Love your 20's while you've got them!

I have the gift of being able to pass life wisdom on to quite a few young people, eager for guidance and knowledge from their wise elders. Ok, I'm getting old, and many of the people I know are not yet.

It is a responsibility I take seriously, letting them know what's ahead. I'd like to think they greatly value my wise advice and come to me with wide eyes and eager souls, enthusiastic to drink in all that I can impart, having been there, having seen what life can throw at a person.

As it turns out, no one listens. As the youthful do, they hear what might happen and deny it will ever happen to them. I know because I was that way too.

How many times did we ignore the adults occasionally taking our ballet classes recreationaly who said, "Never stop dancing. You can't pick it up again like you once were able to." "Pshh!" I thought. "That's ridiculous! I take breaks for holidays now, and get right back into it when I get back." Of course, here we are, having stopped dancing for happy hours, career aspirations, finding a social life, and the body revolts when I try and go back to ballet classes.

I want to shake that previous me and say, "Foolish kid! Things change! Your body changes! Love what you have now; it will never be like this again!"

And so, I share with my friends still in their twenties what will happen in a similar spirit of preparedness and appreciation for what I know they're taking for granted, as I previously did. It's not until they hit a milestone I've warned them about do they start to take heed of all I predict, though, and then they get scared. They should be scared.

Timeline:

At 27 and a half, you start to notice a difference. It's subtle. Things just aren't the same as they used to be. Hangovers are a bit worse. Metabolism slows almost imperceptibly. Gravity starts to let you know she exists, and she sees you over there.

At 30, you hit the wall. Gravity proves she's a little bitch. You realize you probably shouldn't be eating or drinking as manically as you used to. Maybe, if you don't have kids yet--or maybe even if you do--you'll try and hang on to the drinking and partying of your 20's, but you might hate it more now the next day. Or the next 3 days.

Every year after 30 increases the rate at which you slide down that wall you hit at 30. It gets ugly. And, it gets faster and faster with each passing year. You clamor for footholds to stop or slow the meteoric descent: trying to wear the same clothes you used to, taking a trip to the hard-partying locales you used to frequent to try and re-grasp your youth. But, it all ends in the same way. You wake up one day and your perky, round, full boobs--once your pride and joy--seem, well, deflated (and that's without kids!). All your pants are a little tighter in the waist, even if they fit the same everywhere else. And, you think you might actually die after your youth-reviving getaway. For an entire week afterwards. 

It's a sad, sad day when you make such decisions as needing to wear "age-appropriate" clothes, that maybe all your bras should now be push-ups, that Mexican food is no longer a daily option (perhaps the hardest of them all!)...

It all hits home in small but significant demonstrations of your disappearing youth. You can no longer charm the boys at the Genius Bar into loving you and giving you preferential treatment. The guys at the Mexican restaurants no longer give you extra sour cream in heart shapes on your food (not that you should really be eating that extra sour cream anymore. Oh, all the sadness!). No one notices when you walk into a bar anymore and aren't clamoring over themselves to buy you drinks. You can't actually remember the last time you were in a bar. Well, not past midnight, at least.

I hear it only gets worse, too, as we get closer and closer to 40 and then to 50. So, seriously. Listen to me, kids. Live it up now, while you still can! Let go of your body-image hangups and love your body before it gets a little harder to and you reminisce about theses days you're in now. Unfortunately, it's coming. It's for real coming.

Dogs are love magnets. Or so I've heard.

We went to a really fun barbecue at Cabin John Regional Park last weekend. There's a great dog park at Cabin John, so there were a ton of people with dogs there. Lolly had a blast, as he always does when there are people and/or dogs around. Such a social, little bugger, that one! I don't know where he gets it!

As we were all leaving, we happened upon a guy with a yellow lab he had had for about two weeks. Suddenly, all eight of us girls and Lolly descended on him, cooing about the dog.

"Aw! What a cutie!"
"How cute is your dog?!"
"What a little love!!"

The guy said to us, "Wow! I should have gotten a dog a long time ago! I never got this much attention before I had him!"

I guess it's true what they say: guys with dogs are way more attractive than guys without. And, guys with dogs get a lot of attention from the ladies. So, single guys, do yourself a favor and get a dog! For real, it works.

But what about for the ladies?

