Preparing for the worst

This is me. How many months into this little blog experiment and pretty much two to eighty four steps behind where I started out. I say this because I am currently sitting at my computer with a glass of red wine and a book entitled Cat's for Dummies simultaneously begging my friends to take their scrabulous turns (you know who you are you heartless bastards). Oh, and I am also wearing a sundress that is hiding the pudge of oncoming menstrosity, that I can only liken to a moo moo. I think I'm giving up. I'm not sure what to do, outside of moving out of this city, to meet a decent fella. Or at the very least have a whole lot of fun with a not so decent one. I'm not above it at the moment. I think I'll be past this mope fest once flow's left town and I take my 3 day beach weekend. 'Cause as much as I miss man touch. I love this city far too much to leave it. Rapes, muggings, murders and all. They just add character. PIZAAAAAAZ.

All in all, although my weekends have been boyless, they have been quite filling. Notable mention would be this past Saturday at Yakatori Boy when we took to the mic to sing "I wanna dance with somebody" and there was a room full of strangers dancing on chairs. Must go back soon.

In other news, my old roomie is moving in with her boyfriend, which means she's taking the cats. So we decided to get kittens. Now I will officially be crossing the line from person who lives with cat lady, to official cat lady. But cuteness overrides all. I'm OK with it.

Gah, oh well. I'm going to glass number two and will top it off with my Monday night listening to This American life. Tomorrow night, back to the prowl. I will be going with friend to see We Are Scientists at Johnny Brenda's. And I'm sure all I'll be returning with is a belly full of beer and my feets sore from dancin.

I fell

So, nothing really is happening on the man front. I'm alright with that. I have enough going on that I am satisfied with the non touch. So in a moment of complete nerdery last weekend, I decided to walk down to the Ritz to catch a movie by myself rather than go to my weekly yoga class. Besides I think all of my muscles have atrophied due to lack of use, so much so that I almost walked out of class 2 weeks ago. The only reason I didn't was to avoid mortification, but that mortification caught up to me in the form of many failed attempts at a headstand, against a wall. 

Anyway, I had heard about this movie called The Fall. It was directed by Tarsem Singh, who directed The Cell and the Losing My Religion video. This movie was at the 2006 Toronto Film Festival and was kind of overlooked, until directors David Fincher and Spike Jones noticed it. 

The story gets a little silly at times, but that's forgivable because of how beautiful it is. Go to the link and watch the trailer. Right now it's playing at one of the Ritz. I saw it at the Bourse, but my coworker saw it at a different one last weekend. The only recognizable actor is Lee Pace from Pushing Daisies. The only way I can describe it is if Pan's Labyrinth and The Princess Bride mated. 

So good. 

An aside. As I'm writing this sidehugs sent me a text. I hadn't heard from him in 2 weeks after he text cancelled on me for the 4th time. And I get "What's up motorboat?" What a turd. I will try to just ignore instead of sending an angry text back. 

Extraordinary Blooming Restaurant

A very nice person at my office has been raving about Apamate for many months, so when my husband said he tengo tapas, I took the opportunity to experience it for myself. And as its name suggests (explained on the restaurant's website) this narrow crimson cafe named for a Venezeulan tree does stand out in its own way.

Blink and you will pass right by this unassuming storefront, noted only by thin vertical strands of red lights illuminating the large square window facing South Street. Enter to the sounds of Manu Chao and Buena Vista Social Club just over the din of the front-of-the-shop kitchen, and your eyes gaze from the dark wood furniture, to the deep red walls, to the Spanish tile countertop and the chocolate caliente mixer, reminding you to save room for churros.

The waitstaff are helpful and informed, happy to make recommendations on not only what to eat but how to eat it. Apamate serves small and large plates along with a laundry list of tapas. Only here they are called "pintxos," which is either a ploy to separate itself from the growing glut of tapas restaurants throughout the city, or a subliminal semantic trick to further remind its patrons that these plates are, in fact, teeny tiny "pinches" of food.

