Extraordinary and Ordinary

"I must learn to love the fool in me- the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries."

--Theodore Isaac Rubin

So I have had this theory for a long time that there are some ordinary people, perfectly nice and whatever else but kind of just blah, and some extraordinary people, you know the ones who make your day a little more interesting just by being in it, good or bad. I have often looked at couples, my cousin and her husband for one example, and been a little confused. Yeah, there is nothing WRONG with him; he’s not a drunk or a cheater or mean at all. But, we all were a little disappointed at her wedding. Because, she’s an extraordinary person. She’s the kind of person who can light up a room with her smile. She graduated from BC. She was captain of the swim team. She can funnel a beer better than anyone I know. She’s extraordinary. And, not that this is a bad thing persay, he’s just pretty ordinary.

Now, maybe my cousin and her husband are an exception, since they’re still married and have a baby and are perfectly happy, but, I don’t think extraordinary people and ordinary people can stay together. Maybe the extraordinary person realizes that the person they’re with just doesn’t make their heart pound like it should. However, more often than not, the ordinary person gets a little overconfident, or intimidated by all this extraordinariness (good or bad, again), and breaks it off, whatever “it” is.

The worst part is when this ordinary person immediately finds another seemingly ordinary person to be with or flirt with or what have you. The extraordinary person finds him or herself distraught, comparing every feature or personality trait with this person, coming to a dumbfounding conclusion— by every normal standard, they are better than the ordinary person. And this is because, simply put, they are.

It is a mystery of life why this ordinary person doesn’t realize how awesome the extraordinary person is. However, all I can say is that all of my very close friends are EXTRAORDINARY in every, single sense of the word. So if this happens to you, please don’t fret or compare. The sad truth is that you were just too extraordinary to handle.

xoxo,
j

You shut your mouth when you're talking to me

The Best Dating Advice I've Ever Gotten

“The only thing to do with good advice is to pass it on. It is never of any use to oneself.”

- Oscar Wilde


Now, I could never, ever take credit for the brilliance I am about to disseminate to you. My cousin Kerin, now age 29 and happily married for the last 2 years to an AMAZING guy, offered this to me months ago when I had a particularly rough falling out with a guy I was very much into. I hope we can all learn to take Kerin's advice... it's pretty ground breaking.


It goes like this: in the world of dating, everyone falls into a bracket. The top bracket is like . . . supermodels, and then then we all fall into a subsequent bracket after that. Now: beyond looks, things like musical talent, or being funny, or being smart, etc., can move you up a bracket. That's why models always date ugly musicians, b/c the musical talent moves them up into their bracket. (Likewise, even if you're in a high bracket, if you're say . . . an *sshole . . . you get bumped down a bracket).

The rule is: NEVER date outside your bracket, or you set yourself up for heartbreak. And, I can tell from the pictures I'm seeing on facebook, that this boy from the beginning of the semester was a bracket below you. (Clearly!) You might think that while it makes sense that dating someone in the bracket above you sets you up for heartache (the hottest guys are generally not-so-nice), the bracket underneath you is safe territory. But you're wrong!!! The bracket under you is the worst one of all, because those boys will get a major self esteem boost from dating you . . . AND a major self esteem boost from breaking up with you. (Because if you can DUMP a person in the bracket above you, you feel like you're better than them, thereby boosting your bracket standings.)

Anyway: Long story short: Always date someone as hot as you are. And: this guy's new girlfriend clearly IS in his bracket (though her personality may put her one below him, which means he will eventually get his heart broken horribly), so they deserve each other.

Hope you enjoyed Kerin's wise words! Go build your bracket!

love,
Jane

Pretty Little Liars

Hello dear readers,

I've missed you. The past few weeks have been really crazy. I am officially back in my college town and am all moved in with a new apartment and a new roommate. It feels like a fresh start and I couldn't be happier. My apartment is the cutest thing on the planet, and my roommate has quickly graduated from being a friend to a sister.

Do not for a second believe that this good news means my life has taken a turn toward normal town. No, no. In fact, I have a few stories to share.

This first story is currently the most salient in my thoughts because it is the most recent (and shocking. And hilarious). Get this, readers. I, Gouda have now secured myself a reputation as some sort of crazy, sexually-frustrated rapist.

Hold the phone. Before you run off and inform your towns beefiest police officer about my escapades, listen to my side of the story.

I will preface this by saying that this past weekend was both fantastic and awful for different reasons. My friend L from high school was visiting and it was great catching up with her. We used to be extremely close and have drifted in recent years. This weekend changed that.

The bad part of my weekend occurred when I suddenly became every drunk person's Mom. Yes, you read right. Gouda, the girl that gets lost on five minute walks in her neighborhood and leaves the gas oven on every night BY ACCIDENT, had to play Momma Bear.

On Friday we all got super dressed up and cute. I even went as far as to wear extremely uncomfortable heels. My feet are still bleeding. It was going to be a good night, I could tell. I should've known better. I have the instincts of a goldfish. The night actually wasn't that horrible from what I remember. By the end of the night, L found herself somewhat intrigued by a lovely young man, named V. Ironically, V is close friends with someone named D that I had previously found myself attracted to. A whole group of us headed back to hang out at V's apartment, which also happened to be where D was staying [or so I thought].

On our way back, we ran into someone throwing up on a bridge. This young man had too much to drink and I didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone, seeing as I have somewhat of a medical background and a marshmallow heart. So, I urged L to continue on her trek with the rest of the group and decided to walk our puking princess home. Of course, he lived a few blocks out of the way, but I figured I'd rather make sure he was okay than step over his rotting corpse the next day while on my daily walk. I walked my new best friend home and made my way back to V's apartment. Apparently tequila brings out my inner Mother Theresa.

