Avenue Elle: February 2006

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

All Because of Lube...

Just a small note to convey my utter angst for the next piece of new business I’m working on. It’s not a beast like the last one, however the topic of conversation has been – how shall we say – overly stimulating…

To paint a picture for you…I just left a meeting where the conference table was covered with every brand of lube/massage oil under the sun. We were encouraged to check out the offerings on the table in order to “inspire the creative process” for generating program ideas for one of the brands.

To cut to the chase, I wasn’t inspired at all. All that was accomplished was calling out to my inner self that it would be just stellar to be able to use said products with an actual person one of these days (as opposed to the usual suspects currently residing in my bed-side table).

Clearly I have no prospects right now, which poses a problem. Of course I could go out and snag myself a one-night stand, however I think I’ve already surpassed the threshold of mental self-acceptance for such deeds. Ok, ok – so there’ve been a couple in the last few years, but I consider them to be resulting from momentary lapses of reason and completely justified ;-)

So I’m going to go on, sit here in my office, work, and pretend to not think about all the things bottles and bottle of lube conjure up. Coupled with talk of intimacy, relationships, touching, massage…AHHHHHHHH! Honestly now, how is anyone supposed to concentrate on developing a strategic marketing platform in such an environment?!

Must channel into social life, must channel into social life…

Monday, February 27, 2006

The New Pick Up Line

Joining yet another online site for meeting people is always an attention grabbing process. Within the first few days of joining, people from all walks of life fill up the good old inbox with various messages.

The good thing is that I get to be told that I’m beautiful by a lot of random people and there is no obligation to say anything back if I’m not interested. So, naturally I’m soaking up the compliments over here.

On the other hand…it’s really quite baffling the things people will say when anonymity is a factor.

Here are a few choice messages…

I was bored and you look interesting and sexy, so what the hell…
Gee, thanks :-P I’m only good for boredom…fab!
Where are you most ticklish, (ribs, feet, underarms etc.)?
Hmm, perhaps this is too forward for the first EMAIL
I am not so interested about a girl's body or how she looks in a tight dress...
Liar
Wanted to see if you wanted to chat, or analyze me or something…
Huh?! Who said anything about analyzing?
I bet you have been inundated with over 100 emails so from dirty, old, married men that just discovered Viagra. If that’s what you’re used to then this email is refreshing and I **STAND OUT**
Funny, yet I have no words

Finally, there was an email with the sign off, “kisses”…and you all know how I feel about that phrase being used indiscriminately…he must be a German trying to sound emotive or something.

In short, I consider the above to be a smattering of odd pick-up lines for a new age bracket and communications medium. I just hope the next time I’m out on the town and a guy approaches me and asks point-blank where I’m most ticklish, that I’ve tossed back a few drinks already.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Back To Normal

I’ve just spent the entire weekend (minus Friday night between the hours of 7pm and 12am) being very hermit-like – meaning: sitting in my apartment, drinking coffee/tea and watching movies. I’ve left twice, only to go to the gym.

I am finally done with my big new business project and am anxious to getting back to a normal existence, since the fatigue and foul mood has seriously been effing with my psyche for the last couple of weeks. OK…I’m done feeling sorry for myself. Moving on…

Over this weekend I’ve decided to instate a process for myself that all of us heel-wearing women have attempted once or thrice in our day and age: “Operation Hotness.” When a period of time ends where eating take-out, sitting on one’s ass, working too much and forgoing the gym have taken a noticeable toll on the ability to fit comfortably into a favorite pair of jeans – it is time to head off to Hotness boot camp and get back into the game. Enter gym routine, lots of steamed vegetables and Weight Watchers. You know it ladies, and we’re all hoping WW will turn up in the office repertoire of extra-curricular activities so we don’t have to hike that four blocks to an actual meeting.

In addition to Operation Hotness, I joined MySpace.com at the beckoning of a friend. It’s like Friendster only apparently for all the cool kids. My take…Friendster is for those of us East of the Mississippi and MySpace rules in the West, although MySpace is slowly taking over the world. I haven’t formed a formal opinion yet, but I will say that those smarty pants techies over at MySpace need to pull their heads out of their HTML-focused asses because I have no patience for learning to speak in “code.” Also, I recently read an article in Vanity Fair about how MySpace is an in-your-face site for hooking up. So technically, my view is skewed…

All in all, being a hermit for the weekend was fantastic. I feel refreshed and like my normal optimistic self again. After I finish my coffee and reading Vogue I’m venturing out…

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Instead of Forwarding...