We plowed through 3 or 4 pintxos, in addition to the serrano ham and bechamel croquettes and an a seafood paella entree. The ingredients were fresh and organic, the flavors were authentic and robust, and the meal was affordable - borderline cheap. We saved room for churros, as did a few other parties who came through just to order dessert. And when the server accidentally brought us the wrong dish (dulce de leche instead of Nutella, really neither is wrong!), they corrected the mistake by giving us the right one on the house. Now that's class.

Cafe Apamate
1620 South Street
215.790.1620
www.cafeapamate.com

Monday, not so much

I think it's time I tackle my dating patterns. While this is probably best done by a shrink, I think my tendency towards comfort eating and countless hours of daytime TV logged over the years have left me just as qualified as any. 

Date # 2 aka 6. I tried to pop that zit about an hour before the date. Take it from me. Never do this. It just turned a fairly noticeable white head into a oozing bloody welt. Cutting bangs was too dicey considering the only time I cut hair was about 20 years ago on my barbie and she ended up losing her head. So, As I packed foundation into my open wound, I realized the night was going to be slightly less than magical. 

Don't get me wrong, I haven't completely discounted him, but here's what I think happened. I think I spent the whole first date trying to make myself look good and the second date, well I spend it judging him. We were both tired and didn't make reservations (since it was his turn to pick the place) and we just ended up going to ten stone, which is hit or miss. It was loud and there was a group of drunk barely legal dudes next to me and one had his ass in my face. The convo was fairly strained, mostly because of all of the drunkies around us, and me not being one of them. Believe me, I tried. But the beers weren't taking. And all I got was a general sense of self involvement. Even in the making out. I thought the point of dating an older man was that they had already outgrown the bullshit. 

Anyway. I think he's feeling the same way cause we haven't really spoken since then, aside from the random short texts. I may be willing to give him another shot. Maybe it was just an off night, and otherwise I'm heading back to No Man Land. But the butterflies have gone, or at least have been placed in a jar and someone forgot the air holes. C'est le vie. Bring on on the cats. 

Friday I'm in like

So I have my second (fifth) date with sidehugs tonight. I can't help thinking that I need a new nickname for him but we'll stick with this one for the time being. So far, so good. He's still quite the texter, and even texted a cancellation again last weekend. But I'm willing to overlook that one slightly because we had just made tentative plans the night before and, well let's face it, I'm pretty desperate. But he's picked up the phone quite a few times. So we'll see how tonight goes. He's supposed to pick the spot since I picked the last one. But I hate leaving the planning up to others, especially boys.

So the pluses about this guy. He's older than me, but doesn't act it. In a good way. Funny, Nice. And it doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes. Oh, and he's not so computer savvy, so there's less of a chance of him finding this. I don't know that I can handle that awkwardness again. The only thing I have to get used to is the cuddling. He seems to be a big fan, I'm not so much. But since I haven't had the man touch in a while, I'll make an exception.

In other news, my forehead decided that date day is a great time to sprout a third eye. I don't know if any amount of makeup is going to contain this beast. I may have to take off the cami that brings my outfit from "cute" to "boobalicious". What to do, what to do. But I'm assuming the third degree burns that I received at the beach on Monday that left me tie dyed, may be enough of a distraction. (Today was the first day I decided to brave the pain of shaving... needless to say it was quite the undertaking.)

OK I'm going to sit here and use my ichat cam to stare at my zit and talk myself off of a ledge for a few hours.

Return of the Sidehug

Ahhh nothing like Spring Showers to create a little oasis in the desert that was my love life. Not sure how long you've been hanging out with us, but way back, pre match days I went out with this dood a few times. The pluses, he was hot. Great combo of hipster and successful (meaning he has a job, but looks like he doesn't.) The bad.. I think I was still a little hung up on my ex at that point, so I wasn't really into this guy and made up little reasons to stop talking to him. Although I still think texting to cancel a date is poor form. Anyway back in Nov, we went out a few times and it culminated to an awkward slobbery car kiss and we kinda just mutually stopped talking to one another. So last weekend, I ran into him for the first time since at JB's. Holy hell I forgot how hot he was. A tasty little nonconformist nugget. So he texted (no shocker there) and asked me to go out this week. We went out last night to... let's say it together now... Black Sheep. My roommate said that I should start thinking of another usual haunt, because this one is obviously cursed, but I decided to challenge the gods one more time.