When I arrived, I thought that maybe the night would start looking up. I expected D to be there and thought that maybe, just MAYBE I could get to know him better. [A little background info: I just met D and for some reason or another, find him interesting. That being said, he definitely has a lot going on in his life and I'm not sure if the timing is right. That, and I barely know the kid. Every time we hang out, alcohol makes an appearance.] Boy, was I wrong. L and V disappeared for a little bit. From what I hear, they had a heated debate about politics and then went on to play some pretty hardcore chess.

So there I was, sitting in the living room with people I barely knew. I refused to abandon L in a town she didn't know, when she was my guest, and in the process, turned into that awkward friend that sits in the corner while her much hotter friend has a grand time. Normally, I would allow my social prowess to shine at this point, but I was exhausted and my feel were bleeding and I was painfully bored. Also, I got the sneaking suspicion that some of the company in the room didn't exactly love me, Lord knows why. Then, to my relief, D walked into the room. Actually it was more of a stumble. I think.

He sat on the couch and looked like he was about three seconds from death. Why, oh why dear readers, can I not have a crush on a normal boy and have normal situations with said normal boy? Apparently, he had ALSO had too much to drink and once again, I felt maternal flames lick through me the sun's fury. Mind you, at this point I was kind of annoyed. The ONE person I had counted on to sort of rescue my evening had turned into some sort of incapacitated bean bag. The next thing I know, I'm sitting there feeding him water, trying to talk to him so that he remains conscious. I think I definitely also got some good eye-rolls in there. Look, I am an affectionate person. From what I remember, I may or may not have given him little kisses to make him feel better. These were not passionate kisses a la Days of Our Lives, but were more like little pecks. As I was taking care of D, I felt the tension in the room increase. Since at that point my sole focus was taking care of him [as it had earlier been with princess pukie.], I didn't care much. I just wanted to get home and take off the heels-of-death. Long story short, I went home and L continued her game of chess, which went into overtime.

When I got home, I decided it would be a good idea to make Buffalo wing flavored mac'n'cheese. It tasted like a lovely combination of hot sauce and throw up.

The following night was equally boring [though the day, was awesome]. I do have many more stories from this weekend, which include the douchebag who tipped his kayak over, and me face planting [gracefully, and in slow motion, mind you] while trying to catch a frisbee.

I found out today, a few days later, that according to some that were at V's apartment [and I have a sneaking suspicion who], I was trying to "take advantage" of D while he was severely intoxicated. You know what, you are right. I am just so desperate for male attention [because clearly I don't get it that often] and am SO into men that are inebriated that I couldn't resist myself. The water and wishing I was at home was just a ploy to gain your trust so that I could steal D's innocence while you weren't looking. Is society so jaded that it's hard for people to think that someone genuinely cares about the well-being about another? Are we, as a generation, so untrusting of others that we have to come up with crazy stories to try to grasp the concept of something as simple as compassion? On one hand, the whole thing is so ridiculous that it's laughable. On the other, this situation is so stupid that it almost turns me off D altogether. I know none of it is his fault, but I'd rather not associate with people that would like to see me on America's Most Wanted.

Jealousy makes you ugly. Don't ever forget that, dear readers.

LoveLoveLove,
Gouda

The Game

Been there, done that, messed around I'm having fun don't put me down. I'll never let you sweep me off my feet.

- Bulletproof


I will never be the type of girl who knows, or claims to know, how to play games. I am pretty up front about that. As smart, or sarcastic, or bitchy I can be, I will never be able to do the whole "hard to get", keep 'em in line, kind of fandango. Subtlety has never been my strong suit. HOWEVER, I definitely recommend this foolproof method, and I recommend that if you are like me, you learn it.

However, on a different note. Because I am the type of girl who doesn't really pull any punches, or enjoy the game, I've gotten my heart broken a few times. This leaves me with a whole slew of ex-boyfriends, ex-hook ups, ex-guysIwastogetherwithinhighschool, etc.

ANYONE will tell you to play hard to get, make him work for it, etc. What they won't tell you, but I will, is how rewarding it is to play the game once you no longer care. I should have prefaced before: I can't play the game when I actually like a guy. When I don't really care about him, it's easy as pie (for anyone).

The most rewarding thing in the world is that (usually) inevitable moment when you get a text from a guy who formerly had you on a string, because he just wants to catch up. At this point, you have moved on. You have probably fallen and had your heart broken by someone else. This opportunity gives you the perfect leverage for a little redemption.

The perfect example of this is my ex-whateveryouwant to call it, D. D was your typical playa, playa with whom I was totally infatuated for about a year. We texted (and even sexted) nonstop, and was constantly fucking with my emotions by picking me up and putting me back down whenever he had a new girl friend. I played it pretty cool throughout the entire thing. He considered me his "friend." This all went down my junior year in high school. We continued sporadically until the end of my senior year. Obviously, life continued.

At the beginning of this summer, D contacted me. He contacted me via facebook and via text message with the whole "hey stranger, i miss you" etcetc. I saw my opportunity and I pounced on it. I responded demurely, not enthusiastically, and have been keeping up steady contact with him (without EVER contacting him first). By this point in the summer, D is ready to take it to a level we have never even seen before, emotionally. I dreamed of this moment for SO long in high school. I never thought it would give me MORE satisfaction to turn around and say "we don't really need to do that do we?"

So here is my lesson for today: Ex-boyfriends are not always bad news. Sometimes, it is an important chance to show that you are totally and completely over someone. Obviously, only you can know if your feelings have really evaporated so tread lightly.

xoxo,
jane

Darling, you are the only exception

None of us have the opposite sex completely figured out. I have yet to meet a guy who can honestly say "Oh Yeah, I know EXACTLY how girls work". Actually I have. Granted, this guy looked like an underfed Eminem and had never even kissed a girl.