I got this email in from a friend and I must share...

On Women...

Women are like apples on trees. The best ones are at the top of the tree. Most men don't want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they sometimes take the apples from the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think something is wrong with them, when in reality,
they're amazing. They just have to wait for the right man to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree.

On Men....

Men are like fine wine. They begin as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

Hello From 'The Nasty Natty'

As I write this post, I’m sitting atop the Hilton Hotel in Cincinnati decompressing from client overload. I have about an hour to kill before heading off to dinner at a “trendy” Cincy restaurant which will undoubtedly be a magnificent experience in gastronomic delicacies of the Ohio River valley. Furthermore, it will be free.

Aside from work, which has been running my life in a truly pathetic way for the last two weeks, being in a place other than New York City for a few days has secretly been a pleasure. It’s always nice to be removed from the hustle & bustle, the overly irritated populace, and the attitude that slowly develops in one’s brain when they are immersed in the life of a New Yorker.

When I first moved to the city, I loved all of the things that made New York, New York. Don’t get me wrong…I still love very bit of it. It has everything that a small town in the Midwest isn’t. Culture. Different kinds of people. More than two decent restaurants, both of which are not the Olive Garden or Applebees. We live it, love it and – sometimes – become it. Despite the good things, it’s getting away from it all that reminds me that on occasion I need to check the ‘tude as soon as the airplane door as been cross-checked and secured.

Cincy may not be a choice destination, but it’s still really nice that the pace of life is slower here (even though I am in the state that allowed for Dubya the sequel). People can stop and take a deep breath. Have longer conversations. Sit for two cups of coffee instead of one. Smile more often.

There is something about being in a “smaller town” that reminds myself to stay true to who I am. Not that I instantly transform into a different Elle as soon as I land at LaGuardia, it’s just that being pulled out of the normal elements and put into a place that has some semblance of my upbringing drives home the notion that I need to keep life in perspective.

I’m of course excited to get back to my tiny apartment (I am on a business trip after all) on the UWS, however it is quite nice to take a step back every now and then, look at things from a distance and then head back home with a little more sanity and sense of grounding.

Monday, February 20, 2006

To Be Polite or To Not Be Polite?

We’ve all encountered this situation: You’re out on a date and it dawns on you that you no longer want to be there. So what do you do to get out of it?

Over the weekend a friend of mine used a tactic that certainly cuts the cord quickly although resulted in an expectedly unfavorable outcome.

My friend and I were out on a “double date” and the night was coming to an end. Given my last two blog posts, I certainly was in no mood for a raging night out and was slightly anxious to collapse onto my bed with a quality cup of tea. My friend had clearly had her fill for the evening as well, but I don’t think it was because she was fatigued. In fact, it was because she knew she wasn’t entirely interested in her date anymore and wanted an out. Nothing wrong with that.

So as we were sipping our last drinks of the evening, I looked over and my friend had started chatting with a random guy that had approached her. Her date was oddly boxed out of their conversation although he clearly could hear what was being said. In just a few minutes my friend gave her number to the new guy right in front of her date. Her date looked crushed and a little bit pissed off.

Disclaimer: I’m by no means judging my friend for her tactics, as she is completely comfortable with her choices. I just disagree and wouldn’t have the nerve to do the same.

So the result of her in-your-face brush off? Obviously her date was disappointed and put off. As we caught cabs to our respective ends of the island, I had the privilege to hear that her date “never wanted to talk to her again.” Ouch.

My friend is a fabulously single catch and has the complete right to give her number to anyone she wants to. So the fact that she was having a mediocre time and decided to go balls out and give a guy her number in front of her date is totally up to her. Why not right? She’s single and likes meeting people. I guess my point here is: when do you stop being gracious when you know you’d rather be somewhere else?