Sure, Lolly and I get a LOT of attention when we go out. Lolly is certainly a charmer and wants everyone to know. These are the types that coo over us, though:

• Families with small children
• Moms trying to get their kids to not be afraid of dogs
• Older men with their wives who are here on vacation and left their dogs who look just like Lolly at home
• Homeless men
• Other dogs
• 20-something girls
• 30-something girls
• Teenage girls
• 40-something girls
• Other poodle owners
• Old, old men with poodles (one guy we see occasionally even pushes his elderly poodle around in a stroller. I turn my nose up at that now, but talk to me again when Lolly's little joints are arthritic!)
• Gay men
• Men out with their girlfriends/wives/fiances
• Men who inevitably say, "My girlfriend would love this dog!"
• Men I then later see with their wives/girlfriends/fiances and sometime their own dogs

So, as it turns out, Lolly is not the love magnet I was assured a dog would be. Nary a love connection has been made since I got the little pooch.

Perhaps my mistake in date-attraction ploys was getting a curly, prancy dog. Lolly certainly tries his little heart out, running up with those pet-me, love-me, little, puppy eyes to everyone we see (I mean, really, a half mile walk takes like 40 minutes as Lolly turns on the charm for every, single person).

I wonder how Lolly's friend Stella The Great Dane's mom does in attracting suitors when they're out for a walk.

The key, I've decided just now, is to train Lolly to reel in the eligible bachelors. We've got to get some kind of routine down, like when Adam Sandler uses the kid in Big Daddy to manipulate women. This will totally work. Ah, another time life takes lessons from Adam Sandler movies!

Hey, Lolly! Come here! We've got some work to do!

The numbers are dire. Dire!

The Wall Street Journal tweeted yesterday that one in five women in Hong Kong will never find a husband as the gender imbalance widens. One in FIVE!

ACK!!! What if that statistic is relevant in DC?! I would totally be the one out of the five (in spite of all my sparkly magnificence, obviously. Obviously. Please agree!)!!

This was a funny joke to me until I actually did a little digging. Now, I’m bordering on a breakdown. The news does not sound better for me when you take a look at the actual comparative numbers. As I reported yesterday, for every 100 women in DC, there are only 89 men (according to the 2010 US census). Well, get this! For every 100 women in Hong Kong, there are 94 men (according to the 2012 World Factbook)!! That’s 5 more men than in DC! And, I’m not entirely sure how the gays play into this statistical meltdown I’m about to have!

I’m doomed!!! DOOMED!!!!!

That’s it. I need to move! Where should I move?! You know what I need? I need an insider at the US Census Bureau. We need to approach this logically, rationally and scientifically—you know, the same way as I approach everything.

The Census would have broken down all sorts of population statistics by state, region, city and—important to relocation imperatives—neighborhood. I’m almost sure that all this information could probably be found publicly, but in such a panicked state, who can sift through the vast and endless interwebs and then sort through numbers?! Do you know how long it took me to put the Hong Kong ratio of men to women into similar terms as I had the DC number?! I need an insider whose head doesn’t explode facing down so many digits!!

So, please, spread the word that I am in search of a number cruncher from inside the US Census Bureau who can run the numbers and tell me, down to the neighborhood, where I should move to ensure I am not the ONE in FIVE who never gets married. I will be sitting here, with my head between my knees.

Thank you.

Living with a BOY! Yikes!!

With all this talk about my upcoming engagement (haven’t you heard all the buzz?! It’s everywhere!), it’s making me think. I mean, sure, the ring is going to be gorgeous, but it doesn’t end there, from what I hear. I mean, eventually, I’m going to have to live with this guy! And, that could get tricky!

I’ve never lived with a boy—well, except for my brother and a guy-like roommate. My brother was 12 when I left for college, so I don’t think my experience living with him will be the basis for any type of grown-up cohabitation. At the very least, hopefully there will fewer Legos all over the place. And, let’s talk about that one roommate: he had a bathroom completely decked out in cartoon ducky and froggy bath accessories. He also spooked easily. I’m pretty sure I scared him. Me! Sweet, little kitten! I’m really hoping my fiancé won’t share too many characteristics of his. Here’s crossing my fingers.

