Your Girlfriend is Ugly

Footwear fail

Last night I hopped on the soccer band wagon and went out to watch the US play Ghana in the World Cup. It was a great game and I had a blast tweeting all of the pervy commentary ("He's an acrobatic header," "Open those legs all the way up." Check them out @lisagradie on Twitter.)

So I'm at the bar in Soho with three of my friends having some laughs and drinking some wine when I look over and there is this wicked cute guy at the end of the bar. Oh, helloooo fellow soccer fan (you know, because I'm such a huge fan now). He looked like Patrick J. Adams complete with sparkly blue eyes and aloof "hot boy" smile. I grilled him and watched as he rounded the bar and stood next to me.

What came into view next was one of the biggest let downs I have encountered since the "Pig In A Blanket" incident of '06:

 

JESUS SANDALS!!!

OH THE HORROR!!!

Like, buddy, what are you doing with those? Are you going to go do some word working? Heal some lepers? Do they help you when you're trying to out-run Pontius Pilate?

He was American too! Or at the very least, Americanized. I heard him talking and no trace of an accent.

I consider myself fairly open minded, but there is NO excuse for Jeruselum Cruisers. Especially in 2014 A.D. I wish him all the best with finding his Mary Magdalene.

 

 

Are you really going to marry the guy who sends you a dick pic?

I'm a 33 year old single woman, ergo I meet guys and I go on dates. The varying degrees in which I meet these guys is all over the map; through friends, at a bar, online. One would think that living in NYC that the possibilities for meeting dudes are endless. They're not. I just want to clear that myth up right now.

Meeting a potential mate through friends is always dubious because, well, if it goes sour then you're all up in your friends shit like, "Dude! Why did you let me date that sociopath for so long?! You couldn't have warned me!!!" Giving a guy from the bar a shot (ha...get it...) is always touch and go because 1.) you met at a bar and he could be a raging alcoholic and 2.) you met at a bar....where you're drinking...and probably not making the best choices for that particular evening.

It's pretty customary these days to give online dating a go. I tried it when I first moved to NYC 5 years ago (after everyone telling me I'd meet someone and be engaged within the first year of living here) I joined Match.com and let me tell you something, not ONE guy talked to me. Yeah...I got zero emails, winks, flirts, shockers...NOTHING. I was 3 seconds away from hanging myself from my shower curtain rod when two of my girlfriends, also habitants of the concrete jungle, said they had the same experience. So at least I'm not alone.

Not to be detered I continue to give the online thing a try. I'm still attempting to meet dudes the old fashion way, you know like in person, but online dating fills in the gaps at work when time is dragging and instead of spending money online shopping for clothes, I spend my time date shopping.

So you go online, whether it's OKC, or Match, or FarmersOnly or Tinder and you check out the goods. You come across a guy who is 1.) Cute, 2.) Doesn't dress like he's homeless or in a frat, 3.) appears to be employed 4.) Comes across as normal and not like he has a hair collection from his various victims (this last point remains to be seen. You're just going with your gut).

You do the dance:

"Hi. How are you?"

"I'm good. Do you like chicken wings and sports?" (this question is coming from me btw)

"Uh yes."

"Ok. Do you like the beach?"

"Sure..."

"Ok good."

After the important things are out of the way you talk family, jobs, where you live, what you do for fun and then eventually, when you're ready to take it to the next level, you exhange numbers to text about your jobs,y our families, what you did for fun and tour commute home to where you live.

Everything seems to be going well as far as texting goes. He texted you, "Good Morning. Have a great day!" complete with cute coffee emoji. He texted you about the game and if you're going to watch it. You texted back saying "OBVI I'm going to watch it after I get out of the gym." Then you  guys texted your entire walk home from the gym. Then you texted during the game and then he texted you a picture of his dick.

Wait. What?

Aaaaaaah the inevitible dick pic. Why men think this is a good idea will be the question on everyone's lips when that fateful meteor hurtles towards earth ending civilization.

I mean, he seemed normal right? Was in banking or IT. Had a beard. Liked sports and extra spicy chicken wings. Could drive stick and liked Sperry's. Why'd he have to go and send a dick pic?!