I think it worked. I actually had a great date.We laughed, we drank. He embraced my potty humor. And just like that... the desert bloomed. So what next? Who knows. I got the morning text, but it wasn't anything to write home about, just the status of his hangover. But at this point, I will not overthink. Even if I don't hear from him again, he made me remember the fun little butterfly nervous part of dating. You know the part that you hate to love. Le sigh. 

That's all for now.

Go to Madonna, Michael, Prince on the Moshulu tomorrow.

 I am.  

The desert below

That's right folks 3 months into a dry spell and still counting. No end in sight. Hence no posts in a while. Thankfully for me there's been other distractions. Namely fantastic new job and new friends (still miss my boos from the old though, but I see 'em lots.)  That's been fun. I've been drinking more than usual, which is going to make me fat soon, I'm sure of it. But until then I'm just gonna go with it. Secondly, my lovers, otherwise known as my game night crew recently purchased rock band. My partner at work (the AD to my CW) thinks I'm a nerd cause I play that stuff instead of instead of Grand Theft Auto IV. Sorry, not interested. I just want games that make me feel like the superstar I think I am. I want someone to come up with a game that has an avatar of me walking up and down catwalks complete with outfit changes and Right Said Fred. My God. I really am a gay man. 

If that's the case, I may be all set cause I'm headed to Pure tomorrow night for Making Time. 

Otherwise I think I may have just plain given up on meeting anyone. I can't see it happening anytime soon. Thankfully the weather has been fantastic and warm, which cushions the blow. Or lack thereof. 

Another weekend, other chance to strap on the dancing shoes. Saturday night will be Los Campesinos at Johnny Brenda's and I couldn't be more excited. I lurve them. Their music makes me smile and shake my tushie.

So I used to work at a rivet factory as a job during breaks in College. Yes, I had to wear stee-tipped boots and safety glasses. It was so boring that one day I made up a little jingle called the Rivet is gonna get Ya. Sung to the tune of that well known Gloria Estefan ditty. Anyway, I randomly got an email from this old guy that I used to work there with telling me he loves me. So help me, if this dry spell keeps up, I might just write back. 

Ugh

Sorry. That was a whole lotta nothing. But odds are if you're reading this, you're bored at work anyway.  

rambling

Lots of changes in Colleenland lately. None of them boytastic. That is at a complete and utter standstill. I'm fine with that. Why? Cause it's sunny outside. Who needs a boy when I can stay warm all by myself? That came out differently than I meant it to. Anyway, I'm starting a new job tomorrow. Ratio of 90% excited to 10% nervous. I've been on controlled unemployment this week. Completely wonderful. I, of course, drank too much but had just the right number of roof deck bbq's. So aside from a gigunda zit on my chin, every thing's swell. I was supposed to go to my first meet up tonight but I couldn't find anyone with car to go with me and it's allllllll the way in the North East. Next time.

We tried out a new dance spot on Friday. The Barbary. It was ok. Kinda like dancing in teenage hipster soup . But wherever Madonna, Michael, and Prince go, so shall I.

Since I have no updates of the man variety at the moment, I'll share from you a tale from the youth.

The time. Somewhere between 2nd and 3rd grades(89-90ish.) It was the skating party. Couples skate. And I had to pay a quarter to get the cute boy to skate with me (don't laugh a quarter could get you far those days. A whole soda or a pretzel.) Anyway, he came up to me later with the quarter and his mom waiting in the wings. She was making him give it back. Hell yeah. I already had the skate and now could kick back with a nice cold Coke. Life was gooood.

RIP: WAWA at 20th and Chestnut. Another one bites the dust.

