February 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
It doesn’t matter if it’s one glass or four, I get the wine lips. Since my apartment is pretty much the place where wine goes to die, I looked into the prevention of this reaction. We all know, wine isn’t the most hydrating refreshment on the market. I’m generally a dry person… dry skin, dry humor, dry gin. That’s not true, I hate gin. My lips will start cracking on my second glass of vino and it’s all down hill from there. Involuntary lip rouge.
But why, wine, why do this to your loyal companion? The truth is, the very thing that embodies the taste, is the same thing that stains the lips, just like cooking with butter. Tannins are the natural compounds in wine, coming from the grape itself and the barrels wine is matured in. Tannins will also turn your mouth purple. They are an excellent antioxidant and natural preservative. They are also responsible for giving the wine structured flavor, taking your mouth on a dimensional journey through happiness.
So what’s the fix for a wine mouth? Vaseline or flavorless lip balm. You can also try to drink wine with a low tannin content: young wines, Merlot, or Pinot Noirs, and avoid the high tannin content of Cabernet Sauvignon or Shiraz. Either that or drinking so much you just don’t care. That’s what I usually do, since Shiraz is my number one drink of choice. If you’re going to be a wine-o, you’ll have to deal with residual wine lips anyway.
***I hope you enjoyed the first addition of the Monday Mind Morsel, a little education, a little something to think about as we enter another week as modern ladies. CHEERS!
February 23, 2011 § Leave a comment
I was feeling bummed after I got sorta dumped by the Polar Bear, but I have the best friends in the entire world. Wait a sec… did I just say that? Ever notice how everyone says that, like it’s an Olympic Competition. Akihiko’s girls from Japan are really beating out Zelda’s German besties. What a huge upset for Sharonda’s sistas from the US, who currently hold the world record for best friends. Who will win the gold metal as the gaggles sew circles around themselves and braid each other’s hair? We’ll be one step close to finding out, after the pillow fight.
As if Zelda’s friends are faster, stronger and more proficient at everything than my friends. Whatever, I don’t even half-like Zelda’s friends so they really couldn’t be the best in the world. So yeah, I’ve got some good people that like me and think I’m pretty cool, and even though it was a Tuesday, they took me to see an improv show across town, complete with before and after drinks and pizza. You got to love hanging out with classy ladies. You know, those fashion forward friends who look like they’ve been styled by whoever dresses those Gossip Girl kids even when enduring hung-over brunch. So we all looked great and hooked up with few other stylish acquaintances during our post show drink. I was feeling much better and engaged in some heavy conversation with one of my girls. Like a piano up a four-story building, heavy… a full sized punching bag in a bucket of cement, heavy… wading through thick mud at a Nascar event, heavy. But this type of talk is therapeutic especially when accompanied by a cold beer, low lights, classic rock and small groups of weekday liquid chatter bellowing in the background. We were on to some healthy rationalizations.
Now this girl isn’t just pretty like a normal pretty. She’s pretty like knock out but doesn’t know it bombshell. The type of pretty that’s contagious. You look better just by standing next to her. Not the type of gorgeous that makes you look worse in comparison, but the type that radiates, heating you in its hotness just by getting close. A fireplace of beauty, a Glamshell. And everyone knows that one night you go out just to be out is the night you get hit on by every bumbling bruiser trying to get some action. We were doomed for harassment. So of course this heavy convo gets interrupted.
The tall hipster approached us, hair in a not quite effortless faux-halk (when is that going to go out of style?). He was polite and introduced himself. That’s the thing with hipsters, their pants are so tight they are only capable of curbing their pompous attitudes when they want something. He mentioned that he was the appointed representative from his group of dudes sent over to persuade us to join them. Although he was cordial, he did exude extreme selfishness by interrupting our obviously deep conversation. I mean, he didn’t even wait for a contemplative pause or an affected sigh. He just inserted his wet noodle handshake between us mid-sentence. I’m not just pissed off because he wasn’t my type, but the epiphany we were about to reach was lost completely.