Let's be real,  it's not like they're pretty to look at. And it's not like you'd EVER reciprocate with a photo back (gross...just ew) so why do they think it's OK?

You could have every quality I am looking for in a guy: You are a sports fan, you are an orphan with no family, you can build shit, you're obsessed with me, but if you send me a dick pic I'm never going on a date with you. Ever. I'm not going to marry The Guy Who Sent Me A Dick Pic.

 

 

 

Why you should always keep your lip wax up to date

A few weeks ago my engineer friend and I were blowing off some steam at the office after hours when he picked up my football shaped stress ball (a gift in a bag during a work event, I'd never buy myself a stress ball on purpose) and said, "Get up."

He and I started to toss the ball around. Impressed by cannon of an arm he said, "I didn't know you could throw!"

"Well don't treat me like a girl who's afraid of the ball!" I shrieked. "Bring the thunder!"

He then wiped the ball at me. I was poised for the catch but took my eye off the ball for a second and SMACK! It hit me right in the face directly under my right eye.

"Oh. My God!" My friend ran towards me to see if I was Ok. While my eyes watered I realized that I hadn't had my lip waxed in about a month.

Not wanting to expose my stache, I covered my mouth and said, "No no. I'm ok! Really. I'm OK. Seriously don't come any closer!"

"Are you sure?? I'm really sorry."

"No no not your fault," (hand still over mouth). "Really." I picked up the ball and said, "Go long!"

I got my lip waxed that evening. A word to the wise ladies, keep your lip wax fresh because you never know when balls will be flying at your face.

I got a feeling...someone needs a little neck work

So this morning I'm perusing People.com when I come across a who wears it best. I notice Kate Moss on left but at first glance I can't make out the chic on the right.

At first glance I think it's Whitney Port, but then I read the text and I see that it's Fergie!

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat is going on with her neck here??? She's got some may-jah waddle going on. Fergie probably weighs about 75lbs soaking wet so I'm not sure where her fat girl neck is coming from but that is disturbing!

Strange encounters on the Metro-North

Yesterday I was on the Metro-North train from Westport, CT to Grand Central. My sister and I were sitting across from eachother; she was next to this woman who was going to NY to find her daughter an apartment (weird) and I was next to a woman who's breath smelled like she had just dined on dog shit.

As normal human beings do, we started to make small talk with the other women. The mom looking for an apartment for her daughter asked my sister where she lived and then she turned to me and said, "And you? Where do you live?"

"Oh I live in Hoboken. It's a really great neighborhood and if your daughter is going to be at NYU she can just take the Path Train right to 14th Street."

The woman next to me piped up, "Oh uh-uh. I live in Jersey City. It's the next town ova from Hoboken. Is nice. Right by the water front. I mean it can get expensive but it's a good place to live."

As I was gagging from her breath which was making a direct bee-line for my nostrils she then turned to me and goes, "I mean, how many black people live in Hoboken?"

Reluctantly I moved my hand away from my nose and replied, "Well I don't know. I've never stopped to count them all."

 The woman just gave me a side-ways glance, then she let out a breath (UGH!!!) and went back to talking about how amazing Jersey City is.

Who the hell asks that kind of question? What if I turned to her and asked, "Um..by your estimation how many white people live in Jersey City?"

Not so friendly Fenway

This past weekend I was home in Boston for Father's Day. On Friday night I went with my dad to Fenway to see the Sox take on the Brewers in Inter-league play. We ended up having two extra tickets so I invited my cousin Joe, a Sophomore at BU and a friend of his to the game with us. The seats were basically right on the field and I knew that they'd have a great time.

The game was fantastic. Even if you're not a huge Red Sox fan, or even a baseball fan you have to love Fenway Park; the history, the Green Monstah, the seats that barely fit my ass in them because they were built before donuts were invented. A game at Fenway is always a memorable one.

Sitting behind us were four guys; two older, two younger. They were nice enough. Talked a little too much for my taste but at least they were talking about sports and they knew what they were talking about.

