I think we're at our best by the flicker by the light of the TV set.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Got No Game

I've been told recently that I "got no game." Not really sure what that means, so I decided to do some research.

According to urbandictionary.com "game" is:

  1. a measure of smoothness with the opposite sex

  2. lines or moves you use to get the opposite sex into bed

  3. pick up lines

  4. skill

  5. mojo/sexdrive

  6. the ability to seduce anybody of the opposite sex...or same sex for that matter

  7. discourse marked by force and persuasiveness, either with women or in any situation to get what one wants; also the art or power of using such discourse

  8. the quality of forceful or persuasive expressiveness (ie: "Tyrone pulled that hot chocolate model last night because he got game.")
Tyrone! You dog, you! Teach me your ways!! I've come to the realization that having "game" is crucial, especially since I'm single and would like to date. How will I ever meet anyone without any game? This is a crisis. I recently set a goal for myself: I want five guys to ask for my number before the summer is over. That can't be too hard, right? I've never had a guy ask me for my number before, so the idea thrills me. Does that make me corny? Old fashioned? A loser? I don't know and I don't care. I'd like some summer lovin'. However, no one will be asking for my digits unless I get some game first.

I asked my sister and half-brother (who so kindly informed me that I got no game) what that meant and how I go about changing this. They rolled their eyes and walked away. Apparently they care about me enough to let me know my game is lacking, but not enough to help me get some.

To start, maybe I should play less Bubble Spinner. That might help. Secondly, perhaps I should put myself out there more. Let's face it, I'm probably not going to meet any hot young thangs at Cocktails with the Whales (my new favorite summer event). I honestly don't have the slightest idea how to go about getting game. Should I wear my hair differently? Change my wardrobe? Take dance lessons? Topdatingtips.com says I should flirt more. The site provides a list on how to flirt by use of body language:
  • Prolonged eye contact
  • Dilated pupils
  • Arched eyebrows
  • Winking
  • Rapid eye movement and blinking
  • Stroking or toying with hair
  • Smiling
  • Licking of lips
  • Touching the lips or teeth with tongue
  • Thrusting chest or breasts outward
  • Mirroring or copying posture
  • Crossing legs
  • Leaning inward
  • Open-legged posture
So if I arch my eyebrows, sit with my legs open and stick out my boobs I'll get a date? HA!
For now, I'm just going to watch The Pickup Artist and take notes. If anyone reading this (does anyone even know I have a blog?) has any tips for me, I'll be super duper thankful.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time." - Thomas Edison

Monday, June 22, 2009

Making Friends

Since leaving New York, moving home and becoming single I've decided it might be nice to make a few new friends. Don't get me wrong, I love the friends I have. It's just that I rarely get to see them since they're all the way in the big city. It would be nice to know a few faces around Colchester. I used to know a lot of people in town, but lost touch with them during the college years of my life. Most of them have moved on to bigger and better places (much like I did until Fox nearly killed me).

These past few months I was feeling quite sorry for myself, which is not a good thing. I hate feeling that way and didn't want to feel that way, but couldn't seem to get around it. Last week, however, I miraculously discovered that I am not the only one suffering this regression thanks to the recession. (The Recession Regression?) Turns out, several of my old high school friends have also moved back in with mom and dad. I am not alone! What a relief. I have since smiled more, had actual PLANS and no longer consider myself a one girl pity party. Hooray!

My exciting new small town life began over the weekend when I was invited to happy hour with a few old friends. Yes, please! I could not have been more excited to drink cheap margaritas while catching up with my high school BFFs. We went to this cute little Mexican place near the water. One of my friends brought a couple of her grad school friends along. I was thrilled to be meeting new people.

