The importance of details...

My father has always told me that I need to pay better attention to things. It's true, I tend to be impulsive and overlook the details. What can I say...

This point needs to be revisited after I receive an email from my parents, sharing that a friend of their friend's son is recently divorced and new to the city, stating that we should totally meet up. They forward me along the email from their friend, stating how nice this man is, recently divorced after a "short marriage". He is "kind, funny, good looking, and has a good job". Since I like an adventure, I allow my parents to send along my email to this guy. How bad could it be?

As I share my potential bad decision with my sister, reading her the email that was forwarded along to me, I realize, there's more! Seriously, no attention to detail! I read the email that was sent from my parent's friend to this guy, where they tell him the following...

I have a friend who has a daughter who lives in NYC. She broke up with her fiance 3 weeks before the wedding. She moved to NY from Miami but grew up in Rhode Island. She is 30 years old, quite beautiful and 5'10. She is in some sort of social work and is Jewish. Would you be interested in meeting her?

Glad to know that I am quite beautiful, but really, is knowing that my fiance and I broke up three weeks before the wedding really a selling point? Not sure if I have to just pay more attention to details before making decisions or further instruct others to leave the gory details out.

The Gun in the Underwear Drawer

Its something when the date that you are on ends like a Game of Clue...

I met a Federal Agent, and from the get go, I'm thinking hot. My imagination brings me to this guy that, in my head, will be very exciting, totally sexy, and Bond like. Reality of course brings something different and not nearly as exciting. Still the night is interesting, to say the very least. I mean, the five plus drinks help too.

As I stumble back to my apartment, after the federal agent showed me that he was packing heat, I am made aware that he "is going to need to hide his piece." Makes sense after all, we are both intoxicated, and how does he know I'm sane. Really, there is so much smart decision making going on at this point.

As the alcohol gets the best of me, I retire to bed, alone. It is at this time that the Federal Agent reveals the gun has been hidden in my underwear drawer. Obviously!

Birthdays

So there is something about birthdays that lead us to regress back to childish antics. I think we tend to over look that time continues to pass and hope that with a tiara and ridiculous amounts of cupcakes (and by cupcakes I mean alcohol), we can actually reverse the aging process. I do believe it works, that is until the hangover sets in.

As I celebrated a friends birthday this weekend - the scene was set. There was 80s music, a comedy club, an overly confident birthday girl, fights, pissed neighbors, and ultimately, for the birthday girl, vomit in her sink. Ick!

As I paraded through the streets of the Upper East Side, with three boys in tow, I actually believed I was back in college, seeing myself strolling through the streets of DC, heading towards the dorm. As I pound on my friend's apartment door to return her brother and a random Swedish man, I feel empowered and totally in control, like only a confident college girl can. What I am overlooking is the fact that my shirt is drenched in beer, I am being followed by a man whose shirt could fit my 6 year old niece. And its 5:00am.

Waking up after only two hours of sleep, with make-up smeared on face and a foggy recollection of the night's events, I realize that it was a mere illusion, fueled by a mix of vodka and Bud Light. I am in fact thirty, and can't hang like I used to. It was fun while it lasted and that's got to count for something! In reality,however, I am still drunk and popping Advil and Pepcid.