I think we're about to overplay the importance of our one common Facebook friend (he went to art school with someone I used to work with). We need to agree on a lie and then stick to it. Otherwise, there's going to be a few awkward silences this weekend.

Monday, February 21, 2011

There is only one right way to hang toilet paper

Almost two years ago, there was a change between me and my roommate.

He found himself looking forward to coming home. Not because he wasn't at work anymore, but because he was looking forward to spending time with me. Cooking dinner together and watching TV. Silly boring things.

I found myself eagerly anticipating him getting home after work. Looking at the clock. And if he didn't come home, or came home late, I was way more disappointed than I should have been. I mean, he was just my roommate.

And after my last roommate (hell satanspawn bitchface hoooker hell hell), it seemed to me a good idea to keep my distance.

But, he had these big blue eyes, see? And I told my friends about it, that I had a crush on my roommate, and they were like, "that is a terrible idea. Remember what happened with your last roommate? Crazyface bitchass. And you weren't even sleeping with her. Don't do it. It'll end poorly, then you'll be out one awesome roommate. He picks up dog poop AND mows the lawn. Also he's super nice. And, you know. I mean, he's single, right? Can I maybe come over for dinner sometime?"

One friend was at least a little more honest.

"If you hit that, let me know how it goes. He's pretty cute. Maybe you could warm him up for me."

And I was like, "Oh, pishposh. Nothing will happen. I'm sure he's not interested in me. Plus, he's such a responsible person, he wouldn't do something like that."

Well. I was wrong. I'm way glad I was wrong.

One really good thing about getting together with your roommate is that you already know you can live together and you're comfortable together. Because moving in with a boyfriend can be really hard -- I know from experience. The guy I was with in college? Even when he was out of work and I was going to school and working full time, he couldn't be bothered to wash a dish. Or scrub a toilet. Ever. I think, in three years, he may have .... no. Actually, I don't think he ever cleaned the toilet.

But Roomie and I were OK with each other's habits. There were no arguments or bad blood about how clean the bathtub was, or who left dishes laying around. All was copacetic as far as home was concerned.

So a few weeks ago, I was going to the bathroom, and I noticed, to my great irritation, that the toilet paper was hung the wrong way. Underhand.

I realized that Roomie and I had never talked about how toilet paper is hung. And I didn't think that I'd ever noticed it being wrong before. I shuddered. Had I just been lucky? Did he have a willy-nilly approach to TP, and somehow, either I hadn't noticed, or it always happened to get thrown on the right way? Had I been the one who'd replaced the roll most of the time? It didn't seem like it ... I've lived with guys who left me empty rolls, and Roomie's just not that kind of a guy.

"Um, so have we ever talked about how we like toilet paper hung? I mean, are you the kind of person who thinks that there is a right way to hang TP?"

He looked at me, and quickly answered.

"Fuck yeah. Overhand."

"Oh, thank god. It must have been your mom."

(Originally posted on Run Bitches Run)

Friday, February 11, 2011

Something to think about on your Friday night….

“I’m not saying we all ought to misbehave, but we all ought to look as if we could.”

Orson Welles

(In other news, new girl lost your comments on her first two posts. I suck, because they were great, but everything's all straight now otherwise. Sorry, awesome commenters!)

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


Date number 2 with my latest consisted of watching the Super Bowl together. Why, you may ask? Because that's when he had time off and I freaking love football. (Longtime listeners out West may not understand how a real lady can be such a fan of such a sport, but trust this one when she tells you that all the real Southern girls are. And thankfully, the more you know, the more men down here love it.)

Anyway, as Fergie and Will.I.Am. came on stage, my boy muted the TV and came up with a plan to make better use of the upcoming twenty minutes, wink wink. As most of the country wondered if Fergie would pee her pants, things got warmer between us. He took off his glasses, and I shed a sweater. Hands wandered, moans escaped, and we spent the intermission making very good use of our time.

Since I'm all romantic and shit, I pulled the dude move and started watching the game over his shoulder as we kept making out. Classy, right? When I squealed during a good play that didn't coincide with any sweet move of his, my boy realized what was going on. Busted. He understood, though, and we straightened ourselves up and returned to the game, a little closer together on the sofa this time. As he went to put his glasses back on, they were nowhere to be found. Where were they eventually located, you may ask? Under my big ass, that's where. They were retrieved, arms akimbo, MUCH worse for their lack of wear.

This leads me to my point.
Y'all, please tell me that I'm not the only one who's done this? What have you broken in the name of passion? Leave me a comment about knocked over lamps, chipped teeth, shattered windows, and broken headboards. We're all in this together, after all.

Monday, February 7, 2011

We're Back, Bitches!

Ladies and gentlemen, cats and kittens, dawgs and aforementioned bitches:

Rumors of our demise have been greatly exaggerated. We're back with a vengeance, coming at you with the same great advice, tales of woe, and kiss-and-tell adventures. Don't worry, the old editors are still here, plus some new voices to keep things interesting.

As always, feel free to send in your submissions and help us get things back up to speed. Check us out on Facebook and Twitter as we try to resuscitate all of our friendly feeds.

Love always,
Your newest Pink Lady.