The Fur Bus Cometh

For those ages 23-35 looking for a good idea for a bachelorette party, I HIGHLY recommend the Fur Bus in Hotlanta. Picture an old school bus, painted in psychadelic colors, insides stripped and replaced with floor to ceiling furs of different varieties, couches lining each side and the back and blinking red lights. Did I forget to mention the killer soundtrack that Captain Jack played all night long? Apparently they have these things in other locations, so check out the web site. But if you're in Atlanta, just ask for Jack.

Statute of Grievatation

"So many tears I've cried, so much pain inside. Now baby it ain't over 'till it's over" - - Lenny Kravitz

For the recently scorned who are familiar with the lyrics of Lenny's song, you can all relate to the tears and the pain, but the part that becomes blurry to some is the ambiguous "it ain't over 'till it's over." So basically the relationship is over, but not until it's over...While it doesn't seem to make sense on the surface, we all know the exact feeling to which Lenny refers. Many women and men have a hard time defining over, explaining over and overcoming over, creating tumultuous delusions of "maybe", "one day", and "possibly."

As a victim of a very recent break-up, I decided to mend some wounds and hit up the Big Apple with a good friend. Sometimes I feel like New York is the most liberating city for these types of situations, but then most of the time it just makes me feel totally unfashionable, fat, and uncultured, defeating the purpose of my original intent. I should also mention that I had an allergic reaction to my eye make-up causing my eyes to swell up like a boxer - let's just say that I didn't get lucky. And moving back to the subject at hand. While my friend and I were consuming some excellent sushi at Cube 63, the conversation tended to lean toward the why's and how's of the end to my most-recent relationship. Situated two months deep into the break-up, I didn't feel like analyzing was completely out of the question. Moving from sushi to The Library, the bar played all songs that could be found on my ex's ipod play list - mutual favorites including Pixies, Bowie and Beck - sending me further into a state of nostalgia. I quickly downed my redbull and vodka and moved to swankier spirits like gin fizzes and champagne at the Maritime hotel - hoping that further lubrication would lead to a better situation. My friend must have been faster on the draw than I, as she had to take herself home a little bit earlier.

I found myself a cab - where I texted ex about said bar and music (such a disappointing move for me, in my recent maturity I'm never one to drink and dial/text), got to the Upper East side apartment, and was greeted at the door by a teary-eyed roommate, who I may have forgotten to mention dated my ex-boyfriend 3+ years ago. Before I could get through the front door, it was made known to me that my presence was very uncomfortable for her, that she's sorry for acting like a bitch all weekend, and that I need to understand where she's coming from. I immediately sobered up at this display, and quickly let her know that I didn't feel her behavior was rude and that I am sensitive to these types of situations (errrr - uhhh). Apparently my friend and her roommate had been in a screaming match since their arrival from the bar - and I slowly pieced it together that it was about ME and my (our) ex-boyfriend. I acted as mediator for a good bit of the exchange until I was unwillingly brought into the conversation when the roommate felt it necessary to say (all important quotes strung together to hit high points and not have to scribe entire conversation - names used for anonymity) "you just need to know that JOHN DOE(ex-boyfriend) is the love of MY life - it is very difficult to be around you - we do not have to be best friends - I had to give up my family of friends when JOHN DOE and I broke up." All the while I am thinking how bizarre it is for me to be a part of this, and I can't believe I'm responding so neutrally until…"I know you guys just broke up, I mean that he broke up with you - and I'm sorry". WOW, talk about a passive/aggressive jab, and sorry my ass. I would also like to mention that this roommate felt it would have been more appropriate for me to stay in a hotel - or my friend to have put her up in a hotel vs. staying at the apartment. So I defended myself as much as necessary, but did I really need to be defending my presence? Or my choice in men? And YOU'RE grieving ? What about me? Am I to be completely overlooked into this situation.? This girl and John Doe broke up OVER three years ago and she has hit so low as to talk to ME about her undying love? I think Wayne Campbell put it best, "Get over it ; go out with somebody else". (insert format question from Carrie Bradshaw) But then I thought, what is the statute of limitations on grieving over an ex? She obviously didn't think it was "over".