As the afternoon turned into evening and the tequila started to kick in, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I was in a heated conversation about Jonathan Papelbon and his ego, (I say he can be as cocky as he wants. The other person in the convo - an obvious Yankee fan - thought otherwise), when my girlfriend asked me if I knew of some guy who graduated from Manhattan College with me. I won't mention his name or any names for that matter as this story is about to get pretty freaking embarrassing. I did, in fact, know this guy, so I said I did: "Oh yeah, I know insert name here! He was in love with me freshman year!" Oh, no, Jenny. Did you really just do that? Shoulda kept your big mouth shut. Turns out one of my girlfriend's grad school friends has been dating this guy for some time now. Fail.

Could I have been more embarrassed? I don't think so. My jaw hit the floor. My face turned red. What a jerk I am! Now, if you know me well enough, you know that this is not like me. I don't often make such egotistical remarks. Comments like this don't normally come out of my mouth. It was the tequila, I swear. How was I supposed to know that guy and this girl were together!? I tried to explain myself. The thing is, this guy really was in love with me. He actually said those words. We met freshman year. He was in one of my classes and we shared mutual friends, so we hung out a few times. He decided he had a thing for me and coincidentally his roommate decided he had a thing for my best friend who lived down the hall from me. The two of them made frequent, unexpected trips to our dorm. One day he decided to tell me that he thought he was "falling in love" with me. I hardly knew him! I was freaked! After that, my best friend and I tried to keep our distance from them. That was the extent of our "relationship." Cut to five years later and I'm blabbing to his current girlfriend that he used to be in love with me. Damn you, tequila!

As soon as I finished explaining myself, (though I'm not sure his girlfriend understood/cared), she whipped out her cell phone and started texting him! "What's your name again?" she asked. I told her. "I'm asking him if he knows a Jenny from Manhattan College." Two minutes later he texted back asking, "Erasmus?" Ha! Told ya I knew him.

I can only imagine the conversation they had later that night. It doesn't really matter, though. It happened several years ago and honestly, what even happened? Regardless, I still felt kind of terrible. My attempt at making friends was an utter failure. At least I entertained one of the old high school friends in attendance. He laughed so hard margarita almost came out his nose.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Drowning in Coleslaw

Happy Daddy's Day, y'all! Father's Day '09 has been quite anti-climactic. The only exciting part was the coleslaw... and it wasn't a good exciting. It started this morning when my dad decided he was going to make his famous coleslaw to go with the BBQ ribs we were having for dinner. This is the only dish my dad makes. Ever. He never cooks aside from flipping burgs on the grill. For whatever reason he makes really good coleslaw that everyone seems to enjoy... everyone aside from my lil sis who would rather cut off her left foot than eat shredded cabbage in a creamy mayonnaise dressing. Yummy.

He started shredding cabbage just after breakfast. It smelled disgusting. The entire house smelled disgusting. Since I slept late, I had the pleasure of smelling the cabbage while eating my Raisin Bran Crunch. Delicious. He shredded enough cabbage to make enough coleslaw for an entire army and always does. Keep in mind, only my immediate family members would be eating dinner at the Erasmus house tonight. Just Mom, Dad, Julie and yours truly. (Didn't mean for that to rhyme.) Dad didn't seem to notice the extreme portion. I'm fairly certain that he only knows how to make enough coleslaw for an army. No less.

Six o'clock rolled around and we decided to eat. My mom asked me to take the coleslaw out of the refrigerator where it had been sitting all day. As I peeled the tin foil from the top of the enormous bowl, I gagged. Turns out my dad made coleslaw soup. Mom and I stared at the seemingly inedible mixture of cabbage and liquefied mayonnaise and wondered if we should serve it in bowls and use spoons instead of the forks that had already been set on the table. Dad did not seem to notice or care that his coleslaw-making skills were severely lacking. And what was he doing cooking on Father's Day anyway? Aren't dads supposed to sit around and be waited on and do nothing all day long? Lord, how I wish that were the case in my house this year.

