RunningNheels

Big Dog, Little, Dog, Stone or Brick

2008-07-09T21:44:00.005-04:00

When a relationship begins, everything is wonderful. It seems like everything you do together is surrounded by kissing and hugging. For example, at our most recent trip to the driving range, Big drives the golf ball first, and then we give each other a kiss; then I take a drive and then he hugs me and kisses my forehead, etc. etc. etc. We’re kind of disgusting to watch actually. Basically, we can’t get enough of each other. This goes on wherever we go. Trust me, you don’t want to know about our recent behavior in the Linens N Things Sheets and pillow cases aisle!

For as much as Big and I get along and have fun together, our new found love for each other does display its differences. Differences that insist we need to practice the art of compromise. Big can watch every sport known to man on TV all day. For instance, the idea of watching NASCAR, is enough to make me…well, become ill. I said to him, “Do we really have to watch this?” Big’s reply “It’s NASCAR…it’s great!” I just looked at him. Finally, he picked up the remote and began ever so slowly flicking through the channels. “Stop!” I said, “There’s Bruce Willis, let’s watch this! See, how nicely we can compromise”. Why do I have a feeling he’ll start limiting which nights I come over.

Despite the little idiosyncrasies, we are seeking to build a life together. We talk about our future all the time; getting married, moving out of Hoboken, having children, getting a dog…Whoa! Wait a minute!…Stop right there! Issue! Big wants a dog for protection, like a Rottweiler or a German shepherd. I want a Pug, a Shih-Tzu or a Yorkie you know, the kind that wears little pink bows in their hair. He laughs at me and says, “What if we need protection?” I said, “You are my protection!” He says, “What about when you’re home alone and I go to work. I said “It’s called a security alarm!” We might have a major issue here, especially since he assures me his big dog will eat my little dog.

While driving around North Jersey this past weekend, Big and I saw some very nice neighborhoods. Neighborhoods we both liked. I remarked that I like brick homes. He likes stone. Ok…Stone home with a little dog and a security system works for me. I sure love the way we compromise.

This can definitely work.

Big Love

2008-07-02T23:57:00.004-04:00

On November 14, 2007, I wrote a blog about my fantasy man from Hoboken, whom I affectionately call, Mr. Big. Yes, like Carrie’s love on Sex and the City, I have my very own Mr. Big. I had not seen him around town in probably 7 months, however, call it destiny or call it fate, we ran into each other on the Path Train not too long ago.

Here is the story. I had just returned from a NY Social Sports Club Whiffle Ball League happy hour on the Lower East Side (my new approach to socialization) and picked up the Path train home at the 9th Street Station. Alone I stood on the train when suddenly at the Christopher Street stop, the path doors opened and there he was, entering through the doors like…like the great Italian stallion that he is. I could almost hear the theme from Rocky playing in the background. He was wearing his black fitted business suit, with his starched dress collar shirt unbuttoned. My jaw slightly dropped until our eyes met, immediately an explosion of simultaneous smiles of delightful recognition. We both enthusiastically said, “Hey” as I walked towards him. He repeatedly asked me how I’ve been and what’s new in my life. He was so excited to see me and, of course, I was beside myself!

Since Big is a big time NY real estate broker I got the nerve up to ask him if he knew of any inexpensive studio apartments for rent in Manhattan. While discussing safe NYC neighborhoods for single girls, he reached in his pocket for a business card and I immediately stopped him declaring, “Oh, I still have your card” (which he had given me long ago during one of our conversations at the spa). Quite impressed with that he told me to email him tomorrow and he would send me some affordable listings. Big told me he had recently come back from a week of vacation at his Florida condo. He mentioned he’d spent the week alone. We got off the path and began walking home together. I knew he would be coming my way since I live only a couple blocks from him (yes, I had checked his spa record long ago). As always, we were totally comfortable in our conversation, laughing at each other’s comments and jokes. It was so good to see him again. What a man! About halfway home, he said he was stopping for dinner at the Brass Rail so we stopped and finished our conversation then hesitantly said goodbye with a handshake. Again, I walked away thinking, why doesn’t this man just go ahead and ask me to dinner.

The next day I did what he asked and emailed him a cute note telling him how nice it was to run into him the night before and how I was writing to remind him about the listings. I added my phone number to the bottom of the email.

Within a few minutes, he wrote me back telling me he would be sending me the listings in a couple days. Then finally, he made his move…He told me he wanted to ask me to go to dinner last night but thought I seemed like I was in a hurry to get home…And then he invited me to meet him for a drink that evening.

I wrote back…(that is after I spent 5 minutes jumping up and down with my girlfriend in the next cubicle). I reminded him that I was going home to South Jersey, but suggested we meet Monday night instead. He agreed…and told me he would block the entire evening for me and how he really looked forward to seeing me again. And the rest is history…

Evidently, this was a case of a very stunning man who would leave the spa thinking, “What a great girl…she has to have a boyfriend, I can’t ask her out”. This was all around the time I wrote the blog about him and how he would be so close to asking me to dinner, but didn’t. The truth is he went home that night after spending his dinner eating alone, went to bed, woke up the next day, thought about me and realized what a jackass he’d been not asking me to join him for dinner. He said he felt he blew his chances with me and that would be the last time we would see each other. He believes fate brought us together again to meet on that train giving him one more chance not to blow the opportunity to ask me out. It goes to show even when you think your flirtations are obvious, a man…a man who totally appears to have it all, can be a bit nervous and insecure in taking that first step in asking a woman out.

So far, things are moving very quickly. Big is incredibly romantic, loving, funny, smart, generous and did I say romantic? He does everything right. From the sweetest text messages throughout my day to his “little kid in a candy store” expression when he looks at me and says “I’m so happy!” to his tender and heartfelt, “I’m falling in love with you”.

My blogs have always been about my misfortunes. Now, they will change. They won’t be about surviving singleness but about having love in your life. Little Tara, happy at last!

P.S. Oh, and as for moving to Manhattan, no need for those listings now.

When One Door Opens, Another Door Closes

2008-04-16T22:03:00.003-04:00

Don’t laugh, but a major event happened this evening. Well, a major and historic event between man and animal. Or, should I clarify further - between me and the cat. I have taken one giant step forward towards my innermost desire to relax, to be less particular, to be less fanatical, to be less … cat hair crazed! Tonight, I intentionally left my bathroom door open and went to the gym. I know this doesn’t sound like a big deal to you, but to me….this is a major milestone in my baby-step progression and whole-hearted efforts to be chill and accept Oreo for what he is...a hairy animal. I’m ok…and now you’re ok. Of course, my bedroom door is still shut behind me when I enter or when I leave. Hey, like I said…baby steps! At least now I only have to open and close one door on my way from the bathroom to the bedroom and vise versa. I realize this sounds silly to the average animal person, but the cat (even though he is the cutest thing ever) has been absolutely driving me nuts. I know now that I am the one who must change in order for my living situation to work. Oreo will never change. He’s curious…He likes me…He likes to torment me.

Before I walked out of the apartment, I stopped to watch him. He walked into my bathroom, stayed there for around 10 seconds, turned around and walked out. He proceeded slowly passed my closed bedroom door returning to the living room where he curled down, in his usual fashion, laying his big black and white body onto the black and white living room rug. With his typical non-emotional, holier than thou expression, he stared at me….saying nothing. I can’t help but wonder what that cat was thinking. This is my life. The score…Oreo 1, Tara 0.

Wedding Bell Blues

2008-04-08T21:58:00.005-04:00

How do I love thee, let me count…

How do I love thee, let me COUNT the ways…

I was recently asked to perform this cliché for an upcoming family wedding. I say perform because there is no way on earth I could read it seriously or somehow get through it without chuckling. Of all the people chosen to read the world’s most famous love sonnet written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I think it is strangely amusing that they chose me. Me - the one person who has never known love nor has been loved by anyone near close to what this sonnet impassions. How in the world will I pull this off? Sure, I could have a Cosmo or two prior to the ceremony. Or I could pretend I’m being graded for my college acting class. Or I could…

How do I love thee let me count the ways…I love thee to the DEPTH and BREADTH and HEIGHT my SOUL can reach….Wait a minute…wait a minute, my soul hasn’t reached for anything higher than the Go Lean cereal box on the top shelf at the Organic grocery store! Ok now Tara, be serious…I can do this.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Everybody still awake?

