My Soulmate?

Hey gang,

So, I was in war-torn Borders last night, picking up some cheap going-out-of-business books, and as I'm checking the humor section, this guy walks behind me and all I hear is the word 'gorgeous.'
I assume he's talking about the sale, cause it really is exciting.
I look up but he's already walked past me. I go back to my book, and he doubles back. "Excuse me,” he says in his indoor voice. “I'm looking for a nice soulmate. My name is Rob, I've been divorced a few years—“
“I'm in a relationship,” I cut him off.

He wasn’t hideous or visibly homeless—black guy, a couple inches shorter than me, bald but working it—but he definitely had crazy eyes (almost Bradley Cooper-esque) that tipped me off to mental illness. Add to that the fact that he called me gorgeous, when I looked about as busted as a sister wife. In fact, I was looking like a divorced sister wife—you know, what I mean. She's got her 6 kids and no “sisters” to help her, so she's really let herself go. Plus, the last time she was on a date, head-to-toe denim was a good look, so even on her best day she's still looking awkward.

I digress.

“Oh, you’re in a relationship right now?” CrazyEyes says, pointing to the floor. He then looks around, as though my partner--if he exists--would be in Borders at that very moment.
“Yes.”
“Oh, okay, I’m sorry.” He walks away, probably to troll the going-out-of-business sale for more “nice soulmates” at 50% off.


I tell this story not just because I love to share interactions with randoms but also because it was the first time I didn’t have to lie to a crazy to make him go away. My fake boyfriend, Michael, is no longer necessary—and he might be gone for good! (I think I’ll kill him in a freak ATV accident—you know, cause he’s such an adrenaline junkie.)


Jewboo and I did very well on our first road trip. By “very well,” I mean we didn’t fight with each other, explained our wants and needs (such as “food. Right. Now.”) clearly and succinctly, and my friends liked him. He drove the entire way there and back (which I found very attractive for some reason) and we both discovered that we prefer to hold our bladders than stop repeatedly.


****[oh my god, we just had an earthquake in New York City. My office swayed, and massa was conveniently out getting cupcakes and “didn’t feel a thing.” I started a twitter tree, and judging by the pithy replies, everyone’s fine. Guys, what if this blog becomes a record of humanity in the 21st century????? I owe it to the world. I owe it to the Mayans. I owe it to us.]********

The wedding was loverly and it was so great to see friends. However, I seemed to have forgotten about my inherent distaste for small-town living--i.e. life in Vermont. For a place I’ve visited more than a handful of times, it really is the polar opposite of everything I stand for.

Take, for instance, the fact that we arrived in the state at 9pm on Friday night, and there were hardly any restaurants open. We get to the hotel at 9:45, only to discover that restaurant-kitchens across the state are closing, including the hotel dining room. I’m sorry, but WTF, VT?! I know you guys are "quaint" and sparsely populated, but a blacktress and a ‘boo can’t get a good meal after sunset on a weekend?! The state needs to change it’s damn motto:



As we're driving up I look over the info from the bride and remember that a VT wedding also doubles as a camping trip. Regarding the pre-wedding BBQ at a gorgeous state park, she writes:

“Limited parking is available at the top of the mountain, so you can park at the bottom and carpool up, or it’s a nice one-hour hike to the top.”

A what? Nice one hour hike? Is that Swedish for "refreshing hot bath"? I texted some friends immediately:
You better save me a parking space on the mountain top or get me a ski lift, cause a hike ain't happening!

I would have had Jewboo playing sherpa after about 10 feet.

You guys know how I don’t like to sweat in public or be in nature, right?

Well, just imagine me at an outdoor wedding at the height of the summer sun. Just walking from the car has me starting to sweat like Whitney, and after sitting down for about 5 minutes, I have to pull my dress out from under my butt because I’m getting serious swamp ass and I’ll kill myself if I stand up and discover a giant sweat stain in my crotchal region. When the B&G proceed to share their written vows, I start crying, and Jewboo leans over and wipes my tears…or sweat…it was really at the point where it all mingled and I was generally salty.

But the sun went down after a couple of hours and in the meantime, I got really excited about the mushroom-and-truffle brick oven pizza being passed around, and it definitely took the edge off. I will say this about Vermonters--they sure know how to throw a wedding. I think it's because they're such a handy people. I was seated next to a fella by the name of Bruce, who had a weird look in his eye and a wet spot on his pants, and I asked him what he did.

"Do you live off of the land?" I asked.

"Well, yes, I do. I build furniture from the trees right from our forests."

Guys, if the apocalypse goes down, I think Vermont's going to be the only US city that makes it.

The highlight of the wedding was definitely the couple's first dance, which was unlike anything I've ever seen. It was, in essence, a flash mob. Kool & The Gang's hit "Celebration" came on and half the guests started doing a choreographed dance!

I had no idea what was going on as folks danced around me. I felt like Julia Stiles did the first time she went into that black club in Save the Last Dance.

Turns out the b&g had set this up via secret YouTube video. Although I wasn't in on it ("It was a hard choice to make," she said, "but I decided that I wanted you to be surprised."), I was able to get my hands on the instructional video made by the bride. I also got her permission to post this on the blog. Her exact words were:

"No, it's okay. I've never been more proud of anything in my life."

And I'd have to agree.

See for yourself, friends. From the seriousness and dramatic pauses in her delivery to the names for the various dance moves--not to mention the cameo by their dog--this might actually be the most amazing YouTube clip I've ever seen. Yes, even better than the Pumpkin Dance.

I love this woman almost as much as I love my Jewboo. I would gladly drive another 7 hours just to see her dance.

Hot... or Not?

Have you ever seen someone who was really, really hot? Like, so hot you think, "you're too hot to live. I have to kill you, because if you're single, you're a threat to society, and you're too hot for just one person."

I felt like this about an hour ago on the subway. I was hotter than a ho in church and looked like an 8 year old who didn't know how to eat properly: due to the underground railroad's malfunction, I had to walk in the sweltering heat to work, and arrived so drenched that I had no choice but to change into the outfit I'd brought for post-work play time. Unfortunately, this meant that I spent most of the work day looking like a whore.

Then, to top it off, during lunch with my boss (did he ask me to lunch cause I looked like a whore?) at a BBQ restaurant, I spilled bbq sauce on my WHITE PANTS (see previous post titled, "epiphany."). This meant I spent the rest of the day looking like an out-of-work prostitute who hadn't showered in days.

Anyway, when I finally made it on a train home, I was packed like a sardine next to this HOT tall glass of milk. He fit all my criteria: he was over 6'1", had a chiseled jaw, strong hands, and lips like a girl.

As I'm enjoying brushing up against him and judging him based on his iPod menu (he had The Killers!), we are forced apart by the availability of two new seats. We sit across from each other, and I'm able to eye fuck the shit out of him.

But soon, around 103rd street, the bloom began to fade from the rose. His Angie Jolie lips were starting to get on my nerves. It looked like he was, like, really pouting. But not in a sad, my-ice-cream-cone-fell-on-the-floor-two-seconds-after-I-bought-it way. He was for serious modeling in his head. I started to think, "Wait, does he think he's Derek Zoolander? Is this 'Magnum'?" I started to get turned off by what was clearly posing.

It sucks when you think you can marry someone you meet on the subway and they don't get off the train soon enough and you see them for who they truly are: a pouty wanna-be male model in a lilac shirt listening to The Killers.

Well, I guess it's okay cause now I don't have to kill him to save humanity.