So dear male readers, this blog entry is especially for you. I can't tell you everything about the female mind, because then I'd have to kill you. No just kidding. Maybe. Actually, if i told you everything, I would be breaking The Sister Code. What? You thought you were the only gender with a code? Also, we're completely crazy and can't even figure ourselves out. I can however, give you a few pointers. Do's and Dont's if you may. There are many guys that are so clueless that it is almost painful to watch them try.

Since I am clearly so fond of lists. Here's one just for you. Print it out and tape it to your wall. Show all your friends. Give it out as party favours. I don't care how you spread the word, just make my advice heard!

1) Why do you feel the need to honk when you drive by? Do you think that I will be so flattered by your desperate plea for attention that I will get naked and run after your mom's beat up Volkswagon? No, Romeo. It is annoying.

2) The same goes for catcalling. Hearing a man scream "hey baby. hey gal. EEEYYY GAL OVER HERE" doesn't exactly scream masculinity. In fact, it screams desperate virgin trying to impress his desperate virgin friends.

3)Don't exaggerate to try to impress us, unless you're gorgeous [in that case you can say whatever you want. We're probably too busy having dirty thoughts to care what you're saying anyway]. We know when you're lying. So when you tell us that you spent last summer helping orphans in Somalia, we know that you actually spent last summer working part-time as a cashier at Costco.

4)My eyes are up here. Cornball touched on this in an earlier. What is the deal with men? I don't even have boobs, and their eyes still wander. I mean, I'm not stupid. You're going to look. Art is meant to be appreciated, right? But please, for the love of God, pick your jaw up off the floor and disassemble the tent in your pants.

5)When we speak, listen. We are not telling you little stories because we like the sound of our own voices. Okay, maybe sometimes. But, that's beside the point. Girls are pretty smart. When we tell you stuff, its always laced with intricate messages. And if you cannot decode these messages, well lets just say I hope you like sleeping on the couch. Example: I told one of my boyfriends [lets call him M] that I don't like recieving red roses. Why? Well one of my exes gave me red roses for EVERYTHING [and sometimes for no reason at all, which was cute]. Red roses are his thing. Anyway, come Valentine's Day, what do I get? M at the door of my dormitory, holding red roses [WHICH, by the way, he hastily bought from Wal-Mart earlier that day, because he had NOTHING planned.] Like come on dude, step your game up.

6)My family is attractive. I happen to be AWARE of this. So it really isn't that necessary for you to tell me just how hot my mom and sister's are. Do it once, and it's cute. Do it too much, and it becomes super creepy. Please stop.

7)Please, Please, Please, IN THE NAME OF GOD, PLEASE do NOT under any circumstances try to be cooler than you actually are. I'll be the first to admit, that I think nerds are a little cute. The whole nervous [I'm talking regular nervous, not prepubescent band-geek nervous] thing can be adorable. But when that band geek puts on his dad's shades and tries to turn his "swag on", the results are abysmal.

8)Nobody likes a pretty boy. It's great that you take care of yourself, and shower [which is more than I can say for many males] but please do not own more hair product than me. Do not wear lipgloss. Do not straighten your hair every morning. Do NOT own more pink than me. I love it when my arm candy is attractive, but I still want to feel like the one with the vagina.

9)Just because a girl has been drinking, does NOT mean she is deaf. So when you and your buddies have a full blown discussion [a la G20 summit] in front of my friends and me about "who gets who", you're basically guaranteeing yourself a date with your right [or left] hand that evening. And that's another thing. YOU don't decide who goes home with who [or not]. We do. So instead of wasting your dog breath trying to convince yourself that the hot brunette is into you, spend that time making a good impression.

10)High school is over. I feel like guys are more immature than girls when it comes to this. It's probably about time to stop lusting after the now-preggo girl you've fantasized about since third grade. And I'm sorry you lost battle of the bands in tenth grade, but please for the love of sweet potatoes build a bridge and get over it. Nobody cares.

11)Don't talk about how great you are. Okay, if you're being sarcastic or witty then I guess it's okay. But talking about the "anaconda" in your pants or telling us how much stamina you have is NOT a turn on. Girls talk. So as much as you're trying to build up hype around your genitals, it is very likely that your ex already told everyone that you're about as impressive as a roll of pennies.

12)DO watch our favorite t.v shows with us. It'll make us melt and make us want to watch UFC with you ALL DAY.

13)Don't dispute Cosmo. We know logically that it's a little ridiculous, but we love it regardless. It's the girl Bible.

14)Don't wear your pants below your waist. Or worse; below your bottom. How that could possibly be comfortable escapes me. And another thing, that little stumble/ limp walk some guys do is not cool. You're from the suburbs, so please refrain.

15)Unless you're completely droolworthy [think Gerard Pique], do NOT try to pull off the scruffy look. You'll just end up looking like the lumberjack paper towel guy. And do not grow out your facial hair if you are blonde. Nobody likes a flesh coloured beard or a Spencer Pratt wannabe.

I could probably continue this list forever [and might even add another edition], but for now I'll leave it at this.

Hope your summers are going great!

Keep it PG readers. Or not.

LoveLoveLove You,
Gouda

This beautiful city seems empty

Hey dearies,

I know, it has been WAY too long since I last posted. In all honesty, I am experiencing a horrible case of writer's block. Seriously. Who would've thought that I would EVER run out of things to say? It's not like there isn't anything going on up there, because trust me there is. My thoughts are just a huge jumbled mess.