Personally, I prefer the direct approach, even if it’s unpleasantly blunt. If I’m not interested in a guy, I’m gonna tell him. Breaking things off is a naturally uncomfortable thing to do, for both people involved and regardless of the circumstances. No one likes to be the bearer of bad news and no one likes to be rejected. So knowing that a break up (long term or short) will be hard anyway, why make things worse by doing anything but being candid?

Perhaps it’s everyone’s prerogative, but I hope someday to meet someone who genuinely appreciates my blunt nature. And for the record…I can take it too.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Still on Empty...

Sometimes I wonder if I have depressive tendencies. I can recall looking back at being 16 or so and being classified as “highly emotional” by my mother, however I’d like to think I’ve got it under control these days, relatively speaking of course.

Only after an extended period of time with minimal amounts of sleep, no time to go to the gym, being sick from having an overly active social life, having “girl moments” (slash) “tiffs” with a couple friends, and being worked into the ground by corporate America - am I left with no sense of fun and am absolutely desperate for some normalcy.

Ok…so I may be being overly dramatic because I certainly have no need to punch back any pills, however it’s just bewildering that so many things can be such downers all at the same time. This city can breed depression…

Sleep has become secondary - whether it be because the guy across the alley way is practicing his yodeling at an ungodly volume or because we’re always at dinner, drinks or dancing (aka: going broke).
We are trained to be work-a-holics. Hell freezes over if we leave the office before 6pm and guilt settles in if we “sneak out” on time.
Women naturally feel like crap when we can’t take care of our bodies. A larger than average tushie does not equate to self-confidence.
As for girlfriends and a social life…sometimes too much or too little of a good thing weighs us down. It’s a rarity when the stars are aligned, especially when everyone in a group is being beaten into the ground by all of the above.

So, yes, I feel like crap right now and my sanity is still being searched for. Despite my somber spirits, I’m looking forward to tomorrow afternoon when I’m hoping to carve out time to go buy some new shoes. After all, there is nothing like a new pair of heels to make a woman feel like herself again.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Running on Empty...

The work-a-holic, New Yorker in me is currently stuck behind a desk in mid-town attempting a Herculean multi-tasking effort in the name of new business. Since this has been the basis of my existence this week, I clearly have nothing remarkable to say outside of consumer insights, strategy and research...

It’s times like these that I wish for nothing more than my parent’s couch, a bowl of popcorn and a glass of red, followed by a quality night’s sleep.

Until I regain my sanity…

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Un-Valentine's Day

sin·gle (sing-gul)
adj.

Unmarried.
Lacking a partner: a single parent.
Relating to the unmarried state: enjoys the single life.
Of or relating to celibacy...yep, celibacy.

Looking at that definition, I can live with one through three, but four…it’s that damn number four that makes all of us single lepers hate today. I actually woke up this morning and forgot today was Valentine’s Day, but alas, I arrived at work to flowers, chocolates and valentines…for other people.

I personally think that modern Valentine's Day was created by some shrewd PR people over at Hallmark, therefore I loathe the day on sheer principle. Furthermore, in my 26 years of existence, I’ve had a man around for exactly three V-Days, and most of them have been hyped up and over-rated.

Looking back on said three days, I distinctly recall wanting to stay in, cook dinner and watch movies, but I was convinced to go out and become part of the sheepish following for cupid. Every time turned out to be an overly fake attempt at a display of affection that none of the men I was with at the time could truly convey even if he was paid a bagillion dollars…clearly another indication for why I’m still *gulp* single (aka: seemingly celibate).

In my personal opinion, V-Day is the perfect day for a good old-fashioned GNO (girls night out) for all of my single friends. This is where the good times roll people.

A GNO on Valentine’s Day not only is a great way for us spinsters to get together and make fun of all the happy people while telling ourselves how fabulous we are (call it self-preservation), but it is also a great time to scope out all the men out on the town who are likely single too, reducing the number of ineligibles that have to be sorted through before the end of the night. I can recall a couple of these nights where I’ve managed to – at the very least – have a decent conversation with someone that is unattached and looking, which in my book is a valid effort for non-celibacy.

So I’d like to re-name February 14th "Un-Valentine’s Day." In the name of singles every where (and my need to remain optimistic on a day filled with chocolates that I can’t touch) – make today about changing the meaning of the word "single."

