You are Found Guilty of Gaslighting and Sentenced to Embarassment

I penned this post back in January on my phone in Penn Station after a conversation with a boy made me absolutely furious.

At the time, I didn’t have the balls to press post. Now I figure why the fuck not. So here ya’ll go.  


Let me pull a Taylor Swift blog style for a moment.


Ever since the conception of Twenty Something What is my life and the first post I ever penned about “I’m Sorry” gifts, I’ve been on and off reeling from a rather interesting encounter with a supposed textbook Southern charmer from North Carolina. He is the mainly guilty party in my Hall of Lame I’m sorry gifts post.

Let me give you a quick profile. Thirty years old, small southern accent, works in the food industry and I met him in a bar that he managed. Super polite to everyone, but you’d never peg him as a huge ladies man. Initially perceived as a very sweet and nice guy that was raised to be a gentleman.

On top of being a liar, he is also guilty of gaslighting. For those unfamiliar with the term, it refers to an asshole who does something warranting a rather negative reaction. If said reaction makes them unhappy, they feebly attempt to make you feel bad about it. Gaslighting aims to make victims doubt their own perceptions and feel guilt.


For those that need a more substantial example let’s say Mr. Charmer practically BEGS you to be exclusive with him, and as soon as you decide to not use your charm, sass, and boobs to get drinks and flings with other guys, his list of highly questionable actions start piling up. The sequence of events is as follows.

1. Charmer decides to bring me and my girlfriend to a friend’s house after meeting up with several people at a bar. Call it an after-party of sorts where I am meeting his friends for the first time. More people come to the house, including his friend of the female variety who I had met a few weeks previous. I met her, she met me, and we exchanged the usual pleasantries before he privately explained to me that they had never hooked up… ever. She comes in and I smile, and I am met with a look of drunken disdain. Girl was throwing shade like Regina George.


Oh well, hello to you to. Well I brush it off since I’m in a 4loko haze and there’s the sweetest dog at the party that I’d rather hang out with anyways. My next question is why Charmer and this bitch are in the bathroom for an hour? I guess Charmer didn’t let his friends in on his manipulations, because it’s one of them who told me the truth about the two having previously dated.

Charmer spends the next 30 mins wondering why I’m not going anywhere near him and why I’m leaving the party. He insists they were “just talking” and for the next few weeks, continues to tell me nothing happened.

2. Then comes the actual sleeping with this girl, while we’re supposedly exclusive. I find out from her, not him. In fact he goes a few weeks without telling me. She also confirms my suspicions on the bathroom incident and when I bring it up, Charmer claims he really did not think anything happened, and that he didn’t find out the truth until a few days later. Apparently, he was really just THAT drunk.

3. He begs to be let back into my life. He actually wants to be my BOYFRIEND. He decides it’s worth cutting all ties with her even when I refuse to stop seeing other guys.

4. For a few months, he’s attempting to win me back, and in some cases it’s working. I refuse to be completely exclusive, but I rarely have time to spend with anyone else. I don’t think I can handle him talking to her again and he tells me he won’t. He tells me I’m the first girl he loves and that I’m the one. I take it with a grain of salt, even if I secretly wish he was being honest. I make it clear that any evidence that he’s speaking to her and I walk out the door.

5. I find out that he’s been texting her behind my back. BIG SURPRISE. I give him up.

6. He starts sending me I’m sorry gifts when I move to Boston.

7. I blog about it.


It wasn’t until yesterday that he discovered my blog post. The reaction to me calling his gifts pathetic and selfish set the following conversation into motion:

Charmer: I’m not sending you anything in the mail. I’m not trying to make you a true piece of artwork that I try really hard on and have it mocked on your blog. Maybe later when you think I’m no longer sending you “I’m Sorry” presents. Those were things to just make you smile and start your day off with a hit. I said I’m sorry, I don’t need to give you gifts for that.

Me: I dislike getting your gifts because every nice thing you do for me is in some way for you to feel less bad about what you did. Did you ever try to make me smile when it wasn’t after you did something horrible to me? No. The first nice thing you did for me was after the bathroom incident. The second? After you slept with her. Sending me the flowers? After you texted her. While we were together? Nothing.

Charmer: I’m trying to show you that I care.