Elizabeth Barrett was an invalid who stayed home confined to her room writing books and poetry. A wonderful man named Robert Browning fell in love with her after reading her writings, contacted her and the two fell in love and lived happily ever after.

Maybe this could happen to me? Maybe a wonderful man will someday read my blog, fall head over heals in love with me, contact me and tell me he loves me to the depth and breadth and height his soul can reach! Haha Tara, not in this century!

Bartender, this time make it an apple martini …Ok…here we go…I’ll try again…

How do I love thee, let me COUNT the ways….

The War at Apt. 2D

2008-04-07T22:33:00.002-04:00

I have a problem…Oreo might possibly be trying to tell me something about myself and my relationship issues.

Oreo goes to my roommate for three things….She is (1) his food source…(2) his resource for affection and verbal admiration (received daily by that high squealing “hello my baby!” pick-up and snuggling-the-life-out-of-him routine of hers, and then finally, she is (3) his nightly sleeping partner. On the other side of the apartment, I fulfill his hard play needs. I’m his “all play” and mental torture buddy. You see, Oreo and I are at war. His ultimate goal in life is to not only get into my room, but also for me to see him sprawled out on top of my $275 bedspread! He is definitely making a game of being where he knows he’s forbidden. So, this is war, eh? Meanwhile he just stares at me while lounging on my bed. Slowly and quietly I enter my invaded sanctuary and calmly TURN ON MY VACUUM CLEANER AT HIGH NOISE LEVEL!!!! It’s as if bombs are exploding all around him. He flies out of my room like he has come within a split second of losing another life, but in the end…squeaks by uninjured. Little bastard! “I’ll get you next time, my pretty!” I think to myself. The reality…he likes it, actually he loves it! Typical male…loves the challenge, but I prevail.

Suddenly, I realize. Maybe that smart cat is trying to tell me something. Maybe Oreo is saying…. “How do you ever expect to get a man into your bedroom when you lock your door and don’t let a soul even sit on the damn bed!” Maybe I’m not only too particular about my room, but maybe I am too particular about men. Let’s face it; there are no perfect guys, just like there are no perfect animals. Wow, now there’s an analogy!

Maybe Oreo looks at my roommate and me and says, “No wonder you’re both single. My owner loves me too much, since sleeping with the cat will never bring a man home, and the other one won’t let anyone near her room!” Meanwhile Oreo’s complete needs are being met (kind of like most of the men in this area).

Oreo loves to play in the morning (If you know me, you know I’m not a morning person). I’ll be in the bathroom trying to do my makeup when suddenly he’s outside the door, turning the latch and wanting to come in. Sometimes I reciprocate by allowing him entrance. He knocks over my trash can in order to get my attention so that we start the monotonous “fetch the Q-tip” game. Yes, I throw the Q-tip down the hall, Oreo fetches it and runs back with it in his mouth (yes, this is a cat, I’m talking about). Sometimes he doesn’t want me to leave the room and he’ll wrap his paws around my leg. I wind up dragging him into the hall. Again, it fulfills his playtime needs though I wind up having a badly scratched leg and lame excuse for being late for work.

My fear is this … Like Oreo, males today are strictly only looking for play. NY Dating columnist, Maura Kelly calls it something like this: Men today suffer from “Relationship Bulimia”. Although they never appear sick, and look as healthy as oxen, men will characteristically binge on an unsuspecting female and then after a month or so, they dump them like the regurgitation of chopped liver. Relationship Phobias with a monthly bout of Chronic Relationship Bulimia – No thanks! Now you know why I lock my door, you overweight ball of fur! VACUUM…ON!…VROOOOOOM!!!

I Love Christian Bale and Now I Need Therapy

2008-04-01T22:24:00.008-04:00

From the first time I saw Christian Bale in Treasure Island, (I think I was 7 years old) I have been madly in love with him. Well, that is in the movie star ga-ga sense. Then there came Newsies where he actually sang and then a year later, he made Swing Kids where we all witnessed his hot moves on the dance floor.

Now that Christian and I have both matured, it has been a thrill watching him develop into a phenomenal and well respected actor…all while sitting with a bag of popcorn on my lap. Batman Begins, American Psycho, The Prestige, and 3:10 to Yuma are just a few of my favorite Christian Bale films.

I could watch him and watch him and watch him all day (sigh)…

S T O P! Wait a minute! …He looks exactly like who??? No! Please….No! You too? You too think he looks like … Oh man! Everyone thinks the love of my life…my total lust….looks like….my brother? Oh no…I can’t lust after someone who looks like my brother! That’s sick!

After comparing around 20 pictures of both Christian Bale and my brother this week, with the fine help of my office coworkers, it has been decided that my brother and Christian Bale are look-alikes. I still have trouble seeing it because it kills me to accept it. My brother has blonde hair, Christian has dark brown hair. My brother has blue eyes and Christian has brown eyes. How can this be? I’m told….they have the same face.

Now, I’m worrying whether I have some deep rooted sick attraction to my own brother…no…no…no way! We’ve fought over the bathroom for too many years, He’s teased me a mega million times, and quite frankly the only thing we’ve mastered together growing up is the art of dating each other’s friends (which never worked out well by the way).

Maybe this whole attraction thing stems from the fact that girls seek to marry someone that reminds them of their dad. Maybe my brother, as an extension of my dad, is all apart of that familiar male thingy that girls go through. You know…who they are attracted to…Wait. What am I thinking? Just because my brother has grown over the years into looking somewhat like Christian Bale doesn’t mean I have some perversion to my brother. I liked Christian Bale way before my brother had to go and freaking look like him. I am just fine…There is nothing wrong with me. In fact, there are probably a million girls out there who love Christian Bale and even have hideous looking brothers.

Today, my brother stopped by my office to grab a cup of coffee with me. As we sat there together sipping our coffees out of nowhere, this girl approaches us, looks at my brother and says, “excuse me…but did anyone ever tell you that you look like, um, oh what’s his name…” My brother and I looked at each other, smiled and said in unison – “Christian Bale!”.

Here’s a little Christian for ya...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLuoXMtvAPc&feature=related

The King of Hoboken

2008-03-17T21:06:00.005-04:00

So I had my second dinner date last night with …well let’s call him “Doug” because he looks like Kevin James from The King of Queens. No, he’s not fat…actually he was a big College football “All American” running back. I have to say, he is probably the first…no second…real athlete I ever went out with. My past dating life has included actors, republicans, drunks, Greeks and lawyers. What a combination!!!

Anyway, I’m very perplexed and I don’t know what to think. This is the first guy who has actually not made any formal moves on me by the second date. We had a nice dinner at Margherita’s – one of my favorite “Ma and Pa” Italian restaurants in Hoboken. He brought the wine and we sat there for a few hours getting reacquainted since I hadn’t seen him in a month. We talked about typical conversation, i.e. how all his friends are getting married, a little about relationships, strip clubs, gambling, and his 14 year old nephew with the porn problem. Dinner was fun…he not only ate his complete dinner but part of mine, cleaning both our plates. Since we both had work in the morning, we decided to leave. Now Margherita’s is on 8^th Street, he lives on 6^th Street and I’m on 2^nd. So when we walked past his apartment, he immediately stopped, looked at me and said, “well, here’s where I live”. He gave me a quick peck on the lips twice and said, “Have a great week”. I was flabbergasted! That’s it? I was sent off to walk home alone 4 blocks in the dark. The first date, he kissed my cheek, now the second date, he pecked my lips. Oookay! Now, Doug is 32. Maybe I’m just not used to an “older man” who unlike younger men want to get as much action as they can for as little expense as they can. Anyway, my paranoia is setting in and I’m analyzing the situation like this:

1. He wants a “female buddy”? Now this is new for me. I am not normally the “female buddy” type. I’m more of a girly girl who would not normally go to a bar just to sling back a couple of beers and watch a sports game with the guys. I know very little about football. I know that Eli Manning and Tom Brady are hotties and that is the extent of my football knowledge. Men do not want to hear about that. I watch college basketball while on the treadmill at the gym so I can talk a little about that. Baseball….now that I love! I do love baseball games. But if I went to a Mets game with Doug, I’d have to refrain from wearing my “Looking for Mr. Wright” t-shirt!