In trying to find the permissable amount of grieving time over a broken relationship, I posed the question to several friends, both male and female (please let it be known that only females responded - go figure). And many came back with similar answers…

I. The Mathematical Approach
You can build a formula for accepted grieving time based on the amount of time you and your ex-dated. I will use my most recent relationship to plug into this formula (11 months) for demonstration.

Formula 1: For every year you dated your significant other, you allow yourself 3 months.

#Years x 3 months = Acceptable Grieving
.93 years x 3 months = 2.75 months of grieving (i've got 3/4 of a month to
go!)

Formula 2: Half of the amount of time you dated your significant other.

#Months / 2 = Acceptable Grieving
11 months / 2 = 5.5 months of grieving
(is this excessive?)

Many people would probably go for Formula 2 b/c it allows you more time; however, if you dated someone for 7 years - that would be 3 1/2 years of grieving - that's wasting time in my book.

II. Getting Under to Get Over
Another answer that was repeated often was the old adage, "the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else." First of all, for the purposes of this discussion "to get under" can mean sex, hooking up, smooching, whatever you want. I don't want to discriminate between the promiscuous and the prudish. Personally, I think this theory is questionable at best. After my first love and I broke up, I found that the distraction of other men was very fun, but only because I thought it was making my ex jealous. It certainly helped me get over a certain uncomfortability of becoming intimate with a new person, but ultimately led to an unhappiness of "getting under" a series of losers who could not accept the fact that I wasn't looking for love. This go-round, the thought of being with someone else is just not appealing, and makes me think that if I were to "get under" someone, it would only make me miss the ex even more. Any one have experiences where this has helped? I also posed the question - what if you have gotten under many a people and STILL can't get over the ex. Katie writes: "Try two men at one time." I like her forward approach.


III. Oh No, You Got to Keep on Movin'
Probably the most realistic answer was pointed out by Meg: "you never fully get over them until you move on… and they never fully get over you until they fully move on." And in all honesty, we don't know how long this could take. Sometimes you go in waves of not thinking about him/her, to being fully consumed by him/her. I eventually came to a point when I was so sick of Tim (my first love) being in and out of my life, that it was all I could do to get him to leave me alone - and then - BOOM - like an atomic bomb, I fell in love again…Tim? Who?

A "Wise Old Owl" said that as far as the break-up is concerned don't grieve - accept - and move on. It's hard and you can grieve a little (3 - 6 mos max); however, if you're still grieving after that, it is from the damage to your ego (so true), not from the sadness over the breakup. Separate the event - end of the relationship - from the damage to your ego. DO NOT allow yourself the luxury of self pity or blame.

So in conclusion, when he/she wants to break up, just believe that it truly is OVER, cuz we do not have time on this earth for the gray, murky bull-shit. And if they change their minds, hopefully they won't be too proud to tell you, and hopefully you will be a better person on your own or with someone new.

Haley's Tip of the Month

On Why Your Ex should buy YOU the drink and not the other way around...

next time you let him buy you the drink. and while he's leaning over to pay, slip your hand in his pocket and grab a twenty or two for yourself. you deserve it.

Eye Nose Eye Like

turn your sound up and enjoy...i have pressed play a good 20 times

http://www.smwa.net/downloads/funny/rake_bush4.swf

The Presidential...Sweet!

I am still recovering from a long weekend in Richmond, Virginia where I attended my best friend, Ashely Sauer's wedding (excuse me, now Ashley Sauer Oswalt). Perfect weekend, no detail spared, great people, lots of champagne, you get the point.

Instead of talking about the flowers at the rehearsal dinner, let's talk about the lame attempts that the single people make for a little weekend love. Now, as a single woman myself - and one of the only single bridesmaids - I prepared myself for the weekend and tried to look as good as I could get. However, I went into the weekend knowing that I didn't want to deal with any emotionally disturbed single groomsmen, drunk/half dressed wedding attendees, or random hotel guests for that matter. But mix in the alcohol, the euphoria of a wedding ceremony, and skimpy dresses, and it's all you can do to avoid it. I unfortunately, encountered about 3 lame attempts - 2 worth noting- throughout the 4 day weekend, which mathematically isn't all that bad.