Okay, I've got it. First dates. Look, I love going on first dates. Most people get nervous and take a little trip to crazytown, but it really isn't that bad. Meeting new people is always good. I think first daters fail to realize that this person they're FREAKING OUT over is most likely NOT their Romeo [or Juliet, whatever floats your boat]. So, doesn't it make more sense to just relax, and have a little fun? Heeere are a few of my most memorable first dates:

When I was fifteen, I was asked to the movies by this older guy, named P. We saw Chicken Little, I think. Since I worked at the movie theatre at the time, we ended up watching multiple movies and had a pretty good [somewhat awkward time]. After, we sat at this little table and talked for hours about EVERYTHING. Now let me tell you dear readers, people tend to feel comfortable around me. Sometimes too comfortable. I personally love it, but every so often I get in some sticky situations. So, P and I are chatting away and he suddenly goes "So, is there anything weird about you?", and I, always trying [but failing] to be the most hilarious person in the room, respond "Oh, yeah. I have a third nipple. Hahahahhaahhahaha just kidding. That would be gross". Nothing. No laughter from P. My ego bruised, I look up to see he hasn't even cracked a smile at my comedic genius. Then slowly, he raises his shirt to reveal...a third nipple. I dated P for about three months and we still talk every so often. He is a sweetheart even that first date got really weird really fast.


My friend L was seeing this guy Z. We were in high school at the time, so she insisted that I go out on a date with them [Z of course, would bring his friend P. A different P. Not nipple P]. I knew P from class and he drove me crazy. He was always loud, telling jokes that made NO sense. Anyway, the four of us saw a movie, walked around the mall, and had dinner. A seemingly normal first date. No, P was apparently nervous and did everything wrong! He kept leaving the dinner table to "adjust his hair". At one point, he exclaimed that he hated skinny girls [mind you, I was about 112lbs and 5'9 at the time]. Great. Way to make me feel amazing. Then he started to go on about how hot Victoria's Secret models are. I'm sorry, but last time I checked, they were skinny [Dont get me wrong here, I love the VS Models. I want have children with Alessandra Ambrosio]. Anyway, all throughout the evening he kept doing and saying the most obnoxious things on the planet. By the time we left, I never wanted to speak to the guy again. Here's the kicker, that night he called me apologizing [after hearing how disgusted I was by his behaviour]. P and I dated for two years. We had some serious life plans together, but we were younger than our relationship, so it didn't work out. He is still my best friend and I love him to bits.

I worked with R for about three months before I even looked at him "that" way. It was one of those things that sneakily built up over time, and I didn't even notice. R and my first date wasn't a like my other first dates. We didn't really go anywhere, but it counts since it was the first time we hung out, not as friends or as supervisor and supervisee. Yes. I was his supervisor. I hate saying that, because when I picture a supervisor, I imagine a fat bald man with a pocket protector and fifty year old beer belly [I have never had a supervisor that looks like this, so Lord knows where I get these images from]. He hated me at first, but I clearly blew him away with my witty humour and doube Ds. Just kidding. I have the chest of a seven year old boy. Anyway, I went over to his house to hang out and "watch a movie". Anybody who knows anything, knows that this is normally code for "make out in the basement". Funny thing is, we didn't do that. When I first got there, we found that his dog had pooped all over the carpeted basement. So, our first romatic moment together was actually spent cleaning diarreah with stain remover. Pfft. Who needs candles when you've got poop? I didn't mind though, it was funny and kind of helped kill any lingering awkwardness. We watched...oh dear God, what did we watch? Bruno? No. I think it was Four Christmases. Anyway, we sat there holding each other, the air charged with tension. When the movie was over, neither of us had made a move, but I had to leave because R had a family dinner to go to. We talked for a little bit and then finally, FINALLY he kissed me [I was beginning to wonder if he was even into me at that point]. Boom. Magic. R and I were together on and off for six months.

All my dating stories are kind of bad and hilarious, with pretty good endings [depending how you look at it]. Here's one that really made me feel special. I met A at the bar at work. He, some of his colleagues and I had a drink together and we exchanged numbers. About a week later he texted me and asked me if I would go out with him. I agreed, halfheartedly. You see, my ex and I had just broken up, but still cared for each other [and in all honesty, were still practically dating]. The morning of my date with A, I planned on cancelling. It just didn't seem right for me to deny how i really felt about my ex. Then, the ex texts me and informs me that he had slept with a highschooler during one of our "breaks". Now reader, I had never been cheated on [and TECHNICALLY wasn't cheated on this time]. The deception I felt was horrible. Imagining him kissing and holding another girl made me sick to my stomach, and almost made me feel worthless. Since crying in the fetal position messes with my hair, I decided to keep myself occupied and go out with A anyway. We determined that I would meet him where he was staying [did I mention he was an Australian, in town on business?]. I showed up about ten minutes early, and the poor guy wasn't even ready for me. [On the night we had first met, I had complained that I loved hiking and there really wasn't much room for that in Toronto.] When I walked into his room, he had his laptop open and his game face on. He had spent some time researching hiking spots. I thought it was cute that he had remembered what I said, and had taken it into acount. Since I had to work later that day, we ended up just walking along the lakeshore. We bought coffe and drank it while dangling our feet off the rocks at the waters edge. It was simple, romantic, and real. A went back to Australia, but we're still good friends and talk almost everyday.

Wow, so much for writers block. Guess I just have many stories to tell. All the guys I've dated have impacted my life in some way or another Even if I lose contact with some of them, I will always appreciate and love them for the experiences we shared together. I've never understood how people could genuinely hate their exes. I mean, sure you might've been hurt, but you cared about the person at one point, so they can't be all bad. Right?

Stay sexy, readers.

LoveLoveLove You,
Gouda

Moving On

I feel so far from where I've been

- Jewel

I came to a really crazy realization on the train ride home this morning.

You know how you see those pathetic girls who are constantly trying to make the men in their lives try harder, or love more? Even though they do hurtful things over, and over you’re the one seemingly begging for an apology or an excuse to continue to have them in your lives. I’ve realized that this works the same way with friends. At a certain point you have to realize that you care significantly more than the other person and you have to stop trying. You can’t constantly get upset over someone who doesn’t put in the effort for you, when there are those who make you feel important, funny, carefree, and loved.