2. His guy friends are all getting married and he needs to slowly and cautiously dip his big toe into the dating waters.

3. He thinks my head is shaped like a football and that is all the attraction he has for me.

4. He just came off a broken relationship and he is mistrusting of females.

5. He didn’t feel like walking me home because there was a game on ESPN that was about to begin and he just couldn’t bear to miss it (besides he’s allergic to Oreo and this could present a problem) or...

I don’t know! I am perplexed. Doug is a guy’s guy. To be honest, I thought I would be fighting this guy off of me. Like, he’d be going for the touchdown at kickoff or at least…going for the extra points. NOTHING!! Hmmmm. It’s somewhat unusual that “good little girl Tara” is saying to the jock…What are you waiting for???….pass it!!!!

Mr. Boston

2008-03-06T17:22:00.009-05:00

Well, well, well, Mr. Boston is in New York City on business this week and wants to take me to dinner. Too bad he’ll be eating alone. After three or four drunk dials and a text message invitation to dinner, I’ve lost interest in having a candlelight meal and expensive bottle of wine with him. He’s not a bad guy…just another immature male who refuses to grow up and realize he’s not in college anymore. He’s lonely…so am I. But fellas, drunk dialing is not….well, not a very romantic way to get a lady’s attention, ok? Mr. Boston is actually a nice guy…and things might have been different if he lived down the street from me. He just needs some work – female influences. Oh, yeah…he’s a fix me up for sure, but he has the potential to be quite the “flip” (excuse the HGTV expression!). People that meet him cannot understand why he’s single. But then, they say the same about me. In his heart, he wants a girlfriend, but he’s absolutely terrified at the thought of it. Mr. Boston and I do, however, have some things in common. But he’s too far away and truthfully, what’s the point. He wants female companionship when it’s convenient for him. I’m not interested in that kind of scenario. You know, like the sailor who comes to port. Men think it’s safe. Guess what, no deal! He’s admitted to me that he’s extremely insecure, and maybe when he drinks he gets the nerve to call me. I don’t know.

So, rather than accepting the dinner invitation with Mr. Boston, tonight I’ll grab a quick dinner at home and then go to the gym for my workout. Ah, yes! I’m finally starting to like what I see in the mirror! It’s about time I learn to really love and understand who I am before I go to the next step in learning to understand and love someone else.

Nice Leagues!

2008-03-03T19:16:00.005-05:00

A female co-worker recently recommended to me that the way to meet a nice single man in New York City is to join a Social Sports League. So, I've decided to have my head bashed in every Wednesday night while playing Co-ed Dodgeball in Soho. This should be interesting. Although I have never considered myself an athletic superstar, girl-jock, I am strong and can probably hold my own on a co-ed team. Imagine this, I approach the center line and heave a ball as hard as I can at some single guy on the other side in hopes that he finds me attractive and wants to buy me a drink later. How romantic! Anyway, this is the new way to get a "date" in New York…so I'll try it. Why not - How bad can it be?….What's a few jammed fingers and a broken nose when it comes to a shot at love.

V-Day Revisited

2008-02-14T13:34:00.001-05:00

We all know what today is…That dreaded day of the year for lonely hearts who stay home and feel....alone...unloved…rejected…depressed! Thanks Hallmark...thanks a lot! Meanwhile the love-filled romantics are all cuddled up declaring words of passion and exchanging gifts of love. It has been strongly recommended to me by a couple of girlfriends to avoid the gym tonight. Supposedly it’s too depressing to be there. Even my personal trainer is staying home tonight…hibernating under a blanket…alone. Yes, the Lonely Hearts of Hoboken will be darting from the 6 p.m. train in a fast sprint to get home…and hide. You think I’m kidding? No one wants to be seen on the streets alone tonight. It’s humiliating! Oh, we’ll be fine tomorrow, it’s just today! Valentine’s Day. Getting through Valentine’s Day is like watching the TV show, 24. You’re counting down the minutes till it’s OVER and when you successfully get through it, you can feel like Jack Bauer - you have saved the world! You can be proud….damnit! You are victorious! V is for Victory! (I know, I’m reaching for a little positive relief here!)

The truth is, I allow this one day of the year to make me really hate being single…and then poof…it’s gone. In reality, I am too busy for a relationship anyway. I hardly have any time to give to a man. My life basically consists of three things…I work, I work out, and I get ready. Oh, and pay bills. The only other thing I do is walk to and from Starbucks and have one 45 minute trip to the organic store each week. That leaves approximately 3 hours in an entire week free for a man…Minus the 2-1/2 hours of watching his favorite football team…ok, that leaves …30 minutes. So, would 30 free minutes per week allow realistically for a relationship? Yeah I know…(I’ll take it!)

"Who IS this new Roommate of Ours and What IS She Feeding Me?"

2008-01-23T17:13:00.000-05:00

Last night I came home from my hour-long boxing class at the gym totally exhausted and looking forward to a nice hot shower and a couple hours of complete relaxation in my apartment. The minute I walked in I noticed an immediate look of disappointment on Oreo’s face. Almost as if to say, “Oh, it’s you…you don’t feed me, Danielle feeds me…Well, I’ll come over and you can pet me anyway.” My first reaction was, “I’m sorry Oreo! It’s just me coming home…not Danielle. I’m sorry Buddy.” (Why was I apologizing?…I pay my portion of the rent). Oreo began his meowing which doesn’t sound like a meow at all, more like maaahhh! (Trust me, it’s a weird sound.) It was 9:30 p.m and he hadn’t eaten since this morning. Poor soul. And now he’s stuck here with me. I immediately called my all-knowing mother, whose advice was the obvious. “Feed him something!” Oreo began pacing the apartment, rolled himself on the rug, got up, and then headed to the pantry door which he then proceeded to stand up and open with his two front paws. He was trying to tell me, “Moron, my food is in here!” I looked in the pantry and his box of food was empty! Thinking dry food is dry food, I offered him some of my Kashi Go Lean cereal. Hey, I was desperate. He chewed a little (as if it were concrete, which it is) and then looked at me as if to say, “Lady, this sucks!” My mother then recommended pouring Oreo a little milk into his bowl. So I poured a little skim milk for him thinking that this should hold him over until Danielle comes home. He lasted about 10 seconds with the milk and headed back over to me to “maaahhh” at me and rubbed up against me. I said, “I’m sorry buddy, I don’t know what else to do”. Inexperienced with animal needs, I texted Danielle and told her Oreo is hungry and there’s no food for him. She responded that she would be home with his food in a couple minutes. I found myself stroking Oreo’s head and lovingly assuring him, “It’s ok, Fatty, your food will be here soon”. The cat is probably saying to himself in a voice like Stewie from Family Guy, “Finally, it’s about time, dumb ass!” Thinking that to myself, I turned away and headed for my much needed shower. My muscles were beginning to feel sore so I figured with Danielle coming through the door any minute, I could sneak away into my bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, clean, naked and toweling off, I suddenly see my bathroom door knob slowly turning to open. Remembering that I had locked the door I called, “Who’s there?” The response, “Maaahhh!” It was as if the deprivation of food was ALL that cat was going to be deprived of for the night. I grabbed my towel and yelled “Go away Oreo!…Pervert!”

OREO

2008-01-21T17:45:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I moved to another apartment in Hoboken. I have a new roommate who owns a cat. Yes, as you can imagine, this is a major milestone for me. I am sharing quarters with an animal. He’s cute though…all 18 pounds of him. Oreo is my roommate’s very overweight black and white cat. He’s what they call a lap cat or because of his color and markings - a tuxedo cat. Sometimes I look at him and want to break out into a song from Phantom of the Opera since his face is half black and half white. Get it? Oreo spends all day alone in the apartment but as soon as either Danielle or I come home he’s both ready to (1) eat and (2) receive our utmost attention and adoration. Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t jump up and down when we walk in the door…he’s too fat to get all hyper about it. His approach to showing utter happiness that someone is home is to just kind of rub up against you for 10 minutes straight and then follow you wherever you go. He’ll watch everything you do and is, of course, very curious by nature. Last night with my roommate gone, Oreo and I nestled up on the couch and watched a movie together. Oreo situated his huge self on my lap as if it was his rightly place and then quickly fell sound asleep. Total contentment! And right about now you’re thinking, “Tara, you are so sadly pathetic!” Me - “neat-obsessor” partnered with a “somewhat-shedding, horribly obese” cat.…on the couch…together. Yeah, I know…it’s crazy, but I call him “my buddy” and we’ve bonded. At least I’ll have company for Valentine’s Day this year. I’ll pop open a nice bottle of wine for myself ….then fill his bowl with “dry food”. What a night! Spending Valentines Day on the couch with Oreo watching…um…The Adventures of Milo and Otis! Actually, we could watch a total chick flick and Oreo wouldn’t care! I don’t know, maybe I should contact E-Harmony and try dating again. My roommate isn’t dating anyone and when I suggested we join a speed dating club she just said she wasn’t interested in dating right now. Great! We’re like two spinsters with a cat!...(my ultimate nightmare!)