Monday, February 13, 2006

Dating Irrationally?

Just stumbled across an interesting piece of reading material. A new book just came out last week that claims to help us singletons understand why we are still single - a nugget of information that certainly got my attention.

Jillian Strauss’s book, Unhooked Generation, claims that mitigating factors in our current state of affairs, such as the proliferation of casual dating (especially in the online space) and an attitude toward mass consumption (“gotta have it now”), have all shaped the way that my generation views relationships and commitment. She claims we develop unrealistic expectations about relationships by way of a “checklist,” meaning a list of things that are important to us in relationships (values, hobbies, etc.). Her theory is that people my age are putting more emphasis on hobbies and short-term things than we are on values and items of long-term importance. In turn, if we don’t find the things we’re looking for, we choose to remain single and partake in non-committal scenarios.

I’ve always felt that my choices in men get better with experience, since essentially I get to weed out all of the qualities that don’t fly with me – thus, creating my own “checklist” of sorts. The thing is, the longer I date the longer my checklist gets. Hence, my standards get higher and higher as time goes on, which of course leads to less and less prospects that will be able to make me happy and I will end up a lonely old spinster.

**Ah cynicism, can’t let three paragraphs go by without slipping that in can I?

Now, I think my parents raised me right; therefore my checklist is getting filled up with long-term line items versus the latter. For example, I personally do not care if my future husband rollerblades or has blonde hair, but he damn well better be able to tell me how he feels and be honest about it.

So the big question here is does Ms. Strauss have a point when she implies that our checklists are irrational? Are we looking for someone that essentially doesn’t exist and not giving anyone outside of the box a fleeting chance? Part of me says she is right, but to play devil’s advocate, why should we settle for less than we want, especially if the items on our purported checklists are fully justified? After all, straying too far from our checklists will result in someone who is likely incompatible, yet an exact match isn't out there anyway...so where's the happy medium?

Unhooked Generation: The Truth About Why We're Still Single

Digging Out

I usually don’t mind getting pounded with two feet of snow. In fact it sort of brings back the nostalgic memories of my childhood treks to the bus stop in the morning. Of course now, I choose to stay inside, enjoy the scenery from the comfort of my tiny shoebox of a living room, and watch movies - which is precisely what I did all day yesterday.

In some cases, however, snow is not welcome - especially when I have plans and live in a city where walking is essential. Case in point, Saturday night. I was all jazzed about a friend’s birthday party, but my enthusiasm was depleted as soon as I saw the snow start to come down heavily during dinner. Given that the party was on the LES and I knew I had to find a cab to the opposite end of the universe at the end of the night, and I was a bit worried as the night raged on.

We danced. We drank. We found a new favorite bar. When I finally left at 2:30am, my fears were realized. I could not get a cab for the life of me. My friend and I started to trudge through the snow to every avenue and crosstown street that we could imagine would have a good chance for uptown/west-bound traffic, however…nada. Niente. Zip.

We continued to walk, and walk, and walk. Snow was crusted to my scarf and the bottoms of my jeans. Mascara was starting to collect under my eyes, ruling out any chance of stopping into another bar to “warm up.” As we approached Cooper Square, the heel on my boot snapped off. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Long story short, I walked on my tiptoes all the way to the West side and had to take the subway home at 3 in the morning. Thank god there were other weary travelers onboard and not just the crazies. I got home and passed out from exhaustion only to wake up and firmly decide that I was going to sit on my ass for the duration of the day.

Relaxing did help to replenish my dampened spirits, but the storm certainly put a freeze on my weekend fun. Boo.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Caribbean Musical Adventure: Finale

*Sigh*…the final day of our fabulously musical vacation had arrived. We woke up still buzzing from the previous day’s events (monsoon, Dave Matthews, etc.) and were equally full of beans when looking forward to day three’s dossier.

We got up early, snagged pool side loungers once more, slathered on the oil and ordered up our first round of bloodies and Tabasco. The day was gloriously sunny and the pool was packed. We were seated next to Anchorage and his wife, Samantha and her uber cool Mom (see Snob's Cast of Characters) so our morning consisted of liquoring up and chatting nonsense with strangers. Early on, the Anchorage couple was entertaining us with tales of how apparently hot men are North of the Yukon (of course highly engaging to four young women, three of which are single), however as the day progressed and the third, fourth and fifth rounds were consumed, things got sketchy with the married folk (Note: threesome proposition #2).

