One of My More Self-Deprecating Entries

This new living situation is going to take some adjustment. You can't really count on boys to provide adequate outfit approval or love handle reassurance. But, I must say, Boy Roommates #1 and #2 are doing shockingly well.

Scenario #1
Me: I got new shoes today!
BR #1: Yeah? Are those them? They look very '40s. Nice.
Me: Yeah, I guess they do. They're $80 shoes and I got them for $20!
BR #2: Great deal!
They actually feined interest in my shoes! That's so sweet.

Scenario #2
I know I broke a cardinal rule by asking this question, but I was PMSing and I was desperate. Thank God BR #1 gave the correct answer.
Me: Hey.
BR #1: Hey, what's up?
Me: Um, so yeah I know I should never ask you this question. But say you saw me walking down the street and you didn't know me. Would you think I was chubby or just average?
BR #1: Um...
Me: I mean, I know I'm not skinny, nor do I want to be skinny. But would you say average or chubby?
For starters, what the hell was I thinking?! As if ANYONE would ever say, "Well, sure Tina. You're a little chubby." I know I sound so self-absorbed right now, but all girls go through this, right? If not, you're lying! I'm just dumb enough to need the reassurance...from my brand new BRs! Ugh. Anyway...
BR #1: You're average. I mean, you have a cute face, so I wouldn't be like, "Ugh!"
Me: OK, thanks. And I promise I'll never ask you that question again for as long as I live.
BR #1: No problem. Where'd that come from?
Me: Um, just one of those days!
And I bolt. Then I got to my room, mentally repeated the "cute face" line, and figured that meant that everything underneath my neck is chubby.

Tina! Will you ever learn to just stick a sock in it?! Ugh. Ew. I'm such a loser sometimes.

Aging Anxiety

It just occurred to me—I am 24 mother-f'in years old. OMG. I am a bonified grown-up. No more of this, "Wooo! I'm 21 and can finally go by 'Tina' instead of 'Monique' in front of the bouncer!" No more, "Wooo! I'm 22, and college freshmen look at me as an experienced older woman!" or "Wooo! I'm 23, and I get to work in an office and boss around interns!" Now it's "Woo. My friends are starting to get married and buy houses. I'm starting to get pissed 'cause I haven't gotten promoted in two years or...ever. Two a.m. is a late night for me, and I've run out of anti-wrinkle eye cream. I'm expected to know how to cook and...bake things." Hell, the one thing I have going for me is that my melons are small. Therefore, they will always be perky.

The Single Life

I overheard (OK, eavesdropped on) a conversation yesterday between two guys discussing statistics. Apparently, the ratio of women to men in Hoboken, NJ, is 8 to 2. That means every guy in town can have as many as four girlfriends, and he will not be called "stingy." He's just taking his fair share, right? Well, I'm not that generous!

In today's Post: Manhattan tops U.S. for singles. Of all the households in New York, 48% are hoarding singletons! Yes! I didn't think I was crazy. When I left Kansas City two years ago (two years and a week ago, to be exact), didn't I say it would be easy to find a BF in NYC? Didn't I? Based off of that info! But have I been involved in a single relationship since my arrival? Have I? No. NO.

I have no solution for this. Nada. All I can do is wash my laundry tonight at the Garden Street Laundromat and pray that Mr. Right's plaid boxers gets mixed in with my bras and panties. He'll spot his man-like undies swirling around amid my sexy knickers (because I've decided to wear my sexy underthingies whenever I want—there are no "special" occasions anymore, no potential soireé where my black lace panties may be seen), and we'll bond over...underthingies. And then we'll go to my apartment and watch O.C. re-runs while rolling around in our freshly laundered laundry.

If only my love life matched my imagination...

Looks Can Be Deceiving

Do you ever have days where you look in the mirror and think, Gee, I'm just not as cute as I thought I was. Like, all these years, you thought you were an attractive person...most of the time. Then suddenly, it occurs to you that you may have been living a lie. A borderline cocky, conceited lie. In actuality, you're this grotesque person with dark under-eye circles, forehead wrinkles, yellow teeth, freckles and thin, vein-y cheeks. Uh, ew! No wonder you don't have a BF! Maybe you should have accepted that slightly nerdy boy's offer to buy you a drink. Because honey, slightly nerdy's as good as it's gonna get.

Melodramatic much? Perhaps. I'm trying to sell some furniture, see. I have a $30 rickety old desk, and I received an e-mail from Whitney this morning. She wanted to come by tonight. So at 9 p.m., Whitney calls. Only, Whitney is a he with a twangy, Texan accent. Not only that, but an adorable Whitney shows up on my doorstep. "Hah," he drawls. He steps into my room, takes one look at my desk and says, "That's smaller than I wanted. See yah," right before he turns on his heel and nearly runs out of my apartment. He couldn't leave fast enough! Weird, I think. Until I glance in the mirror and spot my sweat-tastic face. Ew! No wonder. I'm just not as cute as I thought I was.


Editor's note: I'm not fishing. If I get one, "But you are cute," I'm gonna have Whitney hunt you down. It's just how I feel. This week.

"Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly." —Anonymous