Since Oreo needs exercise, I do attempt to play with him. He has a line up of toys but playtime only lasts about two minutes per session. He gets tired and loses interest. What? Cats don’t fetch? Oh, that’s right…dogs fetch. Cats like to attack anything that is dangling by a string…kind of like fish! Poor Oreo. My roommate cannot say “no” to him, so she feeds him more than she should.

For as cute and quiet as he is nonetheless, Oreo is band from my bedroom. I actually purchased a child lock so that he can’t open my bedroom door. Don’t laugh…he opens doors. No silly, not the door to the apartment, just the inside doors. No intruders and no cats allowed in my room. My room is my sanctuary…my nest…my sacred perch. I’m kind of like Tweety bird in her cage! Yep that’s me… “I taught I taw a puddy cat!” I did! I did! Yes, he’s outside my door, dying to come in.

Oreo is terrified of the vacuum cleaner, however, vacuuming is one of those cleaning routines I faithfully keep up with. One afternoon Oreo snuck into my room and ran directly under my bed. He knew he was in the forbidden zone. With quick thinking, I immediately turned on the vacuum and he bolted out of my room - fastest I’ve ever seen that cat move!

How many lives do cats have again?

Watch Your Expiration Date

2008-01-18T12:49:00.000-05:00

Whether it’s considered a fun night with a new acquaintance and the evening ends with an unexpected but highly anticipated farewell kiss or includes a couple of dinner dates that later evaporate into thin air, do not expect a girl to respond to your text message or phone call after a two to six months mysterious lapse in communication. You see, every respectable female comes with an expiration date (kind of like a quart of milk or metered parking space). Just this past week, I received both a text and a drunk dial call from two different guys that had been (according to my personal parking meter) fined and towed a long time ago. Both calls will go unreturned. I don’t care what major company you run or how cute that picture in your wallet is of you holding your newborn niece. She’s already graduating from nursery school by now!

Ok, here are the rules, men: If you meet a woman and insist on getting her phone number, the meter begins running from that time on. That’s right, from the minute her 10-digit phone number is stored in your cell; you will have up to two weeks maximum time to call her. The lack of a phone call (or heaven forbid, that much hated non-personal, non-committing text message) at anytime after the initial two-week period is considered…well, let’s just say, you’ve gone sour, my friend; sour like the milk in that bachelor pad refrigerator of yours. So call me old fashioned but please, man, refrain from texting me random messages out of nowhere, like “Hey, what’s up?” It ranks right up there with the communication skills of a male gorilla that will pound on his chest looking for female companionship and attention. (At least gorillas are well aware of watching out for a female’s expiration date).

Tell me, are men just:
Lazy?
Undisciplined?
Forgetful?
Preoccupied by work?

Or are they just building some bizarre little black book of female names in their cell phones in order to make them look like they are some form of babe magnet? Is that true? I really want to know.

My brother has repeatedly griped at me remarking, “No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend!” Well guess what…The older and wiser I get, the more self-respect I gain for myself; hence the more respect I demand from others. Therefore, it’s true, the longer I’m alone, the harder it will be for me to allow a man to be lucky enough to have me. So there! Yes, the standards ARE high with a woman like me and that is how it will stay.

For New Jersey guys, I’ll make this simple. Play by the rules, just like in football. The clock is running, and if you’re not swift on your feet, you just might lose the precious ball to someone else. This is an analogy, guys; I didn’t just change the subject to talk about the NY Giants. Ok?

As a closing to this bit of informal yet much needed advice, always remember check your expiration dates at time of purchase. If you don’t, you might as well plan on that cereal of yours tasting a bit dry for a very long time.

Get Me to the Church On Time

2008-01-13T12:46:00.000-05:00

I’ll just come out and say it….I miss going to church. I have not been to church in so long that I can’t remember the last time I attended. Raised by Christian parents who brought my brother and me to church every week, I stopped regularly attending when I went to College. Like many college students, Saturday nights were spent at the local bars in Bloomington making it near impossible for me to lift my head Sunday mornings till…well, Sunday afternoon. I did attend some evening services in Bloomington and also attended some Campus Crusade meetings during the week, but I never felt welcomed into the “Christian Clique”. My faith has always been about what I believe in my heart and my personal relationship with Christ, rather than seeking the social non-hospitality of Christian youth groups. Now, that I work 6 days per week, my only excuses are (1) I work on Sundays and (2) Hoboken is 30% Roman Catholic, and the other 70% belong to the Church of St. Mattress. It doesn’t leave me much of a choice. If I wanted to find an Evangelical or Baptist church, I would have to travel into Manhattan for a Saturday night Service. My pastor back home sent me a list of recommended churches to visit in Manhattan. I have them saved onto my computer.

Here is the good news…I recently moved again within Hoboken so now I am sharing an apartment with a roommate. My expenses will be cut dramatically to the point where I will be able to quit my part-time spa job. This allows my weekends to free up. I’ll be free to attend church on Sunday mornings. Maybe I’ll be able to join a church choir again too. I have truly missed singing in choir and to have this back in my life would be really important to me. Now, I just need to figure out what church on my pastor’s list I should try first.

Tis the Season to be Jolly?

2007-12-08T21:52:00.000-05:00

Think back…Wasn’t it nice this past summer when we could slip on some flip flops, grab a pair of sunglasses and quickly go outside for a walk. Now, it’s the boots, coat, hat, scarf and gloves routine before each adventure out. Winter brings the blues. The sun seems to abandon us. I find myself extra tired. Sometimes I wish we could hibernate like bears through winter only to awaken for spring time - 10 pounds lighter with only a little spring cleaning to worry about. Seasonal depression must be conquered. But how?

I need a boost…a change…a man! Oh, no…here we go (you say) Tara’s at it again. Actually, I am not the only female saying this. Did you know there is an actual name for this temporary “seasonal must-have” by women? It’s called….The Winter Boyfriend. A friend of mine actually asked me if I had mine yet. My response, “Honey, I don’t have a summer, fall or spring one either.” Pretty soon I’m going to start looking for that website from Lars and the Real Girl. Instead of Bianca, I’ll have Billy….Yeah, Billy’s a missionary…(My parents would like that).

Anyway, the Winter Boyfriend is someone who begins around December 1 and ends after…say Mid-March. Women have the Winter Boyfriend to snuggle with by the fire, watch movies with on the couch, attain presents from during the holidays and includes a couple weekends of free ski-lift tickets and hot toddy’s in the lodge. Hey, don’t look at me! I’ll be sleeping with Billy the missionary doll all winter, remember? I’m only reporting what I have heard from other women.

All kidding aside, when Santa asks me what I want for Christmas, I’m not going to ask him for a Winter Boyfriend or a male sex doll, instead with a wink of my eye I’m going to ask him for a facial, a manicure, a pedicure and a nice bottle of Chianti. Following Christmas, I’m going to settle down for a long winter’s nap.

Fa la la la la la la….la….la!

And to the Republican for which I stand

2007-11-29T22:12:00.000-05:00

So after a grueling gym workout, I came home, showered and flopped on the couch with a very nice hot cup of green tea in an effort to finally relax. Because I consider myself a young, conservative, ex-college republican who leans left on social issues, I decided I would most definitely check out the candidates at the You Tube Debate.

First of all, Anderson Cooper…what a catch! Anyway, here is my synopsis on what I saw and who I liked. Please understand, I am far from being a “political” person and this was the first debate I have watched this season and first real look at the Republican candidates.

Fred Thompson

I liked his height. He’s a tall man, distinguished yet a little too somber. He needs to lighten up a little more…smile a little more. Very Texan looking…I envision him with a big white cowboy hat, smoking a big cigar and sitting at a big desk with his big feet propped up on it. Fred is way too socially conservative for me. However, I think 24 should hire him to act as their next TV President. He’s a good actor.

