Decision Fatigue, Or, Why I Cannot Be Trusted After 7pm

An article in Wednesday’s New York Times outlined the phenomenon of “decision fatigue.” Basically, it is as follows:  We have a finite amount of mental energy.  From the very moment we wake up we are using that mental energy to make millions of decisions.  As we continue to do so our willpower, as though it were a muscle, fatigues to the point where it gets more and more difficult to exercise good self control or good self discipline.  You’re mentally spent and it’s harder to make compromises or make good trade offs. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Sugar and I am suffering from decision fatigue.  And I’m guessing a lot of you are too. 

My day starts with decisions and trade offs.  Getting myself ready for work is fraught with so many decisions it’s a wonder my willpower isn’t depleted by the time I get out the door.  Let’s take a sampling: 

Getting dressed (and gents, here’s where you have to have some respect for the ladies – our mental power is taxed in ways you don’t even understand):  Dress OR Skirt and Blouse OR Pants and Blouse OR Dress/Pants/Skirt with Sweater.  Once that’s decided it’s Muted Colors OR Bright Colors.  Then we go to Shoes: Flats OR Heels?  Neutrals OR Bright?  Accessories:  Pearls/Studs/Hoops/Dangling (and that’s just the earrings); Simple Chain/Statement Piece/Simple Pearls/Multi Strand (and that’s just the necklace); Cocktail Rings/Sentimental Rings/Simple Rings; Cuffs/Bangles/Pearls (that’s just the bracelets).  You get the idea.  And we haven’t even gotten to makeup. 

Work is inundated with its own set of decisions:  Which project to tackle first? How much time to spend on it? How to write this memo or that email?  How much research is enough research?

Taking all this into account, it is no wonder that my patience is sapped as the day drags on.  Merely restraining myself from telling a coworker how I really feel about her choice of office attire takes more and more of my energy, depleting energy from important things I need to do like, think. 

Take this as a warning.  Your mother told you nothing good can happen after midnight.  Well, I say nothing good can happen after 7pm. 

Guilty Pleasures: Girls' Night In Edition

Sure, we all love to go out and hit the town but sometimes, some of the best nights are those spent in with your best girlfriends, a few bottles of wine, Bethenny Frankel’s Skinnygirl cocktails, guacamole and a good movie.  Here’s this lady’s top picks for a guilty pleasure girls’ night in: 

1.      Legally Blonde:  I don’t know many women who can’t quote at least 5 lines from this movie off the top of their heads at the drop of a hat.  And while that may say something about the people I choose to associate with, I think it’s just good sense.  Elle Woods is a fun, lighthearted, fashionable character with a heart of gold and TWO uber-cute love interests. 

2.      Clueless:  Clueless will forever be a part of pop culture for those of us who were tweens and teens in the 90s.  To this day, I still lust after Cher’s rotating closet and believe that digital photographs (an upgrade from the Polaroid) are better than any mirror. 

3.      Sex and the City (I, not II):  Carrie and Big.  Big and Carrie.  This love story was as much a part of my pop culture education as multiplication tables were to my math skills.  As much as I love these characters, I do firmly believe that the second movie was simply in poor taste.

4.      Sweet Home Alabama:  Another Reese Witherspoon hit!  Sweet Home Alabama has all the necessary ingredients for a successful girls’ night movie:  North meets South, Wealthy Fiance meets Secretly Wealthy Ex-Husband, Civil War battle reenactments and a Tiffany and Co. proposal.  Done and Done. 

 

5.      Love Actually:  Some might believe Love Actually is properly a Christmas movie but I believe Love Actually is so good it’s meant to be enjoyed year-round.  There’s young love, lost love, forgotten love, new love, weird love.  It’s just a whole-lotta love. 

6.      How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days:  Matthew McConaughey.  Matthew McConaughey on a motorcycle.  Matthew McConaughey shirtless.  Matthew McConaughey in a tux. 

7.      The Notebook:  The Notebook is perfect for a good girls’ night – you can (and you will) cry your eyes out.  And not a cute, attractive cry.  No, no, no.  A-get-the-Costco-sized-box-of-tissues cry that should only be seen by your girlfriends (and maybe your husband, but only after you’ve been married a few years). 

8.      Mean Girls:  Li-Lo before she went La-Loca.  Watch this on a good girls’ night and reminisce about all the “mean girl” things you did in high school.  Unless, of course, you weren’t ever a mean girl.  Which means you’re probably not reading this blog.

9.      Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants:  Sisterhood!  Bonding!  Growing up!  Pants that MAGICALLY fit every girl!  I recommend watching this movie and then sharing pants with your closest female friends.  But instead of jeans, let’s be a little more forgiving ladies and opt for some always flattering yoga pants. 

10.  Bring It On!:  All my life I wanted to be a cheerleader, but due to my parents’ decision to send me to a Catholic girls’ school, that was not quite in the cards.  Bring It On lets you tap into your inner cheerleader.  Come on.  You have one.    

Our Tween Heartthrobs

Lately I’ve found myself thinking wistfully of my care-free pre-teen and teenage years.  It was a glorious life before work, advanced degrees and bills where summer actually meant sleeping in and living a life of leisure.  In doing so, I recalled all my great loves of those years.  So here it is, a mildly-comprehensive list of my first celebrity crushes: 

1.      Jack Kelly (Newsies):  I understand that this is a movie character and really, should be listed as Christian Bale (oooh, didn’t he grow up nice), but Jack Kelly is in a class all his own.  He danced his way into my heart long before the male cast members of Glee (ok, Sam really) ever did. 

2.      Nick Carter (The Backstreet Boys):  Sure, I turned down the volume on “Backstreet’s Back” during a certain lyric to avoid a scolding from my parents, but boy-oh-boy.  Nick Carter papered the walls of my pre-teen bedroom.  Despite some unfortunate fashion choices (coughcough overalls), he had that good boy appeal that could rope in a nun.