Both the Glamshell and I stared, dumbfounded that someone, even a hipster, would have the audacity to barge in on two strangers like that. I’m usually pretty bad at dodging men I don’t want to talk to. Me and @Twenty-Six will go out, get taken advantage of our politeness for hours at a time, get trapped into the ol’ I’ll text you right now trick, then have to dodge texts for the next two weeks from that pest we didn’t have the heart kill in the first ten mins. So when this hipster launched his wooing speech, I did what I always do, avert eye contact and answer questions with as few words as possible. I believe this oozes an I don’t even want to share complete sentences with you, that’s how little I want to get to know you vibe. However, I am reconsidering my approach after watching the Glamshell in action.
Sure she probably gets these parasites all the time, and they aren’t the good parasites that balance the circle of life. First she appears aloof, stating that she’s just passing through, not really sticking around. With the help of her New Zealand accent, the guy draws the conclusion that she really is traveling the world and not paying rent five miles away. She then out right makes it clear that we were having an A/B conversation and she didn’t appreciate the interruption (for which he offered NO apology, even after she called him out). Then she mentions her boyfriend in the very next sentence. After that the most astonishing thing happened, the hipster paused and considered for a second. He asked me if I had a boyfriend as well. Yes! I said ‘yes,’ conforming to the Glamshell’s lead. Then he looked at us with the severity of a CEO of a corporate conglomerate and said, “well then, we have no business between us.” With that he returned to his dudes.
No business?! As if it was some type of transaction to have a conversation! All he wanted was to negotiate the exchanging of goods, on a Tuesday! Can’t imagine how it would’ve gone from there. We would have been signing non-disclosures if he had bought us a drink.
Lesson learned, you got to kill the spider before it lays it’s eggs. I also must perfect an exotic accent. I could probably pass for Kiwi if it wasn’t for the Irish all over my face. Most people expect an Irish person to be drunk and funny, and I can’t pull funny off and concentrate on an accent while drunk. But, I’ll tell ya… the next hipster to hit on me in the middle of figuring out the meaning of life is in real trouble.
February 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
To recap, I am in debt to the Tall Musician aka the Polar Bear because he did some work for me, a business favor that I have yet to repay. Kill me.
So… I think I was dumped yesterday. Yeah, no real way to tell for sure, but it smells like a dumping. I didn’t see the Polar Bear for two weeks. And after many failed attempts to make plans with him, I gave up. I was on my way out on Sunday near his part of town so I called and asked if he was around so I could retrieve my phone charger. I stopped by. Our conversation, while brief, went well. Although, I think he was covering for himself or feeling guilty, because he kept on saying how busy he was. Our rapport was normal, regular, the usual ho-hum. I didn’t feel like he was actually being different or weird or putting on a show. Then when it was time to leave, I kinda swooped in and boldly went for a kiss and I got intercepted by an awkward hug, like a butt-out-ugly-aunt hug, with a side of fumbling for who’s arm goes on top. Stunned, I made a disgusted face and simply walked out without saying a word. I didn’t look back. In fact, I laughed right out loud. Did that just happen? Really? Really?!
He could have at least said something about never wanting to see my face again. Whatever, I’ll play his game. Okay, let’s be super awkward now and hope that it just goes away. Pretty sure I get the point. But we DID talk about him consulting on the project further. Does he need some time to think about this or did I mix business with pleasure and then get dumped for business? But I like collaborating with him professionally and unprofessionally! I don’t really know what went wrong. It’s certainly not me to harp on something like this, I should just move on like I do, not giving a second thought. Still, I feel crushed.
So naturally, I spent the remainder of the afternoon drinking wine and eating chocolate at Stormin’s house, who just laughed at me upon my arrival. Although, she did feed me and let me hang with her cat. I promptly sent emails to my dearest friends and awaited advice for further action.
A lot of my friends are musicians and I’ve had my share, to say the least. I can contest that 95% of them are not steady reliable partners. Considering there are always other girls at hand they never want to be tied up with one cause they don’t want to pass up an opportunity with another. This particularly comes from the fact that they really didn’t get any in High School. All grown up, a lot of them avoid relationships in order to be available and create drama to fuel their artistic passion. If they’ve played the field before, they know the jealous drama it can bring and how good that is for their music.