This came to me after having a great night with a friend from school and her family in the city. I had so much fun having a good, clean night with her. We had an old style sleepover complete with swapping men stories after a night at a Greek restaurant on the upper east side with her parents and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. It was really a great night. I realized that when I am around this friend and her family, as I feel when I am around most of my friends from school and most of my friends from Long Island, I feel like I am somehting to be valued. I am worth hanging out with, talking to, and standing up for. It made me feel really special last night (as corny as it sounds) and I am going to stop fighting for something that isn’t reciprocated. It’s very sad and I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to be completely “over it”, but I have friends who make me feel valued and I need to concentrate on that.

I don’t think of myself as a vindictive person or one that holds a grudge. I don’t plan on cutting people out of my life to the point of being cold-hearted; I plan on always being there for those who are/were once good friends. I just need to take a step back and stop hurting MYSELF; because that is exactly what I am doing.

Jane

What goes on?

Dear readers,

What is the deal with my life? As much as I'd write, a gramatically correct post with amazing flow, I feel that you would much prefer it if I just recapped the past day in shambles. Because thats what it was. An absolute shitshow. Hello life, I've missed you.

The day started out pretty regularly. I wasn't scheduled to work [I work as a hostess at a pretty nice restaurant, in case you were wondering], but I picked up two shifts, so I ended up working all day. Gotta pay the bills. Anyway, the day started out pretty well. The weather was gorgeous.

A little into my morning shift I became, get this; an earthquake survivor. Okay, technically we've all been through some sort of earthquake and just haven't felt it. This was the kind of earthquakee that was felt across the country and made the news. I felt so blessed. The kicker; I didn't actually feel anything. REALLY?!? Was I so busy chatting up old business men to improve their "guest experience" that I didn't feel a earthquake that friends in my old town in New York felt? Lord, I am such a mess. Normally, I love when stuff like this happens. I want to be the old lady that sits my grandkids on my knee and tells them how I bravely survived the blackout and the "ole' quake of '10". Way to ruin my life stories earthquake.

Speaking of old ladies, I had a guest yesterday that I believe deserves honorable mention. So, I'm at the hoststand when this little old lady saunters up to me. She was so hunched over, that all I could see were her eyes . Then, all I hear is "You know what? There is no parking out there. I nearly got TWO parking spots, but both times someone cut me off, and I was like bitchesss". I loved that. She dragged on the word "bitches" like a champ, and also used the word "like" as if she was fifteen. Kudos old lady, you're pretty awesome. I definitely laughed for about fifteen minutes straight after that.

In between my work shifts, I went to booster juice with my coworker, J. After, we went to Wal-Mart and GUESS WHAT I GOT! Ready? I, Gouda, purchased a Magic Bullet. There aren't even words to describe how excited I am about this. This new appliance makes me feel invincable. Chances are it won't help with my questionable culinary skills, but it's my obsession for the week. So, deal.

My the end of my evening shift I was in an extremely foul mood. Everyone and their mother [including my mother] was bugging me like you couldn't believe. A bunch of coworkers were supposed to go out, but I wasn't even up for that. Thank God for good friends. My friends L and L convinced me to go out, which may be either the best or worst thing they've ever done for me. I haven't decided.

So we go out to this predetirmined place, where we met up with almost EVERYONE we work with. For all intensive purposes, I'll call this hotspot Alligator Boulder. It was awesome. For a really long time, I refused to go out with people from work because I always insist on seeming professional and put together. Boy, did that change last night.

Here are bits and pieces of what I remember:

-tequila shots from a guy who I thought looked like Jake Gyllenhall [lord knows he probably looks like Mick Jagger without drunk goggles. Kesha's type, not mine],
- texting my ex [my phone doesn't save sent texts. I feel this might be a good thing]
-flirting. with everyone,
-NO HOOKUPS [I'm so classy],
-the discovery of a new low calorie drink. Vodka Water Merlemon [I hope that's what its called, because that's what I yelled at the bartender about three million times]
-Dancing. Lots of it,
-an after party. We went to this guy's apartment. I don't remember much of what we did there, but I do remember the view being gorgeous],
-hearing the playlist that I heard at Boosterjuice earlier that day, I kid you not.
-this awkward blonde kid that tried hitting on EVERY one of my friends and stuck around the whoooole night. I mean, at one point he asked me to dance and I think I said something like "I don't know how to dance with people. I can only dance alone". Please, get the hint. You're embarrassing yourself.

There's likely more, but last night was one of those nights where memories will come back to me slowly over the course of the next few days.

Today is what would be my sixth month anniversary with my ex. As much as it pains me to say this, I'm actually a little sad. He meant alot to me. Jesus drunk Gouda, why did you have to go and text him? I really thought I was completely over that. I guess these things take time. I'll live.

I need to leave for work soon. I can't tell yet if I'm still drunk or really hungover. On the bright side, I'm wearing a really cute off the shoulder romper with a side braid in my hair. Very Stephanie Pratt, minus the DUI and crazy brother. Actually, scratch that. I don't even like her that much.

Wish me luck at work readers, I'll definitely need it.

LoveLoveLove you,
Gouda

Keeping it Classy

Well behaved women rarely make history.

- Marilyn Monroe



Okay, dear loyal reader(s), I know what you're thinking so far. "Well that Jane... she's kind of... well... boring." Yes, I know. I have been on my high horse the last two posts so I have decided to share something with all of you. I am not proud of this story, per say, however, I feel that it is an entertaining one to share with you. Names and places have been changed to protect my anonymity and the anonymity of anyone else involved.