3.      Jonathan Taylor Thomas (“JTT”):  JTT was the original Justin Bieber, hands down.  Even though I may be a 25 year old Belieber, JTT is still the best, hands down.

4.      Justin Timberlake (N’Sync):  JTimberlake may have grown into modern day eye-candy, but let’s not forget his original beginnings and his ability to make the hearts of 11-17 year old girls worldwide pound simultaneously with one smoldering look.

5.      Joey McIntyre (New Kids on the Block): MMMMM.  This delicious little slice of pecan pie has had me “flyin on the G-5” since I was conjugating Latin verbs. 

6.      HRH Prince William of Wales:  Though today I’m more of a Prince Harry kind of girl than a Prince William, back in the day I would have done anything to tousle that hair.  Kate Middleton, my inner tween is extremely jealous.   

7.      James Van der Beek (Dawson’s Creek): Ah, yes.  How could a list of tween hotties be complete without brooding Dawson’s Creek hottie Dawson himself?  His constant teen angst would annoy me to nth-degree now, but ten years ago, I would’ve given anything to get caught up in that stare. 

      8.      Joshua Jackson (Mighty Ducks):  Joshua Jackson is another Dawson’s Creek star, but I value          him more for his performance in the Mighty Ducks movies, particularly the last one.  There’s something about that good-boy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks character at the prep school that makes (tween) me swoon.  

9.      Zack Morris (Saved by the Bell):  In grade school, I dreamed of being Kelly Kapowski just so I would get to slow dance with Zack at the super adorable Zack and Kelly prom.   

10.  AC Slater (Saved by the Bell):  Frequently. Exposed. Muscles.  Enough said.    

Adventures in Dating: La vengeance se mange très-bien froide, et avec charcuteries

(DISCLAIMER: Sorry OSP has been a little MIA.  One of your faithful bloggers is on her honeymoon; the other was out of town for work then vacation.  We still love you though.)

I’m not going to lie.  Sometimes when I feel like I’ve been crossed I turn into a petulant six year old whose first instinct is to stomp my feet and throw things.  Normally I don’t act on this instinct but to be honest, sometimes acting like a silly child really does make me feel better.  In the story that follows, I had a partner-in-crime who indulges my silliness for better or for worse.  In this case, it was clearly for the better.

A few years ago, I dated a French guy, let’s call him Perdant (google translate that word and you’ll see it’s appropriate).  Perdant was…interesting.  He was the kind of guy who shunned TV (“ezz boaring”), listened to music called “noise,” listened to said music only on cassette or vinyl, wore super tight jeans, lived like a hobo and brought sherry to parties.  Perdant entertained me so I kept seeing him.  I also liked the accent.  I ended up moving to DC during the time I was seeing him and we kept up a sort of semi-relationship long-distance.  All of a sudden, Perdant stopped returning my calls, texts and emails.  I made sure he wasn’t dead through a friend who worked in the same building he worked in, chalked this lack of communication up to the very French existential crisis he was going through (swear to God we actually had a conversation about whether he was actually a scientist (he had his PHd), what did it mean for him to be a scientist, where did he belong, blah blah blah…I may have tuned out about halfway through, just sayin’) and moved on to Shooter.  Four months later, I get an email from Perdant telling me that he was seeing someone else, that it was serious and that he didn’t think it was a good idea for us to get together before, but that I should say hello next time I was home.  I was pissed that this communication came four months late, but by that point, I figured he was a weird jerk and I was better without him. 

I ended up back home for part of the summer last year.  Out of my sense of curiosity (apparently I’m a glutton for punishment when it comes to men) I reached out to Perdant to see if he would want to meet up.  He responded immediately, “Yes, let’s get together.”  So we set up plans to meet at a bar for happy hour.  I showed up on time, found a table, ordered a Sam Adams and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  One hour and two beers later, I realized I had been stood up.  I emailed Perdant, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and said, “Did I mix up the dates?  I was at the bar, but you never showed.”  No reply for three weeks.  At this point, his name got carved in stone in the dickhead category.  Two days before I was set to leave the country for two months he emailed me and said that he was so sorry for not showing up, and asked if could we get together now.  I said that I was busy every second until I left for Europe and had no time for him. 

Usually, I get great satisfaction out of being cold and mean to people who have offended me.  This time though, my petulance kicked in.  Being mean wasn’t enough, I needed to exact revenge in some other petty way for two years of dickheadedness (that’s French, look it up).  My first thought was to TP his house—but he lived in an apartment so that was quickly nixed.  I turned to my partner-in-crime and fellow founder of the FSP (Former Senate Pages, a secret spy agency we created after going to the Spy Museum…we might write each other letters in invisible ink…) for ideas.  I should note that she also works in the same building he worked in.  Our brainstorming session led nowhere, or so I thought. 

Two days later, my PIC told me that she had exacted revenge.  While she was walking down the hall, she stepped on a dirty rubber eraser in the shape of a pig.  She proceeded to place said pig eraser in Perdant’s mailbox and then ran like crazy out of the mailroom.  I’m sure that Perdant has written some “noise” about this incident.  Was it the most ridiculous, silly, childish, petty thing a person could do for her friend?  Yes.  Did it make me feel about a million times better?  Yes.  Sometimes pulling a childish prank is just what you need to deal with ridiculous adults.  