So, living with a boy… Seems frightening! There was a Sex In The City episode that one of my friends can quote in its entirety all about Secret Single Behavior. Those ladies were on to something! There are a few things I’m not sure a guy really wants to know about me, so here, let me share them on the internet instead, because that seems reasonable:

• I can spend hours staring at my face in a mirror, examining every pore, emerging wrinkle and hair follicle.
• I have almost as much make-up and beauty products as any medium-sized Sephora store. While this is no surprise to anyone who walks into my bathroom, I have a feeling it would be much less cute when my six different types of eye cream edge the lucky gentleman’s shaving cream right out of the medicine cabinet.
• Sometimes—gasp!—I like to sleep in full-butt underwear. Full. Butt. Underwear. Embarrassing! And, likely not sexy.
• I often have nothing in my refrigerator except eye masks and beauty peels.
• I don’t clean that often.
• I drink wine in the bathroom when I’m getting ready to go out sometimes. Ok, most of the time. (One time I knocked over the wine glass, shattering the glass and spilling red wine all over the toilet and shower curtain, which looked very, very horrific and wrong.)
• I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, irrationally convinced that something in my apartment is going to catch on fire and catch me off guard. Of course, this fear could be alleviated by buying a fire extinguisher to have on hand, but that just seems too simple.
• When left to my own devices, I sometimes eat the same thing every day for a week (let’s be real. I don’t know how to make all that many dishes!). And, you can count on whatever it is involving sour cream.
• I can spend hours playing spider solitaire.

So, there you have it. Landing the proposal is one thing. Getting the guy to stick around after we’ve moved in together might be another challenge all together!

A double date without the double?

I dated this guy for a while once who really enjoyed cooking. I can’t relate. I can’t even really understand, but I did enjoy reaping the benefits of having someone in my life that had a particular culinary acumen. So, I was delighted that he enjoyed cooking for other people—even if it wasn’t to be reciprocated! That is, I was delighted until it became evident that when he considered people for whom he liked to cook, I didn’t seem to register when provided the option of other people. Come on! I am an excellent eater!

We were out one night with a bunch of his friends when the conversation turned to various cooking techniques. Obviously I had to tap out of being an active participant pretty early on, when discussion moved beyond the cooking technique I’ve most mastered: microwaving.

Somehow the chat moved towards “braising.” (I know. Who are these people with these strange discussion topics?!)

Me, to myself: “Braising?! I don’t know how that even happens, but it’s definitely something that occurs only at restaurants and is delicious—at the restaurants, where all sorts of magic food preparation transpire.”

My boyfriend to his friends: “Yeah, I’ve wanted to experiment with braising myself.”

Me, again to myself: “Wait, what?! ‘Experiment with braising’ yourself?! Is that even safe?! Can you just do that in a home kitchen? There must be special equipment involved, right? Or skill? It seems hard. He’s bluffing.”

Boyfriend, to friends: “In fact, I’m having a few people over for dinner day after tomorrow. I’m going to make short ribs, and I think I’ll braise them.”

Me to myself: “I guess he’s not bluffing! And wait, he’s having a dinner party?”

Me to boyfriend after we had left the group: “So, you’re having a dinner party?”

Boyfriend: “Yes, I’m having Mr. and Mrs. Dinner-Party over on Sunday.”
Editor’s note: Of course, he used their first names, but I feel it’s important to highlight that they’re a married couple, that he was having a couple over for a dinner party with himself.

Me: “So, you’re having a dinner party, some might even call it a date, with a couple, just by yourself. You know you’re in a couple, right?”

He tried to back-peddle, telling me that he invited me (nope.) and then that he was going to invite me but it had just been arranged, and he hadn’t had a chance to mention it to me yet (in the four hours we had been hanging out before he found time to mention it to a bunch of other people who were also not invited). He really tried to cover himself when he let it slip that he had bought three short ribs that he was going to serve at the dinner by saying that he had been planning on making the short ribs for us and having extra left over. Suuuure…

So, while he went to the store to buy another short rib for me, his unexpected dinner guest, I tried hard not to think too much about why he didn’t seem to want me to meet particular friends of his (was he hiding something from me or hiding me from them?) and what it meant that he had forgotten he was in a relationship while making arrangements to do one of the most couply things there is with another couple. That’s like being a third wheel because you’ve slashed the remaining tire yourself!

I certainly appreciate more than many that people in relationships should enjoy time doing their own things, cultivating their own independent interests. Everyone needs time with the girls or time with the boys or time doing something the other has no interest in if it's something they, themselves, like. But, isn’t one of the beautiful things about being in a relationship the fact that you don’t have to be the only single person in the room anymore? That you can do couple-centric things and be included in the couple-centricity of them, revel in it, even? There was, unfortunately, very little couple-centricity in this particular relationship, except for the few times he “sacrificed” and went to something he was clear was for my benefit.