Me: So you didn’t care for me when everything was fine and I wasn’t halfway walking out on you? You should’ve showed me you cared by NOT lying to me. I guess buying me flowers is a lot easier.

The conversation becomes circular. He keeps claiming he loves me and cares for me, while I start getting furious. I just want him to stop the word vomit! I hate word vomit… especially when it’s of the bullshit variety.

Charmer: I didn’t realize the damage I was causing when I did those things.

Me: Are you stupid?

And the gaslighting begins.

Charmer: Conversation is over if you’re going to start calling me stupid. I wish you could believe me when I tell you that I loved and cared for you but I know everything I did counters that.

Me: You lied to me? That’s stupid. You’re stupid because you did the one thing I said would result in me leaving and then bellyache about losing me. A stupid person counter acts what they want.

Charmer: Have a good night.

BUT ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t end there. The gaslighting continues.

Charmer: I ask you not to call me stupid in this conversation and you do the opposite. I’ll talk to you all night and day about what happened to us but I’m not going to be talked down in this manner.

Me: If you don’t want to be a liar, don’t lie. If you don’t want to be a cheater, don’t cheat. If you don’t want to be called stupid…. you can get the idea. And I wonder how it feels when someone that supposedly cares for you does the exact opposite of what you ask…. hmm…


GASLIGHTING: Blaming me for calling you stupid… when stupid is as stupid does.



They See Me Rowing….. They Hatin…



There’s nothing quite like Summer in Boston, and one of the best places to spend your youthful (or in your twenties during your quarterlife crisis) Summers is on the Charles River.

No I don’t even want to begin to wonder whats in the Charles.

But as long as it’s safe enough to touch I’m down for some water sports.

For the first time this summer, I tried paddle boarding, and took my friend Denine there for her 25th birthday. It was quite the experience, even if I don’t have anything snarky or sarcastic to say.

We arrived at Charles Canoe & Kayak at 500 Broad Canal Way in Kendall Square, where I exchanged pleasant banter and smiles with a chiseled employee teaching us about how to navigate the River safely (“If a duck boat quacks at you, you quack back!”). We received our boards and made our way into the bacteria and algae filled canal.

Yes, you read that correctly. The canal is actually a place that you don’t want to fall into, as there has been algae detected in it, representing the bacteria that is festering in it’s waters.

Paddling through the canal towards the river was one of the most anxious moments I’ve had all Summer..

When I safely made it through, the site was magnificent, filled with sailboats, kayak, bridges, harbors, and the esplanade. Through out the experience we paddled up and down the docks, passed under bridges, waved to the tourists that took our pictures from their trolleys, and relaxed on our boards to catch some rays.

After some serious bullshitting around we returned our kayaks, paid our fee and enjoyed dinner and drinks at the near by patio at Commonwealth, where with the receipt from paddle boarding, we received an extra 10% our meal.

Water, Sun, and discounts at dinner. Exactly what a twentysomething needs after a stressful week.




I’ve Made Up My Mind About Making Up My Face

Over the weekend, I found myself thinking about makeup and cosmetics. How did the term “makeup” come about? Is it meant to imply that women are “making up” their sense of self beauty?

And then I started thinking of all the feminist reasonings behind resisting putting on your face and the idea that women should be comfortable just the way they were born: without foundation, bronzer, blush, mascara or lipstick. That not wearing cosmetics was meant to be the true indicator of a girl that is 100% comfortable with herself, and does not need the compliments that stem from a pretty lipstick or glowing complexion. I liked that thought, but I’ll admit that it’s not my primary reason for not wearing makeup.

I’m pro healthy body image, but I’m a practical sort.

So my reasons for not wearing makeup anymore have nothing to do with a feminist agenda, challenging society’s perception of beauty, or trying to be 100% comfortable in my own skin.

First, I honestly have no idea how to apply most cosmetics, including foundation, concealer, highlighter, blush, and eye shadow. I’ve attempted to guess over the years, and that has left me looking like a makeup bag threw up on my face.


I even would stress out about which product I was supposed to use. Is my skin oily? Am I a warm or a beige? Do I want foam, powder, and liquid make up? Revlon, L’Oreal, Cover Girl, or Maybelline? And what the hell is contouring??