In honor of the occasion, I ladled some of the 'slaw onto my dish and tried to inconspicuously drain it with my fork before bringing it to my mouth and forcing it down. I'm not a huge fan of mayo as it is. Mayo soup, therefore, did not appeal to me. I was able to swallow some of it and hid the remaining soup on my plate under the rib bones. Julie lucked out and didn't have to eat any since dad knows she doesn't like it to begin with. Lucky bitch.

When dinner was over, Julie and I offered to clean the kitchen. "What do you want me to do with the leftover coleslaw?" I asked my dad. The bowl was still pretty much full. What was left was an even soupier, repulsive mush. My dad studied the mush for a moment and said, "I guess it's pretty soupy, huh?" No, really? Julie could jump in and swim in it if she so desired! He then directed me to dump it out. Alas! The coleslaw (if that's what you want to call it) is in the garbage.

Friday, June 19, 2009

My Secret

Fun fact! I've got a mega crush on Michael Bublé. I daydream of him serenading me. Croon, baby, croon!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

"No one should give up a dream without giving it a chance to come true." - Valley of the Dolls

Monday, June 8, 2009

Brush Your Teeth, Gross Mouth

After 22 years of perfect teeth, I finally have my first cavity. Times nine. That's right. I have nine cavities. Well, eight cavities now since I got one drilled and filled last week. That's right. Just one. I told the dentist, "Look, Doc. For financial reasons I can only afford to get one tooth fixed. No job means no dental insurance, which means eight cavities have to wait. So pick the worst and drill away."

He chose a molar on the bottom right. I'm not going to lie, I was maybe a tad nervous. I mean, I've never had a cavity. Ever. I never had braces, either. I was born with perfect, straight teeth much to my sister's dismay. She was a brace-face for several years and to this day sleeps with a retainer. Gross... The most amount of dental work I've had was getting my wisdom teeth pulled a few years ago. That didn't hurt, though. It was actually fun. I loved the laughing gas and the pain killers and the laying in bed eating nothing but pudding and ice cream for three days.

I had no idea what to expect as I sat in the dentist chair. I was prepared for the worst and the decorations in the office weren't helping. Apparently the dental hygienist is obsessed with wolves. There was a wallpapered wolf border around the entire room, stuffed wolves sitting amongst the dental gear and the hygienist was wearing wolf smocks. Those wolves were eyeing me, laughing at me, knew the pain I was about to endure.

Before I knew it, Dr. Babinski was coming at me with a giant needle. He pulled my cheek out and jammed that sucker right in. Amazingly, it didn't hurt! I didn't feel the slightest pinch! As I was revelling in the fact, my mouth and face started to tingle. Before long numbness spread from my cheek to my tongue to my lips and all over my gums. For fear of drooling all over myself, I was constantly checking the corner of my mouth, wiping away nonexistent saliva. What a strange sensation!

When my face and mouth were fully numb, Dr. B. started poking around in there with all sorts of stuff. I couldn't quite figure out what exactly he was doing. I kept my eyes shut for most of the experience. The Novocaine needle sort of freaked me out and I didn't want to see anything that scary enter my mouth again. Just moments later, Dr. B. sat up, pushed that blinding dentist light out of my eyes and told me he was all set. Really? That quick? That's it? I didn't feel a thing! And still wouldn't feel a thing for the next couple of hours. My face stayed numb longer than I thought it would. I was pulling and pinching and biting my lips and cheek and chin for what seemed like hours until finally that tingling came back.

After getting my first ever cavity filled I feel brave and tough, like I finally fit in. I finally feel like I'm part of the club, like I finally have something in common with the rest of the world. Cavities are cool, man! Everyone's got 'em! Perfect teeth are boring!

Brb, I gotta brush my teeth...

Monday, June 1, 2009

"Poor Meggie longed, quite what for she didn't know, but the basic pull was there, and it dragged her inexorably in the direction of Ralph de Bricassart. So she dreamed of him, yearned for him, wanted him; and mourned, that in spite of his declared love for her she meant so little to him that he never came to see her." - The Thorn Birds