Ok, Cupid.. Do Your Worst.

This is who runs my love life.

In my romantic history, I've really picked some winners.  A guy once told me I had calloused feet and short arms.  Once I went on a date with a guy who started sucking my face in the middle of a bar on a Sunday night and when I asked to be taken home, he took me to "hang out" in a desolate park in Sea Cliff, Long Island instead.  I made it out alive and learned my lesson not to go out with guys who are in your phone as "Chris from the Train."  That's what they'll call him on CNN too.

Everyone I know has an OK Cupid profile, but I have been hesitant to join.  Maybe I am as old school as my dad when it comes to the internet but I guess I still associate online dating with the stigma of being desperate, maybe because it reminds me of a former co-worker (she had Lloyd Christmas bangs and sounded like a member of the Addams family) who met her husband (all I remember is a Super Mario brothers moustache) via an online dating site, and she always shared way too much about her middle-aged love life.

Given the fact that my dating life right now is about as eventful as if I walked around wearing a sandwich board reading "I HAVE A BALD SPOT AND GONORRHEA" (only one of those is true), I have entertained the thought of possibly possibly hopping on the OK Cupid bandwagon shame train.

Here is my how I imagine I would construct this hypothetical profile:

First of all, apparently on Ok Cupid you are allowed to feature three pictures.  Choose wisely.  No one really cares about anything else in your profile besides these three pictures.  Let's be real.. Before actually sending you a message, they are going to look long and hard at these to determine whether or not you are at least 80% as attractive as you were four years ago when the best three pictures of your life were taken.  Here are the three I would choose:

Hey guys.  Look who's online.  Right now.

Laying all the cards out on the table.  Also, my face doesn't look awful.  Unlike here...

In case I don't lose the baby weight.. I've given fair warning.

Favorite books: [Honestly?  Harry Potter, anything by Jonathan Safran Foer or Dave Eggers, and.. does TV count as books?  Ughhhh fine, for the purpose of impressing my soul mate? ...]  A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Catcher in the Rye, and Atlas Shrugged.  I haven't even read the last two.

Favorite movies: [Lies]

Favorite music: [More lies]

Interests: Ghost hunting, impressing your mom, powerhours

Looking for: Someone normal.  I'll settle for a free dinner.

Not Your Best Work.

Hey, I'm back.

You know that feeling when you get out of the shower and realize you were supposed to shave your legs and you've already dried off and you debate whether it's worth getting back in the shower or just wearing pants again for the next couple of days and ultimately you decide on the pants...?  Well, I've had a draft of a blog sitting around for the past 10 days.  I wear pants often.

I'm scrapping the draft because I re-read it and it was shit.  And my brother told me my last post "wasn't my best work" so the pressure is on.  Apparently I did not quite meet the caliber of writing expected by a kid who literally didn't speak normal English language until he was almost 3 years old.  He sounded like Donnie from the Wild Thornberrys, I kid you not.

So, in order not to disappoint my brother, I will not blog tonight because I'm super tired, but you have my word that tomorrow night, I will return to my former glory.

Here's a video that I re-watched yesterday and it never ceases to make me laugh:

See you on the flip flop.

You Don't Keep a Boyfriend?

So much for my resolution to post at least once a week.  Carolyn and I moved last weekend, though, and I’m currently on vacation with my family, so it’s been a busy 10 days.  In case you were wondering, Boner Killers ended up with the most votes in the poll to name our wireless network.  Here were the final numbers:

500DaysOfWinter: 1

Mirror Sex: 2

League of Extraordinary Powerhours: 5

Bartlet4America: 5

Boner Killers: 7

Desbecvay: 0

Aioli is Just Fancy Mayo: 5

Anticipating our parents visiting and asking which network they could connect to, though, we decided to go with one of the second place winners for obvious reasons.  So, like a pageant queen caught in a Shia LaBeouf sex tape (which he leaked to the press in exchange for Paul Mitchell hair gel), Boner Killers was forced to relinquish her crown to Bartlet4America.  Password: POTUSINABICYCLEACCIDENT. 

Here are some of my favorite moments of moving weekend:

1) This weird letter left in the dresser drawer of the furnished room I had been subleasing:

You were supposed to give them the note, as well.
Don't you respect them at all?

2) The cab driver asking me, “You don’t keep a boyfriend?”  Umm.. it isn’t a spare tire, shithead.  You don’t keep… a job that doesn’t involve cleaning drunk girls’ vomit out of seat belts?  You don’t keep… a firm grasp of the English language?  You don’t keep… the change?  I guess he heard we're boner killers.

3) The laundromat lady asking me if I had a dog.  Nope, I just lose a lot of hair when I'm stressed.  Bitch.  What the hell kind of dog are you talking about?  This one?

4) Walking to my new apartment to meet the Sleepy's guy who was delivering my mattress, turning onto my block, and overhearing a middle-aged woman who looked like a brunette Charo saying, "Oh my gawdddd, you're never going to believe what I just did.  I threw up in the doggie day spa."  I hangover-vommed in the Studebagels back at Notre Dame once.  You win.

5) Ikea instruction manuals