8:30 PM me: so… i just found a feather in the egg carton.

8:31 PM me: thats like getting scrambled eggs w bones in it.

coz i need more/better/new ones.
not that theres anything wrong with the ones i’ve got – i love them all truly, madly, deeply. but as is the course of friendships- you become friends because of shared interests and remain friends because of shared history. you know what you are going to GET with your peeps and thats what makes them YOURS.

knowing them as i do, i know the majority of mine arent going to want to go barhopping on a sunday night no matter how hard i beg. which is why i find myself writing a memorial to my social life. not of a year ago when i was a swinging single. nay. of about 25 years ago when i was in pre school and the easiest way to make a new friend was to plop down beside them in the sandbox and show them that you, too, liked to make gourmet  meals from play doh and it was game ON from there on out.

sea food.

things ain’t that simple no more. majority of my friends now are in various relationship stages that are not conducive to stone chillin’ saturday nights as in the days of old. they’re either

A:coupled up – so do married type things on the weekend like antiquing upstate, or visiting their special person’s parents for long weekends on lumpy twin beds.

"...but grandma's right next door."

or hang out with other couples who are married or married-like and talk about antiquing  trips upstate with the parents.

or B:  newly coupled-  which means they spend their entire weekend in bed discovering all the fascinating quirks about their partner that will annoy the shit out of them in 7 months but that at the moment they find adorable, or telling stories about things they did in junior high and drinking each others sweat.

can't blame 'em

until they come up for air there’s really  no room for a third in that party.

and the last group, the dying breed, i was the local chapter president of for longer than i remember –can’t hang out on weekends because they are

C:single and mingling.

what? olives are vegetables -- so this is heathy.

which means roughly a year ago today i was most likely drunk, doing something mildly inappropriate with someone who’s last name i didn’t know then and first name i can’t remember now. (ok. or home happily reading a book) either way, a complete 180 from tonight, where i bedrugingly took off my party clothes at 11pm and told myself I need to get a jump start on tomorrow’s work. which brings me back around to my original lament. where, as an adult do you make new friends? its not like picking up fruit (or tricks) in the supermarket, or books (or tricks) in the bookstore.

if you lean over to the interesting looking girl sitting next to you on the subway reading the fountainhead on her ipad (only after checking to see if her thick frame black glasses actually had a perscription in the lens. (score! they do. proceed) and ask her where she got that obviously eco-friendly backpack… she’s going to think you’re cruising her.

mind yours.

aaaaaaand a year ago she would have been right.
or, when you’re at your local organic coffee place and that guy with the bike and the yogamat and the vintage sneakers saunters in blasting something out of his beats by dre that sounds kinda like starwars meets r&b meets 80s; if you grab him before he takes his soy latte to-go in order to ask what is he listening to and does he know if they touring locally? he’s going to think you are cruising him. aaaaaaaaaand again, a year ago he would have ended up as that fuck  friend you dont remember from last summer  and therefore he would have been right.

mind yours.

so whats a girl to do?
join professional clubs, do charity, get involved with your community, take a class?  could find tons of people with shared interest and you’ll have reasons to talk to them eliminating the awkward “hello” and the tamping down the automatic response of trying to formulate a meet-cute when all you want to do is find someone to talk about how much you still miss LOST.

one for me. one for the polar bear

and then what happens when it comes down to the main nerve-wracking event part where you exchange numbers – how do you ask someone out on a friend date without feeling date-like?

im not on a date. are you on a date?

how do you cruise for platonic friends?

is it really THAT impossible to find a supermarket  suspense/romance/thriller written in the style of nora roberts or sandra brown…

my hero

set in a dystopian future…

...tomorrow is another day...right?

written with  protagonists that  are edgy lesbians of color?

*hi.

really??

you think i’m asking too much??  :(

*(photo via GO! magazine)

quite possibly the best thing about being an adult is being able to say NO!

to something when you know you should

and not feel like you are throwing a temper tantrum.

obviously thats a joke

i love my family.

i do.

definitely more than some other things about myself (like being short, or or allergic to avocados, or afraid of hills) that, like family were totally random but i kind of have to live with and love anyway.

…but

sometimes i wish our interactions would consist of something more like– me sending them frequent and expensive presents from warm climates until i have to pay for their at-home nursing care.

i like to imagine thats totally normal.

stupidity is being angry about it.