Ron Paul

I’m sorry…I understand he has a lot of groupie fans out there…but he scares me…a little. Cranky, awkward, quirky, with a somewhat annoying voice…heck, I wouldn’t even want him as my OB doctor let alone President! Sure, in a perfect world we could all safely live in the US, mind our own business and leave everyone else to blow each other up…but the U.S. has never been that way and I don’t see that idealism ever happening here…not now. And stop being so cranky…gosh!

Mike Huckabee

He’s cute…kinda reminds me of Kevin Spacey. Nice dimples! Would love him for a father-in-law...but that’s it. I think he’s honest…but again, I think the President of the U.S. needs more than a Theology degree to handle the job. Ranks right up there with a degree in Apparel Merchandising (tee hee). I’m sure he’s very smart…maybe too kind. He’s very well spoken…I’d go to his church…but I think it’s time for someone who is slick, tough and a real crime fighting attorney to handle the wheel…a real pit bull…

Rudy Giuliani

Living in the New York area, you have to love him…Ok so he has problems with his relationships with the opposite sex…so do I!! I can’t fault him for that! So he loves A-Rod and I love David Wright…so what? He’s tough. He gets excited…He’s passionate! He leans left on social issues (which I prefer). I think he’d be a great boss. He’s inspiring. Let’s face it we haven’t had an enthusiastic U. S. President since…well…since Roosevelt! (Well, he seemed enthusiastic in the movie, Annie, didn’t he?). Giuliani is tough…maybe too tough…if he doesn’t like you…he won’t let you come play in his yard. I like that. I think he’s fair too. He smiles…I think he finds debating right up his alley!

John McCain

Was he wearing a plastic mask last night or was that his real face? He’s scary too! Whew! I like his pro-military admiration. Of all the candidates, he’s like the last person I’d want to be locked in a room with. Talk about Torture! He needs to relax! He’s way too intense. Unless, he’s got a big heart hidden somewhere…no one saw it last night.

Mitt Romney

He looked great in his suit! Very presidential looking. Handsome. He reminds me of actor, John Gavin. (Go ahead, google him!) I thought his answer on believing the Bible literally was staged and said to appease the conservative right. You could tell he was very uncomfortable since he has that big “C” for “Cults” engraved on his chest. I did love his response to Huckabee about giving scholarships to illegal immigrants. I felt Mitt was a little too polite compared to the others. He might need to get a little tougher…maybe mess up his hair a little.

Tom Tancredo

He didn’t say much but I actually liked his remarks against funding a space mission to Mars. I agreed with his wholehearted response to Ron Paul about wishing we could live in the world that Ron Paul believes exists.

Duncan Hunter

Duncan did not get a chance to say much. Quite frankly, I don’t know why he bothered to show up. Obviously, Ann Coulter does all the talking for him.

Mr. Big

2007-11-14T22:10:00.000-05:00

Well, I saw Mr. Big yesterday getting on the train….Oh, I never wrote about Mr. Big? Well, Mr. Big is a very sexy Italian Stallion of a man who lives in Hoboken. Yep, if you saw him you would immediately do that impersonation of Rocky Balboa that you’ve been dying to try out. Trust me, the few times my mom has visited me and caught a glimpse of Mr. Big, she immediately puts on her best Rocky voice, “Cut me Mick” or her personal favorite, “Yo Adrian”.

All kidding aside, Mr. Big is a big time NYC broker. He comes into my spa for massages every once in awhile and I flirt with him like….well it’s quite ridiculous how much flirting goes on! Big is about 6’2”, dark curly hair (my weakness) and well, he’s just so put together! I call him Mr. Big….because he is my “Mr. Big”. Big is 30, lives alone (because he too can’t live with anyone) and used to play semi-pro football. He’s just very very sexy to me. I’ve said things to him while sitting behind that spa desk that I have never said to a man before! Like “You sure look good to me!” or “Don’t cut your hair…Curly hair is so sexy on a man!” (Actually maybe I have told a few men that before). Anyway, there have been a couple of conversations where Big will say, “So what are you doing tonight?” But for some reason I always have something going on. However, one night he was the last appointment (thank you Tara for booking that intentionally). After he was through with his massage, and I did my usual “fall all over him”, he left the spa but dwindled outside on his cell phone (ya know, making big deals) and then began walking very slowly down the street. I closed up the spa and began walking home…towards Big. He ended his phone call and turned to me and said, “Are you following me?” I just laughed and said, “No, this is the way I go home” (I wanted to say….to the ends of the earth!) Anyway, we talked and laughed for a few blocks. As we walked on Washington, he told me he was having dinner and then a smoke in the cigar bar. We said our goodbyes and he went towards the restaurant, opening the door he turned…stopped to look at me, smiled again, and then went in…That was it. Ok, so why didn’t he ask me to dinner? He was hungry…I was hungry…Maybe he wanted me to initiate something…maybe he was afraid of being rejected by a younger woman…I don’t know. Maybe Mr. Big doesn’t have the confidence with women that he does with his business dealings. Or maybe he is seeing someone and I am just his ego booster.

I haven’t seen Big for awhile...until yesterday…I saw him going through the turnstile and getting on the 1^st car of the Path. Like I said before, the man is so put together. For some reason, I avoided getting on that 1^st car too. Instead I got on the 2^nd car. Guess he’ll just always remain my reach…my Mr. Big!

Twas the Morning Before Starbucks

2007-11-09T23:53:00.000-05:00

Today’s Path Train ride became one I would never forget. I boarded the already heavily packed morning train to find myself standing at the door with my back to the other riders. Already sleepy, I set my balance, gripped the pole, then slowly closed my eyes for a quick nap on the way to 33^rd Street. Suddenly, I was awoken by a yelp and scream. In what seemed like slow motion, I turned around and caught the site of a woman dropping to the floor with her eyes wide open and rolling back into her head. As she dropped, she hit her head on one of the poles and then the edge of a seat creating a loud thump. For a split second people witnessing the fall were in shock and just watched as this young woman whom had fallen straight down wasn’t moving. Everyone watching sort of panicked then moved quickly toward her to help the 20-something woman who had suddenly collapsed before our eyes. I (someone who had hardly taken a college science class, yet had bravely and courageously dissected a frog in high school) quickly joined another woman to see if either of us could find her pulse. I couldn’t find it (but then again I could hardly ever find my own). Meanwhile a man pulled the emergency stop and contacted the conductor. One man tried to help the unconscious woman sit up, but the woman immediately began curling up in a ball. Another man yelled, “Is anyone here a doctor?” Someone added, “Don’t let her fall asleep!” The conductor contacted someone on his walky-talky and requested emergency medical help be ready at 33^rd Street stop. I felt as if the train had then transformed into an Ambulance as we flew past all of the typical stops on route to 33^rd Street, sounding its horn along the way.

At 33^rd the train stopped. I saw the Emergency staff quickly coming down the steps. The passengers immediately exited the train in their usual swift fashion, yet everyone by the look on their faces was concerned and shook up over what they had just experienced on the train and how helpless we all felt for those few minutes between Christopher Street and 33rd.

When I finally got to the office, I broke down and cried. I suddenly realized how alone I am in New York, how if anything ever happened to me, and I was totally unable to help myself, I would have to rely on strangers for help. It was good to see everyone react. Everyone pitched in to their best capacity. Everyone cared. I hope this young woman is ok.

Darting to the Train

2007-11-08T22:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a beautiful brisk Fall day in Hoboken. On days like this I especially love my morning walk to the train. Each day, between the hours of 7 & 9 a.m., hundreds of young men and women briskly walk to the same hole in the ground, the NJ Path train, like busy worker ants. No one chit-chatting, no one laughing….Ipod in ears…coffee in hand…focused…truly focused on one thing…getting to Manhattan.

Once on the train, it’s usually about the same…everyone quiet, reading their papers, sipping their Starbucks, or sitting or standing with their eyes closed…catching a few extra minutes of sleep. Until suddenly the entire train here’s a conversation. All ears react…except the Ipod endowed. Two nice looking men recognize each other and cheerfully greet one another. One is slightly showing the signs of gray, the other younger and without a wedding ring (I always look). Anyway the older gentlemen said “Hey, how are you? "Have you seen Michael lately?” The younger man smiled and said, “Yeah, I saw him last night...Tuesday is darts night.”

I thought…”darts night”…..”darts night” “Tuesday night is darts night?”. He appeared to be mid-thirties, obviously single, well-dressed, and Tuesday night is darts night?” So, this is what men do on Tuesday nights in Hoboken…They have darts night. Didn’t darts go out with hula hoops?