So I stuck to what I knew, which was mascara and eyeliner, both products which really didn’t do anything for me. One reason, is because I’ve been cursed with the shortest eyelashes in the history of mankind. Mascara only makes my lashes look normal; not lengthy or voluminous, and they definitely don’t look like stilettos.


I’ve tried numerous expensive brands, and I’ve settled on one that just makes my eyelashes look…. More black?

I perceived eyeliner to be the big game changer in my makeup routine. As long as I had eyeliner on, I felt put together. I didn’t even put it on any other part of my eye besides the waterline, just on top of my lower eyelid. The felt tipped pen never even grazed the surface of my upper lid. All attempts to do a cat-eye or smokey-eye have failed miserably. Clearly, if you didn’t understand before then now you do, my makeup applying skills are few and far between.


So besides the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing when I put on makeup, it seems to disappear a few hours after I put it on, forcing me to perform a quick re-apply in a dimly lit bathroom over a sink covered in puddles, and of course, making it necessary that I am consistently carrying make up everywhere I go. In the summer, make up just seems to melt off my face during the twenty minute walk to my office. The Summer in Boston humidity really hates my face.

So I ask; if it’s just going to disappear later, I only use two to three products, and I can’t even apply the stuff correctly, why do I even need make up?

So I decided I don’t. So to save my budget and time, I’m not going to wear makeup unless I actually WANT to. No more poking myself in the eye, or allotting 30 minutes to put on my face in the morning as if it’s a necessity.

And I’m not writing this post to announce that I am joining a self beauty campaign in an effort to teach girls to appreciate their natural beauty (even though, I believe that). I’m just posting because, like I say in the behind the blog, I just write to write….

So no, there will not be multiple posts a day, breaking down my experience on the makeup free side of life, with quotes about how I’ve loved feeling comfortable in my own natural skin day after day. Just this one.

But in case you’re wondering, Day 1. I went on a date. It went well. No makeup needed.



Tools that the Dating World is Missing

At twenty-one, I graduated a semester early and then moved thirteen hours away from my friends and family to work in a new state and live alone. I made some pretty big decisions, including adopting a rescue dog and then transferring back up North to live in Boston, a great city where the rent really is too damn high. I put money into a matching 401K, got off my parents insurance policy, and started picking my own doctors.

In the past three years, I’ve gotten quite comfortable and capable. I understand my job, schedule my doctor appointments annually, pay my ridiculous rent, and essentially get shit done.

However, one thing that always been a mystery to me and to be honest, something that seems to be a mystery to most twenty-somethings is dating. I do not, for the life of me, understanding dating and marriage, and sometimes I come back from a night out wishing that certain tools existed to help me better identify who I should be investing my time in. Because most of the time, my friends are all:



And I’m like:



1. Indicators of availability: How many times have you struck up a genuine conversation with someone, only to realize that they have a significant other at home, overseas, arriving later, etc. I would like indicators that automatically tell me who is available to chat up and who isn’t going home to a bed that they have to share. Wedding rings are a great signal so how about they make rings for exclusively committed.

And what about the guys that don’t tell you they have a significant other? I would like insurance to know that I am not intentionally home wrecking.

Personally, I would also like indicators of crazy ex girlfriends that are still in their lives, because ain’t nobody got time for that.

2. Tinder in Real Time: I would love to know who in the bar finds me attractive. That way I don’t waste my time with guys that are completely uninterested. I know this might seem superficial, but guys aren’t going to strike up a conversation with me because I look like I like the Wire. They are going to chat me up because they are into Asians with subtlety placed Eagle tattoos.


3. Disclaimer of Intentions: Honestly? I would appreciate it if guys that have only wanted sex just said that they only wanted sex. Don’t date me to entertain me. I could be hanging out with friends or treating myself to a massage, both things that are infinitely more intimate than any time I’ll be spending with you after hours.

4. Criminal Records, Ex Wives, Hidden Children: There are some things that are fun to share during a date, like food preferences, family stories, and common interests/hobbies. Things like wrap sheets and prison tattoos? NOT.

5. More Overt Invitation to Approach: Countless of times, my girlfriends and I will lock a target of hot eligible bachelors in our sights, and we end of spending the night eye screwing them until someone makes a motion hours later.