About a year ago, I was cruising around the lovely city of Manhattan. I had just gone to see a theatrical production with some of my friends and it was a beautiful summer night. The show ended around 10 pm and we decided to travel to a few bars before we took the train back to our homes. We found ourselves in a lovely little joint I will call the Fox and Bugle.

We sat down at the bar and ordered drinks. I will share a little secret with you readers, I was underage at the time, as were my companions. As we were approached by several gentleman, we decided to create little alter egos for ourselves, to match the personalities on our false identification.

Now I was a little upset at this point in time. The guy I had been casually seeing/hooking up with was about to leave for the remainder of the summer and as we were both to return to different universities, it had been "adieu" to our fling. It was also his birthday as of 12 midnight, so I had left the bar a few times to speak to him on the phone, leaving my friends to deal with the men in the bar.

Now, there was one extremely attractive man. He was the antithesis of my type. He had spiky blond hair and a sleeve of tattoos. Those of you who know me will attest to the fact that I am into more straight laced, awkward types. This smooth, tattoooed man was foreign to me. However, when the face/body is good you cannot deny it; this boy was blessed with some good looks.

Men like this never pay me much attention. I assumed this would be a similar scinereo being that I was distracted, constantly on the phone, told him I was a student at Harvard Law School, and paid him very little attention aside from the moments where he was purchasing rounds of shots for my friends and myself. However, I was wrong. Apparently, the tattooed man was enamoured with me. (Let this be a lesson to you ladies-- when you pay them the least attention, that's when they want you the most. I often forget this.) He questioned my friend each time I left, begging her to tell him I didn't have a boyfriend.

This is all very interesting, and I was almost intoxicated by this. I gave up on my inhibitions and decided to go outside my comfort zone for the night. We started cozying up and it wasn't long before we were kissing and whatnot. We returned to the bar shortly after to get more drinks. This is where the conversation began.

I asked him where he was from. He told me he came from a small town in Westchester County. Luck have it, my father is a very important official from this small town in Westchester. When I asked him if he knew who he was, he responded matter-of-factly "Yes, he is my boss." I retorted right back saying "Yes, he is my dad." A look of realization overcame him and his eyes got wide. "I know exactly who you are. I clean your Dad's office every night. I dust a picture of you on his desk." With sheer horror I turned back to him, "You are my Dad's janitor?!?"

This was the end of this cozy little rendez-vous. For one, this picture is an 8 x 10 of my high school senior portrait, which conveniently displays my graduation year on the frame. This probably tipped him off that I wasn't a student at Harvard Law School. Secondly, the thought that I had just made out with a janitor was enough to make me want to stick my finger down my throat and vomit all over Union Square.

That is how I learned two things: a) I shouldn't lie to random men in bars, b) I should not stray from my "type", no matter how attractive he may seem. I am doing pretty well on B.

kisses,
Jane

They Think They Wear Pants...I Think They Wear Tutus!

I truly love how guys think they wear the pants! I like to think they wear pretty little tutus! Just so you know this is not going to be a man bashing blog (believe me I loveeee me some man)...it is going to be more of an appreciation for the women who are so extremely talented that they can make their men BELIEVE they wear the pants! Little do they actually know lol! To this day I am still absolutely amazed by how good I am at making guys believe that they have the upper hand in situations where in reality they are actually just a little pawn in a game of chess where I have their king cornered! All it takes to get checkmate is to know how they think! Which lets face it girls, we all know that’s not very hard! They think like us women, just less intelligently! Come on girls we all know that we are just as big of horndogs as guys are! And if you deny thinking about getting some 24/7 then you are a little liar! The only difference is that we can hide thinking about sex better...for the most part lol (if you’re a friend of mine, more than likely you don’t hide it very well lol)

Like for goodness sakes it still amazes me how often guys cry, most of the time out of self-pity because they think they messed up so badly that they won’t get any! Newsflash guys!!! Most of us girls just threaten that (I say MOST because some girls can resist sex for awhile! Bless you girls lol) We don’t really mean it! We would miss sex too much...plus its way easier for guys to please themselves then it is for us women! We aren’t going to get rid of our quick and easy access to some pleasing just because he said something stupid! Am I right girls?!! It’s just one of our tactics of manipulation!

To all you women out there who can make your man get on his hands and knees and do the dirty things that he should learn to like, I praise you!!! Guys have no problem eating 50 hot dogs in one sitting so it shouldn’t be a problem to eat something else!!! Like my favorite quote that I saw on a pair of panties said: “Don’t be a pussy, EAT ONE.” If the guys follow these wise words then maybe we can let them wear the pants for a little! lol So here’s to you women who are skilled manipulators!

Love you all,
Cornball

Say When

Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.

- Paul Coelho



I am sure this has happened to all of us once in our lives. I have this best friend, let's call her Mildred, we went to high school together. We are part of a larger group of about 6 best friends. Another member of the group, someone I have known/loved/confided in since I was newly 14, we shall call her Maggie. Now Mildred has been dating this fellow, for our purposes, Rex, for about a year and a half. He broke up with her about a month or two ago because he needed time to figure out how/what he feels. This might seem like the end of the world for ole Mil but MIldred pulled something similar about a year ago and she and Rex broke up for a short period of time only to be blissfully reunited. Rex assured Mildred that this was a similar situation.

This all seemed quite plausible until Rex slept with Maggie.

Now, I could tell you how agonizing this has been. How Mildred lost weight, sleep, and many tears in the past few weeks. Or I could be completely selfish and outline how this little reality show type drama has had a severly negative effect on my life, forcing me to completely isolate the person I had trusted with every secret since 8th grade (Maggie). But, that is not where the story leads us.

