Or, Would You Need a Ride?

A few weekends ago I made plans to have a relaxing Saturday at the park with my gal pal Ophelia and her two babies. One is very new, and the older one is three years old. Super blonde, growing up super fast. We call him Little Man. He is funny.

The week before, I went to a networking dinner that, by the time Wednesday came, I really didn’t feel like going to. It was a great deal at only $30 for the multiple-course meal at a restaurant that I really like and the ticket was purchased in advance. So, although I hate networking and I don’t have business cards, I went. Great.

I walk in and almost immediately start talking to the only cute guy that was there. People were trickling in because the dinner didn’t start until 7, with cocktails from 6-7 (not included in the price of the dinner). It turns out, we had assigned seats next to each other and spent the evening together. When it came time to change seats for dessert, we scandalously decided to stick together and move tables as a pair.

He just moved back to town from SF and bumped into old college buddy at the dinner and the three of us went out for a drink after. There was some slight leg touching at the new bar but, in good form, I took an Uber home at 10:30 lest I turn into a pumpkin. We exchanged numbers and I told him to “call me” and we parted ways.

I didn’t feel drunk until I woke up at 1:30am dying of thirst. And definitely drunk. Whoops. Guess the wine and martini eventually matriculated into my blood stream. Thursday, therefore, was a little bit rough. UGH weeknight drinking. What a drag.

To my surprise, after dragging myself to go work out after class in the afternoon, I get a phone call. And it’s the guy! He CALLED. Didn’t text, called. Points. Double points! He asked what I was doing Saturday and I told him I had plans to go to the park and also had a big paper due. I didn’t want to commit to anything (did I mention the hangover?) and suggested I give him a call on Saturday.

Saturday comes and I am refreshed as fuck! I got up, worked out, went to the farmer’s market, VOTED, and squeezed in a jog before meeting my friend. I was picking up some snacks and gave the guy a call to see if he was still free. Phone conversation is awkward. He’s a nerdy-type but I let that slide. No formal plans are made. I suggest a few things and tell him to text me later since I won’t be attached to my phone.

We have so much fun at the park! Two girls, the babes, some wine. A lot of strawberries that our Little Man demolished. I was worried that when I went out that night I wouldn’t have anything to talk about except kids (and that might freak him out). It would also be a gross misrepresentation if he thought I was super into kids.


Alas, text messages are exchanged and we finally make plans to go see the Chinese Lanterns at City Park and then go somewhere for drinks. Sounds good to me. Sold. But at this point, I’m starving and we’ve split a bottle of wine. Ophelia and I decide to take the kids to a favorite spot for some happy hour drinks and pizza. We’ve got to get out of the sun anyway. Must. Keep. Youthful. Skin. (We’ve decided it’s all about the summer scarves.)

We sit down at the restaurant and I see a text that says “Does 8 work for you? We could meet there? Or would you need a ride?”

Umm is this a date? Do I “need a ride”?! NO. I hear that Tinder hook ups often start liek that but we’d already had dinner together. And then went out for drinks. Jeesh. I don’t even want to go. I’ve been in the sun all day and now I have to dance around an “is this a date” situation. Woof.

(Let it be noted that many of my friends pointed out that Sometimes Boyfriend could basically say anything and I’d still meet up but this guy asks if I “need a ride” and I’m incensed.)

So I said “I actually kind of have a headache” and then “Maybe rain check” END SCENE.

He later invited me to the orchestra. With only 24 hours notice. Thanks, guy. I said yes but then accidentally stood him up. I kind of tried to date?! I swear, I am totally working on “moving on” I just am off to a slow start.

On the plus side, who needs boys when you’ve got girlfriends and it is berry season! Om nom nom.




I Don’t Give a Pho

This morning, I drove out to Kenner to get a much-need bikini wax. In light of my recent boy situation, I postponed my regularly scheduled appointment in favor of rocking that 1960-70’s pinup look should the highly unlikely opportunity to drop my pants (or put on a bathing suit) arise between Mardi Gras and the end of midterms.

I felt a little bit bad about moving my appointment as my gal is expecting, and I’m sure she and her husband are saving as much as possible in anticipation of their bundle of joy. That aside, I figured she’d understand my graduate student poverty mixed with the dark pit of sadness thanks to the end of an era of Sometimes Boyfriend, and we’d chat amicably as she tried her hardest to distract me from the fairly painful hair removal. She would probably be incredibly optimistic, remembering how many times in the past I’d rearrange my wax appointments for every whim (or cancellation) of Sometimes Boyfriend, about how there are definitely others out there.