Thank god 5pm rolled around and we were able to abandon our loungers for a dancing spot close to the front. Enter Ozomatli. Can I get a “Ya se fue, Ya se fue, Ozo-mat-li!” The pool-side concert absolutely rocked the boat. It was highly danceable, singable and allowed us to shake our hips uncontrollably until we felt we had danced off at least one drinks worth of calories. The concert finale without a doubt was when the band came down from their perch and instituted a conga line, which ended with a blistering drum and brass jam session in the middle of the pool area. Unquestionably one for the

books.

Following Ozomatli, we got ready for the evening and slipped into the end of Mike Doughty’s show (again, since Warehouse SUCKS we weren’t able to enjoy the full show). I’m sure it would have been great had we been able to get the full effect, however we never could really get into it and dragged ourselves to dinner.

Dinner ended up being another tale about us shocking the living bejesus out of middle American tablemates. Of course we didn’t consider ourselves the crazy ones since one of our tablemates proudly exclaimed that he was a Republican teacher. Frankly, I didn’t know you could feasibly state “Republican” and “teacher” in the same sentence…Regardless, we warned him that he definitely didn’t want to get into political talk with four feisty New Yorkers - especially at the dinner table.

After dinner we headed to Mofro. I didn’t think anything could compete with Ozomatli’s performance, but Mofro made a great showing by starting their set with three of our favorite songs: Brighter Days, Lazy Fo' Acre, and Wrong Side. They finished off with Fireflies, which certainly ended the concert on a high note.

By the time we snagged seats for the Mississippi All Stars, our energy levels were severely depleted and The Maj was being tossed around like crazy making it difficult for our loopy selves to walk straight and stand in one spot, much less dance. We decided it was a good time for some late night snacks. None of us can recall what was consumed, however we can fondly reminisce playing with a rock-hard crab cake in the fashion of a hockey puck.

We got back to our stateroom dreading the fact that we had to vacate The Maj at eight in the morning, however we knew we just had to muscle up. As we awoke the next day in Miami, we left tanner, dreadfully tired, very sore from dancing in heels all weekend and collectively $1000 poorer. Yes, we drank a grand’s worth of booze in three days…never underestimate four women on vacation.

Starry Night

Intermittent to my final installment of our Caribbean Musical Adventure I had a passing thought…

Something unexpected happened last night. After a very productive, albeit very long day at the office I stepped off the subway, rounded the corner to my walk up apartment and looked up to see…the stars (GASP!). I don’t mean to sound terribly cheesy here, but most New Yorkers will agree that to see even one glimmer of light in the sky is sorta a big deal let alone a sky full, especially given the exorbitantly high levels of smog in these parts.

I’ll be the first to admit that the NYC sky is no match for an aurora borealis in Northern Minnesota, however it’s worth a mention…Call it a momentary lapse of cynicism.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Caribbean Musical Adventure: Part Two

We all woke up on day two with inconceivable hangovers, however “Team Manhattan” managed to peel out of bed to snag some pool-side loungers. Enter the bloodies…lots of them. In fact, we requested with each round that the deck waiter bring us a bottle of Tabasco (which we totally heart) to spice things up.

Fast forward about eight hours…All slightly charred and successfully loopy, we began gearing up for the Dave Matthews show. We got all cutsied up in our sundresses and took off to catch a ferry to the secret concert location.

I’ll spare the details on how Warehouse SUCKS at planning (see Snob’s Open Letter), however we got over to the concert and immediately got in line for beer and food. The island was great…colored lights shining in the palm trees, barefoot concert-goers, a stage close enough that even from the back it was visible. Eventually, the concert started and Dave and friends opened with a fabulous rendition of Bartender…followed by an impromptu jam session entitled “Gotta Get Off The Boat,” in honor of our trek from The Maj.