Restaurant Rules

Just a few days ago, a hellacious experience at a restaurant who shall remain nameless, left me with such a bad experience that I just knew I had to blog about it.  I woke up on a glorious weekend morning just craving an omelette and, upon discovering I had no eggs, cheese or anything to put in the omelette, my fiance and I agreed on a nice little brunch out - something we don't do too often.  With violation after violation of the rules below, my nice little brunch turned into the worst experience ever.  So here goes, a guide for restauranteurs, servers and patrons alike.  
In sum,  patrons, don't be afraid to leave a 62 cent tip.  Or better yet, no tip at all.  Or even better yet, refuse to pay your bill.  I've done it before and believe you me, I'll do it again if so provoked.  And restauranteurs and servers, don't take that as a sign that the customer is a jerk, take that as a sign that you are horrible at what you do.  Do better.   

1.  Greet the table promptly.  

There are some very simple things that can make a restaurant experience go well, or go completely south, and this is one of them.  Even if you don't have time to get a drink order, at a bare minimum, acknowledge the table.  If I have to wait 15 minutes for you to even say that "you'll be with me shortly," I'm not going to be happy.  (Note:  I normally would have walked out at this point, but this is brunch and girl needs her coffee to think clearly).  

2.  Get any non-bar beverages promptly. 

Last time I checked, pouring a glass of water and a cup of coffee took all of a minute.  So why, why, do I have to wait 15 minutes to even get my water and coffee?  Did you actually go to Columbia to get the coffee beans?  No, you were just being lazy.  I'm paying you to do something I could very well do myself, in my own home, while wearing my pajamas.  Do it right.  (Note:  I normally would have flagged a waitress, or even a manager, but the promise of an egg white omelette was the oasis in this desert).  

3.  Do not let bar beverages sit - and become mush. 

Note to servers:  I know you might not be of legal age to drink, but when you let a mixed or blended beverage sit for too long at the bar, it becomes mush and disgusting and I don't want to drink it anymore.  (Note:  I normally would have sent the beverage back for another one, but in my famished, dehydrated and un-bloody mary-ied state, I was in no condition to put up a fuss).  

4.  If you're going to offer a special, actually have a special.  

This is something that constantly amazes me about restaurants - they offer a special, and then, don't actually have that special in or ready for that day.  Are you just teasing me for the fun of it then?  Do you enjoy the crushed look on my face when I find out that I can't have the exact flavor of blended margarita that led me into your booth-lined hellhole in the first place?  

5.  Have enough staff to handle the day.  

This isn't rocket science.  You know approximately how many people will be coming to the restaurant on any given day.  You know how many people you need to work to take care of that many people.  Get them up, out of their beds and sobered up from drinking all the leftover booze at the restaurant bar the night before and in to work.  

6.  Bring out the right meal.  

This also isn't rocket science.  When the woman across from me orders two eggs over easy with toast and bacon, she actually meant that - not a fluffy belgian waffle topped with whipped cream and fruit.  In fact, I seem to remember from my restaurant serving days that these kinds of things are actually written down on paper - then printed up on a ticket - for you to read while serving the table.    

7.  Bring out the meal in a timely fashion.

I do not like to make a habit of waiting 45 minutes for a meal.  Just because my company and I are having a lovely conversation does not give you free license to be a lazy sloth and completely forget about your table.  Again, I must remind you that you are being paid to do something I can do myself.  Do it.  (Note:  I have actually waited this long for a meal, flipped out a few times during the waiting period and then flipped out royally when it arrived.  The rest of this story to continue in #8) 

8.  Never, ever, tell a customer they are wrong.  

I don't care what's going on in the kitchen or wherever.  Never, ever tell a customer that they are the ones who are wrong.  I'm pretty sure they know how long it took you to get their drinks and how long they waited for their meal, and how crappy your attitude has been better than you.  So when I demand that you send a manager over to speak to me, and I begin to relay to the manager my awful, horrid tale, don't dare correct me.  Also don't dare start speaking to your manager in a language you know I don't understand.  I'm already outraged, and there is no need to incur more of my wrath.  (Note:  A server actually did this to me after subjecting me to all these ridiculous server foibles.  I proceeded to continue to ream her out, with her manager right there.  I also reamed the manager out, for allowing the server to behave this way).  

9.  Hostesses:  Get it under control.     

Sweetie, let me just say this.  Putting people's names on a list and making sure you seat them in approximately that order is not difficult.  Stop flirting with your 16 year old boyfriend and texting your best friend all the superadorableomg things he says and do your job.  Otherwise, how else will you pay for that backless prom dress with the slit up to godknowswhere?  

10.  Patrons:  Control your children.  

I cannot emphasize this enough.  If you are going to bring your children to a restaurant, make sure you have put enough of the fear of God into them that one sharp stare from you will correct any bad behavior.  If this doesn't jive with your I-wanna-be-your-friend theory of parenting, get a babysitter and stop ruining my moment with my martini.  

Emoticons: They Don’t Accomplish What You Think They Do

I remember the first time I ever saw an emoticon.  It was back in the late ‘90s and using my Compuserve email account (yep you heard right: Compuserve.  Just saying it brings me flashes of the song Mmmbop and checking email in between chapters of whatever Judy Bloom book I was reading)  I was exchanging emails with a classmate.  Even though we were in all of the same classes, had a note notebook (one notebook containing all our notes to each other that we’d pass back and forth in the hall between classes), and ate lunch together, at night we tried out this new thing called email and kept up our 24/7 communication (pre-cell phones and text messages).  I remember in one of her emails I saw a bunch of equal signs followed by an end parenthesis.  I was so confused.  Were these math equations?  Then I realized that “=)” was a smiley face.  

From there advances in social media progressed.  Next there was the AOL IM account, my own Yahoo! email account, text messages, work, Gmail, Gchat and so on.  A lot of my friendships are conducted primarily through these forums (phone calls are for losers!).  The problem of course with communicating like this is that tone doesn’t translate.  You can read an email or an IM and perceive it as being incredibly bitchy when it was not meant that way, or you can lose some of the emphasis you want to have in a “go fuck yourself email.”   This is where emoticon use (and abuse I will argue) come into play.