*headdesk* *headwall* *headlife*

that looks heavy

the other day my friend J said to me:

“if you are in love and you don’t feel like you are making a complete fool of yourself then you’re not doing it right.”

i don’t know if that’s right, but it certainly feels true.

ding!

you may bask in the glory of your success. you may marvel about how you are a genius and wave passerby over to marvel with you. (hey! party in my cubicle! there’s cake!)

party time. excellent.

someone needs to call the huffington post or anderson cooper right now because this unprecedented feat of awesome right here needs to be documented.

people from different departments are standing in the hallway pointing at you and whispering ”that’s the one! that’s the one who [insert awesome thing here]” before they shyly amble over and join the listening party.  you are  regaling them with the story of your awesomeness and the speakerphone conference call from the CEO who no one has ever actually seen in person made just to congratulate YOU. everyone laughs at the punchline of your jokes. you have never been more charismatic. (is the camera crew for the office newsletter here yet? put on some lipstick.)

be sure to get my good side, sister

you’re hi-fiving, the accolades are collecting in your in-box. steve from accounting hands you a slice of sheet cake. that hottie you see with the yogamat in the elevator but can never muster up the courage to say more than “hi” to  is leaning over your cubicle wall. you notice in your monitor screen the rosy glow that basking in awesome has given you. and you smile. this is your romance novel ending.

but

there is a part of you that wonders how much better this idea would have/could have been had you thought of it say, three weeks ago.

you feel a teeny tiny bit like a fraud.

insert secret sadface here

teeny.

is there a style of meditation that you can look into to tap into this core, say at the 8th hour perhaps? or at least in enough time to do a revision or two?

[ask the hottie from the elevator what style yoga they do. wink wink.]

hi.

the glory of the 11th hour idea is its own miraculous nature. don’t go looking a gift-idea in the mouth. nay! and whats the  big idea calling it a “gift”? those sleepless nights you spent tossing and turning (or drinking) and nail-biting and wondering WTFAMIGONNADOOOOODEARGOD is certainly just as stressful, if not more so, than sitting at a monitor toiling and toiling away.

the best part about 11th hour ideas  is that in the end, not only are you awesome but you make it look easy. the worst part about making it look easy is that people may actually think it is. the last thing you want is for your boss/parents/potential co-signers to think that you are bullshitting them. granted, the level of bullshit depends on how awesome your execution is. but obviously 11th hour execution is part of your magic.

..and for my next trick: Q3 reports!

you could make that work for you. “I Specialize in Awesome 11th Hour Ideas”

website tagline: done

but the thing about 11th hour ideas is they come as just as much as a surprise to you as they do to everyone else. perhaps tony robbins has a book about how to harness this energy? if not, he should.

i love this guy

or YOU should. “Tapping Into You Innate Accidental Awesomeness” written by: you.

i’d buy that shit. i’d want you and tony robbins to be my life coach.

but for now it’s a celebration. frame that email from your boss. steve from accounting just bought everyone a round of shots. that bitch with the cat posters who sits across from you looks more sour in the face than usual. yoga hottie just pulled up a stool next to you. tonight, is your night.

tomorrow morning you’ll start writing the great american self-help book…

or… you know, eventually.

... as played on the sad trombone

yeh. its not your fault.  you shouldn’t feel stupid. anyone in your position would have done the same. some one tells you at 11am they are going to pick you up at 5pm and take you out, well, of course only a fool wouldn’t start getting ready at 3pm. if they could, and you could so you did! it was the obvious choice! because that way you would have time to have a long relaxing, perfumed shower; making sure your legs are extra smooth for the sexy (not skanky!) short-shorts you plan to wear. and since you are in there why not dole out a dollop of that for-special-occasions-only shampoo that you got in a french boutique and only use sparingly as opposed  that regular old everyday stuff you order by the gallons online, because, life is to be celebrated. and then, well  a blowdry is what comes next – can’t do that shampoo an injustice!  shove those errands you were meant to run. that fresh outfit deserves a sleek hairdo. you’re right. it does look better that way. don’t forget to fix those two chipped on your manicure! well, after you wash off your face mask, of course. but do it soon. you want to make sure those nails are dry when you answer that text from him saying sorry honey he’s not feeling good. imploring you to raincheck ’til the weekend. its a good thing your outfit is there, folded neatly nearby, and not still hanging in those dry cleaning bags. that way when you throw your cellphone across the room its got a nice soft place to land. not like you’ll be wearing that tonight anyway.

you know who you are. and you know you are itchy.

hi,

that’s not ironic.

that’s gross.

you’ve got 70′s porn crotch on your face.

if you insist on coming into the bars with intentions of scoring some vagina (in your laconic, bored w everything hipster sort of way) it may behoove you to not arrive already wearing one on your chin.

just a thought.

furthermore, pls. take a shower.

thank you,

management

(am i the only one who hates seeing someone who looks like their ex everytime they go out?)