Winter Slump or Hump?

As most of the civilized people I know, I really don't like the winter. I'm not a big fan of winter sports, could do without hot chocolate and do not own a sauna in which to keep my bum toasty throughout the season, so for the most part I spend a lot of time hibernating. Sounds good in theory but I'm not much of a homebody so the winter presents a yearly Catch-22. To get into the slump or simply, hump? While you can take the word "hump" literally, and by all means, please do, it can also refer to a series of highly intoxicated nights with friends or copious amounts of dancing in warm rooms. (All give their own versions and degrees of humping, without having all the calories.) This year I've chosen the latter of the two choices and I believe its served me well thus far. I haven't gotten that winter cold/flu, my skin is not as pale and sallow as it usually is and I have come to embrace the art of sliding down a mountain on two large fiberglass piles. But as much as this winter has brought out a side of me I never knew existed, I am still ready for spring and all the fun that usually has associated with it. And I'll be damned if I rely on Punxsutawney Phil or Staten Island Chuck to tell me exactly when that's going to happen. But, I guess some sunshine and warm weather would help the feelings along a little.

Breakup of a Great Thing...

So as I once wrote (see: "My Easiest Relationship") that my barista was once my easiest relationship, I know can agree with the sentiment that all good things come to an end. She has left the building folks, and is not coming back this time. Sad. There is a replacement but its not the same, or is it ever? The tea doesn't taste the same and the chatting is less, but on the flip side, the service is quicker. But is it really a benefit to having your break time from "real" work cut shorter? Either way, I felt it only right to give my barista lady a proper farewell in cyber space. Good luck and happy trails!

The Wardrobe of a Romantic Weekend

After you have been dating someone for a certain period of time and the inevitable weekend trip pops into play, one has more to do than just simply plan the location and the activities. The secondary questions start creeping in like what restaurants will you visit and then finally, the clothing dilemma. As a girl I feel like its more of an acute thought for me or someone of my gender, but every once in a while your guy can give you a run for your money. For me, the situation was recent and the implications vast--am I that lame of a girl where I spent 20 minutes on my clothing selection or am I dating someone who is just more in tune with their stylish side that they filled two large duffel bags, and you only one? I'm thinking (hoping) its laziness on my part.

At what point in a relationship do the sweats outweigh the stilettos or when is it their turn to do the work in seduction? I think the time is now for me, because my sweaters were far more numbered than lingerie, and that was never the case! Sometimes a girl just wants her fluffy socks, and that should be OK, right? Well, I think in a year marked with change and hope, my personal hope is that the fuel of my relationship is shared rather than solely focused on myself wearing or being subject to painful parts of a wardrobe designed for male pleasure (certainly not my own). But as I sit here, on a "date" day wearing a mini-skirt and knee-high boots, when we just received an ice/now storm, I realize I may be just as much of a girl as I ever have been, just slightly hibernating.

Reality TV Versus Reality

As an adamant fan of reality television, be it The Bachelor, Real Housewives of ___, I have come to notice that the reality that is fed to us is nothing like the reality I lead on a day-to-day basis. This is most especially true with friendships and relationships. When was the last time you were able to tell the guy you were on a first date that you were ready to be a mother and a wife? They would probably run for the hills! Same thing with friends, if you told a friend how you felt on every honest moment (through the confession camera), do you expect an invite to the annual Holiday bash? Don't think so.

These reality shows are dangerous. They are to my diet, my self esteem but every more to some of the basic truths that we should have come to know and understand. But the simple fact remains-- we are drawn to the drama and the crazy. Its the schandenfreued that pulls us closer to the fictitious characters each week that make us escape from the normal, everyday life and maybe even feel a little better about ourselves. Let's be honest, the "desperate" girls on any dating show could be a best friend or us after one too many drinks--we just don't have cameras following us at every turn. But, maybe we should behave like there is an instant replay or a marathon of the bad Thursday night on a bad cable channel reminding us that we went too far or maybe pushed that guy too much. But, in life, we don't have a fast forward or a rewind button, so make sure your reality is one that you are comfortable living both in and out of the spotlight.

Why I Cry at Sappy Commericals

is a notion I have pondering lately. I don't think I'm a very sentimental person, and certainly not an overly sensitive person but the sight of an old couple walking in the park or a newborn baby is enough to turn on the water works. What gives?

I think its the same kind of feeling you get when a friend tells you about a skanky girl at work and about her date that wouldn't put the phone down during your date. Or it could be overhearing the conversation of a couple who came back from wedding ring shopping. I project! I have no hesitation to get horrified by the skanky girl, or pissed at the phone boy or even feel a bit of longing at the wedding ring twins. In reality those things mean so little to me but its the mental projection of how I would feel in the exact situation. Which is why I want to write to De Beers, Pampers and those awful anti-smoking companies to stop preying on my fragile feelings while I'm passively watching TV at night. Same goes for friends, there is only so much you can digest of what your friends or a loved one tells you before you have formed your own opinions on the matter.

In my experience, less is more. You don't need your best friend to be projecting their feelings on your fight with boyfriend about which restaurant you want to go to or about who should clean the living room. I can't tell you how many girls have taken the wrath of their friends over the simple act of complaining. Save it and watch some TV, you'll at least be able to focus on some escapist feelings for once.

The Eternal Fratboy

lives and breathes all over New York City, and can be found most nights of the week with his "boys" and "poppin' his collar." They usually congregate in front of a large group of scantily clad girls and any number of Southern-esque bars that have taken over the bars once frequented by druggies and call girls that Giuliani shut down in the 90's. What we have made way for is the overcompensating Nantucket Reds and Tevas of the Ivies and other "trust-me-I'm-smart" higher learning intuitions. Now, canned beer equals class and is preferential to the other more sophisticated draft beers that were once chic. Don't lie you know you secretly wish there was a beer pong table in the corner of the overpriced wine bars. And who wouldn't want a rendition of "Shook Me All Night Long" sung by the balding finance guy after a long day's work?

The question I have and please feel free to chime in here, when does the canned beer look unappealing to our males reliving the "glory days"? My guess was 25, and now being there myself, I am clearly wrong. As a matter of experience, I can tell you the early thirties isn't even enough time. Sorry to say ladies, once a frattie, always a frattie. While the thrill of being invited into one of the "brother's rooms" has faded along with the smell of old beer soaked into their wood floors, I say enough the beer and make sure to keep your girl posse along for the ride. You know, in case things get out of hand and you need someone you take you home :)

To Give Back or Throw Away

In post-holiday spirit of riding oneself of bad memories, people or items of clothes left by nighttime visitor has surely plagued even the most discerning of my fellow ladies. I was presented with this challenge recently, and was actually stumped as to the etiquette of such a situation. On one hand, who needs a green t-shirt celebrating St. Paddy's Day 2003, surely received at the local college bar, but on the other, is it a mark of a good night or even a way to remember a fleeting moment? Or is it better to just chuck them in the garbage, give them to Goodwill or even more extreme, use them as kindling on the long, cold nights of winter? Either way is fine by me, but I get the sneaking suspicion that my opinion may be terribly one-sided/sexist. What if that that flannel shirt with the sweat marks or the tie that is frayed at the ends represents more to the owner than the inadvertent receiver? So, in the spirit of the Holidays (which flew by this year anyway), maybe we should tuck the skullcap and sweats away for a rainy day and hope if you do have to exchange, it doesn't happen in the same way they ended up on your floor in the first place.