Single and Ready to Mingle

A dangerous epidemic has had an outbreak in Charlotte recently. It tends to be most common in 20-something women who have the privilege of calling themselves my friends. Its symptoms often include: excessive whining, pouting, and overall sad-facing about being single. 

Would you like that whine in red or white? Enough already.

Call me crazy, but I love being single. Every day that I come home, slap on some sweatpants, pop a Lean Cuisine in the microwave, and settle down to watch Real Housewives, I thank my lucky stars that no one is depending on me for a piping hot dinner or lifelong companionship.  For a couple of weeks I was dating a guy who called me once every seven days or so. Hello, smothered? Give me some space already, I feel like the walls are closing in! I’m not a lady of leisure who has THIRTY MINUTES to spend on the phone every week. (Though I do spend two hours watching Real Housewives. I obviously have my priorities straight.)

Which brings me to my new life goal: to date someone who works all the time. Then I could watch Real Housewives without feeling embarrassed, he’d buy me things out of guilt for being gone all the time, and I could probably still eat Lean Cuisines.  A girl can only dream…

This year, a lot of my friends (myself included) will turn 25.  I’ve already attended a few birthday dinners in which the honoree teared up over her tequila shots martinis and moaned “I’m just not where I thought I’d be when I turned (sob) TWENTY-FIVE!”

Hey, birthday girl? You’re probably “not where you thought you’d be” because you’re still drunk crying, which I’m pretty sure the rest of us got out of our systems freshman year. Of high school.

So you thought you’d be engaged by now and you’re not. Bummer. At 25 I thought I’d for sure be able to afford Target clothes whenever I wanted, and I can’t. Sad. Let’s sum up: I still have a Target clothing budget and you’re still single. Life goes on.

Think back to all of your sucky ex-boyfriends who were more devoted to College Gameday than your relationship, bought you crappy presents, and never hit it off with your girlfriends. Would you rather be married to them? If the answer is “yes”, please stop reading, because you really should spend your lucid hours reading “Co-Dependent No More” or something.

Here’s my cure for the epidemic: Buy a new outfit. Go out with your friends. Flirt. Stop beating yourself up over what you don’t have and start appreciating what you do. Read My Every Single Thought by Corinne Mucha. Remember that the Universe is on your side in everything you do. And for heaven’s sake, stop the drunk crying. 

Cowboy Lemonade

 I may suck at cooking, (and by “suck” I mean that Ethiopians would probably pass on whatever it is that I’m making), but there is one thing I’m skilled at concocting: cocktails. During a recent weekend getaway to Clemson, my dear friend Katie introduced me to a delish new concoction called Cowboy Lemonade. I find the name misleading, because I've never met a cowboy who drank Bud Light Lime. Then again, I've never met a cowboy. 

(Source)

Here goes:

1 12 oz can frozen lemonade

Vodka

2 can of light beer-Bud Light Lime works well here

A pitcher to mix all of this deliciousness

Empty contents of frozen lemonade into a pitcher. Fill empty lemonade can once with water, add to pitcher. Fill with vodka, add to pitcher. Crack open your ice cold Bud Lights, add to pitcher. Stir contents of pitcher. Drink contents of pitcher while hunting for a tailgate with awesome food.

Which we found:

Happy Gameday!

Real Housewives Recap: Who's Party is It?

Source

This week's episode cut down on the glitz (as much as it can be cut down) so we could see how the RH actually live. Turns out, Taylor lives in her own little bubble that no one cares about understands, Lisa keeps getting cooler every episode, and all of the other Wives are pretty boring. 

We start of with Taylor deciding that four years old is when her daughter should receive her first "special" piece of jewelry. I'm pretty sure I'm twenty-four and still waiting for my mom to decide that. I guess these jewelers in Beverly Hills have heard it all, since they jumped right on board Taylor's crazy boat and started showing her Barbie necklaces that cost upwards of $1,500. I don't know if Taylor actually has met her daughter, since I can tell you any necklace that's not up a four year olds nose in five minutes flat is destined to be buried on the playground. 

Cut to Camille arranging her trip to Hawaii with her two children, two nannies, and house manager. Apparently, delegating to other people to pack, get your house ready, and take care of your children 24/7 is more work than I thought, because she keeps moaning about how long her to-do list is. We get it, Camille, we get it! Has Camille heard of single working mothers? You know, women who get up, get their kids ready for school, put them on the bus, go to work, work all day, pick their kids up, cook them dinner, put them to bed-by themselves.I'm pretty sure they would argue that you really had 30% more to do than anyone else. 