Here is where things get interesting. It started to sprinkle. Then the sprinkle turned into a steady rain. Being music lovers, we brushed that off as an enhancement to the concert experience, however just when we thought it was going to let up, it came down harder. Dave cracked a great joke about how soon it would only be him with a “shaker and a mic,” but they had to eventually stop the concert because water was accumulating on the stage. Since our sundresses were soaked through and we had started to shiver, we decided to get our deflated selves back in line for the ferries back to The Maj. Alas! Another line.

Now the next hour was a long one, since the rain turned into a monsoon of biblical proportions. Picture Anderson Cooper on the coast somewhere blowing around in the tropical storm level winds and rain. That was us, only without a bright red parka to keep us warm. Yeah.

Eventually we did get back on the boat and wrung out our dresses. We were cold and exhausted, however sprang to attention once we heard Dave would be playing on the boats. We snagged fourth row seats for the Maj concert, which was amazing. Dave was joined on stage by the usual suspects, as well as Bob Weir and Trey from Phish. They started by recanting their earlier jam session by singing “Get Back On The Boat” (See a random video HERE) and continued with an hour and a half long set.

The show ended at 4:30 and we were all psyched that Dave avoided a PR nightmare and was a good sport by playing into the wee hours post-monsoon. We were pretty tired from our exposure to the elements and we knew we had to save ourselves for day three…Ozomatli, Mike Doughty Band, Mofro and North Mississippi AllStars were all on the dossier and we had to be on top of our game…

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Bryant Park Newcomer: Cabela's

A slight tangent before I go into detail on day two of my fabulous weekend...

I’d like to point out an article that I missed over the weekend from the Sunday Style section in the Times…Camo is apparently rocking Fifth Avenue.

Being the daughter of a taxidermist* and from a part of the country where hunting is a religion, I never in a million years would have anticipated that my dad’s hunting attire would become a fashion trend…much less during fashion week.

I can perhaps handle a pair of camo pants or a simple t-shirt (not for myself of course, but for others), or maybe even the little doggie jacket that they picture (it is sorta cute), but in no way shape or form do I think wearing a 3-D, leaf-adorned parka on the streets of New York is acceptable. OK…maaaybe if you’re a tourist, I’ll let it slide.

I wonder if the people pictured in the Times had any idea that the camo print they chose actually implies hunting different animals? I can see their thought process now:

“Hmm, do I want to look like I’m going out on the town today hunting for deer or turkey? I wonder if this waterfowl print will be too much if I just happen to walk down by the Hudson?”

Seriously people. I highly doubt Cabela’s will be having a show under the big white tents anytime in the foreseeable future, so stick with the usual suspects and keep the camouflage camouflaged.

*For those of you who have no clue what this is, here is the proper definition:

Taxidermy is a general term describing the many methods of reproducing a life-like three-dimensional representation of an animal for permanent display.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Caribbean Musical Adventure: Part One

SIGH! I’m back in the real world post-Bahamas. I’m a lot poorer than whence I left. My voice is obliterated and resembles a bullfrog. My entire body feels like it when through a hurricane (I’m actually not kidding and will fill you all in on Day Two) and I’m so tired even three lattes isn’t keeping me going. On the bright side, I’m three shades darker and have the tan lines to prove it, saw six or so AMAZING live musical acts, saw some beautiful ocean scenery and had a fabulous time with three of my favorite people.

The trip began with one night in Miami. I’ve never been to Miami before so my impression from working in the media field and reading umpteen gazillion tabloid magazines is that Miami is shiny, white and filled with stunningly tanned people who live on big yachts. After one night in a questionably livable hotel room in South Beach, I can definitively state that there are more guido-like men and animal print-wearing women per capita than anywhere in the country. Of course this is based on a limited one night expereince only. Regardless, we still had fun assessing the porn offerings on public access cable as well as getting checked out by every male passerby on Ocean Drive. As a side note, Miami was also where we decided on our vacation aliases: Shellie, Kassie, Tammie and Amber.