Meet market

Hello friends. It's been a little while, mostly because there hasn't been much to write about. Thankfully the weather is getting warmer, which means I am getting slightly more motivated to be active. So I've tried match, I've tried bars, now it's on to the next phase. Philly meet ups. I was perusing the interwebs last night and came across this lovely site. And I have devised a plan. Every month, until I get sick of it, I am going to go to a different one. I think I am going to save the Furry meetup and anything sports related until the very end. Nothing against the furries but I'm just not willing to test the beastiality waters at this time. So goodbye comfort zone, hello playing scrabble with 40-50 somethings. Maybe they will have hot sons for me to play with. I'll let you know how my first one goes. It's scheduled for the end of the month.

Post Quarter Life crisis

I swear my posts will start getting happier very shortly. I have self diagnosed severe Seasonal Affective Disorder, and Spring is being a big ol' cock tease. Taunting me with her heaving sunshine but she is a frigid one. Brrrr. I need warmth. I need to un pastify. I need to enjoy Rita's without feeling like I am dying from the inside out.

Anyway. So, I'm going to be 27 on Tuesday. My brain knows this is young, but this message is getting lost somewhere in my subconscious. I'm feeling rather old. I thought it was just me until I had an official old moment last night. Allow me to set the scene....

It's Making Time at Transit. I can only liken it to a festival o' hipster. Like carnies, but with tighter pants. So I'm there with my usual crowd of boys, since I have no more single lady friends in the area to speak of. They have all succumb. I notice a cute one giving me the eye and he starts dancing towards me, so I mosey on over. Upon closer dancing I realize he is oh so young. I ask. He's 22. I say ohh you're young. I tell him how old I am and he says. "Wow. I've never talked to anyone that old at a bar before. You look at least 5 years younger than that."

Yowch. The horror. So I backed away slowly, blending into the flailing crowd.

I think that made me put my desperate shoes on cause then I spotted another cute one and strapped on my lager balls and that convo went something like this.

me: I'm trying to hit on you
him: Oh, I didn't notice. I'm leaving though.
me: Oh well. You win some, you lose some.
him: Consider this one a tie.

What???????? That was the saddest excuse for witty banter/ rejection I've ever heard.

So it seems that all of my single friends are in the same position I am. Severe dry spell. I'm blaming the weather. We're hot and it should be, too.

Operation Me Time hit a snag this week. I drank 6 out of 7 days, which means my liver is about the only thing getting a work out. That changes this week.Back to the gym. Aside from B-day mojitos at Alma de Cuba of course. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

This used to be my playground

I'm about to get real on your asses. OK. So when I first started contributing to this blog, I told my boss and he gave me two stipulations. The first was that I don't show my real picture (because of the crazies) and the second was that I had to be completely honest. 100% honest. And I have been, to a fault. And tonight, I had my first blog casualty. It sucks and I feel bad although it is admittedly semi funny. OK. Remember the Match guy, the "over communicator" who I made out with last weekend? Well I saw him at Silk City again tonight. He nudged me and I was really happy to see him. The thing was, aside from the over communicating, I did kinda like him. But how do you tell someone they over communicate without it sounding otherwise? So I decided to ride it out and when he stopped, I was able to put things in perspective. But, after that we just kinda stopped talking without either one of us making any sort of move. In hindsight, this is probably because of the story to follow. So, he was at Silk City tonight, and was acting kinda rude. I went up to him to ask what his deal what and he made it clear that he had found this blog (I am sure he'll read this) and was upset that I called him an "over communicator." He wasn't interested in discussing it further. The funny thing is, I'm sure he read that way before we dance floor made out last weekend, but go figure it didn't stop him. Maybe this is my red flag anyway. He stalked out my blog, which I kind of figured he would, and he is the kind that professes every aspect of this life via his status messages and everything over the last few weeks has been about him hating women. And really, what 30 yr old does that? So there. From what you know of me, I don't have much of a filter. And it sucks cause it may have held me back from getting to know a cool, fun person, but if he is sensitive about this, he prolly couldn't handle allll this, anyway. Gah. I'm just getting home from the bar and will try to not delete this tomorrow. Lesson learned. Blog with caution. Maybe I'll just start writing these blogs directly to the people I'm writing about and cut out the middle man.

ugh

First off, I would like to apologize to those coming here looking for actual relevant cultural info. Apparently my cohorts have lives, so it looks like you're stuck reading about my dating (or lack thereof at the current moment.) While I haven't had anything happen in quite the while (so little if fact, that I ran into, and consequently made out with that one match guy that I mentioned in earlier posts.)