The purpose of emoticons are of course to show emotion.  To me, they make most sense where they’re used in lieu of words.  Maybe to compliment something you’ve said.  I use them and I'm not saying they should be ditched entirely.  But there are a few ways that emoticons get used that drives me up the wall. 

The first is the overuse of the emoticon.  In the office, please do not send me an email asking me to do something work related and followed by a smiley face.  It looks like the work product of a 13 year old girl.  Seriously.  In the work place, be professional.  This isn’t elementary school; we don’t gold stars on our work product, I don’t need a smiley face either.  Say what you mean, mean what you say and you won’t need the emoticon.  Plus in my line of work, those documents could end up being produced in a public forum and I don’t want to look like an unprofessional intern and neither do you, late 40s boss.

The second is the use of an emoticon to cover-up a bitchy statement.  Recently an email came to us in the office reminding us to complete our billing by the end of the month.  It ended with “I will be giving up names for the late birds so please get your time in on time! :-)”  You JUST said that you’re going to turn us in for discipline if we didn’t have something done by 4pm on a certain day.  That’s not a happy statement!  That’s a bitchy statement and the emoticon doesn’t make you look like less of a bitch.  It just doesn’t!  Once I had a text message exchange where it was clear I had annoyed the other person as evidenced by a very curt reply.  In my head I thought, “Sheesh calm down dude.”  But I’m a big girl and don’t take things like that personally.  I sent a reply like “Understood” or something and I got back, “THANK YOU!!! :-D.”  Listen sugar, the “extra happy face” does not make up for being a dick!  Just go with it, or say something along the lines of “I’m sorry for that last message.  That was short of me.”  Emoticon doesn’t make it better!  It also doesn’t cover up passive-aggressiveness.    I had a roommate who would leave messages on our whiteboard like, “Put knives down sharp end down in the dishwasher, I like my arteries! :-)”  Sugar, clearly you were mad that you were almost cut.  JUST BE MAD!  The emoticon did not make your angry statement less angry!  If you had said that statement in person, I seriously doubt you would have had a smile on your face. 

So everyone, own your emotions and ditch the unnecessary emoticons.  They’re not accomplishing what you think they are.   

Guilty Pleasures: Television Edition

Look, anyone who knows me, knows I'm a hardworking lady.  On average, I spend about 14 hours a day engaged in some form or another of intellectual activity.  And while I love that kind of challenge, when I get home, I'm ready to turn it off for a little while and watch some TV that will absolutely not force me to think in any way, whatsoever.  So here it is, my favorite ways to dumb it down after a long day.  

1.  Toddlers & Tiaras 

Whoever thought this gem up should be given an award.  Even though every mother on this show is clearly a stage mother and the children either (a) hate what their doing or (b) are being bred for a career involving a pole, I CANNOT break myself away.  And somehow, every time I watch an episode, I find myself wondering which of my friends will let me borrow their child to groom for pageant life.   

2.  Dancing with the Stars 

This is pure genius.  Let's take B-list and lower celebrities and give them their second shot at 15 minutes of fame by teaching them how to do something they know absolutely NOTHING about.  Pure. Genius.   

3.  Real Housewives of New Jersey 

If you haven't caught on yet to the Real Housewives series, you are sorely missing out.  Women with money (from husbands, family or careers) spend an hour a week showing America just how well they can spend their money and just how poorly they can behave.  In the New Jersey edition, every stereotype of Jersey living is amplified.  Each episode is chock-full of big hair, glitter, faux fur, tight dresses and the occasional reference to organized crime.  It never fails to bring out my inner Jersey girl.  

4.  Real Housewives of Orange County 

"RHOC," as us admitted Bravo TV addicts call it, merits separate mention from New Jersey (and separate mention from all the other cities).  RHOC is the original Real Housewives, and boy, it is a winner.  There's more plastic in any one room on that show at any given time than there in an entire Mattel factory.  Despite the fact that I'm appalled by all the name calling and ridiculous attempts at having a "career," I still ask my hairdresser to cut my hair like Gretchen's every time.  

5.  Glee 

If I get home super late from work, I will stay up even super later just to watch Glee on DVR.  Are the story lines anything new?  No, of course not.  Every week presents new teenage angst.  He likes her, but she likes him and she wants to be on Broadway and Sue Sylvester is out to destroy them all.  Still, it makes me want to start my own Glee club.  And believe you me, my Glee club would have some seriously stellar performances.  

6.  Man v. Food 

America at its best.  What is more American that watching a man (or even better, being the man) who literally stuffs his face with more food than humanly possible JUST to see if he can do it and not die?  I often think that I could do one of the hot wing challenges.  And then I remember how much I cried after nuclear wings at Buffalo Wild Wings.  

7.  Family Guy 

I admit it openly.  Crass humor makes me giggle.  There's something so refreshing about a baby endeavoring to take over the entire world (and take out his mother in the process).   

8.  South Park 

There's something wonderful about South Park - they literally make fun of everybody.  And I mean everybody.  Mormons, Catholics, Republicans, Democrats, Rainforest activists, WWE wrestlers, Rednecks, the cast of the Jersey Shore.  It's Equal Opportunity Humor.  You can't go wrong.  

9.  My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding 

More television brilliance.  If you haven't seen this yet (it's on TLC), you absolutely MUST.  It follows young gypsy women (and by young, I mean 13-18 on average) who are marrying their gypsy husbands.  These gowns are out of this world! Just last week, I actually saw a girl who had her gown wired with lighting.  While the gypsies are strict about male-female interaction before marriage, the young women wear clothes made with less fabric than a newborn onesie and dance like Britney a la Slave 4 U.  Wrap your head around that.    

