My Match.com Experience

So in honor of a new year and a freshly-broken heart, I've decided to go on Match.com and, obviously, to blog about my experiences. I've always been a little wary of online dating sites/speed dating/that kind of thing, but since I haven't felt compelled to write about anything in the past 6 months I figured I'd give it a shot. I'm not knocking the online dating scene, I've just never had a problem meeting people due to my naturally bubbly nature. However, meeting people and actually making an effort to date are two different things. After having my heart broken I realized I have absolutely ZERO clue what I'm doing in the dating world. It's a world of game-playing that I'm definitely not used to (and I don't like any game that I don't win, thank you). I don't understand the concept of actually thinking before speaking. I figure this will be good practice. I'm going to write about EVERY SINGLE date I go on. Hilarity will certainly ensue.
I signed up for a 3-month subscription to the service on Friday and filled out my profile. The hardest part is filling out your profile. Believe it or not, I find it hard to talk about myself that way. Telling people what you're looking for in a mate is just strange. Especially when it's online for the world to see. Oh, and there's the fact that I have no clue what I want. That doesn't help. After several revisions, I still wasn't sure if my online suitors would know exactly how awesome I am. But for fear of going blind from staring at the computer for too long, I logged off and went away for the weekend.
Upon my return today I was rather pleased to see I had 4 emails and 10 virtual winks. Not a single one was cute, but it was still nice for the ego. I'm not alarmed at all because I have several friends who have met their boyfriends or husbands on Match, and they already warned me that you have to weed through the frogs to find the princes.
HERE GOES NOTHING!

Lollapalooza 2008

Here’s my official recap of Lollapalooza 2008:

Friday:
We get there and Chicago-friend tells Jen and I “here’s your key, come and go as you please”. Immediately he knew he would live to regret that, but I digress.
First stop at Lolla: beer tent. Beer dude tells me beers are only $5 so I order 6 of them. don’t judge me, it was for 3 people.
Go to raconteurs concert.
Grab 6 more beers.
Go to radiohead concert.
Radiohead blows, head back to beer tent.
4 more beers (we lost Chicago somewhere. Oh well, I have his key. Sucker)
Please keep in mind that there has been no eating thus far. And it's still oppressively hot outside, even at 10:00 pm.
Head back to condo. Chicago makes blackout drink. Jen and I do interpretive dance. I obtain some sort of floor burn.

Saturday:
I Feel like death. Make breakfast. Go to concerts. Discover some awesome new bands during the day, including InnerPartySystem. Look them up. Back to condo for power nap. Back to Lollapalooza.
Drinking begins.
Lupe fiasco was awesome.
I leave Jen to use bathroom/get beers. I wait on line for bathroom for what seems like eternity. I make friends with cute boys on line for the bathroom.
I make bathroom line into a competition. (For those of you who don't know already, I like to win every competition, no matter how stupid). You have 12 seconds or less to get out of the bathroom. New friends ask if I’m drunk. I was only on my first drink. Idiots. Bathroom relay begins.
No time to get to beer tent because Rage against the Machine is about to go on. Holy sh*t! I can’t find Jen.
Spend next 2 hours singing/dancing my butt off without Jen.
Concert ends, find Jen in one piece. Back to apartment to change into going-out clothes and grab a roadie.
Go to alleged “nice club” in Chicago. Walk in to “VIP” room. Um, it was a kitchen. Tell the entire staff that Chicago is a sub-par city and in NY the VIP areas are not relegated to the slop kitchen. Promptly leave club.
Walk up to bar where they’re “not letting people in because there is an MTV camera crew (lies)”. Tell bouncers in no uncertain terms that I would like to go inside and get my drink on. They let me in. Big mistake.
The rest of the night is a blur, but ended with me dancing like a mad-woman and getting locked out of friend’s apartment. Sleep in hallway until jen wakes up from her coma to let me in. probably slept a total of 2-3 hours.

Sunday:
Since jen slept in a bed, rather than a hallway, she’s all ready to go to Lolla. Want to kill myself.
Go to concert. Have fantasies about lead singer of Nine Inch Nails fathering my children. Seriously, that guy is hot AND a musical genius.

Monday:
Become very sad that my trip is over.

RIP Snitch

I just got the most devastating news. My favorite rock 'n roll bar in NYC is closing Saturday, May 3rd. In memory of Snitch, I wrote a little thank you letter that I'd like to share.

Dearest Snitch,
My heart is breaking that you're closing, but I'll never forget the memories we've shared. Remember our first time together? I let that guy Jon feel my boobs because I thought he was gay. Too bad he was just a raging pervert. And then that random girl we were with started puking at the bar. What a night!
I want to thank you for all the life lessons I have learned with you. Remember the first time I heard "crazy bitch" by buckcherry and loved it so much that it actually made me want to be a stripper? Then when "pour some sugar on me" came on I danced on the couches until the heel of my favorite black boots broke, and then realized that the exotic dance profession might not be for me. Thank you for teaching me...
Remember when my brother was home from L.A. for Christmas and I introduced him to you? We played air guitar all night and nobody judged us. You were always so accepting of me. Thank you for accepting my brother with open arms.
Most of all, thank you for accepting me in a t-shirt and chuck taylors. I've never felt more beautiful than when I was with you at 2 a.m. on a friday, bombed with makeup running down my face.
I will miss you, but I'll never forget you.
Love,
Lisa

Is Romance Really Dead?