By that time my face hurts from smiling, and I’ve already consumed too many shots to care. In the animal kingdom, various dances are performed, colors appear, and feathers are revealed to signal a “come hither”. In the human world, we spend the entire night wondering if he will come over, if I should go over, what do I say when I go over, and then regret it when nothing happens.

6. Gamer Player or Game Changer: Because I would like to know if you feed into this whole “if you care less than you are winning” game or if you’re an adult and text me when you want to talk to me. I’ve spent years playing this game and to be honest I am exhausted.


7. The Fab Five: Knowing the top five things that you two have in common would be a fantastic way to differentiate between the guy at the bar that shares your interest in politics and dogs, or the guy with whom the only interest you share is that you both have a brother.

8. Alcohol Meter: I would love to know how many drinks someone has sucked down before I had the honor to meet them.

9. An Out of Five Star Rating: Knowing what the common consensus of an individual was before meeting them would be pretty helpful. Like any hotel or restaurant that comes with a five star capable rating for things such as menu, service, and cleanliness; those ratings for a potential mate would be much appreciated. Any personal reviews would be welcome as well.

10. A Bullshit Radar: would be strong for the obvious reasons.



Well Played Zac Brown Band. Well Played.

In true Upstate New York by way of North Carolina transplant to Boston fashion, I went to one of two sold out Zac Brown Band concerts at the famous Fenway Park. Basically I was one of 70,000 people that saw an amazing show that could only be described by my friend Marc as “life changing.”

I’m not being dramatic. I am not joking. I am still reeling and trying to wake up from my ZBBcoma as I approach the work week and I whole heartedly refuse as I go into work with my new ZBB trucker hat that I can’t let go of.

The concert was perfectly placed in the day so that the first half was enjoyed as the sun set over the Green Monster. After a ten minute intermission, the second half was performed as the fans at Fenway welcomed the night and a ton more ZBB surprises along the way.


As if the setting of a sold out Fenway Park at sunset wasn’t enough, the concert was a feat itself for the band performed over 30 songs in the course of three hours with only a ten minute break in between. No opener, just pure ZBB goodness performing all the favorites as well as some amazing covers.

America was the fashion statement of the night and there is nothing more patriotic than joining in USA chants with the beer flowing at Fenway park and marines on stage during “Chicken Fried”.

The guitar strings, drum kit, percussion, and fiddles seemed to be on fire last night, and I fell helplessly I love with the fiddler, especially after the band covered “Devil Went Down to Georgia”. I just wish he slammed his fiddle down wrestle mania style and proclaimed “I done told you once you son of a bitch I’m the best there’s ever been”.

Once it seemed that everything was over, the band starts an encore lit under blacklights dressed as performing neon skeletons. A song later they are covering “I’m Shipping off to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys and end the concert with “Enter Sandman” by Metallica. The talent! The versatility! My ovaries exploding!

I challenge all self proclaimed country haters to see this band and walk away saying it wasn’t worth it. Because you probably will get jumped by girls in cowgirl boots wearing handkerchiefs as tube tops and guys in Mericuh muscle tanks.

In true white girl fashion: I. Literally. Died. Last. Night. I. Can’t. Yaaasssssss.







LDF: Long Distance Flirting is STUPID

I’m going to give myself this. When it comes to relationships I’ve hiked through a lot of bullshit and back, almost to the point that I have sworn off anything serious for quite some time.


But I still trek through, knee deep in horse shit, and experienced a semi-pseudo since sophomore year of college HUNGER GAMES of a relationship, cheating, and guys applauding me when I lost 25 pounds and had some serious self image issues. All of this, wishing blissfully for fucking NORMAL, whatever the hell that is. But I do know it doesn’t include fucking mind games, sexting your ex, or making your other significant other feel like they are a parasite sucking out your lifeblood rather than someone that you appreciate and share a nice co-dependent relationship with where parties put in the same fucking amount of effort holy FUCK I AM FURIOUS.


Most of the above is for another time (sorry guys, but it’s STILL too soon for me tell the story of my experience as the MockingJay in the arena of friends with benefits, shit gets complicated, guys want what they can’t have death trap which I certainly don’t remember volunteering for).

I’m going to go share my experience with Long Distance Flirting and how it is JUST AS STUPID as volunteering oneself into the Hunger Games. It’s been over a year since I landed in Bahston and I never thought the first boy I would meet would be a Canadian that my friends endearingly called Canada Boy.