10.  Say Yes to the Dress 

Weddings clearly provide fodder for exploiting already heightened emotions.  And nothing is more easily exploited than selecting "THE DRESS." In yet another winner from TLC, brides and their moms/family/friends/in-laws shop for the most important dress the bride will ever wear.  Inevitably, there will be a blow up.  The bride has a different vision of her dress than the people she's selected to help her pick out her gown.  Or, the bride has fallen in love with a gown 3 times more expensive than her budget.  Nothing, however, nothing, is more wonderful than when the bride selects a gown (which a number of bride have on the gown) that is literally a see through corset with a poofy skirt.  Nothing says sacred vows more than a bustier attached to tulle.  

I Don’t Want to be a Traitor to My Gender and All: Women and Our Crazy Showers

Ok ladies, it’s time for us to have a sit down.  Our tradition of throwing showers for each other for our weddings and our babies has spiraled out of control.  They’ve taken a turn from what I imagine was once pleasant, to obligatory but tolerable to creepy and painful.    Allow me to explain.

First, I just do not understand the point of wedding showers.  I’ve attended them, I’ve thrown them for friends (and I’m more than happy to throw them because then I can ensure the booze is quality and plentiful and absolutely no games are played) but the idea of getting a bunch of women in a room to “ooh” and “ahh” over crystal and placemats is bizarre to me.  Seriously, the purpose of the party is to sit around and watch a friend of yours open gifts.  Woo.  Of late, some couples are trying to cure the boredom of a wedding shower by throwing a co-ed shower.  I’ll give props for the creative thinking; Lord knows I love me a cocktail party.  The point however, is still the same: watching people open dishware.   Only now you’ve thrown disinterested men into the mix.  As I was told earlier this year, “Don’t make a guy feign interest in a china setting because it will be painfully obvious he doesn’t give a shit.”  Can we all agree right now instead just to get together for some drinks, throw some gifts in the couple’s car and just enjoy each other’s company and a karaoke machine (I’m just going to throw that out there—it makes a party happen)? 

Second, ladies, why oh why do we play games at these showers?  The games are lame.  End of story.  It is not my idea of a good time to play “How Well Does the Bride Know Her Groom?”  I don’t care.  Obviously she knows him well enough to be marrying the guy, why must we turn it into a game to win handsoap?  Don’t get me started on “Toilet Paper Bride.”  The name alone is gross.   Guys, just so you can get a glimpse into how crazy women really are, the game involves us dividing into teams, picking someone to be the bride, then we dress that poor woman in toilet paper creating a dress.  She then has to model that dress and the actual bride picks her favorite.  It’s a cruel game of torture and humility and usually has me scavenging for the last bottle of champagne to I can tolerate this nonsense.  Baby showers are even worse!  The worst offender there is the “Poopy Diaper Game.”  Yes, our gender plays a game called Poopy Diaper (BTW, woman who invented this game, if I ever meet you, you probably have a bitch slap coming your way).  You melt different candy bars into diapers, then women go around examining the diaper and guess which candy bar is which.  Seriously.  This is an actual game women play.  LADIES!!!!!  THE MADNESS MUST STOP!!! THESE GAMES ARE EMPHATICALLY NOT FUN THEY’RE GROSS! 

Speaking of gross, we have to talk about lingerie parties.  Some genius decided that the way to make a bridal shower fun was instead of giving the bride useful gifts, like a waffle maker, it was a good idea to have all the women at the shower buy the bride lingerie.  Then of course we all have to sit around and “ooh” and “ahh” over lingerie.  That the bride will wear.  On her honeymoon.  Listen sisters, I just don’t want to know what kind of lingerie you’re wearing.  That knowledge belongs firmly in the “TMI” category.   And if I don’t want to know what kind of lingerie you’re wearing, I certainly don’t want to buy this lingerie for you (this is why my recent purchases for these parties have included grandma pajamas with showercaps).  I also then don’t want to be in a room full of sex-starved women all ogling over these outfits.  It crosses all sorts of boundaries I’d rather respect.    

Finally, along the lines of cross boundaries, I have to spend a few lines talking about the worst offender of them all.  The sex toy party.  Ladies, please, no.  We don’t need to get together in a room and have a “sexually liberated” woman hawk us products en masse.  God invented the Internet to keep purchases like these private.  Seriously sugar, you can have a whole arsenal of amusements and I applaud you for it.  I just don’t need to hear about every toy in existence described in detail, see women giggle with each other over these toys, talk about which ones they are going to buy and then buy said toys.  To quote Cleveland, “That’s nasty.” 

In conclusion, it does not say RSVP on the Statute of Liberty!  No for real, in conclusion, ladies, can we please get a grip and just throw regular parties without a gimmick that everyone will enjoy?  We’re better than this.  

Rules of the Road for Roommate Living

Inspired by the parable of Craigslist and the Untruthful Canadian, I decided to craft my own rules for the road for roommate living.  Living with roommates is almost a necessity and, in some respects, a rite of passage in your twenties (cue the Friends theme music). Sometimes you hit the roommate jackpot and sometimes, well, you're lucky to get out alive.  

1.  Don't be a storage hog.  

In D.C., you're often compromising on square footage to live closer in to work (and play).  For some people, sharing space is very natural and comes easily but not so much for others.  Bottom line, if there's empty storage space in the apartment, don't assume that gives you free license to grocery shop for one at Costco every other week.  Leave some room for everyone else.  

2.  Our place is not your boyfriend's place too. 

Look, as reasonable people, I know we're all totally cool with your boyfriend coming over to hang out.  And hey, maybe he's a cool guy and we like him.  But when your boyfriend is (a) not of legal age to drink and (b) throws a party while we're not home with all his underage friends who (c) park in the parking spot that I pay for, that's where we're going to run into a problem.  