At one point the guy sitting directly behind my dad started up a conversation with us. We learned that he was from the Cape, was a developer and really REALLY liked to talk about himself. Total blowhard. I lost interest with him 5 seconds into the conversation.

Just as I was turning around to bring my attention back to the game and Jason Varitek's thighs the blowhard goes, "These your boys?" gesturing to my 20 year old cousin Joe and his roomate.

I turned around slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"Are those your sons?"

I looked at him with eyes that could've melted gold. "How the fuck old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. They look about 16."

"And you think I look old enough to have 16 year old boys?"

"I don't know."

"Then you probably shouldn't say anything. I'M ONLY 30!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I mean honestly, if I'm going to have a 16 year old when I'm 30 I would've at least made good of it by going on Teen Mom.

Bus Face Plant

A few months ago, when there was still snow on the ground, I was on the 126 bus back to Hokoken when I looked up and noticed a veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery cute guy sitting across from me. He caught my eye and looked quickly away. I fiddled awkwardly with my iPod; there's nothing more mortifying than getting caught staring at someone.

As I tried to get past level 10 on Angry Birds (damn pigs!) I flicked my eyes upward and noticed cute guy staring at me. When he saw me look up, he looked away. I regarded him for a few seconds: dark hair, dark eyes, prominent nose (which I don't mind) and even though he was sitting down he appeared to be on the tall side. All good things so far.

We continued to have eye sex all the way into Hoboken. When my stop approached I reached up to hit the stop button at the same time as my bus boyfriend. We caught eyes and kind of smiled at each other.I took my headphones out in preparation to talk to him.

As our bus lurched to a stop, we both stood up and he motioned for me to go first. I lifted my eyes up in what I hoped was a seductive manner and purred "thank you" as I glided by him down the bus stairs. I was about to turn around to say something witty when next thing I know I am flying through the air onto the sidewalk.

Thanks to my puffy coat, I landed on my stomach, bounced through the air and landed on my back. Kind of like this:

Obviously eye sex bus guy wasn't a gentleman. He didn't come to see if I was OK and there is no way that he missed the girl in front of him FLYING through the air like a goddamn circus performer.

I laid there for a solid 60 seconds thinking about how very cruel the universe was indeed, when I pregnant lady wobbled by looking at me with pity.

"Are you ok?"

"Mer....mmmmmhmmm.."

"Ok. Just embarrassed right?"

"Just a little bit."

 

 

Pretty, Pretty Commuter

I'm not going to lie; by the end of the work day I look like I've wrestled an alligator. I'm disheveled: My hair is usually thrown up in a knot on top of my head, my face is shiny from sweating (yes even in the dead of winter) and running around Port Authority and my eye makeup smudged from rubbing my eyes in frustration. I basically look something like this:

So when I see a girl walk past me on the E train at 5pm and she looks like she just stepped out of her house from getting ready, all perfect hair and dewy complexion, I think two things:

1.) She doesn't work
2.) There is a secret agency that hires girls just like her to walk around in high traffic areas during rush hour looking perfect to make me feel bad. Like right at 5pm they all take their places near Au Bon Pain or the Hudson News and as soon as we commuters start flooding in they all nonchalantly meander through the crowd like, "Oh no big deal. I mean I always look this perfect even in the middle of August in New York City walking down a street that's being freshly paved."

Am I the only one that feels this way?

The Call of the Booty

I posted this blog on Burt Reynolds' Mustache back in August of 2008. For prosterity I wanted to put it on Yourgirlfriendisugly so everyone could read it. This is not only one of my finest blogs but it also still makes me LOL to the max when I read it.

For the record, 2008 was a dark time in my life and I have since matured from when this blog was published. Kind of.

 

Aaaah yes. The booty call. The only time when a 2 a.m.text message stating, "What are you doing right now?" actually means, "I don't care what you're doing right now, come over and plow me like you would the new corn harvest."

Any other time of day this text message is innocent and a simple friendly inquiry. But because it was sent after midnight, it's a whooooooole different animal.