My first weekend, my roommate and I head out to a bar that would eventually become my stomping ground for the next year because they serve these wicked huge beers in 32oz mugs for $cheap. We are standing, next to a group of four guys and casually we succeed in striking up conversation about how they are all from Ottawa, and have traveled to NYC, Philly, and Boston in a USA tour of some sorts. Fast forward and Canada Boy and I are separated from the group to talk about sports and this kid is making me smile like you wouldn’t believe.

2xfast foward and he spends the night, while my roommate semi-kinda hooks up with his buddy. We talk about experiences and he explains that he had this ex that cheated on him, and a month before meeting me he was considering giving her another chance, when he sees her at the club making out with another guy. I share stories, and we both explain that we’re finished with cheaters.

3xfast foward and after he asks, we’re hanging out on what happens to be the last night he and his friends are spending in the States. How sweet. A follow up date after meeting at a bar? Mind blown.

Then what commences is 7 months of talking EVERYDAY with texts peppered with “you’re not like girls in Canada. You’re amazing and I’ve never met a girl like you. Move here and I’d be the happiest guy on the planet.” And of course his favorite line, “I miss your smile. I can’t wait to see it again.” Well I guess that last line was true because in that time span, he drove 8 hours to see me three times. We would spend our days walking the city, shopping, going to restaurants at the seaport, enjoying the Brazilian steakhouse in Copley, walking by the waterfront, going to Pourhouse to stand where we first met, and enjoying a Patriot or Bruins game. Before he would leave, he always left a sweet note on my desktop, talking about how much fun he had and how he couldn’t wait to see me again. He’d also surprise me with a Thank You gift: an Alex and Ani bracelet that he saw me eyeing, earrings that he noticed I didn’t have, cannolis from the North End, or chocolates and flowers.

So of COURSE I’m left thinking “holy crap, this guy doesn’t even see me and he appreciates me more than anyone I’ve ever met.” I was also left wondering how his She-Devil ex could have treated him the way she did. After 7 months I thought to send him a joint Christmas/early bday present because he needed to feel appreciated too.

Anddd then about a week and a half after sending that, there is a picture of him and her celebrating his bday together in early January.

BOOM! Yup that was the car of inevitable disappointment HITTING ME for ever engaging in LDF.


So I do what I typically do in scenarios like this. I distance emotionally. I may still talk to the guy, but no more telling him I miss him. No more answering his texts when I should be focusing on meeting someone that lives in the same god damn country for Christ’s sake. And let’s get this straight. Distancing myself emotionally isn’t an IRRATIONAL thing. It’s fucking necessary, and if you’re going to look at me and say I over reacted then tell me what’s more irrational. Still pretending there were feelings there or moving on? Yeah so all of you on the girls always act irrational train… GO FACK YAHHSELVES.

My new found indifference is met with “why don’t you talk to me as much anymore? I always smile when I see your texts you but never text me first anymore. I have time off next week, what if I came to visit. I miss your smile. We just ran into each other, if you want me to delete her off of Facebook I will.”

No… I don’t want you to do anything. I’m annoyed because I’m putting emotional coin into this and she’s the fucking one that gets to take you out on your bday. Naturally LDF IS FUCKING POINTLESS.


You may be thinking, “But, LDF is fine as long as there is a mutual understanding that both parties can do whatever they want after they separate. They should just enjoy the time that they have together when they visit each other, and then understand that only disappointment can come from actually caring for them since they will never be a couple.”

Well, I kind of have a secret to let you in on. I didn’t think it was necessary to expose on my blog to people like you because I thought it was obvious. But as time has gone on, I now feel the need to let everyone know in my public forum something about myself.

YASSSSSS I am a human. I smile when I’m happy, and get giggly when I’m drunk, and cry when I’m sad, and dissapointed when my dreams fall apart, and determined when I go to the gym, and stressed when something feels beyond my reach.

So naturally, I smile when I meet a cute guy, and smile even more when said guy starts showing interesting, and I’m happy after our first kiss, and can’t stop laughing when I find him so perfectly funny. I get scared when I realize my feelings are stronger, and disappointed when I realize my effort isn’t being recognized, and feel quite sad when I get rejected that maybe I MAY even fucking shed a tear or two or three or fucking hell, a god damn river.