3.  A roommate is not a live in petsitter.  

As an animal lover, I'm super excited to have a dog running around.  But don't assume that because I occasionally get home from work first, that means I'll be taking on puppy walking duties in the afternoon.  If you need dog walking help, get a dog walker.  And if you're going on vacation, board your dog.  There's a reason I don't have a dog.  I don't have time for one.  

4.  If you want to be responsible for the cable bill, be responsible. 

I have no problem with putting the cable bill in your name.  But you need to have control over that, have control.  Don't email me because you forgot about the direct withdraw from your account for three months and then tell me what I owe you AND that you need that money in less than 24 hours.  I don't respond well to that.  

5.  Respect space (and privacy).  

This, one would think, would be common sense but apparently it is not for all.  When I'm on the phone, chatting with whomever (my mom, my friends, my dentist) I don't need your loud and overly boisterous commentary on my end of the conversation.  You don't need to comment on what I'm saying.  

6.  Don't be a takeout hog.  

I'm one of these people who really hates to dicker over bills.  So usually, I like to go back and forth with paying for takeout.  I'll get it tonight, you get it next week, no big deal.  On the weeks I pay, do not also order your lunch, snack AND dinner for the next day just because I'm paying.  Takeout hog.  

7.  Just because you're louder doesn't mean you're right.

I recognize that we may differ from time to time on some opinions.  And that's ok, I'm really cool with that.  But raising the level of your voice does not make you right.  Nor does citing "some people" as your source.  Who are these people? The people in your head?  

8.  If you're going to borrow clothes, give them back. 

I love sharing clothes with roommates, it can be fun to have 3 different wardrobes to choose from.  But if you spill ink on my work pants that you borrowed (first, why are you borrowing work pants, that's VERY different from borrowing a cute going out shirt) I expect that you'll take care of the situation and give them back.  

9.  Passive aggressiveness is for sissies. 

If you have a problem, tell me.  Don't leave me a post it note.  Or casually leave things around the apartment.  Or decide not to say anything for months until you blow up over something minuscule.  Be an adult, put on your big girl panties and deal with it.  

10.  Keep your judgment to yourself.  

If you clearly have different ideas, like what is an appropriate amount to spend on an item, judgmental comments ("I would never spend X on an Y") will get you nowhere. 

Adventures in Dating: Life Lessons from a Bad Date

Recently a few of us around the office were telling bad date stories and I feel it is incumbent upon me to share one of mine as a precautionary tale.  As a preface, you have to know that I’m terrible at dating.  I do give it the old college try but you know, this just isn’t my forte, as it were (unlike doing accents, which I am awesome at). To be fair, baby has come a long way from high school (where I, ahem, stalker called one poor guy all afternoon/evening/into the nighttime because he said he’d be home and we’d hang out!...oy...), and am getting better every day because dating, like anything, gets easier with practice and through your missteps, and those of the person you’re dating, you learn what not to do.  Though always game to share tales of my own jackassery, in today’s story, for once, I was not the bad actor!  

Here’s the deal.  I met this guy at an afternoon after-party following a rugby match in DC.  We hung out for the rest of that day and in my beer-induced haze the whole thing was seemingly charmed.   Yeah it wasn’t.  So here’s lesson number one:  You’re probably not going to be able to make the most accurate judgment about a person during the course of a day spent day-drinking followed by night drinking.  I’m no scientist but that’s seems pretty sound to me.  

A few weeks later, Shooter and I went on date number two (I’m calling him Shooter because like the infamous Shooter McGavin, he was super arrogant, but really only had one or two things going for him so was much more cocky than he had any right to be).  Shooter had very graciously already bought the tickets when I arrived.  After the movie we headed across the street to Rocket Bar for a nightcap.  

We order some drinks and I made the grab for my wallet to pay for the drinks.  I know for a lot of girls this is an empty gesture, (and not gonna lie, I swoon when my date tells me to put my wallet away), but I’ll follow through and pay (I’ll probably make a note of it to my girlfriends later, but I’ll do it).  In this case, he had paid for the movie tickets, and buying a round of beer was my way of saying thank you.  My parents didn’t raise an ungrateful lady.  I can’t say the same for Shooter’s parents because you want to know what his response was to me making the grab for my wallet?  

“Fair’s fair.”  

That is a verbatim quote.  Not, “I got this,” or “That’s so nice of you, you don’t need to,” or heaven forbid, “Thank you.”  Nope.  “Fair’s fair.”  SERIOUSLY?!?!?  Who says  that?!  In the two years since this date happened, I’m still trying to figure out in what universe that response would be ok in lieu of thank you, and the only things I can come up with is like Tourette’s or severe head trauma.  (If you have any other suggestions, I’m open to hearing them because I still need to figure this out!)  He was an ass for saying that, but I was an even bigger one for not leaving right then.  So here is lesson number two: Be fucking gracious when someone buys you something.  Lesson number three is: If the person you’re with is impolite about something as simple as this, it’s probably not going to get much better.   

So I open a tab at the bar and pay for the booze.  We’re talking and during the course of the conversation, I’m struck by two thoughts:  1) This guy is kind of a jerk and 2) I’m pretty sure I don’t like him.  For example, I misspoke about something...maybe I did math wrong...I don’t really remember what I said, I just know it was incorrect.  Shooter’s stone-faced response to me? “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”  He wasn’t teasing, dude was actually serious.  There are a lot of ways to characterize me, but “Has to rely on looks to get by” really isn’t on the list.  “Idiot”, however, could probably be on the list because I stayed even after this!  So lesson number four:  When the insults come, just leave.  For real.  It ain’t getting any better!  