So today, after searching the missed connections for word from any of those little 18 yr old hotties that were too afraid to approach me at the Justice show last night (Can you be 26 and a cougar?), I read this article sent to me by a friend. Single men, read this. Learn it, live it.

OK back to work.

R.I.P late night binging

Today is a sad, sad day. Last night, before going to a show at Johnny Brenda's (more on this later) I stopped into my beloved Wawa on 20th and Locust and all of the shelves were barren. Then I noticed a sign that in 3 days they will be closed (you can't see it but a single tear just hit my keyboard.) I don't know what upsets me more, the fact that I was blindsided by the very people who fed me when I was intoxicated, put up with me singing entirely too loud to the muzak playing over the speakers, and gave me feeless atm withdrawls over the past 3 years, or is it the fact that I am actually really upset that a Wawa is closing. Now I have to shlep it aaall the way to 20th and Chestnut for my delicious hoagie treats. Le sigh. But what's the deal? First the wawa on 15th and Walnut now this one? I thought they were doing well. I mean there are like 3 with in 3 miles of my parent's house in the burbs, alone. So I am going to start a petition for a WAWA delivery service. "One hot dog please. Yes, straight to my mouth. Actually, could you go one step further and just chew it up and regurgitate it right in there."

Anyway, so yeah. My emo friend and I went to JB's last night cause he wanted to see this band called the Headlights. I had never heard of them but figured I couldn't pass up the chance of possibly meeting my dream hipsterish fella. The band was actually really good. But the clientele was mostly made up of the bad kind of crunchy hipster. You know the kind with the smelly knit caps and the coke bottle glasses? To each his own. Anyway, it's tough to meet people at bars and it doesn't help that my friend is a dude and it always looks like we're on a date. So I spotted a guy that was pretty cute and decided to ignore the fact that he was wearing skinny jeans. Then my friend (emo) and I realized that he was a drummer of this band and that I had already forced my number on him about a year ago. Is the selection in Philly that small? I've been forced to recycle? Oh well my only other option is hot but has the personality of toast that's been staling on the counter for a few days.

So I went up to him and said "Didn't I force my number on you once?" He remembered, still had my number, gave a good excuse for not calling and we had a nice little chat. So I'll let you know if I hear from him.

More importantly. Here's a question for you. Where are all the hot people in Philly hiding? I know there has to be some. The second part of this question is why am I not invited? I think it's because of those years with braces. Pretty people can sense that shit. It's like dogs smelling fear.

Saint Valentine. Why must you smite me?

It's that time of year. You, the coupled, call it Valentines Day. We, the independents, call it Singles Awareness Day (also known as S.A.D.) While others will be toasting to companionship and the fact that you will most likely be getting some, I will be enjoying my second annual S.A.D. festivities. For the second year, my friends and I (some coupled but they have to pretend to not like each other for the night) will be singing karaoke in our own room atop Fugi Mountain restaurant. I plan on opening with "All by myself" leading into "un break my heart" then maybe up the tempo a little with "love stinks". I kid. In reality it's just an excuse to get drunk with my peeps and crack a few glasses, with what I always think at the time is my angelic voice.

Operation me time hit a snag today. I'm moderately hairy and this freezing weather is blackening my soul. And instead of going out and trying to meet people, I opted to stay in this weekend and play a crap load of guitar hero and sing star for ps2. I justified it cause I was drunk and people came over. We tried to go to Loie and it stunk, and we realized we were having much more fun with the video games. But then I fell outside of wawa when I was trying to get a hot dog. It was so worth it because it was the best late night hot dog ever made. And every time I look at the scab on my hand, I remember. Oh hot dog, will you be my Valentine?