Friday rolled around and Shel, Kas, Tam and Amber hopped on to the Majesty of the Seas (AKA: The Maj) ready and rearing to go for our first fruity drink. Of course we are all New Yorkers so the size of our stateroom (or lack thereof) was of no consequence. We got on our cutest pool side attire and headed up to the top deck. It was immediately determined that our ship did not have the plethora of cute boys we were all hoping for. Instead, there were a lot of middle aged couples looking to fulfill their dream of having a threesome (totally not kidding here, as two of us were oddly propositioned on separate occasions...not interested!). So, we mostly stomped out our high hopes for flirtation and honed in on harnessing our inner music fanatic.

The first night we hit up two of the main attractions: Soulive and G-Love & The Special Sauce. Needless to say both were fabulous, as were a few more that I don’t have the typing power to mention. Soulive played a jazzy, soul filled jam session that was entirely danceable. Our cruise inspired, discothèque-like cocktail glasses added a nice lighting effect to the whole experience as well.

Post-Soulive we had to jet up to dinner, which was an absolute hoot. I forget that the definition of “dinner talk” for my friends and I is just plain obscene to those, hmm, pretty much everywhere else. So when our conversation turned to flavored condoms and talk of hideous shoe choices we had seen on board The Maj, our tablemate's faces contorted into looks of mortification and utter shock. Of course we brushed it off and considered ourselves entertainment.

G-Love & The Special Sauce topped off our busy Friday night. They play some seriously witty tunes…all very bluesy and we collectively confirmed that G. Love was smokin’ hot. I was pretty excited when Soulive entered the show and they tag teamed on the guitar. All I can say is that it was pure talent at its best.

After the show it was apparent to all four of us that our feet had swollen to a point where lengthy periods on our feet were no longer an option, especially in 3 inch heels (you men have NO IDEA what we go through to look cute). We retired to our room on The Maj around 4am or so to rest up for day two, which would consist largely of more alcohol, tanning and a crazy-ass tropical storm-like experience all in the name of Dave Matthews…

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Operation: Get a Tan

I'm signing off for a few days to head off to the Bahamas with my pal Snob. It will be four blissful days of sunning ourselves, listening to killer live music and doing our best to talk to as many beautiful people as possible.

I can taste the pina coladas already...

Until next week...

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Game or No Game?

So on a recent night out with a group of friends, we were all intent on getting lit up on liquor at Puck Fair. My girlfriends and I took a lap and determined that we were better off grabbing a booth toward the front. At least we could assess as the eligible chaps came in the door, right? So as I’m sitting there enjoying my Spaten, I strike up a convo with a guy friend of a friend. We got into the discussion about how the girls in my “pack” are hard to hit on.

WHA?!?!? Houston, we have a problem.

I asked my friend why I had no game. He rebuffed and said I did have game, and that someone had asked about me that very night. I retorted that I clearly have no game since this mystery guy proclaimed his interest but still never approached me. My friend said the explanation for not approaching me was simple: The guy assumed he’d have no chance with me anyway and didn’t want to risk rejection.

My friend then went on to say that this is why some of my gal-pals are hard to hit on. Apparently - in the eyes of a man – these hard to hit on women will turn down any and all men that make advances, which isn’t worth a blow to the ego. Talk about a thought provoker!

The intimidation factor. Does it exist? I know loads of women who say they never get hit on because “guys are intimidated by them.” Could this be true or are we all up on a narcissistic soapbox? Or perhaps it is the other way around, meaning most men are just scared shitless of being potentially rejected by a woman who seemingly has it together?

I’m stumped on this one. I happen to think that a guy who actually strikes up a conversation with me (and does not use one of a gazillion lame pick up lines) gets points for doing so…in my world that in itself is a rarity, and I think the confidence only makes a man more attractive. Furthermore, what gives the guy the right to decide whether I'd go out with him or not, especially when he doesn't even offer up the chance to get to know him?

In sum, I think being single in a city with millions of attractive, smart and witty men and women would be a much more pleasant playground if men got over their fears and bucked up, and women loosened up a bit more and became less standoffish. Of course, easier said than done, but it’s a start.

My friend did sum up the conversation with an interesting point. He said that I shouldn’t need game anyway, since a nice guy with game should be the one to do the work. So in one man's opinion, I need to wait for Mr. Scared-But-I've-Got-Game to come along, buck up and go after what he wants.

My take on that...I've been waiting my entire adult life for that and am still single and boy crazy...

Avenue Elle