Finally, I decide to put this date out of its misery.  I’m tired, insulted, dejected, and just want out.  I ask for my tab, get the bill, calculate a tip and sign my name.  Nosey bastard that he was, Shooter is looking over my shoulder at the bill and watching me.  I kid you not, fucker then proceeds to criticize the tip I was leaving for the lovely and attentive bartender.  Yep.  On top of ingratitude and insults he took issue with how I paid for his drinks.   “Oh, Sugar, Please, you DID NOT just go there,” ran through my mind as he got “the look” (similar to the look Metro Man received when he slapped me across the face).  Finally, at this point, I wished Shooter a good rest of his life, requested he delete my number from his phone and high-tailed it out of that bar.  This brings us to lesson number five: Don’t look at the tip someone else leaves on a bill and make comments about it.  That is per se dickheadedness.  Lesson number six: If it’s bad at the beginning, it for shiz isn’t getting better.  Cut your losses and move on to the next one.  

So while I still harbor some sour feelings toward Shooter, I have to say that I’m grateful for the SIX whole lessons in dating that came out of this experience.  I know I’m a better dater for it and ladies and gentlemen, I hope you are too.  

10 Rules of Churchgoing Etiquette

Look, I don't pretend to be the best Catholic on the planet.  But I think there's a few rules of church-going decorum that we can all agree on.  

1.  Put your cell phone on silent (or better yet, turn it off) before you ever enter the church.

This is quick, simple and easy.  Do it on the way to church.  No one wants to hear your "Baby Got Back" ringtone while they're trying to atone for their sins.  

  

2.  Do not, under any circumstances, take a call while in church. 

You would think this is a rule a commonsense.  But, as I learned this past Sunday, it apparently is not.  I was sitting in church, waiting for Mass to begin when I heard behind me "Hello?  Yes yes I'm a church [insert five more minutes of conversation here]."  Our offender hung up right before the service began.  While technically service had not begun, you're still in a house of worship and, at least in the Catholic faith, those moments before Mass are intended to be spent in prayer.  Don't disturb everyone else.  

3.  Absolutely no texting in the pew. 

You may think you're covert, but it's still disrespectful.  Johnny B can wait until you get out of church to hear how you are still "ROFLing" about your antics at the bar.  

4.  Keep your children under control.  

There's a theme with my posts.  Look, there's a nursery in lots of churches.  Use it.  And if you don't have one, use this opportunity to teach your children the quiet game where the loser's house falls of Santa's map.  

5.  Ladies, cover your shoulders.  

You're not at the club.  You're not even at a garden party.  Cover it up.  

6.  If you just wore it to cut the grass, don't wear it to church. 

Yes, yes, yes I know some of you may say that "isn't it more important that I'm there?"  And yes, the fact that you're there and trying is important.  But it takes less than five minutes to change your clothes.  

7.  If you don't know the words, don't make up your own.  Loudly.

I fully support attending other faith services to explore what the other communities are doing.  But if you're unsure of the words (even though they're printed right there in that handy book in the pew), don't make up your own.  It's distracting and, quite frankly, it makes me giggle.  

8.  DO NOT bolt after Communion!! 

This may apply to only my Catholic readers, but look here.  It is absolutely ridiculous to look around after Communion and notice that half of the people are gone.  I love a good champagne brunch as much as the next girl and I can't wait to get there either.  But I'm pretty sure those extra five minutes in church won't cause you to wither up and die of champagne withdrawal.  

9.  PDA is not OK.  

Another real life story:  I'm sitting in Mass one Sunday morning when a young couple sits in front of me.  The man proceeds to caress (the word gives me chills just typing it) his fiance's (?) neck and back throughout the entire service.  Add in lots of massaging, awkward nuzzling and a kiss of peace that last entirely too long and you have the makings for one uncomfortable morning.  I get that you're in love, but behave! 

10.  If you know you're going to be late, cut your losses.  

It happens to the best of us sometimes.  Despite all of our type-A attempts to nail down our prep routines to the very minute, sometimes we take a little longer.  If you're pre-Church prep (brava for prepping) took so long that you will actually be rolling in just as we're all about to receive Communion, cut your losses and come to the next Mass.  Catholics have them on the hour all Sunday long.  Salvation is just as good at the 10:00 mass as it is at the 9:00.  While maybe that will cut into your afternoon wine, cheese and nap schedule, you'll avoid disturbing everyone else.  

A Parable: Craigslist and the Untruthful Canadian

Finding a new roommate is a pain.  It really is.  In DC, living with roommates is kind of a necessity as housing prices are so expensive that I drop every month what would constitute a mortgage payment on a home back in the Midwest to live with three other people in a townhouse in the ghetto a questionable neighborhood.   


To find new roommates, most of us use Craigslist.  Overall the results are great.  The process however, (and there’s no other way to put this) sucks.  You have to get the house in viewing shape, you have to block time to meet people, you have to deal with the inevitable no-shows (side-note: this is fucking rude—the least you can do is send a text or an email with a little bit more than an hour’s notice saying you’re not coming; common decency people!), you have to tolerate weird people who come to see the house and then refuse to leave (see e.g. the girl whose pet peeve was people flushing the toilet), and the like.  In all of the Craigslist roommate misadventures I’ve been through, my roommates and I just suffered the worst breach of Craigslist etiquette that gets to take the cake.  Grab your Snuggie and a beverage because boys and girls, it’s story time. 


In search of a new roommate, my roommates and I were looking for the best fit, (as in any relationship) and we didn’t think we had found that yet.  In walks Connie the Cannuck.  (This obviously isn’t her real name, but she was Canadian and I think it’s clever and if you don’t well that’s your problem not mine.  So there.) Connie seems very cool—she’s fun, we bond over Labatts Blue and Windsor, Canada (a rite of passage for all 18 year-olds from the Great Lakes region). Indeed, it seemed like we had found our match.  A few days later she invited us to happy hour to get to know her better; it truly seemed meant to be.    But, as seems to be par for the course with me, once things were looking good, suddenly, they took a turn for the worst.