Lame Attempt #1 (Friday Night, Post-Rehearsal Dinner): Everyone tends to drink twice as much on Friday nights before a wedding for the following reasons, (1) most everyone has gotten into town and is ecstatic to see one another, but mostly it's (2) that you have to stand up in a room full of crowded people with the pressure of saying something funny b/c of (1), but then the alcohol really makes you weep which leads to further humiliation and further drinking. I unfortunately was the victim of (2). Moving right along...after the rehearsal dinner we all attempted to go to a large bar where everyone could dance, drink, etc. but as soon as we entered the record scratched (see Animal House for further details), and we quickly went back to our ritzy downtown hotel. Having been seperated from my roommate, I went upstairs to bed only to find that I couldn't get my room key to work. Instead of doing what a normal person would do, I did what a tired, inebriated person would do...I lied down in the doorway to catch some Z's while waiting for my roommate to return. Having passed out in the meantime, I was awoken by two wedding goers asking if I was okay and offering one of the 2 beds in their room. I convinced them that I was cool and knew exactly what I was doing...so what did I do? I went downstairs to the hotel bar and attempted to mingle amongst those guests who had actually not been in the lying on the hotel carpet, shoes kicked off, mascara running on face, dress revealing undies state of mind. As I floated from table to table, my aisle partner (see emotionally distrubed single groomsmen) grabs me by the wrist and asks if I would like a drink. I politely declined and explained that I was headed upstairs to bed. Please note that there has been ZERO conversational exchange up to this point. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I deliberately avoided him given his past reputation. I removed my wrist from his hand and headed to the elevator bank only to find that I was being trailed by the same guy (did I mention that he had a TERRIBLE haircut). He gets into the elevator with me (still ignoring him), then follows me to the front desk while I explain to the desk clerk my predicament (key not working - still ignoring him). And as the nice desk clerk explains that he can't give me a key b/c the room is not under my name but that he will have security escort me, Trailer starts dog cussing the front desk clerk in an attempt to be chivalrous? impress me? get into my hotel room? (black curtain REMOVED) - "EXCUSE ME, I can take care of this myself!" I exclaimed. Trailer shuts up, and I go back into ignore mode. I zig zag back to the elevator bank, Trailer right behind me, get in the elevator with two people - Trailer and security guard. Trailer attempts to make idle conversation - i do not answer. Trailer follows me and the security guard to my room saying he just wants to make sure everything's "alright". Security guard lets me in - Trailer stunned as the door opens and my roommate has returned home! (I do believe in God) My question is this, did I miss something in the past year of having a sweet boyfriend? Is there no conversation required? Does he dig the "go to hell" vibe? Do you think the bride would mind if I switched my aisle partner????

Lame Attempt #2 (Saturday Night, Post-Reception): Instead of attempting a night out on the town, everyone decided to make their way back to the hotel bar (where I clearly had lots of luck the night before). So I went upstairs, stripped off my bridesmaid dress, woke up my roommate (having had too much to drink she had to bounce early) and demanded her to change and we strolled down together. We struck up convo with the usual crowd, but then I was approached by a handsome young man, residing in Atlanta, friends of the groom who insisted that we had talked extensively the night before. Must have been one of the other 135 blondes at the party (the only difference being that mine is real - don't know what that says about me, but just have to throw that out there). Anyway, I put on my usual witty, teasing charm, and it was working like wild fire. Before I knew it I was entertaining THREE young men. As we were chatting, the Handsome Atlantan had wandering hands (I am not a fan of that) and explained to me that since he arrived to the wedding late, they ended up giving him the Presidential Suite. I quickly explained that I didn't care where he was staying as long as his moth flew away from my flame. Anyway, after my roommate had a brief skirmish with the bar staff for taking away her 1/2 drunk Bud Light, we decided to head up to one of the three boys' rooms to continue the drinking and conversation. I kept asking Handsome Atlantan if we could in fact rock the house up at the Presidential Suite, but he exclaimed that he had already cashed out his mini bar, so we were relegated to the room of the lay people (no punn intended). We sat around drinking red bull and vodka's out of wine glasses, searched for an i-pod, listened to Jay-Z, discussed whether everyone preferred "Her Pleasure" vs. "Shared Pleasure", and talked philosophically on the pageantry of SEC football. All in all a beautiful evening; however, Handsome Atlantan didn't seem to so much be contributing to the conversation as he was having side conversations with me about going up to the Presidential Suite. Once again, was I supposed to be impressed by the allure of the Presidential Suite? That this guy had some serious earning potential b/c he was staying in the Presidential Suite? Or did he just want to lay my ass out on the Presidential bed? After declining his invitation numerous times he said "hey, i've got some beers up in the room, why don't you go with me to get them, and i promise we'll come right back down". Okay so the emphasis on promise was supposed to make me feel more comfortable? In an effort to shut him up, i said "okay, let's go to the presidential suite?" Then he said "I'm not really staying in the presidential suite, it's just a larger room." Well then, what the hell am I doing up here with all you jokers anyway?