Rex and Maggie have still been talking/hanging out and Rex and Mil have not. Mil and Rex have decided to meet up on their anniversary in December at an undisclosed location to see if they both still care. (Everyone in unison now--- VOM) However, according to Maggie, whom I am not supposed to be communicating with but you'll never tell dear old readers, Rex says similar things to Maggie. (So typical)

Last night, Mildred and I were dropping one of our companions at a party where Rex would be present. We were outside of the house for approximately 3 minutes when Rex, after having consumed roughly 15 shots, sauntered outside. He unknowingly stopped walking directly in front of my car. I resisted the urge to run him over only because Mildred held her hand firmly over the gear shift, not allowing me to move the car from park. Rex came over to make obviously drunken small talk, oblivious to my sarcasm and general bitchiness. Finally, he looks at Mildred and asks if she misses him. I scream "NO." Rex then leans in and grabs Mil's face and ACTUALLY TRIES TO KISS HER. As I am about to shift the car in gear, regardless of where his feet are present, one of his friends runs outside and drags him onto the grass away from the car. As we drive away we hear him screaming "YOU MISS ME. I KNOW YOU MISS ME TOO."

Now, I wish I could explain to you how many nights I have cradled Mil's lifeless, sobbing form until she could be coaxed to sleep. I wish I could explain how many times she told him "I'll never talk to you again if I find out you're talking/hanging out with Maggie..." or "I'll never talk to you again if you keep talking to Maggie..."

This altercation, and obvious jubilation from the passenger seat as we continued to drive, led to a short argument between Mil and I. I was fuming. He slept with our best friend. And continues to see/talk to her. How many second chances was he going to get? How many times is he allowed to disregard her feelings before she follows through on a threat. When will she finally just 'say when?'

If you had a childhood like mine, you had a corny uncle (in my case, Dad) or maybe you just grew up being friends with my fellow blogger C, who, when pouring you a glass of milk for your Oreos, would tell you to "say when." I never quite understood why you would say "when" at the moment you have had enough but that is what you did.

When will Mildred say "when?" The answer is that, of course, she won't. We never do. We let Uncle Artie keep on pouring until the milk has overflowed and we are sitting, drenched in a gallon of it. It is easy for me to yell at Mildred, become frustrated, even begin to resent the pain she continues to put herself through. But if I were in a similar situation, would I be able to say when? I sincerely doubt it.

Jane

Bulletproof

In the interest of everyone's sanity [since I know that everyone and their mother is dying to know], I am single. Newly single in fact. As you read this, picture me polishing my nails on my blue satin nightie. I know. I should be broken up inside and every breath I take should hurt. I'm sorry, it doesn't.

Boyfriends are like acrylic nails. When your nails are all unmanicured and regular, you envy your coworker's perfectly manicured french tips. You feel like your life is incomplete without intricately squared off fingertips. Then, you saunter off to visit your nail guy [Lee, in my case. Charming little man], only to spend fifty dollars in half an hour. Anyway, so once you have your acrylics done you are in love with them, and use any excuse to over accessorize with pretty rings and such. Sometimes [and maybe I'm the only crazy person who does this] you do little hand movements in the bathroom mirror like some exotic Polynesian dancer. And when you go out, you make sure to use handrails as much as you can [bacteria shmacteria]. Nothing can stop you with those nails! Then, they start to grow out. [OH, for the interest of all my male readers. I know I might as well be speaking Zulu to you right now, but bare with me. Or go ask a girl about her nails.] Anyhow, so your nails start to grow out, and then they're not so pretty anymore. They start to chip, and hurt and crack [and sometimes you even start to eye those tempting BIOGEL nails]. Then after a few weeks of the discomfort, you rip them off [you could go to Lee, but there's no way in HELL you're spending any more money on those things]. And once the nails come off, you're disappointed. Your real nails underneath are all battered and bruised and look like something Lindsay Lohan regurgitated. In the end, you realize that the acrylics really weren't worth it. You put in too much money and too much time, only to be ruined. SO not worth it.

My nails are actually doing quite nicely. They've pretty much gotten back to normal and look quite fabulous, even if I do say so myself. However, that new girl at work has a pretty nice manicure...

LOVELOVELOVE YOU,
Gouda

P.s I know, I posted twice today. So, sue me. I was kidding. Please don't.

The Character Actress

At some point during almost every romantic comedy, the female lead suddenly trips and falls, stumbling helplessly over something ridiculous like a leaf, and then some Matthew McConaughey type either whips around the corner just in the nick of time to save her or is clumsily pulled down along with her. That event predictably leads to the magical moment of their first kiss. Please. I fall ALL the time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer.

- Chelsea Handler


So if you have been reading our blog, you have already been promised quite the entertaining time. I'm afraid C was right... we have all found each other mainly out of sheer awkwardness. We find ourselves in the most amusing predicaments and I am excited to share them with you, cyberspace.

Earlier Gouda mentioned that she is often compared to the heroine of romantic comedies. Don't get me wrong-- I have my moments too (a prime example would be the character of Gigi in "He's Just Not that Into You"-- however I'm not the Kate Hudson/Cameron Diaz/Isla Fisher type. Think more along the lines of Anne Hathaway and America Ferrera. I am what you would call a character actress. In most mainstream movies, I would be your typical best friend of the heroine. Funny, if at times naiive, blunt, at times to a fault, and endearing. These characters are always likable enough with charming faces and one seemingly obnoxious flaw. She is usually either 20 pounds overweight, or has a very sharp nose, or a cute/distracting mole on her chin.

So lately, I've decided to write my own love story. Don't get me wrong, I will never look like Cameron Diaz or be as startlingly aloof/mysterious as a Penelope Cruz but I am holding out hope that some guy finds The Character Actress and appreciates her sarcastic humor and endearing idiosyncrasies. In fact, I don't think he'll only appreciate them, I think it will be his favorite part about her.