But the story doesn’t end yet. Canada boy decided to take a week off and come to the States to visit me, and I say sure. He arrives on a Friday and plans to leave the next Saturday morning, his longest visit yet. Well we got to Wednesday night when he receives a text from She-Devil while out of my room and his phone is sitting on my nightstand.

Homeboy doesn’t try to explain shit. I calmly ask, “are you going to look at that?” and he replies “I don’t want to, I know you’re disappointed.”

Yup. Yup. Sounds about right.

Canada boy doesn’t explain himself, and to be honest, he doesn’t need to. Because let’s face it: it’s LDF. Even I can admit I cannot be angry about this and hold it against him.

What I can do is tell him to pack his shit and leave in the morning, and just leave me alone for a bit because I am swearing off LDF. So I did.


And then I blogged about it.


#ThatMomentWhen: You Realize You have a lot in Common with Aziz Ansari

It’s been 2 and a half years at my current job, and I still can’t tell if having Friday’s off is a curse or a blessing since I binged watch comedy specials all day this Friday (again… curse or blessing?).

Even though the temperature was sunny and in the high 50s, this Friday afternoon was not quite wasted since I watched Aziz Ansari comedy specials and decided that he and I share a lot of relate-able experiences and viewpoints. Basically by experiences are a comedy special…. what is my life?


1. Girls always go for the douche bags. Sadly, I cannot disagree with this statement,  and I will humbly raise my hand above my head about 3 inches and turn my head the other way while shading my eyes with my other hand.

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Ansari explains that there are two types of guys at the bar.

  • Type 1: The guys that only talk to each other. Who may eventually gather the courage to compliment you, but then will be either politely or rudely rejected.
  • Type 2: These are what Ansari calls the dumb dudes, who exclaim “Give me a shot of Jagermeister, drop it in a beer with a bunch of other shit. I’ll say anything to anybody!!! Excuse me excuse me, ahh I just wanted to say you look really beautiful tonight and I was hoping one day I could put my hands on your titties. Is it okay if I’m shitty to you and cheat on you whenever I want?” The men who girls eventually go home with….

Yes, Ansari might have a point here but my theory is as follows. I will actually say that as a woman, nothing gets us more sexually frustrated than hot men that only talk to each other and totally ignore you. Maybe they don’t even ignore you, maybe they’ve looked your way and basically undressed you with their gaze, and yet they STILL do not come over to talk to you, giving you ample time to get boozed up and put on your douche bag stunner goggles, and all of a sudden all the “dumb dudes” look like gentleman.


2. Marriage is more outrageous than it seems. Ansari begs to ask the question, how did the idea of marriage even come up, and gives quite the possible scenario that brought structure to this ritual.

Man: “You know how we have been hanging out and spending time together. I want to keep doing it till you’re dead. Put this ring on your finger so people know we have an arrangement. That’s a priest. I want you to swear to God you won’t back out of this deal. That’s a cake with two tiny dolls that look like us. EAT A SLICE. Now feed a little bit me.”

The idea of marriage is fantastic, and I’m not going to claim to be one of those girls that crave an alternate lifestyle at all. I want to be married for sure, but nonetheless, it’s a societal structure that has become a norm. Biologically, humans are meant to be with multiple partners and to even have children with multiple partners. That makes the idea of marriage even MORE strange to me.



3. No sadder sign of the times then the increasing number of dick pics. Guys are texting pictures of their dick to women all the time. How did such a bizarre thing become such a common place. I’m just DYING for Aziz to include a bit on Tinder into his shows and if he needs any inspiration he can link back to my last Tinder Post.

4. Random roommates on Craiglist can be scary. This brought me significant worry, since in Boston, that is one of the only ways people, myself included, can find roommates now a days. Ansari’s horror story, made my Craigslist fears even more concrete.

The fact that now I have to start looking for a roommate for our lease in September makes this bit even more terrifying.

7. Being friends with your little cousin on Facebook can be horrifying. Ansari’s little cousin Harris lives in Georgia and to be perfectly honest, his comedy special made me think that one: Harris needs some friends and to stop feeding his anti-social Halo addiction, and two: that I need to think twice before following my family members on social media. My friend’s list is peppered with some cousins from Vietnam, my older cousins posting pictures with their kids, and my second cousins.

