fingertalks needs to talk

I know doll-faced Fingertalks through her blog and real life. We egg each other on to continue updating our blogs, which usually turns into a pen-flinging contest over cubical walls.

I’ve been bugging her for MONTHS to post on a particular topic. And since SHE HAS NOT , I’m going to give my perspective and LIGHT A FIRE UNDER HER ASS. (CAPS!)

A few months ago, Fingertalks was crushing on a guy deemed Casanova. I don’t believe in the “league” thing. But if I did – I would define him as scalping tickets in Utah to the World Series between the Yanks and Red Sox because he didn’t know what the hell he had or what to do with it. I digress.

Some people can feel down and out when crushes/relationships end. So I enrolled Fingertalks on a dating Web site. Behind her back. I’m an evil genius.

I had to scrape her jaw off the floor when I told her the next day. And the fun has ensued. She hasn’t gone on a date (yet!) but I constantly pester her to check her many, MANY emails from potential lovers. Or stalkers. It’s a very fine line.

I just wanted her to see what kind of guys are out there in the big world. Or the tri-state area at least. Don’t get me wrong – for every 2451 guys that send a message, there may be one that potentially won’t suck.

I was certainly was a skeptic at first. All those creepy messages – the guy who expressed a need to cuddle with me, the 60-year-old that wanted a family – can bug a girl out.

Even the dates could flop - I went on a date where the guy hummed every time there was silence. I told myself to ditch online after that. But I scheduled another date, with another guy – just to be sure I was done with the web dating.

Now we’ve been seeing each other for nearly nine months. I don’t assume it will work for everyone – but I think Fingertalks should give it a try. Or at least tell you what kind of guys she attracted. The results are wonderful!

oatmeal mondays

Sometimes I feel beige – hopelessly dull and plain. This moments strike at the oddest times and usually last for a flickering second. But this time it’s lasted for a month. I don’t feel compelled or inspired to do anything but bloat myself with mindless tasks that drain the minutes and eat the day. Waking, driving, working, driving, sleeping – I want to rebel from the tediousness of it all but I can’t even work up the strength to do that. Slap in some time for tea and Pop-tarts and that’s every weekday.

Every Monday, just like today, I’m just wishing for the weekend.

holiday shopping sucks

Christmas shopping has always been hard for me. I can never find the “perfect” gift. And this year I’m just completely freakin’ clueless. My family is hard enough to shop for. Mom might be clothes. Dad will probably be electronics. Sister will be happy with anything high-end, which is great for ideas, bad for the wallet. And now I have to add the boyfriend to the list.

So in my search for “perfect” gifts – I thought I would share a few failures. Or some that bomb so hard, they are brilliant. Enjoy!

Breakfast of the Month Club: I’ve heard of fruit and beer – but breakfast is wonderful. Nothing says love like flapjacks. Better than the Beef Jerky of the Month Club. And I’m not kidding - there is such a thing.

Adam and Eve: Add your faces to a picture of Adam and Eve. That sounds romantic. Post it in the living room. But do you really want your parents imagining you and your partner only in a fig leaf?

365 Warm Wishes: It’s a jar filled with little pieces of paper saying things about love, hope and happiness. Awwwwwwww. It’s completely adorable, right? And after your done reading all those messages, you can puke in the jar. It only costs you $30.

Slanket: It’s not an endangered species. It’s a blanket with SLEEVES. You would have to be an evil genius to come up with this. It looks like a fuzzy mu-mu. In light blue. I always complain about being cold, but I’d rather freeze than wear this thing.

Stuffed STD's: STD's shouldn't be cute - it's just wrong.

left field? more like outta the ballpark

A little more than a year ago I broke up with my boyfriend of two years. Don’t cry for me Argentina – you too Paraguay. So in between the break up and the meet up with my current (wonderful) boyfriend, it’s safe to say I “dabbled” in the dating world.

I went on one date with this guy – we’ll call him Jess (because that’s his name) – and he never called me after that one date. It was an okay date – walk around Hoboken in the freezing cold, grab a milkshake, talk about life’s randomness. He impressed me by bringing me flowers and a mini stapler (I was really special). You know, what 14 year-olds dream of for a first date. Without the copious amounts of giggling. At the end of the night we parted with an awkward hug and that was basically the last I heard from him.

That is, until Thursday. He decided to send me an email apologizing for never calling me – and calling himself a jerk. He detailed a list of personal family problems for excuses – and then explains that those aren’t excuses and he should have called me. (To any guys out there – don’t tell a girl your entire life story and then say “but I still had time – I could have called you.” That will just piss us off further. I promise.) He then says, several times, that his lack of communication has bothered him for months and he planned on emailing me much sooner.

And he should have – because I could have reassured him that I didn’t care. Did he think that our one date was groundbreaking, and by him not calling I would throw myself into a deep well of depression? Or that I was sitting at my computer, constantly hitting the refresh button, waiting anxiously for another email? Wondering, “Why didn’t he call? WHAT DID I DO WRONG?!”

Eh. I lived. And what do you even write back to that? “Yeah, um, sorry but – I kind of moved on. Months ago. Pretty much two days later. Sorry you wasted months toiling over whether or not to email me. You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that. Have a great life!”

The only time I remembered him was when that damn stapler broke. I miss that stapler.

sweet, sweet music

I learn a lot from my little sister - like how my style is outdated.

Last month my sister let me in on a site called Pandora. I'm sure the whole world knows about it. But for the people who are behind the curve (like yours truly) - you pick your favorite artists and Pandora links you with similar music. I am FREAKIN' in love.

Pandora is like having a wonderful, emotional boyfriend that makes you mix-tapes of music that remind him of you - and then names them after experiences you have together. Like compiling Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat and naming it "Eating Cotton Candy."

My friends don't listen to my "kind" of music - which can be best described as mellow, weepy folk lite. So I'm glad Pandora can recommend more music that makes me want to soak in a warm tub surrounded by lavender candles.

aliens!

John Hodgman doesn’t just play a PC on TV! Hodgman can spin a yarn. Well, this video is more of a blanket. This video is hilarious if you like dry humor and geeks. Takes about 4:20 to mention New Jersey – but I think Hodgman misses the real aliens at the shore.

can i add life experience to my resume?

Help wanted pages always depress me. Not that it takes very long anymore – the pages aren’t enough to line a birdcage. What always bothers me is that most jobs ask for years of experience.

Ten years experience? I would have been 12 and pining away for Kevin from the Backstreet Boys – I always had a thing for square jaws.

Seven years experience? Yeah – the 15 year-old me would be rushing through high school halls lined with yellow lockers. Probably rushing to finish homework I had forgotten to do the night before because I was painting my nails blue and arguing with my first “real” boyfriend. And by “real” I mean I didn’t giggle and run away when I saw him.

Five years experience? Does booking hair and make-up from D.C. count as scheduling? What about freaking that you won’t get to Jersey before prom because you are stuck at a Model United Nations conference during a massive snow storm – crisis experience?

Three years experience? Pharmacy technician doesn’t work well on a journalism resume. But you try asking a crazy lady about her medical insurance while screaming at her devilish children. That prepared me for asking questions, listening and typing as fast as humanly possible – before those kids knocked down another Hallmark display.

All I have is one year of experience – an “internship,” which is a fun way for newsrooms to work you to the bone and pay you next to nothing. I loved every minute of it – calling strangers, setting up interviews, getting to the heart of things, taking pictures, pushing toward a deadline, looking over pages.

But it’s only a year. Maybe I can add that I know all the words to the “Larger than Life” to my resume. I’m sure that will give me some bonus points.