I can't promise that we will find this Mr. Perfect throughout this blog. However, I think it will be more fun if we don't. I read once that women are significantly funnier when they are not in a relationship. This probably explains why I am so fucking hysterical.

Now, I know what I have already geared you up for. I cannot promise that this won't resemble a cheap knock-off of Carrie Bradshaw's column. The fact is that I am a girl, and as much as I can ramble about something intellectual or athletic IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME before I am going to start talking about men. So I apologize in advance. It's unavoidable in my opinion. And makes for some fantastic stories.

I guess I should get to the point where I come up with a pen name. This is challenging for me. I am going to go with Jane, because it is the first name of one of my favorite authors. Don't get me wrong... Jane would never be caught dead writing a blog that will surely be explicit in the very least, knowing us, but I have always believed on taking a modern twist on old classics.

-J

PS- I really enjoy good quotes. I will try to start each of my entries off with a good one.

If they JIGGLE they are real!

If you think FML is good, you haven’t seen anything yet! But seriously! It really doesn’t even compare to the stories you will read in our blog! Our lives are basically fml times infinity! As the saying goes “birds of a feather, flock together”...our “feather” is that of bad luck/extreme awkwardness!!!! But before I get to the stories of my unbearably awkward life I’ll start with telling you my name...not my real name of course, but my pen name! To all of you readers, I will be Cornball with a capital “C” not just because it is a name but because I am SUPER CORNY!!! Everyone at school always looks to me for easy laughs because I am naturally corny and don’t even realize it! I use stupid expressions like “you’re preaching to the choir” and sh*t like that (you obviously get the seriousness of my corniness just from that lol) and think it’s totally normal! Oh and not only am I corny but I have the best job in the whole wide world! I get to use my corniness and obvi my good looks to make money! I know I know you all def hate me right now...but it’s not my fault if you can’t find a job doing things that you’re good at! Sorry sucks for you!

But ok enough about me...I will finally get to the moment you all have been waiting for! The story for the day! I am sure you can all relate to this one (due to the fact that it deals with guys being stupid! And if you're a guy who is reading this, take notes)! And if you can’t, then can I switch lives with you for a day?!! Seriously, I would love to switch! Ok, so when was it decided that it was ok for guys to make it blatantly obvious that they are staring at your chest?!! Like obvi guys are going to look there, like duh we wear low cut shirts for a reason but seriously guys, can’t you keep your mouth shut for at least a second! Its not attractive watching your tongue hanging out of your mouth and drool creeping its way down the corners slowly! GROSS! And if that’s not bad enough, now guys these days must COMMENT on your lady gifts! You boys really don’t know how to act suave like James Bond anymore! You all are helpless in the smooth department! Or so I have learned at work... when someone actually asked me if my lady parts were real!! Like come on really?! Since when is it ok to ask if a girls breasts are real?! First off if you have to ask whether or not they are real, you obvi haven’t seen many in your day! And second off for your information... IF THEY JIGGLE THEY ARE REAL! You dum dums! Fake ones just sit there and say “hey look at me!! I’m here for your enjoyment! Come hither!” (For those of you who have fake boobs, good for you! I wish you luck with all the comments that I’m sure you get!! I am just trying to explain the difference!) Where as real boobs, jiggle and move around! They tease you and make you think maybe you can have them but they don’t stay in one spot long enough for you to really know for sure whether you are welcome to enjoy!

What I have just explained to you as readers I have basically had to explain to customers at work...hence why this is actually an awkward story and not just a rant! P.S. No I am not a prostitute! I sell alcoholic beverages and have to deal with drunken assholes who don’t know the difference between real boobs and fake ones. Hint to all guys...if you don't know, don't ask! You are just making yourself look even stupider then we already know you are! Am I right ladies?!
Ok well thats all for now! Until next time!
love you all,
Cornball

Blogs Have Cherries Too..

...and I just popped ours. That's right. I feel both privileged and somewhat bratty. A quick introduction [JUST in case your mental capacity couldn't handle our "about me" section]. This is a group blog. We are a group of girls who go to the same college and are apart for the summer. These tales are true, and unscripted.

Now a more personal introduction. I'm not telling you my name. Why? Because I try really hard to be all mysterious provocative. Is it working? Not likely. Well, firstly, I need a pen name. Something not lame or super cheesy [though I happen to be both those things]. OH! I've got one.

You ready? Hi, I'm Gouda. Get it? Like the cheese [clearly I took the cheese route despite my doubts]. Not only is gouda delicious, but it fits me because I am a "gouda girl". Hahahaha. That might have been the most pathetic attempt at humor ever. I sound like the creepy old guy that follows you around at Price Chopper trying to convince himself he's still "got it". Like, no. You don't have it. You stopped having it when the tattoo on your chest started resembling mashed potatoes and your nose hairs reached your chin.

Sorry about that, I tend to go off on tangents alot. If you're looking for something uniform and serious, then my posts are NOT for you.

I am currently in exotic Toronto. Please, refrain from being extremely jealous...it messes with my aura. I move into my apartment in our college town in a few weeks and CANNOT WAIT. Let the shenanigans begin.

It's hard to describe myself. I think that my blog will give you the best feel for my personality. A few times I've been described as being alot like the main character in every romantic comedy. Think Drew Barrymore in that movie where she was messy and clumsy or Cameron Diaz in that movie where she was really quirky. You know the one. Or many.

Ironically, being that person in real life isn't as fabulous as it seems in the movies. When I fall or walk into stuff all I get is a bruise and an embarassing story [Adam Sandler never seems to rescue me with some silly line].

I could probably go on forever [boy, am I a talker], but it would be rude to irritate you on my first entry. I'll save the annoyances for later.

LoveLoveLove You,

Gouda

p.s ooooh tricky tricky. I just nearly signed that with my real name.