Romantics are a dying breed. I, being the hopeless romantic that I am, would like to think that people growing up in the 21st century have a shot in hell of finding true love. But for obvious reasons, I’m growing doubtful. I mean, how’s a girl my age supposed to find someone without calling up VH1 and asking for my own reality show? Last night I was sitting on a bar stool minding my own business (I'm still on crutches, if I wasn't I would have been in a dance-off obviously) when a guy said something to me that really got under my skin. He was actually complaining that women aren't into romance anymore! He told me his woeful tale of trying to win a girl's heart not by trying to get her drunk and hook up, but by being sweet and sincere. Naturally I thought the story would have a happy ending, but this unfortunate gentlemen was promptly dumped. VIA TEXT MESSAGE. My first thought? To tackle him to the ground and kiss him. But I'm a lady after all, so I kept my composure. My second thought was that maybe technology is affecting the way men and women court each other these days. I can't remember the last time I gave a guy my number and he actually called. Everybody texts or emails first. Don't get me wrong, I love texting. But I think the texting should supplement the calling, not replace it. But you're not even allowed to call people anymore unless you follow the 2 day rule. And then when you call you have to act aloof. ALOOF? Come on! You're obviously calling the person because you want to go on a date with them (or at least get a drink and french in a dark corner somewhere).
Anyways, the moral of the story is that if you're having delusions of meeting a guy/girl who will call you the next day and actually tell you they like you: DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH. More than likely you will get an email 2 weeks after you meet them letting you know that they'd like to see you again, but could care less if they don't. If you're really lucky, you'll get a mass text with their location on Friday night. If you're given this little glimmer of hope, take it and run with it. Don't hold out for your fantasy lover who is going to woo you. Go meet this person out on Friday, french the hell out of them, and live happily ever after. Just don't forget to act aloof.

The bright side of disaster

THE BRIGHT SIDE OF DISASTER, by Katherine Center was anything but disastrous. This book was fun, but not in a corny "chick lit" sort of way. The author's sense of humor keeps the story from getting too mushy, while still managing to make it a feel-good book.

The book's central character, Jenny, is so busy being 9 months pregnant that she doesn't realize her fiance is getting distant. Her fiance runs out on her, leaving her with a baby on the way, a mortgage, and her insecurity to worry about. Fortunately, the day after he leaves she gives birth and she no longer has the time to worry about why he left or where he ran off to.

Instead of becoming the sullen ex-girlfriend, Jenny tackles motherhood head on... after all, what choice does she have? Her newborn girl can't take care of herself! Jenny is drowning in a sea of diapers, breast pumps, and car seats when her idiot ex comes crawling back. In a very non-cliched way, our heroine comes out on top, while the author keeps us laughing the entire time.

single in your 20's

There comes a point in every single girl's life that you start to wonder whether you're single by choice (like you've been telling yourself all these yours) or if you're actually some sort of freak. You put yourself through college, find a job, start saving, and then one day realize that you put your love life on the back burner. Then you start to get nervous that you've ruined your chances of one day being in a functional relationship. You don't want to give up your indepence to just any schmoe off the street, but it's possible that all the good guys were snatched up while you weren't paying attention. But the thing is that there's nothing wrong with being single in your late 20's, or even into your 30's. In fact, people who are married generally envy the fact that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want. But try telling this to some raving lunatic that's just had her heart broken. There's usually a singular episode that sets off this spiral of depraved thinking, and it always ends in disaster. Girl's ex-boyfriend gets new girlfriend. Girl thinks she will die alone. Girl, determined NOT to die alone, starts dating absolute freaks to prove to herself that she's still got it. You get the idea...

I think I'm going to take the exact opposite approach and stop dating entirely (not that I date that much to begin with, given the fact that I made that conscious decision to put my career goals first). See, a few weeks before my surgery I found myself the star of my own bad romantic comedy... I started drunk-dialing, as I do every weekend, and decided to call the guy that ripped my heart out many years ago. I know that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but I haven't spoken to him in about 2 years and I genuinely wanted to see how he's been doing. When he called me back and informed me that he's engaged to his ex-girlfriend with the frizzy hair and the 1980's fashion sense, I was rendered speechless. I attempted to sound happy for him, but it's hard to be happy for the guy who couldn't commit to me, but could commit to someone with such poor taste in clothing. Hearing that an ex is engaged is a serious blow to any woman's ego, so I immediately felt sorry for myself and cried into a pint of Ben and Jerry's all night. OK, so it was 2 pints. Don't judge me.

Anyway, done feeling sorry for myself, I refuse to start dating losers just to prove to myself that I won't be found dead one day, eaten alive by my 12 cats. I'm not going to put some sort of ridiculous timeline on myself that I have to get married by the time I'm 30 (mostly because this is impossible unless I want to run away to Vegas one night and elope). I'm going to re-write this Shakespearean tragedy that I call my love life, I'll let you know how it ends...

Ah...physical therapy

So I started physical therapy this week....although it's totally painful, at least it's an excuse to get out of the house. I'm on short-term disability from work right now and there is nothing fun about watching bad tv all day. (There is only one good tv program on between 9:00-5:00 everyday: Ellen.) I can't even lift my own leg to put my socks on, much less go outside and do anything productive. I'm frustrated at my inability to do the things that we take for granted day to day. Getting out of bed and moving to the couch is such a production, it takes about half an hour. It's only about a 12 foot walk, but I can't carry my ice, my prescriptions, my books, etc. I feel helpless for 95% of my day, which is like hell on earth for someone who likes to think of themselves as independent.
I'm actually very excited about physical therapy. It's amazing to me the kinds of things they can do to help you recover. Right now I cannot flex my quad muscle at all, so they hooked me up to a machine to stimulate my muscle with a slight electric shock. It feels weird, but it's necessary. My therapist also gave me hope that I will have a speedy recovery since I'm reasonably young and was in good shape prior to the surgery. They also taught me how to walk on my crutches without my immobilizer on. Yippee! I also got my stitches out and my scar doesn't look like it's gong to be too bad. Obviously only time will tell, but overall I'm pretty hopeful about how my recovery will go.