Now I’m not scared of them posting self quoting dark statuses such as “life’s dirty, you gotta play dirty to win it,” quite like Ansari, but I was petrified to see that my 11 year old cousin on Instagram had a girlfriend, or that my twin cousins that just celebrated their Sweet 16s this year just had their Junior Prom. These events don’t seem quite terrifying, but they make me feel Terrifyingly old. I can feel my eye sockets and rack sagging this very minute.

8. It’s a frustrating time to be single right now. A bunch of texting, miss communication and eventually ghosting. Ansari likens dating to being  a secretary for a shoddy organization, scheduling the dumbest shit with the flakest people ever. We’re also left trying to decipher if we are even on a date, because we go on these date-friend-hangout things. It could always be a date, but no one says that it’s a date.


Make sure you catch all of Aziz Ansari’s Comedy Specials such as Buried Alive, Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening, and Dangerously Delicious on Netflix, especially if you have no life… like me.


Purposely Missed Connections: Confessions of a TinderElla

Being a twentysomething living in the hustle and bustle of Boston, MA, my Tinder app gets flooded with pictures of hot guys cut from very different cloths. Whether it’s a Burly Bearded from Southie, a Muppie (Millennial Yuppie) from Back Bay, or a Hipster from Cambridge, I probably have swiped right and in the process killed any previous notion that I have a “type”.

With over 200 matches, I’ve only met a handful of real flesh, breathing people and I’d like to keep it that way, and there are multiple reasons why.


1. Tinder is like 2048, lots of swiping in one direction with the soul purpose of entertaining myself. I’m bored, and swiping takes little to no effort. This makes Tinder a great way to pass time before bed or when I’m on the crapper (yup, you may have just matched with a girl that is in the pissah). I already checked my text messages, Facebook notifications, Instagram comments and trending tweets. I’m already rendered cross eyed by endless games of 2048 and I’d rather look at men than multiples of 2.

2. Matches make me smile, because that guy that I think is sexy also thinks I’m sexy and maybe we’re sex-patable. Isn’t that a nice thought? Tinder is an ultimate confidence booster.


3. I’ll swipe left, for multiple reasons including gym selfies, children in your arms, or your dick pic. Or because, I just don’t find you attractive.

4. We matched and I’m on a roll so I’m going to keep swiping for another and then forget to message you.

5. Accidental Swipes can be double sided. We will never meet if you’re a bonafide hottie that I accidentally swiped left to when I was vigorously going through the bow wows and dick pics. We will also never meet if I accidentally swiped you right, as in, I did not mean to ever match with you.


6. The first message was either one of two things. A boring “Hey” which did not tempt a conversation, or a “let’s swap pics”, “Hey there cutie”, or “I’m not a rooster but watch what this cock’ll-do-to-you”. Nope, not answering, but blocking. Also, all I ever did was swipe right. Do I owe you anything? No. So don’t follow up my inactivity with “Hey sexy where you at???” or get butthurt that you either bored me or creeped me out.


7. Like an eager beaver, you want to meet right now. You noticed I was active a mile away, and you’re pretty much telling me to throw my pants back on and come to meet you when I’m curled up in bed next to my dog Moses. Nope, sorry, no.

8. Unless it’s food STAHP SHARING your unattractive stories that would make me run off into the hills with stones stuffed in my ears and forks in my eyes. I don’t want to know about your ex or your kids before I know that you actually exist. Just STAHP.


9. U type lyke dis doughh and it isn’t funny. In the world of a qwerty keyboard, which I know you have since you have the Tinder app, you can afford to type out full words… though.

10. You aren’t 26, and Tinder lied because you’re an undergrad and too young for me Bro.

11. Catfish and the Craigslist Killer have made me second guess stepping out of my apartment for any online rendez-vous. It did however, make me want to be best friends with Nev and Max.



So there you have it. I am not going to put on pants, leave my snuggly dog, and go through any meet-up-with-someone-and-awkwardly-stand-there anxiety for accidental swipes, no swipes, perverts, bores, undergrads, children, adults who type lyke children, or serial killers.




I Want to Ride my Bicycle Bicycle Bicycle

Who said it was ever too late to teach an old dog new tricks?