In the end, I did score an invite into the double-date dinner party, and boy did I learn some important lessons. As it turned out, the wife didn’t end up making it to dinner after all. We found out that night that she was pregnant and was in the pretty queasy stage. I had made such a stink about being included that I couldn’t then sit it out, of course (crow should probably have been on the menu!), so I went to dinner since the boyfriend had already told The Couple that I was coming. In deference to the evening being no longer about hanging out as couples but rather about the boys catching up, I turned off the sparkly, center-of-attention, bubbly-conversation-driving part of my personality—if you can imagine that—and let it be all about them.

And, here are the lessons I learned from the evening:

1. Careful what you throw a fit to be a part of. (And, maybe date people who want you to actually be a part of things!)
2. Boys are not the engaging conversationalists that women are when they get together! Did you know that when boys get together, sometimes there’s SILENCE between them?! There are so many strange, strange differences between men and women. I mean, silence! Times when no one is talking! If I hadn’t seen it for myself I’d never know that kind of thing happened!

It’s college football season!!!

Wait, whose blog is this??

Yeah, I’m not what one might call a “football fan.” I am a fan of fun, eligible guys, though, and as it turns out they are fans of college football! I smell a dating scheme coming on!

I decided I would find a college football team to support, get an adorable shirt for the team, go to bars on game days and flirt with the sports fans! This worked on many levels—provided I studied up on the team:

1. I could flirt knowledgeably with alumni or fans of “my team” during the game; they’d be impressed with my fandom and ask me out.
2. I could teasingly flirt with guys supporting the opposing team by trash talking—in a coy, yet knowledgeable way—they’d be impressed and ask me out.
3. I could flirt with boys at bars outside of game days, asking where they were planning on watching “the game;” then, of course, they’d be so charmed they’d ask me out.
4. I could spout off football facts in general conversation with boys in bars; they’d be impressed, ask me which “my team” was, we’d spar if there was a rivalry, and then they’d ask me out.

This seemed like a perfect plan. And! My guy friends were entirely on board with the plan! Now, they’ve laughed off many a scheme I’ve concocted, so their support meant this was a real gem and was going to work! Or, they just wanted someone to go to sports bars and watch games with them…

The first order of business was selecting a team for my undying loyalty. Since boys were involved, or perhaps because these boys were involved, a spreadsheet had to be created. With two separate tabs. Quite a bit of analysis and research went into this decision, and while options were narrowed down by “scientific” means, a true winner had to take into consideration a few more subjective inputs.

Important qualifications for The School:

• Cute guys
• Fun guys
• Smart guys
• High earning potential for graduates

(Notice none of the characteristics have anything to do with actual playing ability or on-field record. Those got cut from the boys’ requirements list pretty early!)

The spreadsheet indicated that the schools with the most fun guys, shockingly, didn’t have the highest earning potential! How were we to find The School with The Team?! One of my guy friends invested in this project decided we should ditch the smarts to go for a guy who likes to have a good time—or else I should just hope our other guy friend invested in the project, a rare Harvard graduate who likes to party, had some friends from school to go after. Please. We can all assume I exhausted the gravy train of friends of friends long ago.

We came out with the following lists.

Fun schools:

• Penn State University – These guys seem like jerks, don’t they?


• University of Mississippi – Really? Do I strike you as a Southern Belle that these guys would be attracted to?
• University of Georgia – See entry above.
• West Virginia University – So many reasons for no.
• University of Texas – I’m so not into cowboy boots or hats. Oh, and I’ve dated a couple Texans. No thanks.

We eventually knocked out the party schools because if the guys are at a bar and having fun, that’s pretty self selecting. They didn’t have to go to a fun school to be a fun guy! Back to the potential earners or otherwise nice guys!

Most well-rounded guys, according to the spreadsheet:

• Texas A&M – See Texas above.
• University of Arizona – As a sister of two Arizona State University graduates, I think I’d be run out of the family.

As scientific as we could get cross-referencing several different college rankings:

1. UT Austin: #2 football ranking, #7 party school, respectable average SAT score of 1240
2. California (Berkeley): #10 football ranking, has a sister school with a party ranking of #10, #21 SAT (1337), #21 Salary ($112k mid career)
3. Notre Dame (#18 football ranking, #9 Salary, #20 SAT)

The winner ended up being Ohio State. What can I say? We went to a bar one day, there was a cute guy wearing an Ohio State jersey, and a team allegiance was born! Spreadsheets be damned! This might be one of the many reasons girls make guys crazy.