I opened my bag and put on my Ipod. Reality can be deafening.

In with the Old, Out with the Young?

2007-11-01T22:27:00.000-04:00

Why is it that I find myself getting hit on by older gentlemen in Hoboken and not the younger fellows? Where are the bright young men of Hobo? You know between the ages of 24 and say…30? The Older men (between 33 and 40) for some reason approach me. They are friendly, confident…even bold. I’m amused, but then I think, is this my destiny?…To date and fall in love with a man maybe 10 years old than me? A man who when he lifts our first child together, complains about his bad back? A man with a prescription for Viagra that comes with unlimited refills. A man with bad knees and a bad case of the G.E.R.D!

Maybe an older man is part of my destiny. Maybe I should accept the fact that older men know how to treat a lady…know how to order a good bottle of wine…know how to dance to a big band…and know how to open a car door. Ok so the kids and I will push him around Disney World in a wheel chair…so we’ll move up to the front of the wheelchair and handicap gate and avoid waiting in long lines…that’s cool.

A girlfriend and I recently went to a bar in Hoboken on a Saturday night.

We were there to have a drink and watch her alma mater, the University of Virginia football game…hey, a great way to meet guys…young guys! WRONG! No one even approached us… The guys that were there didn’t even budge to come up and say hello. On the way out, I walked passed a young guy who hardly turned his head but did get the slight nerve and sober energy to say “bye ladies”. Ugh! And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a brief portrait of the wildly gifted charm imparted America’s Best – our Young and Upcoming World Financial Business Leaders of Tomorrow.

Go ahead laugh! Actually this probably makes some of you quite angry…My brother says, “Guys don’t always approach girls, because they too fear rejection.” Well then how will they ever be successful on Wall Street with a fear for taking risks? How could they call themselves stock traders or sales executives if they fear being turned away? Younger men here are extremely career driven…Women are thought of as an extra stress, a hassle, a restriction on their very few minutes of downtime…a time to be with their boys…Then I found this ad in the local website: www.hobokeni.com

“Attention guys in the New York/New Jersey Area! A new club is forming for young guys wanting to make some new friends under the sun! Please pass this on!

Nude Jersey Boyz is a group that includes all shapes and sizes. Come as you are: gay/bi/straight. We will have weekly get togethers at the Nude Gunnison Beach at Sandy Hook (Atlantic Highlands). We will have carpools to get down there, as well as drinks and theme days. You do NOT have to go nude!”

Ok so THIS is where all the spirited, outgoing guys are going? Great!

Who said, “Third Time’s a Charm”?

2007-10-22T22:50:00.000-04:00

“Why me? Why is it always me?” I flew Airtran for the first time on vacation two weeks ago – a connection flight out of Philadelphia to LA through Atlanta. Now I have experienced lost and/or delayed luggage before. I will admit…I go psycho! There is nothing worse than standing at the baggage claim belt….alone…then witnessing the luggage conveyor belt suddenly stop!

First, let us go back in time. I have lost my luggage twice before while flying U.S. Airways from Philadelphia to Indianapolis. Both times U.S. Airways delivered my 65 pound suitcase a day later to my door. Both times I went on a tirade of hysterics about my “stuff”. Please understand... to a single woman, her suitcase and her belongings are her life…Kind of like a mother and her child. So you see, when my suitcase gets…“kidnapped”, I panic. Waiting at the conveyor belt is like a mother anxiously awaiting for her child to come off the school bus. I’m sorry but that’s my best analogy.

Sunday’s return trip out of LAX began on a bad note. My $7.00 bottle of Banana Boat After Sun Lotion was confiscated by the TSA at the airport. The TSA woman opened my bag, pulled out the large pumped bottle and asked me. “Aren’t you aware of the carry-on rules? A little annoyed I replied, “It has a pump which doesn’t lock and I didn’t want to put it in my suitcase, so I carefully put it in my carry-on so that the lotion wouldn’t go all over my clothes” (looking for a little understanding – you know, woman to woman). She took my $7.00 bottle and re-zipped my bag shut. Ugh! I left thinking, oh yeah, I’m a real threat…me and my brand new, hardly used, Banana Boat lotion could somehow be part of a terrorist plot!...Why do they only make that lotion in a freaking pump? I was furious!

Standing alone at Airtran’s Conveyor Belt in Philadelphia, I realized my karma was undeniably bad when it comes to air travel. I immediately walked over to the Airtran lost luggage area to report a claim. Since there were 4 others there already, I made a major attempt to control my frustration. When it was my turn, the luggage lady didn’t have to say a word. I walked up and said, “Hi, I was on a connection flight from LAX through Atlanta and my luggage didn’t arrive here in Philly!” The woman took down all of the information off my luggage ticket and then showed me a piece of paper with 50 types of suitcases on it and asked me to pick which one was most like mine. (See, I told you it’s like missing a child…you have to identify both by a picture when lost). Then she asked, “What was inside the missing suitcase?” (Now this is like being asked what you’re child is wearing). I nervously tried to gather my emotional thoughts of my beloved suitcase and bolted out “tampons…., um, um….” (You might have thought I was on Family Feud answering "Things in a suitcase"!) Meanwhile my mother reacts because I said the word “Tampons” in public, and jumped in saying, “Tara, describe some of your identifiable clothes!” Finally focused I said “a bright blue dress is on top, and a black ¾ sleeve jacket”. Done. Later after 2-1/2 hours of waiting at the airport for the next flight in from Atlanta at 1 a.m., my 65 pound baby with the bright red ribbon came up the conveyor belt finding its way home and into my arms. I was so happy and so relieved!

Annie Oakley Wears Prada

2007-10-17T19:22:00.000-04:00

By age 18, I had three must-dos for my life. One, to graduate from Indiana University…check. Two, perform on a Broadway Stage…(I was chosen as a volunteer "Speller finalist" in Broadway's The 25^th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee last Spring)...check. And finally, to ride a horse…Check!

Last week my family went to Southern California for a vacation. We had a fabulous time! Adam and I were given a choice. We could visit the famous San Diego Zoo or go Horseback Riding. We both agreed to go Horseback Riding so off to Bright Valley Stables near San Diego…we went. It was a beautiful day (as it always is in So Cal) and perfect for fulfilling my final "must-do".

Our car stirred up the dusty trail to the stables. We all sat there for a moment all looking at each other like we were about to set off for the New World. The walk to the stables was interesting. I made my way up the dirt covered road to the stables on tip toes, strategically avoiding herds of horse poop that was…all over! Heaven forbid if I had that in the treads of my pretty new Nike's.

Since we were riding novices…they chose our horses accordingly. My mom (who hasn't ridden in 25 years) asked, "Do you maybe have a pregnant female horse that doesn't really feel like moving too fast?" In turn, they gave my mom a filly with a bad back!

My horse's name was Petey...I loved him! The four of us rode with our guide along trails, up and down hills and through woods. What a rush! Petey and I followed my brother, Adam and his horse, Olivia. Behind Petey and me it was my Mom on Moon and finally my Dad on McPhee. People back home wouldn't have believed it. Four Cherry Hill-ites on horses! It was so….I don't know….rural! Adam, of course, broke out in singing songs from Oklahoma. Not a surprise. He'll probably add horseback riding to his acting resume as a skill.

Once back at the coral, our guide snapped numerous pictures of us on our horses as well as beside them. The entire experience made for real family bonding. Totally fulfilled with life, I walked back down the dusty road to the car not giving the poop in the road a second thought. I was Cherry Hill's Annie Oakley…Poop in my Nike treads and all.

The Summer of My Discontent

2007-09-17T22:25:00.000-04:00

What if Jack Nicholson is right…What if this is “as good as it gets”? My life needs to take a turn...a much needed upswing for sure. My job hardly stimulates me. My work life is stable, but I feel like I have lost the passion and motivation to stay. Some days the amount of female estrogen at work makes me want to jump into the Hudson. Then there’s my love life…ha! Hardly a love life. What else is there? Tell me? Yes, I have a nice and cozy little apartment, where I quietly live alone and where no one leaves wet towels on the floor, hair in the sink or (heaven forbid) an unflushed toilet. I do have some great friends here in town, and who are pretty much in the same pathetic money situation that I am. Yes, money is so ridiculously tight due to the high cost of living that I have to watch every single penny I spend. The price of one cocktail in Manhattan can be so expensive that I can’t even afford to drink my depression into oblivion. I actually had to switch to light beer one night just so I could feel….something!