I have had my share of booty calls and one night stands. I went to college, I live in the world and I was 21 once. There are people out there - men and women- who have never done it and that's fine. Doesn't make you any more or less of a man/woman. But even though you feel like a dirty ho in the morning as you stare at the guy that you don't know from a ham sandwich, it's still kind of fun. I'm not going to lie.

However, my last one caused me to take pause and reevaluate the booty call situation.

I had planned on having sex with a relative of a friend. I asked the friend for permission before I got sloppy drunk and proceeded with my prowling. The friend LOL'd, said "Sure" and that was all the ammo I needed.

I already had a night out planned with HLP and Brennon. We wanted to go to Alibi but the line was too long so we decided to hit up my friends gay bar. Brennon was thrilled and HLP and I were pumped for free drinks from gay men. I texted the Sex and told him where we were going. He wasn't down with the gay bar scene and told me to sext him when I was on my way home.

Forty cocktails later, the three of us squeezed ourselves into a cab for the 5 minute ride back to my apartment. On the way back I sexted the Sex. "Meet me at my apartment in 20 mins." Well, that's what it was supposed to say. I'm sure it read, "Mweet nme in imiy appreatnment on 2c mobs."

HLP was parked at my place and she and Brennon walked me upstairs to make sure I was OK. I fell going up the stairs and then when I stumbled through the front door I fell on my bed, lifted my legs up in the air and proclaimed to the empty room to "PUT IT IN MEEEE!!!"

"Uuuuh. Are you going to be OK?"

"Oooooooooooh yesh yesh suuure suuuure. I'ww be fwein."

"Uuuuuh ok. We're gonna go."

"Byeeeeeeee..."

Twenty minutes later my Berry rang. It was the guy calling to let me know that he arrived. I had passed out waiting for the Sex to arrive.

I got up and tried to look as alluring as possible. But as soon as I opened the door and saw him standing there with a 6-pack of beer, the 3 bottles of Kettle One I had consumed suddenly hit me and I realized that I was hammered and he was stone cold sober. Not good.

See, one of the best things about the drunken booty call and/or one night stand is that you're usually just that: Drunk. So it's hot and sloppy and nasty. It's not one person being shit faced and the other person being sober. Then you get into gray areas where the words "taking advantage of" and "she sooo wanted it" come to mind.

I invited him in and we both cracked open two beers and sat on opposite ends of my couch. We talked about his apartment and his job and what I had done that night leading up to him being here. (I drank, natch). There were more lulls, more awkward silences, more sounds of beer being sipped through a long neck. Then, in one of my most stellar moves to date I said to him, "Scho...wass your favorite holiday?"

He chuckled a very snervous chuckle, "Uuuhhhmm...Halloween."

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. I hate halloween. Worse holiday everrrrrrrrrrrr. Mine's the Fourth of Juwy!"

"C-cool..."

That was it. That sealed my fate. There would be no booty call action at all that night. We both finished our beers and 75 minutes after he'd arrived at my apartment he got ready to leave. I stumbled with him to the door and on the way out said to him, "Wow. Scho I guess you just wanted to 'talk' huh?" And yes, I made the air quotes as I said this.

"I'll give you a call tomorrow."

Haven't heard from him since.

A note regarding my P90X journey

You know how when you watch Serena Williams play tennis on TV and she does all of that horrific grunting? You can't help but giggle because she just sounds SO ridiculous.

Well I admit that I'm loud when I talk and laugh, but I've never been much of a grunter when it comes to any type of physical exertion. During my workouts I usually forget to breath and the veins in my neck and forehead are popping out so far they look like they could lick the celing.

So when I start my workout with Tony Horton and crew on the P90X DVDs I feel like I'm participating in some really fit, 0% body fat orgy.

First of all the music is totally porny. It's all like "uh-tis uh-tis uh-tis, chica chica chica bow..."

And to make it even more awkward you have the people working out going, "OH YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! OH OH OHOHOH!!!! YEAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Straight up moaning and groaning.

I know it's because Tony is forcing us to do one more reverse chin-up but I fear my neighbors think I'm running some sort of swingers club out of my first floor apartment.

I'm thinking of making a sign that says, "I'M NOT HAVING GROUP SEX. I'M DOING P90X!"