Connie the Cannuck dropped off the face of the earth.  She wouldn’t return our emails, wouldn’t return our texts, and wouldn’t return our phone calls.  In short, we were confused and jilted.  


Then, eight days out from the first of the month, when our rent is due (in full) I get a call from our landlords. Connie the Cannuck had lied about having a full-time job and instead of owning up to us like an adult over email or a text or a phone call (God forbid!) that she could not afford to live in our house, bitch chicken scratched some note to our landlords, drove out to Vienna, VA and dropped it in their mailbox when they were out of town, telling them she wasn’t going to move in.  


A handwritten note?!  Seriously!?!?!?  PLEASE!!!!  You want to know the last time I put together a handwritten note with bad news on it?  I think it was in middle school and I was dropping it in a girl’s locker telling her she couldn’t sit with us at lunch anymore.  And that was immature even then!!!  I expected more out of a person and even more out of a Canadian (though as a friend pointed out, after the Vancouver riots, I don’t think I know them at all anymore!).  


Like an episode of Glee, I like to end with a moral of the story.  Here, the moral is: act like an adult when you’re dealing with other adults.  Don’t lie and if you do and are caught, own up to it.  If you don’t, you getting a nasty-gram courtesy of yours truly and I write them for a living, so believe me, you’ll be crying.  

Ten Rules for Tourists

1.  Avoid travelling on the Metro during rush hour. 

Tourists, you are on vacation, why are you on the metro, ready and raring to go at 8:00 a.m. with all the other commuters?  I understand you want to get the most out of your vacation, but I’d also like to get to work without being crammed in a train car, sandwiched inbetween Joe from North Dakota who’s sweating profusely because of the humidity and Cindy Loo from Texas who’s texting pictures of the train back to her boyfriend.  Sleep in for a hour.  Then go see the city.  I’ll be happier, and so will you. 

                2.  When travelling on Metro, please keep your children under control. 

Holy Hannah.  Once those kids hit the Metro, they think they’re in Disneyland and the handlebars magically turn into jungle gyms.  And once they’ve worn themselves out from their play, those kids sprawl all over the Metro seats like it’s the couch back in Miller, Iowa.  It’s not cute.  They’re in the way.  Hold their hand and sit them in your laps.  And if they talk/scream/make noise, quiet them down.  Some of us have had very long days. 

                 3.      The Metro is not a horse and buggy. 

I hear it at least 6 six times a day - “WOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH” just as the Metro lurches forward or stops in its tracks.  We all get it.  The Metro doesn’t have a nice easy flow to it.  But guess what – that train conductor, s/he’s a real person and hitting those tracks are not horse hoofs, but wheels connected to motors.  Yelling out “WOAAAAAAAAAAAH” isn’t going to slow the train down. 

                  4.      Never stand on the left side of the escalator.

This is a mortal sin in this city.  While you’re taking a nice, easy ride down to the monuments, I’m running into work. My morning routine is down to an exact science and you’re wasting my time.  Don’t make me yell at you before I’d had my coffee.   

                 5.      Dress appropriately. 

Look, I’m not asking for a suit and tie here.  You’re on vacation (in a swampland in summer, nonetheless).  But those Tevas, cutoff shorts that show your derriere and ripped tshirts don’t exactly scream “I’m about to go see a monument to some of the greatest men and women in our country’s history.”  There’s a lot in between there – how about a casual sundress for the ladies, and perhaps some nice shorts and a golf shirt for the gents.  Just try it.  You’ll like it.    

                  6.      Do not hold the Metro doors open.

The Metro is not an elevator.  The doors will not stay open because you REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY want to see Smithsonian Air and Space Museum and you have to see it ON THIS TRAIN.  Look, buddy.  It’s simple.  If you hold the doors open so your whole posse from Indiana or wherever you’re from can make it on the train THE TRAIN WILL BREAK.  We will all have to get off and I will not be a happy person.  And nobody wants to see that. 

                  7.      The Map.

For those of you who haven’t seen this yet, the Metro map is about as large as humanly possible.  And they are all over the Metro stations.  Before you buy cards.  While waiting for the train.  In the train.  In the pamphlet that your Holiday Inn gave you with your continental breakfast.  I really don’t think you need to press your nose to the glass to see where you’re going and run your clearly unwashed hand along the lines to count your stops. 

                  8.      KEEP. MOVING.

Believe me, I understand being in a strange city and not knowing where you are.  But it does not help anyone for you to come to a dead halt (again, with your whole posse from Indiana) to figure out where you are, particularly if you’ve just gotten off a train car at rush hour (see topic #1) or if you’re right outside a Starbucks between the hours of 8am and 10am.  I need to keep moving, along with the rest of this city.  Plain and simple. 

                 9.      Farecards:  Plain and Simple. 

For some reason, using a farecard seems to elude many of the people that come to visit my fair city every year.  Not only do they not understand how to use machine to purchase it, but they’re also completely lost when it comes to actually using the card to get on the train.  It’s really quite easy.  Have your card ready to enter AND exit the gate.  That’s how the machine knows how much to charge you.  And again, if you need to fumble for your farecard (which, while I do not condone, I understand will happen from time to time) move off to the side until you find it so other people can pass by.  Not difficult.  Just common sense. 

                 10.  Pentagon City Mall is Not a Tourist Attraction.

I happen to frequent Pentagon City Mall from time to time and am constantly amazed at the sheer volume of young tourist groups gallivanting through the Mall as if they’ve never seen a Nordstrom’s, J.Crew or Juicy Couture before.  YOU HAVE A CITY FULL OF HISTORY RIGHT THERE!  Get your kids out of the mall.  I’m pretty sure they have one of those in Montana (although who knows).