Then, there are my regular monthly dealings with Sallie Mae and my college loans, which at times make me wish I had never attended IU, but rather saved money and stayed in-state. But then again I contemplate my in-state choices and realize being at IU made me a lot stronger, a bit tougher, more organized, and quite the independent person that I am today. It was just a high price to pay for basically growing up.

I, however, CAN be happy that I am in the best physical shape of my life. I am in excellent health. I guess that should count for something. However, since graduating from college I have worked six days a week and am beginning to feel the telltale signs of burn out. In addition to my corporate job during the week, I also work one weekend day as an assistant manager at a high end spa. It’s a relaxing place for people with money who want to spend a couple hours dropping hundreds of dollars for a massage, a facial and a quick Brazilian Bikini wax…and for the men….an hour massage and a back wax! People here are so stressed from their work environments and day-to-day living that relaxation and pampering is a much needed necessity. One of these days I hope to be able to afford to partake in my spa’s services. So for now, I’ll just manage the employees, sell our spa's service and products as well as treat our customers like the gold around their arms, their necks and their ankles!

The truth is I am actually considering a job change, possibly a location change…or one...or neither. I am at odds. I remember feeling this way at college. After I decided to leave the Theatre Department, I had to pick a new major. I’ll be honest. My thinking was, “I like fashion…I’ll do Apparel Merchandising! Sounds like fun! Duh! Changing my major to Apparel meant I could still graduate within 4 years. Looking back I should have switched my major to Education where I could teach kindergarten or 1^st grade. I love little kids! I would happily skip around the classroom singing songs like “Getting to Know You” from the King & I or "Do Re Mi" from The Sound of Music. I would even use my best Julie Andrews accent! Just think…I would work only 9 months a year, have off weekends, and take cruises and trips to Europe like the rest of the teachers in the world! However, that would have meant spending an extra year at IU…something that at the time would have just about killed me! Thank god though, I left Theatre. I know IU theatre grads that are struggling right now. One quit the profession after his first week of auditions – so much for Professor Pinney and his means of properly equipping mid-west actors for a REAL career in theatre, or should I say REAL competitive professional theatre…found here, people…in New York…no where else! Another of our big IU theatre actors is (surprise) waiting tables like the other 90,000 non-working theatre actors! All in all, only one IU theatre star made it to the Broadway stage and I am so happy for him. Way to go Colin! One of these days, when I can afford it, this Jersey girl will come see “Jersey Boys” on Broadway.

Anyway, getting back to my dilemma, you will either find me in the state of New Jersey, the state of New York, or in the state of confusion. Fall is here…My lease is up January 1st. Do I stay the course or set sail for a different direction? Oh, how I wish to be content.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your dogs

2007-09-03T14:50:00.000-04:00

A daily activity that takes place within the majority of Hoboken households is walking the dog. There are no doubt more dogs living in Hoboken than there are kids. Therefore, do not be surprised if you visit here that you have the need to clean the bottom of your shoes at least twice or decide to just throw them out. Now I'll admit Hoboken has stepped up the fines when not picking up after your dog. The new fine is $100. But who is it that will be reporting neglectful doggy owners to "rub their noses in it" and make them pay the fine? So, what are they now taking doggy DNA so they can prove who left the mess? It took me three months of living here to realize why people say New Yorkers never say hello on the street…..It is because they are all looking down to make sure they do not step in the indiscretions of some bulldog, boxer or Bearnese Mountain Dog.

No, I do not have a dog. My landlord forbids it. In fact, he hates dogs so much that he takes a spray bottle full of undiluted ammonia and sprays the telephone poll outside the apartment. Then he sits there on the stoop and watches the dogs go by the pole without stopping. Mr. M is so funny. He gets the biggest kick out of it.

I have noticed that an incredible amount of good looking guys in Hoboken have dogs. So much so that I have often thought that having a dog would be a great way to meet men in this town. Just lend me your dog for an hour or so per night and I'll take it for a trip to the local doggy hang out or cute guy hang out, Sinatra Park. How sexy would it be for me to be spending a good 20 minutes discussing puppies with some hot Lab owner until suddenly I realize I have to whip out the plastic bag in my bag pocket to pick up my poodle's poopy mess. Oh forget it! Definitely not sexy!

Urban Legends (for a very long time)

2007-08-21T22:11:00.000-04:00

After a long tiring day at work and hot sweaty commute home, not to mention my ¾ mile walk from the PATH train to my apartment, I opened my mailbox and was surprisingly shocked when I read the cover of this week’s edition of New York Magazine.

In bold black letters was the cover article by Clive Thompson entitled, “Why New Yorkers Live Longer”. I could hardly run up two flights of stairs fast enough to read it. Finally, some good news, I thought, since secretly I ponder if working in New York is actually killing me. The article proclaims that New Yorkers are living longer than ever, and longer than most people in the country. It also points out that our life expectancy is increasing at a rate faster than that of the rest of the country. Am I shocked? Yes and no. New Yorkers are so accustomed to walking everywhere and their fast quick step pace by far surpasses anyone. I realized this when my friends from home came to visit recently and they both complained how fast I walked. It is a normal pace for me and for everyone here. Nonetheless, they had a difficult time keeping up. The article in New York Magazine summarizes their findings: People who walk faster live longer – and enjoy better health in their later years.

New Yorkers are known as the “slimmest city” due to the fact that people walk everywhere. Instead of jumping into the car and going to the mall, I walk 10 blocks to the path train in Hoboken and then from the path train at 33^rd in NYC, I walk to 59^th Street to Bloomingdale's (Quite a hike at a New York Pace). To grocery shop….you walk. Then proceed to carry your grocery bags home in your arms. It’s just a different lifestyle here. However, public transportation is everywhere and strictly an option for those who can afford it. “The city is its own health club!” It forces us to walk…up and down subway stairs….and quickly. I will be cruelly honest…I rarely see fat people in Manhattan. If I do, I can assume their tourists visiting midtown.

The article reminds us that New York was also the first major city to implement no smoking bans in bars & restaurants as well as removing trans-fats from restaurant menus. Urbanites here are fit, eating healthy and working out.

The working hours are long, the stress is high, the pressure to succeed is great; hey, when blessed with a few free minutes a day….it’s a quick fast pace to the gym.

My Landlord

2007-07-29T21:51:00.000-04:00

The day that my parents helped me move into my 1 bedroom apartment was the day my father entrusted me with one of his heavy hammers, which he firmly instructed me to keep under my bed in case of intruders. I love my dad, but this means of protection is hardly necessary due to the sharp eyes and dog-like ears of my landlord, Mr. M who lives downstairs. No one gets by this man! Mr. M will come out of either one of two doors at the slightest noise: His door leading outside from his basement apartment or the inside apartment door, which he usually keeps slightly ajar. Mr. M knows everyone in town. Every cop, every fireman, every small business owner, everyone! I'll come home after work and he's usually outside smoking a cigarette (he's been sent there by Mrs. M). He's always happy to see me. Why wouldn't he be…I pay my rent on time, I keep my apartment immaculate, I'm quiet, I'm always friendly and greet him with a big happy smile and most importantly, we talk Mets baseball together. He's adorable…like another dad. Mr. M says "I love the Mets, the Jets, and the Nets!" He's cute. When Mr. M's 36 year old single daughter walks in the door at no matter what time of day or night, she'll say, "It's just me Pop". With the door to his first floor apartment always left a little ajar, you know he's feeling a sense of relief knowing his girls are in.

What comes after "Bend & Snap." Why it's "Capture, Snag & Whip!"

2007-07-26T22:11:00.000-04:00

According to Legally Blonde, the way to catch a man is to "Bend & Snap". But then, how do you "Capture, Snag & Whip"? Today's question is:

How does a man become whipped?