Believe it or not, they actually lose fans if they are spoken for. If you do research on guys in major bands notice that many of them are married then go and watch their music video’s and notice that most are not wearing their wedding rings! A serious musician is all about dating the music and lifestyle. But if that’s what you find yourself attracted to, I’ll make some suggestions. I find that death metal guys are your best bet if you really want a music guy. No back up dancers and the fans are usually fat tatted up with faded home colored hair who act like guys. So trust me it is not you! It’s him and his underlying stuck up music qualities!
My honest opinion is to absolutely drop him like he’s hot, personally and professionally. Sorry for the cold-hearted answer, but you haven’t dated him THAT long and to not see him for two weeks is in-excusable if you are in the same city, busy or not, musician or not. As my friend Jimmy always tells me, from the man’s perspective, “You always have time for your girl.” Yes, I’m sure he’s a really nice guy, and talented, but you DON’T OWE him anything. I want you to be with a guy who LOVES being with you and worships the ground you walk on because you deserve that. I don’t want you to waste time with stupid little boys, no matter how cool the toys are that they play with.
Right on, girls! So what you’re saying is I should promptly become a regular at the bar where I met that sexy ginger-haired bartender (with The Trifecta of the Charming Man) just to be safe. It’s it too early to start working on finding a summer boyfriend?
February 16, 2011 § 1 Comment
I really didn’t want to mix business with pleasure, but the tall musician I had dubbed the Polar Bear, is an excellent collaborator. After that he started to get distant, I thought it was because Valentines Day was approaching, that usually freaks out boytoys of under 3 months.
I had some cocktails with him and his friends right after we launched our business relationship. After he became drunk that night, I took the opportunity to get my Sherlock on. I questioned his friends, and learned that he’s a long standing member of that bachelor club who doesn’t really know how to deal with girls, how to take a relationship to the next level, or how to ask for directions. Well that’s easy, I’ll just take it upon myself guide him further into my controlling grasp, I mean, loving embrace. I’ve dealt with fixer-upers before, problem solved.
A about week goes by and I haven’t seen or heard from him. This is the part where I get all ‘stupid girl’ and become increasingly insecure for no good reason. Of course, I left my cell charger in his car the last time I saw him. And of course I needed to get him to sign something for work. These are my excuses for instigating my inner stalker.
After not talking to him for a couple of days, I put a feeler out and say “hey I need this invoice from you, but what I am really wondering is when can I see you again unprofessionally?” Too desperate and to no avail. So I pry deeper, I invited him and his entire band to a rock show. I can get them all on the list, thinking it would be a nice little field trip. He turns me down! He doesn’t even show up to that cover band show I was hoping to run into him at last week. To make myself feel better I resolve to think that was because my ex was also there and no one really likes him. I proceed to put feelers (and by feelers I mean anything text) out for his weekend plans, no feedback. I don’t push it because I know that V-Day is high pressure. I offer basketball tickets instead. I know he’s a die-hard fan. Oh he’s bus-y. wtf? So I let it lie, no contact at all. I shouldn’t feel like I’m pursuing myself, right? But the invoice and the phone charger! I must get to the bottom of this.
Anyway, stupid girl goes further down the rabbit hole… I was driving home after a few glasses of wine on Saturday, 2am. What do I do? Drive by. Yup, I go and drive by his house. I tell myself if he is out on the patio, I’ll stop by. Drive by, no one on the patio. Lights are on, though. I circle the block looking for his car. I don’t see it. What did I think was going to happen? WHO DOES THIS?! I am appalled at myself.
So now I’m at full-blown obsession. I don’t want to contact him because I don’t want to appear clingy, even though I’ve probably already accomplished that. But he has my phone charger and he needs to sign this invoice (commence whiney tone). I’m beginning to really like him only because I can’t have him. He was just supposed to be my Polar Bear only until the first signs of spring. Does anyone know if the groundhog even woke up that day? It’s my hope that he’s having his own a stupid boy moment and needing to step back to process this goddess he has before him. Again, stupid girl over thinks.
Here I am confused, obsessing needlessly and wanting to feel reassured. Oh and don’t worry, I’ve been listening to his band… on repeat. He’s got a really sexy voice, or at least that’s another one of my excuses. I also keep fantasizing about that one Sunday morning when he brought me pancakes in bed and we watched football as he played the guitar. Or was that a dream? I can’t tell anymore.