OK I'm going to try to get out of this funk and go to the gym. grrrrrrrr. Oh and I am going to take up yoga. Although I'm afraid I'm going to look like an asshole during the first class. The fact that the place is covered with windows doesn't help.

Tah.

Semantics

I've come to a realization. I don't think I could date Ryan Gosling. On my walk home last night I discovered that I would not be OK with him going off and making out with the Scarlet Johansons and Natalie Portmans of the world. He would then, of course, tell me that he would give up acting to be with me and I just couldn't have that. As much as I would like to not admit it, I think his famousness adds to his appeal. 'Cause then he would just be some dude that was in the Mickey Mouse Club.

I won't have to deal with this situation until he actually meets and subsequently falls madly in love with me. So I went out with 700 Club boy on Sat. Actually let me back this up. Even though I've been going on dates, I'm in the middle of the longest dry spell I'd had in a long while (hence my delusions of Mr. Gosling.) So Friday I'm at work. Feeling pretty randy, when along comes an IM from dating past. He was one of the dudes I was talking to, but it had kind of just fizzled. He's hot and all, but came with little too much baggage for my taste... just got out of a long relationship blaah blaaah blaaaah. Well,he caught me at a weak moment and invited me to his burb house for wining, dining. and making out. Dry spell is officially over. And I went into Saturday's date with that itch scratched. Sweet relief.

The date was fun, but he was wearing more jewelry then I was. Hippie jewelry. With his shirt unbuttoned enough to provide a window to his copious amounts of chest hair. Unpleasant. We went to Black Sheep (my ol' fallback) then Snack Bar, which was pretty cool. I got too drunk. Shocker. He called me to go out again this weekend and I'm not really into it. Here's why I am crappy at dating. I would much rather just never call him back and let it go away rather than saying I'm not interested. But that's rude, right? If you're a dude would you rather be rejected or just have someone not call you back?

La isla bonita

OK Operation Me Time is progressing swimmingly. If you need a refresher, this includes going to the gym, keeping organizedish surroundings, and daily shaving of my unmentionables even without promise of anyone seeing them. Trust me, this is a big feat for me. And my pants are a whole lot roomier, I'm pretty sure it's not because of the gym. I figure I'd take the field of dreams mentality of dating. "If you ladyscape it, they will come."

But I can't complain. Love life aside, everything is going pretty damned well. I got a promotion. Huzzah! And moved into a little office. I feel aaaall growed up.

Last weekend I did some celebrating and I have to say I was so very upset. My latest haunt, Silk City, has officially been ruined for me. We had kind of become obsessed. It was our old school L'Etage. You know, before everyone and their turdish friends found out about it and you could move without elbowing a wannabe hipster in the face? Well that's what Silk City meant to me. No cover, no wait and all the Madonna, Michael and Prince you could shake your shit to. We knew it was just a matter of time before word got around. And how! When we went on Sat, there was a wall of people front to back. My first task was to pee (due to excessive pregaming). Big mistake. The light was out and I had to feel my way around. I haven't been walking right since.

On the verge of a body-heat induced panic attack, my crowd and I bolted after 15 mins went to the 700 club. It had been a while since we'd been there. Mainly because Saturday DJ, as good as he is, smells like a hippie corpse that has been rotting on that bathroom toilet for months. DJ Stank aside, we had fun. I gave some dude my number even though he had a chodey hat on and he kept insisting that I was born in Spain. But he was kinda cute, friend approved, and he called me yest and asked me out for a drink. I will try fit into the pre-drink convos that there will be no train driving, so he can leave the conductor hat at home. And if you're wondering. Yes, it hurts to be this judgmental. But it hurts so good.

Mismatched

Well hello. So I did it. I signed up for the Match and rode out the month. Consensus; still scares le poo outta me. But what do I know? My friend signed up with me- a suicide pact if you will. And she's lovin' it. But we can both agree that there are heaps of crazy dudes in Philadelphia. Don't believe me? Well take a look at this gem of an email I received.

"Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
Inspired by your Beauty,
So I’m Writing to you,
Life is Hard and Life can Strife,
Maybe one day I can make you my Wife,
I don’t mean to be Forward and don’t mean to Press,
But Judging by your Page I’m very Impressed,
I know this Sounds Cheesy and you may not Believe Me,
But I just wrote this Poem and you’re the only one I’ve Shown,
If you like what you’ve Read and you like what u See,
Please do not Hesitate in Contacting Me =)"

I couldn't make this shit up. One guy sent me his life story, including but not limited to, a youtube video of his latest vacation. Complete with captions that flew across the screen in dayglo colors "DUDE, THIS IS AWESOME!" Glorious. I also got winked at by a chick, and was tempted to wink back. Maybe I have more soul searching to do than originally thought.

Oh, but don't worry I'm not saying there aren't crazy girls. I am one of them and I wear it proudly on my sleeve (another light bulb flashing as to why I am writing this.) But what I can say with complete honesty is that if you are a single GUY match is a good bet for you. I did a reverse search and the ratio of hot girls to guys is nuts. Such is Philly.

In all honesty, I only went on one date. Well it turned into 3. He was funny and nice and I tried oh so hard to be into it. But alas no sparks. I don't know if it's because I secretly judged him for being on match, or the fact that he over communicated. (Yes, I understand my hypocrisy.) How can I write one blog preaching the woes of no phone calls and now complain about over communicating? As much as a don't like to admit it, the chase is fun. And when you're getting texts on top of emails on top of IMs (all in the span of one hour) you start feeling a little... congested.

So what now? Whatever happens happens. I'm tiiiiired of looking. Dating is exhausting. So for now, I focus on me and maybe he'll turn up in the meantime. I started going to the gym, which is pretty funny if you knew me. I think a direct quote from Megan was that "somewhere there is a dough nut crying." And it's true. If you listen hard enough, you can hear him. He sounds delicious. I digress.

To all of you ladies on Match, I wish you luck. You're braver than I.

Meet You at the Diner!

As a native Long Islander, I consider myself somewhat of a connoisseur of the American diner. In fact, I truly love them. I grew up with a diner on every corner. After every high school evening out, we headed to the local diner. God knows we were tired and hungry from the hours of aimlessly driving around. It was a who's who of the Wantagh Social Scene. Fast forward 10 years and I am a girl about Philly, in constant search of the perfect diner.

Living in Center City, I find my diner options are slim. While I know that Philly has some of the best restaurants around, sometimes a girl just needs a greasy meal. Rittenhouse Square's Little Pete's (219 South 17th Street) is tiny, but it gets props for being open 24 hours, making drunken nights all the better. University City's Philly Diner (3925 Walnut Street) may be the worst diner I've ever visited. Packed with Penn kids and locals, I excitedly ordered a platter of cheese fries. Imagine my disappointment when they served me a small portion of microwaved American Cheese fries. I think I left in tears. Do not waste your time at this place under any circumstance.

The newly vamped, Northern Liberties hot spot Silk City Diner (435 Spring Garden Street) is too trendy to be a diner in my expert opinion. It is delicious but not super cheap. They offer plenty of fancy drinks, making this an ideal place for a girl's night out. South Philly's famed Penrose Diner (2016 Penrose Avenue) has some of the most spectacular people watching that you could ever imagine. A Friday night in the heart of South Philly will provide hours of conversation for your table.

Finally, my top rated diner choice is Bella Vista's Morning Glory Diner (735 South 10th Street). The hours are terrible and the servers aren't overly friendly, but it is a wonderful brunch spot if you can withstand a bit of a wait. Be sure to try the homemade ketchup.

Support diners- an American institution. Ben Franklin would have wanted it that way.