Kyle is show meeting with her party planner, who seems to be one of the most innovative minds in the industry. His suggestion: cool it with the overdone Alice in Wonderland themed parties, and instead throw a PRINCESS PARTY! What a refreshing idea for a little girl's celebration. Way better than a lame, overdone, cliched Alice in Wonderland theme. I mean, how many little girls have princess parties? Oh right. All of them. 

Strangely, we then cut back to Camille sitting in a hot tub. (We have yet to see any other Housewives in bikinis, but Camille seems to be in about ten per episode.) She's with some fat man she calls a "dear friend" who keeps telling her how hot she looks. We get it! Then she blabs on about how they let some friends live in one of their "homes" when they were having financial problems because she just "loves giving back". How awesome. I'm sure letting people live in an extra house that's a symbol of your excessive lifestyle is truly gratifying. 

Lisa takes her son to tour the Musician's Institute in Hollywood, where she makes him play his guitar for the admissions officer. Based on the lack of rhythm and awkward snapping, ( (I think there might have been a "Wooo, yeah!" thrown in somewhere as well) I'm guessing the admissions guy had never seen a musical instrument before. Oh well, Lisa approved of the school anyway. 

Then the magical day has arrived: Taylor's birthday party. Oops! I meant her daughters. I was starting to wonder if this "daughter" really existed, until the little angel appeared at her party long enough to cross her arms, stomp her feet, and be shuffled off with the Hispanic nanny. Taylor uses these precious, child-free moments to allow the party photographer to take pictures of her. By herself. How sweet.

Taylor's husband then surprises the little girl (and Taylor!) with a puppy. Correct me if wrong, but I'm pretty sure the golden rule(s) of buying dogs is:

1) Don't buy them as gifts

2) Don't buy them as gifts for four year olds

Happy Housewives watching! May your weekend be as long and refreshing as Camille's self-gratuitous bikini shots.

Real Housewives Recap: Viva Las Vegas

Ah, 90210. You never fail to disappoint. 

This week's episode starts with Camille Grammar panting, stretching, and making ball jokes to her (extremely handsome) tennis partner. Gross. We get it Camille. You are blond, sexy, and married to a dinosaur of a sitcom star Kelsey Grammar. We.Get.It.

Cut to Lisa strolling through the kitchen of Villa Blanca in her studded Louboutins and greeting everyone by name. This seems a world apart from my experience working in a restaurant, in which the sweaty Israeli owner was usually yelling at me and calling me Ashley. To each their own!

Then (surprise!) all of the Housewives (and husbands) head to Vegas for the weekend. (Don't they do this a lot on RHO Orange County as well?) Adrienne, owning the Palms and all, gets all of the couples a kick ass room with amazing views of the city. 

Then we cut to Kim. Poor, lonely Kim wandering aimlessly through the hotel suite and wishing out loud that she had someone to share it with. Hey Kim? There are worse things than being single. Like being married to Taylor's bald, awkward husband. 

P-E-R-S-P-E-C-T-I-V-E. 

Moving on to dinner, Taylor explains to the group that she pursued bald, awkward Russell for three months before he would go out with her. Based on the amount of people coughing in their napkins to avoid laughing, I would start lying about this part of the story. Maybe say you met on eharmony? Apparently money can buy you big ol lip injections but not a husband with a personality full head of hair. 

Then we cut to Camille's Hair Flipping Extravaganza 2010. (We get it, Camille. We. Get. It.) She also makes a big show of saying she doesn't drink, then orders tequila shots with the husbands at 9:03 am. Rock on, sister! But don't wonder why women don't want to be friends with you. 

Off-camera, Kyle and Camille apparently have a "misunderstanding" in which Kyle is asking questions and Camille is acting like a dumb ass. Since it wasn't caught on camera, I can't say that I really care. Supposedly we see the the way this "forever alters their relationship" in episodes to come. Yawn. 

Until next week, may your Vuitton steamer trunks remain unscathed as you retrieve them from baggage claim...

Real Housewives Recap: Bourg-hetto

I meant to post this on Tuesday, but my Teach for America application, grad school work, and need for sleep took preference. I apologize and assure you I'm still fully devoted to Real Housewives of every city. 