Chicken Soup for the Taco Bell Soul

It's a low-point at lunch when you have to grab some Taco Hell to get you through the day. But hey, when all you have is a one dollar bill, 6 quarters, 4 dimes and a nickel - where the hell else can you eat? I like their new marketing campaign too that tries to make you feel better about your unhealthy purchase...you know the one, the quote-laden sauce packets? Just today I grabbed 4 to go along w/ my chicken soft taco and bean burrito:

"You had me at taco." (Border Sauce ala Jerry Maguire - p.s. I hate that movie)

"It's okay...you can say it. I love you too." (Make a run for the Border cuz your date is psycho)

"Pick me! Pick me!" (Think Outside in gym class when your Bun wanted to be on the cool team)

and my favorite (maybe b/c after a stint in DC I feel for the commuters and for some reason it really reminds me of my girl, Haley)

"Does a Grilled Stuft Burrito qualify you for the car pool lane?" (seriously Haley, you know
you've asked that question yourself/attempted this in your lifetime)

Biting the Hand that Feeds You

"I'm cute and crippled, will work for food, love and sleep."

I had a bleeding heart about 2 months ago and decided to adopt a dog from the Humane Society. I got the picture of Edgar from an email circulation at work, and those beautiful blue eyes, and that pathetic little cast called me to my destiny. After a day of back and forth w/ the Humane Society, I found myself buying dog supplies and headed to pick him up and take him on his journey home. I was stoked to have a new roomy, someone to talk to when I get home, someone to go on walks with, to sleep with...I've never refused my bed to a dog.

Our relationship for the first 3-4 weeks was going wonderfully. He was doing all of the right things...I was the apple of his eye...We could read eachother's minds. Soulmates really. He barked and it's like I could just tell he wanted to go outside, or eat some dinner. It was so weird. Some could say that maybe I enjoyed his weakness, that I finally had the upper hand in a relationship, but really I just wanted to pamper him and nurture him. About 3 1/2 weeks ago, as soon as Edgar came to be healed, it's like he was a different person, not in a bad way, but in the I've-never-seen-this-side-of-you-before kind of a way. I thought, this is new, I could get use to this. Well then it was like I couldn't do anything right, you bought the wrong food, it wasn't enough food, I hate plush toys, but I love to eat your coffee table books and you put them where I can't reach them, I don't want to go to bed at 11:00pm I wanna go back outside. It's like he was back on the streets again, but he wasn't - he was under my roof.

After some personal anguish about whether or not I could make this relationship work I decided to suck it up - I mean, I'm desperate and lonely, who else am I going to meet? So in the usual fashion we woke up at 5:45 am, had our breakfast and headed out for a long walk. As soon as we turned the corner to head back home the abuse began. He started barking and barking at me, I tried to stay as calm as possible, keep walking and ignore him, but the barking continued. Then he got a hold of my pants and tried to pull me down, he kept continuously grabbing and biting at my leg until my pants were completely shredded and I was exposed to the world - not to mention the fact that I wasn't wearing underwear and was trying to keep exposure to a minimum. I knew I shouldn't do it, but I was backed into a chevy caprise and I had no choice, I dropped the leash. Tears streamed down my face and I confusingly pleaded "what do you want from me?" He continued to bite and tear and pull, and at that moment in time I was rendered helpless. I finally got away from him. Tattered, bloody and torn I called my parents for help - and he, Edgar, came back to the front door as if nothing had ever happened. I was so confused, my feelings were so hurt. But as I drove off to emergency care, he was hauled back to the humane society. I don't know if I was ever really what he wanted, and in retrospect it was probably destined to fail.