Who are you?

I had a date last night. It was at a restaurant that was fancy and a little uppity with a guy that was not all that fancy but a touch uppity. The date ended early.

As what I’m sure was cosmic punishment for deciding I don’t really like this guy after he spent a ton of money on dinner, I realized in the morning that I had lost my metro card. In the course of tracing my steps of the day before, I called the restaurant to try to find my card.

The first question from the hostess, “What was the reservation under? I’ll ask your server if he found anything.”

Me: “Oh, well, I’m not sure what it might have been under.”

Hostess: “Was it under your name maybe?”

Me: “Um, no. I don’t think it was under my name. I was on a date.”

Hostess: “Ok, so under your date’s name! What was his name?”

Me: “Uh… That’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure what he would have put it under.”

Hostess: “Well, was it Franklin?”

Me: “No…”

Hostess: “Mitchell?”

Me: “Maybe?”

Hostess: “How about a first name instead?”

Me: “Oh ok! I’ve got that! Mike!”

Hostess: “Hmm… No… Jack? Kevin?”

Me: “Oh!! Kevin! That’s his first name!”

Hostess: “??”

Me: “No! No! Really, that’s him! But, you’re right! I-don’t-actually-know-what-his-last-name-is!!!!!!” (As if I said it really fast, she might not hear me…)

There are few things that make you reexamine your life a little like having someone spend a lot of money on you without actually knowing his last name and being a little unsure of his first. Oh, I can think of one thing: having to own up to it!! Embarrassing! And, oh the shame!

Show Tunes Boy

I once went out with a guy who spent the entire evening talking about how much he loved show tunes.

Wait. Time out. The way this is starting, this blog post could be about either of two guys I’ve been out with. Hmm… There is a slight chance I need a better screening system for dates.

Well, on this particular date there were drinks, there was dinner, there were more drinks but most of all, there were show tunes. Lots of show tunes.

We talked about songs he particularly likes, songs he particularly doesn’t like, songs he has performed, songs he’s dreamed about performing, songs that made a real impression when he saw them performed… And, when I say “we” talked, I mean he talked.

I’d throw things into the conversation just to see if he was paying attention: “Did you know I have a make-believe dog? No? Her name is Lolly.” All that got was, “Huh? No. I also like Show Boat. It’s an old show, revived a lot, but it’s got pretty good songs…”

We talked about college. I said, “I went to Americ—” before he launched in with, “My friends and I weren’t in a fraternity, but we’d go to fraternity parties because their kitchens had great acoustics. We’d gather in the kitchen and sing while the parties were going on! It was great.”

Right. I don’t know. He was cute?

I’m not really sure how this date lasted so long, but after dinner we were going to get more drinks. I suggested a bar at which we could watch the NCAA basketball championship game. I had a bracket going (which was obviously a ploy to drop into conversations with guys, you know, along the lines of the Sports Illustrated subscription) and I needed to see where I was going to come out in the bracket pool. I am not really 100% sure he knew what that meant.

Somehow we ended up at a piano bar with one tiny, tiny TV. I sat so I could see the TV. He sat so he could not. You know what he could see? The piano man. The rest of the evening went a little something like this:

“I can’t believe he picked this song to sing!”

“Oh. He is awful at that song!”

“I can definitely sing this a LOT better than he is!”

“If I were the piano man, I’d definitely sing much different songs.”

And then I tuned him out. Again.

So, the lesson here is maybe one should not pick up guys at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Or at least, don’t do it again.

The four-fold benefits of the Sports Illustrated subscription

I have been a longtime Sports Illustrated subscriber, and not because I’m a die-hard sports fanatic. A Sports Illustrated subscription can be a dangerous weapon in a single girl’s arsenal. The benefits are four-fold. Let me share with you what they are:

First Fold
If you read SI, you can drop into conversation all your newfound sports knowledge; boys will love it and will ask you out.

Second Fold
You can drop into conversation that you have an SI subscription, which boys will love and be impressed by and will then ask you out.

Third Fold
If you read your Sports Illustrated on the metro, boys will see you, will love it and will ask you out!

Fourth Fold
When you’re not actually reading your Sports Illustrated, you can fold it carefully so it is unmistakable what the magazine is and place it in your bag, strategically sticking out the top so people can see that it is Sports Illustrated. Boys will love it and will ask you out.

Trust me, this is a GENIUS plan!

Now, I’m still waiting for the payoff, but this plan is so brilliant it’s bound to work! Any day now…