Here's why I like RHOATL: They trashy, they aren't really rich, and they rarely know what they're talking about. While many would be disheartened that people so shallow and insignificant get millions of viewers an episode, I'm much less cerebral about the whole thing. Let's get some popcorn and see who pulls Kim's poufy white girl wig this week! (Seriously, though. Is it just me or do they get larger every episode? Chill out homegirl.)

Sheree, formerly my least favorite, has now become a one-woman quote factory in her interviews. Plus, did anyone notice her "Who Gonna Check Me, Boo?" workout shirt? It's already on my Christmas list. Some of the best quotes from Sheree:

In regards to NeNe's plastic surgery: "If I had plastic surgery everytime I had marital problems, I'd look like Dwight."

In regards to NeNe's plastic surgery pt. II: "I'm all real. But now if I started doing the dishes? That would be fake."

Most of this season seems to be devoted to the Black Tammy Faye Baker Phaedra, who never got the memo that maybe a "high-powered entertainment lawyer" shouldn't wear frosted eyeshadow halfway up one's forehead. 

But the woman knows how to throw one heck of a baby shower! Weird interpretive dancing, a waltz with a gay man, white roses in her hair that seemed to have no rhyme or reason...what better way to celebrate a new life joining us on earth? The other Housewives seemed equally appreciative, "Just stab me in the neck and put me out of my misery,", "Keep drinking and it will be alright".

Always the wise sage of the group, Kim offered this advice during the interpretive dancing: "Sit in a f--king rocking chair, open your gifts, eat some cake, and call it a day...even if you're having a girl, this s**t doesn't make sense."

Ah yes, but if it made sense it would be Real Housewives of Atlanta. I leave you with this gem of Kim Zolciak's melodic genuis:

Party in the USA

I just lied. Through my teeth. (Well, really through my text.)

A girlfriend just asked me where we should go out tonight. (The Dando? Obvi.) I had to rain check with the excuse that I was "busy", which I am.

Busy doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

  And it's awesome.

I started out by testing my Cooking Light skills, (which I obviously need) and was pretty impressed with myself. (Needless to say, it doesn't take much for me to be impressed with myself.)

Check out my recipe for Open-Faced Sandwiches with Ricotta, Arugula, and Fried Egg. And by "my" recipe, I  mean a recipe written by someone who knows what the hell they’re doing in a kitchen. That someone? Is not me.

 P.S. I subbed spinach for the arugula, because I'm poor cheap and already had it in my fridge. 

Onto Act II of my wild evening, where I catch up on my Tivo: Real Housewives of Atlanta, Cougar Town, and Modern Family. My 9pm bedtime narcolepsy refuses to allow me to see any of these shows at their original air times, and I'll need to be able to make conversation about these pillars of popular culture when I eventually decide to rejoin society.

Act III includes finishing my book (for book club!), a cup of tea, and slumber before my friends are even slipping on their stilettos for the night.

So I’ll never be labeled a party animal. Whatever. By the end of the week, I need a break from little people touching me, talking to me, and stepping on my feet. A bar is the last place I want to be. But my bar ban only last for the next 24 hours or less. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, Charlotte. 

Tonight, I’m busy.

Big Fat Deal

I apologize (to all five of you who read this blog) for the serious lack of posts the past month, but grad school has been killing me. (Read: I have bad time management skills.)

Plus, I've been dating a lot recently. (By "a lot" I mean "a number higher than zero".) 

The energy it takes to constantly 

1) look cute and 

2) make witty conversation

is waaaay more than you would think. I'm exhausted.

But onto a more pressing worry that I've been experiencing lately. I've been insatiably hungry the past week or so, and figure it must be one of two possibilities:

1) I'm headed down Obesity Highway

2) I'm losing weight so rapidly from calorie reduction that Sports Illustrated is considering me for their next swimsuit issue.

I hope it's choice (2) but have a sneaking suspicion it's actually (1). This is based on highly scientific evidence I've gathered, in which everyday I eat:  a full breakfast, a snack, my students' snack, my lunch, their lunch, something when I get home, some of roomie's dinner, dessert, and a glass of wine. (What? I have to take the edge off all of that eating. And spending all day with children.)

Plus, my pants are tight and I hate every picture that is taken of me from the neck down. Sometimes the neck up, as well. Water weight, anyone?

Any thoughts? (By that I mean "feel free to leave comments and tell me that I am skinny. Otherwise, keep your trap shut.)