I ask about him often...wondering how he's doing...if he's moved on.

The Breakroom Breakdown

These are a few quotes that I have recently overheard on the 29th floor breakroom:

"well you know Earl. he is a really big guy and he ain't scared of nothin', so he showed up there with his whole entourage"

"if you want him to go with you to get your tatoo, I'll be happy to take care of Skye. Or I can go with you...whatever"

25 is the new 40

In a semi-recent move back to my southern hometown I quickly discovered that during my 7 year absence there was a social/dating/engagement/marriage rule book that was published. Now, although everyone seems to know about the rules, and everyone is quick to quote you the rules...nobody seems to have a copy of this book?! I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to know that an excel spreadsheet is required for an 8-person cook-out? So in an effort to inform the un-informed, I am going to do what nobody did for me and share a few rules/guidelines:

1. If you are married/seriously dating/engaged, you are not allowed to go out past 9:00pm, and most certainly not out to a bar. This rule was clearly stated to me at first arrival into the "city". In order to give you some statistical information, I would say I had about 6 really close girlfriends in town when I first moved back: 2 married, 2 getting married the next month, 1 near engagement, and 1 single in law school. In an effort to catch up w/ my friends, and to build up my own enthusiasm for my new community, I asked my girls to meet me at the neighborhood bar for a drink, when one married friend swiftly replied: "Oh, GA, I'm married, I don't need to go out to bars anymore". Um, I'm sorry - when did catching up with friends turn into skeezing on drunk men...talk about lost in translation. Secondly if you do want to involve yourself with your married friends, then just host a cook-out with other married people. It seems that grills, hamburgers and paper plates make them feel safe.

2. Three Words: Organization, Organization, Organization! I really can't emphasize this enough. I mean, if you don't know who's bringing the potato salad to Saturday night's cook-out for 8, shit is going to hit the fan. If you don't send your check in for the engagement party your hosting atleast two months in advance, your name is not going to be on the invitation and you can just go ahead and scratch your name off the list for the next party to which you'll be asked to pay $50 to eat a cracker and drink a hot beer - chalk it up to social suicide. Also, it is NEVER too early to make driving arrangements for a bachelorette party that takes place in 5 weeks at the beach. I mean, God forbid you get stranded inland and never get to sip thru a penis straw ever again.

3. Committment is Everything. Probably the most important word I've learned since being back is "committment."

- "G.A., I think that you're nervous to make a committment"

- "G.A., I'm just scared that you're never going to make a committment to one person, and you're going to wind up alone"

- (about making a particular committment) "G.A., I mean I think that this law firm job could be really good for you, not just professionally, but you could meet a lot of nice men"

It's so true, what am I waiting for? I mean, it's not like I choose to be single or have my own schedule to do whatever I want? I don't enjoy taking up every inch of my bed while sleeping - and I certainly love all that hair that men shed all over your bed, especially the day you just changed your sheets...Forget being "picky" ( and here I just thought I had "high standards") - I should just settle for the guy I talked to last night who thought I was smart b/c I knew the definition of voyeur and he didn't, whose conversation skills are limited to SEC football, hunting, and Nick Lachey (apparently a God amongst the male population here), and who still thinks it's funny to crack jokes about the jewish religion, gay culture, and the african-american race. Gosh, the committment would be so worth it, especially if i just kept his mouth duck-taped throughout our entire committed relationship. But then if his mouth is ducktaped how am I supposed to enjoy things like, oh well, nevermind....I'm such a cunning linguist.

Water Bill Currently Lapsed...

SINC = Single Income No Children.

Stay tuned for updated non-sense under headings such as:

"Running Water"- mindless thoughts

"Hot H2o Burn Baby" - stories from childhood

"Busted Pipes" - unfortunate life events

"Plumber's Crack" - hilarious happenings

"Nozzles Off" - the dating life of a female SINC

and

"Overflow" - anything and everything that cannot be categorized