Possibly the same person who said it’s too late to teach a twentysomething how to ride a bike. What is my life?

As a child I had a bike. It was pink and had training wheels. Eventually, it had only one training wheel, but never was I able to fully let go of that training wheel, my safety blanket, the only thing keeping me from hitting pavement. This quite possibly resembles the relationship I have with coffee…. but anyways…

As item #2 on my 2014 Summer Bucket List, my roommates Ricky and Ariel decided it was about damn time that I learned a childhood skill that I had never fully developed. I decided sure, let’s take a risk on the concrete Boston sidewalks and make Commonwealth Ave my bitch.

First, Ricky taught me the ins and outs of bike safety, including wearing this dashing helmet:



And according to them, I looked gooooood:




Then, there was a bit of hesitation:


That bar is WAY too close to some sensitive areas!


Then, I forgot to peddle:



Thanks daddy Ricky, for holding up my ENTIRE body weight… and gym bag.


After a few misadventures, I GOT IT!




Face of success:



And some stranger’s dog decided to give me a congratulatory leg hump:



Happy Ending. Except for the uncomfortable resulting wedgie that I had to endure at the gym afterwards. 


Anyways, I promise eventually I’ll do something even more cool to blog about like go on a disastrous date or rant about something else. But it’s a Monday folks, and who really wants to read that much in the beginning of the week anyways.


A Suggestion to the NBA: How to Punish Donald Sterling

As if Doc Rivers and the LA Clippers didn’t have enough to worry about besides trying to win an NBA Championship.

And hello to all who have either been anxiously awaiting my next post, my loyal friend followers of about 20 individuals, and perhaps some new readers from my Twittersphere (whooo 83 followers!). I’ve been looking for a reason to resurrect TwentySomethingWIML, and while so much has happened (2014 Winter Olympics, Korean Ferry sinking, the ongoing 2014 Crimean crisis, etc.) I could not ignore the fact that an old, ugly, and decrepit man (who can still manage to have both a wife AND girlfriend) was a top trending topic all week. It helped that I finally found out how to use Twitter, but that’s another story that I could probably blog about later.

PROFILE: Meet Donald Sterling b.1934


Occupation: Owner of the Los Angeles Clippers in the NBA

Imagine seeing this lovely, leathery face on your Tinder prospects. Well his profile might say something along the lines of “I won’t broadcast that I associate with black people, even when African Americans athletes are working their asses off to earn my team and their city a national title. I won’t even broadcast it even though my girlfriend is half African American. Even when Doc Rivers, one of the most recognized and respected coaches in the league works for my franchise.”

My Thoughts: I’m moved to both anger and sadness. Anger for the obvious reasons; I strongly disapprove of bigotry and racism on any level, and sadness for the Clippers who publicly showed at Game 4 Sunday against the Golden State Warriors that they denounce Sterling’s ugly comments. LA, a team of talented players from a variety of backgrounds, is now faced with suspended sponsorships, terminated sponsorships, and a major distraction during the most important time of the season.

With an NBA investigation in place, we can only hope that the NBA and commissioner Adam Silver can find a way to get rid of this racist and ugly bigot.

But, I decided to compile a list of punishments that I would recommend:

1. Cover the floor of Staples Center with the sharpest of Lego pieces. Make him do suicides barefoot.

2. Give him perpetual papercuts in the wrinkly, old webbings between his fingers.

3. Make him take a selfie with every African American NBA player.

4. Force him to only take the coldest of showers for the rest of his life.

5. Make him walk on cobblestone in heels for hours.

6. Hit him in the funny bone, over and over again.

7. Lock him in with the Hippos at the Los Angeles Zoo. I mean he is starting to look like one.


8. While at the Zoo, he can become the Zoo pooper scooper. Make him sleep in it.

9. Twilight movies on repeat.

10. Baseball pitches to the groin, thrown by African American baseball pitchers.

11.  Forced licking of all flag poles in below freezing climates.

12. Continuously blow dust and sand into his eyes over and over again.

13. Forced self-inflicted toe stubbing.

14. Force him to stare into the sun for hours at a time.

15. Make him sit on hot leather car seats without pants. After an hour make him stand up and experience the awful pain of the seat peeling from your bare legs. Repeat.


Feel Free to comment and add to this list. Maybe Adam Silver will get some ideas!