Excommunicated

A few things about me. 1.) I have crazy hair that kind of resembles a mop. A sexy sexy mop, of course. 2.) Sometimes I think I might drink too much but the thought of not drinking makes me sad. I likes my wine. Apparently not as much as I likes my liver. 3.) and the most important is that I think I am perpetually trapped in one of those ice breakers. You know the one where you have the piece of paper taped to your forehead and other people have to give you clues about what's written on there? Well I think I've finally begun to narrow mine down. It either says "rebound" or "Person you want to treat like crap".

So the ex, I have now erased him from my life. Finally. It's a New Years resolution that just kind of fell into my lap. And I have his douchebaggines to thank for it. We never talk but he always seems to pop back into my life whenever he likes to and give it a metophical noogie. Usually just around the time when I start seeing someone new or haven't thought of him in a while. I think all exes posses this gift. And I allow him to. Why? Cause he was hot. And even though he was a good guy, he definitely took advantage of me. So last night was the straw that broke the camel's back. He IMed me out of nowhere to wish me a happy new year and tell me that he's sorry he didn't come to my party but he is seeing someone. Oh and that he thought getting drunk around me would be a bad idea and that it was probably bad that he really wished he could be there. Am I missing something? I don't know when I subscribed to updates about his personal life. UNSUBSCRIBE! UNSUBSCRIBE! Remove me from your mailing list. I mean I certainly didn't think he was celibate but I also don't need to know when he's seeing someone. That was one of the benefits to having him hundreds of miles away. Anyway, I feel like I said my piece. That we are not friends, we don't need to talk and him telling me this was purely selfish on his part. He is now blocked. The initial upsetness has been replaced by a weight off my shoulder. I no longer have to wonder when he's going to decide to barge back into my life.

Onto other men. I tried match. I'm only doing it for this month. I've talked to a few nice guys, got winked at by people I'm pretty sure aren't guys yet and decided I am very shallow. It's not for me. While it's kind of addictive, almost like shopping for dudes, it feels a little forced to me.

Oh, and in random news. I get a text from sidehugs (remember him? Cause I barely do) on Friday at like 8 pm. It said "sorry I was such a dick 2 u". A.) This makes me nervous because I didn't realize he was such a dick to me. And b.) I've come to the conclusion that he's either going through the steps or it was part of a new years resolution.

So now I'm option free, but also ex free. So it's a good feeling. I think I'm going to try to enjoy being on my own a little more rather than trying so hard to look for a cuddle buddy. That's what cats are for. Now if I can only keep them from scratching my face.

Better Late than Never

It's been a very busy holiday season for this philly girl. I spent the better part of the last month being eaten alive by every flu, cold and sinus infection that came to town, fretting over work, and stressing over choosing the perfect gift for each of my various in-laws. But all's well that ends well, and now on a rainy and hung-over last Sunday of '07 I have some time to reflect on the season's activities. I did manage to make it to a few lovely holiday events and while it does little good for you readers to hear about them after they are over, for next year's holiday cheer I highly recommend the holiday home tour through Elfreth's Alley. For one evening in early December the residents of this, the nation's oldest continually inhabited residential street, open their doors to the public to tour their adorable and historically significant humble abodes. The houses are all dressed up for Christmas, trees trimmed and fires blazing in each living room. There was even a slight snowfall for effect. And Elfreth's is just a stone's throw from The Race Street Cafe, which has a great cozy ambiance and creative beer selection, a perfect winter warm up spot.

One more recommendation that maybe some last-minute types such as myself can take advantage of for one more week - not a holiday theme but certainly a nice family-friendly outing if you have guests coming in from out of town or if you're just looking for a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon. The Renoir exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art is really spectacular. It takes you through his life and loves and his experiences of Paris, London, and his travels through the coast of Italy, Algiers, and other colorful and lively destinations. You see paintings of every day life, of young men having drinks or his good friends painting in their back yards. Nevermind that his best friend just happens to be Monet.

The exhibit is here through to 01.06, so you still have time! Run the Rocky stairs straight into Renoir's world.

The Philadelphia Museum of Art
Benjamin Franklin Parkway
www.philamuseum.org