She really is the best – we can cover a lot about our respective lives in the 20 minutes that we see each other a month because it is imperative to talk the ENTIRE time, with the exceptions of a few pain-filled yelps on my part that are reciprocated by her very endearing “I know…”, about what-the-fuck-ever in order to distract from the discomfort. (She’s going to make an excellent mother.) Beauty is (pain?). Also, I got hooked because razors suck and the nice ones have gotten insanely expensive. I’ve also found that guys don’t really care. They wan to sleep with you. Of course who doesn’t like a sexy treat, but the light fuzz between waxes is really no thing at all unless you are 19 and insecure or unfamiliar with the art of sex.

Side note: Sign me up for that laser stuff (I’m overcoming my fear of a a laser being that close to such an important body part as it’s been on the scene for quite some time) as soon as I’ve got the budget. For real.

Anyway, downstairs in the shopping center there is an excellent Vietnamese place. The legit kind that would be worth the drive in its own right. They have the most excellent rare flank steak pho that I look forward to. And – in case you didn’t know, pho is a traditional Vietnamese breakfast – they open at 10 AM so I can make myself feel better with a steaming bowl of pho post-wax.


Sadly, today, I didn’t plan for soup and made myself a hearty breakfast after my usual 6 AM workout. I also napped. Nothing like deadlines, insomnia, and a foggy morning to make a nap appealing. So, when I arrived to find out that Elena (the lovely gal to whom I am a loyal client) wasn’t feeling well (that baby!) and wasn’t coming in today, I couldn’t even make the drive worthwhile with some soup. Boo.

“No, I don’t want to see someone else,” I said to the apologetic receptionist who didn’t get around to calling me before I left my house.

And, in true single-gal + I don’t give a fuck mentality I went ahead and moved it back a whole week. Because lets be honest, it is going to rain the next three days and I’m also lined up to hang out with my favorite kitty cat this weekend and he definitely doesn’t care. I can’t even hang out in anything satin or lace because he loves to massage on my stomach making little pricks with his tiny, yet sharp, claws.

So, since pho was out of the question unless I wanted to feel like a balloon expanded in my stomach, I promptly drove back to Mid City to get to work. Writing is fun! And then indulged in a warm, house-made chocolate chip cookie at my favorite neighborhood coffee spot. Because I’m bad like that.

Next Wednesday, I’ll make sure to be prepared to eat, just in case.

Repent/Purgatory (And 20 Min. Dinner)

Well, the last ten days have been hellish. I believe the phrase that was sent my way was “Odd how vengeance does not make one feel better. Just vengeful.” Pine over that for a few minutes. I certainly did.

On the bright side, this dude that got my number without permission from my roommate’s phone one night while they were having drinks after work has finally decided to stop texting me. I guess I could have blocked him, but there was a little bit of astonishment that these messages kept coming, even though I never, ever wrote back.


There were more… Saturday at 12:14am: “What you doing”

Saturday at 5:33 am : “????????” then “Can i come over”

FINALLY on Sunday at 1:25 am: “Damn I’m done” and then “I’ll delete your number”

Good call, buddy. Seeing as I never gave it to you. Never responded to your texts. And SURE one night we flirted and danced at a late-night spot back in December but then when I bumped into you on Christmas at the bar, you were like “UMMM I have a girlfriend” – Hence why I never had any desire to hang out with you again or dance with you again and certainly give zero fucks whether you guys broke up and now feel compelled to send me unsolicited text messages.

I certainly earned the many, MANY apologies my roommate gave me for allowing his phone to be commandeered.

In other news, I had a midterm last week and am currently sorting out the writing of an epic term paper for a graduate course on “The Novel.” So, as I am trying to manage my 6am workouts and my internship and every now and again check to make sure I’m still a whole person, maybe neurotically check my email for a message from a certain someone, I decided to make my favorite breakfast dish into an early dinner today.

Eggs in Purgatory – Pasta Style! (warning: for high-stress times only)

Oh my god so fucking good. Although, as I said, not something I will make regularly because this constitutes a gluttonous binge-like meal where far too many calories were consumed. But here is the gist of my semi-homemade tasty treat:

Step 1: Boil water and salt liberally.

Step 2: In the meantime, slice about a half of a green bell pepper and two large cloves of garlic. (I skipped the onion today. I might have added mushrooms if I had them, but honestly, sometimes simple is best.)

Step 3: Once the pasta is in (I used penne this afternoon), sautee the pepper and garlic in a little bit of olive oil in a small skillet. *Use a bigger one if you are making for two.

Step 4: Cover with a really (I mean really) simple tomato sauce. I used the Walgreen’s Nice! traditional pasta sauce because it is as simple as they come in a jar. Once the sauce comes to a boil and there is about 3 minutes left on your pastas, crack an egg on top and season with salt and pepper. Place a lid on top.


Once your egg looks like that, drain the pasta. Pour into a bowl and top with grated Parmesan. Gently top pasta with sauce and egg and then, because this is SAD PEOPLE FOOD, add Mozzerella cheese too.

And then get in bed and flip on your Netflix. Who cares if it is 4:30 pm on a beautiful Friday. I sure as fuck don’t.

See you bitches in hell.