Do men become whipped from their need to be rewarded with sex at the end of the day? I see more men following their girlfriends around department stores, even couture dress shops, like puppies. As always, these men look totally uncomfortable, but there they are with that expressionless look on their faces that says, "If I am a really good boy today and carry her bags and not complain, I'll get sex tonight!" It amazes me that an extremely straight man would actually go shopping with a woman. I do not understand this phenomenon. Last night after the gym I went to Re-Juice-a-Nation, a local juice & smoothie bar. I witnessed one guy standing 10-feet back and away from his girlfriend who had just ordered a power shake at the counter. When the counter guy told her, "That will be $7.50 ma'am", she immediately turned around to her boyfriend and said, "You heard the man honey." The boyfriend without hesitation reached in his back pocket without saying a word and paid the counter guy. How do women do that? I want that….I want to whip a guy. Not physically…emotionally! Damn it! Oh sure, I've been taken out on dates and treated plenty of times. But how do you actually capture, snag, and whip? That's my question.

My dad, as big and tall and tough as he is…..is whipped! Has been for over 30 years! Sometimes he will take both me and my mom shopping. It has to be a torture session for him. He doesn't say anything. He just stands around. Or if he's lucky, he will find a chair to sit down on. Sometimes he will tell us he is going to the men's department, which for me and my mom is JUST FINE!

A whipped man is what a woman really needs: No leash necessary…He automatically follows you everywhere and wants to be near you. Oh sure, he pays for things, but the really nice comforting thing is the fact that he will stop at nothing to be with you. How does this happen? He lifts heavy bags, he kills bugs, he helps you fix things, he protects you, he calms you down when you are upset, he tells you that you are beautiful, etc. etc. etc. These men come with a label inside their undershirt that reads "Trouble Free". I want one! No, not the undershirt, silly, the whipped man!

Why am I not having the success that so many women today seem to easily master the fine technique of capture, snag & whip? Of course, I can get a man, but not the man I might really want. How can I capture, snag and whip the man I really, really want? Hmmm. Recently, I dated another mistake. He was not a mistake, I just should have known better than to date a guy from Boston who comes to the New York area sometimes for business. Started out great, but the distance is just not worth the effort. I should have known from the beginning. Now HE could have been a "capture, snag and whip", but due to the circumstances…nah!

If this blog has offended any of its male readers, I apologize. I know there are plenty of men out there who read this and say, "No woman is going to whip me!" Just make sure buddy you remove the label from the back of your undershirt before you go out tonight. You'll be fine.

The Dessert at Margarita's

2007-07-24T22:23:00.000-04:00

My older brother and I recently had a serious talk. Well, serious for us. It was a discussion about my love life or lack there of. He theorized by sharing with me one of his astonishing lessons of life as only my dear "never-been-without-a-woman-in-a-split-second-of-his-life" brother could. He said, "Guys look at girls in two ways; there are the girls you marry and the girls you want to F*** for one night!" Well obviously I consider myself the marrying kind given those limited choices. Anyway, even though I am the "nice girl" that I am, it does not mean that girls like me are not thinking about ultimate nights of pure passion. For instance, in my mind, there are three kinds of men. The men you marry (the ones who are financially prosperous, stable-minded yet ambitious by nature and can afford a woman of good taste), the ones you avoid (players, jerks and A-Holes), and the ones you dream of messing around with ( i.e. the waiter at Margarita's Restaurant). No, I'm not messing around with the very hot Italian waiter from Margarita's, but sometimes when I stop in there for take out, we glance at each other and then glance at each other again. All Italian in his tight black short sleeve shirt, thin gold chain, and bulging biceps, I will hear him say in Rocky Balboa-ish finesse, "Welcome to Margarita's, can I help you?" Now, maybe this guy is working his way through night school at Steven's Institute or maybe his family owns Margarita's and it will be his place someday…I have no idea. All I know is the last time I was in there I was with my parents, and my mom (who has quite the dirty mind and an eye for the studs as well) struggled to stop smiling when he asked us, "Can I bring anyone dessert?" My mom immediately looked at me and blushingly grinned, "Tara, would you like the dessert?" Ignoring my mom's question, I looked directly up at him, smiled and said, "Not today"…and with a wink I added, "Next time". He smiled back and walked back to the kitchen, hopefully with the same thoughts on his mind that I had.

Sometimes I cannot help but think to myself, would simply loving a man with passion and attraction only be enough to last? Or are my needs for stability and profitability so contentment-driven that I would settle with a man for (as some would say) the wrong reasons. Currently, I am watching myself evolve. I am wondering who could possibly stimulate and excite me so much that in the end I finally settle for someone totally different and unexpected from what my friends and family would predict.

Could my love life be as noteworthy and anticipated as Harry Potter's fate? It is certainly as much a fantasy.

Holly Golightly or Carrie Bradshaw ?

2007-07-21T22:13:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine from college recently asked me if I was to describe myself was I more of a Holly Golightly (Breakfast at Tiffany’s) or a Carrie Bradshaw (Sex & The City). It was like choosing between cake or ice cream!

Two years ago when I was grumbling about my life in Indiana, I could not wait to come back east to New York City; to work hard and establish myself within my corporate office as a fresh, young associate on her way up the ladder to corporate success. I was excited to be back in the land where brunettes are revered and where only “little” kids ride bicycles. There would be professional men all over the place. Think of it girls….men with careers! Every kind of attorney, medical doctor, investment banker, financial manager, real estate mogul…every kind of mogul! Happy hour near Wall Street would be 2…die…4! Yes, the boys of Goldman Sachs, Merrill Lynch and the rest of the 9 million suits all work on this man-smelling, wallet-bulging little island called Manhattan.

Anyway, back to my comparison. Holly Golightly was intentionally out to find a wealthy man so she could have the Tiffany ring she always wanted but instead falls in love with a poor artist who cannot afford to give her anything but a ring from a Cracker Jack box. Yeah, makes for a nice story. A story that makes poor guys feel like they could win the girl in the end over a guy who could actually afford to feed Audrey Hepburn so she could gain a few much needed pounds. Notice there was never a Breakfast at Tiffany’s Part II. We all know sooner or later that poor artist’s ass would be out the door and Audrey Hepburn would “Golightly” into evaporated air.

Carrie Bradshaw, dated phenomenal men on Sex & the City. Ladies, we all know Carrie’s men were all too good to be true. Carrie won over the love of her life in the final episode when the highly successful Mr. Big finally commits himself to her once and for all...thank god…at least we can still turn to television to see a man do that remarkable feat.

I’m sorry I sound so cynical. This year I have concluded that basically all men, rich or poor are the same; a bit disappointing. However, Men do make great friends if you can keep it that way. Unfortunately, they have as many phobias and head problems as any woman I know. For instance, recently I dated a very cute, hot blooded Italian who admitted he was terribly insecure…What the heck is this world coming to? Since when are Italian men insecure?

In closing, yes, Carrie and Holly are both happy and with the loves of their lives. If I never find the love of my life, could I at least have the clothes and shoes in both Carrie’s and Holly’s closets? Ah, now this is true happiness.

P.S. To answer the question: Carrie Bradshaw! I, too, am a hard working, deadline-meeting, shoe-loving romantic that can hopefully drive a man crazy enough in the end that he’ll realize I was the best thing that ever happened to him; therefore, he flies to Paris to steal me out of the arms of Mikhail Baryshnikov – who would be my other boyfriend. Yeah, that’s me.

The Crib

2007-07-18T20:07:00.000-04:00

Ah the crib, that comfortable place fondly equipped with a soft Ivory Snow-smelling sheet, your favorite blanket, and a whimsical mobile dangling above sweetly playing a Brahms lullaby. The crib is surrounded by a beautifully decorated room papered and painted with love.

So why do men call their apartment's Cribs?

Seven months ago I dated a NY attorney. A Columbia law school graduate, an up and coming, about-to-be-made Partner of a big NYC law firm. He wined and dined me to the hilt – even took me on the "long" version carriage ride through Central Park following a fabulous and romantic dinner at an uptown French restaurant. He called his company's car service to take me home to Hoboken. With one quick phone call he would get Broadway tickets to any show I wanted to see. He was not Mr. Muscle Flex but he was Mr. Wallet Flex. He was a man, a real live man….not a college guy….In fact, he probably had no clue what beer pong was. …..He even wanted to plan a vacation with me to Ireland….uh, after the first date! Slow down there Mr. Three Piece Suit! Anyway, the problem began early on. He was EXTREMELY JEALOUS AND POSSESSIVE!! More than anyone I had ever met. Example? Ok, during dinner he excused himself to use the restroom and returned to find me chatting to the older gentleman sitting next to us about the dessert he was enjoying. My date barked at the gentleman who was clearly old enough to be my father, "Are you trying to steal my date?" The older gentleman looked at him like he was crazy but refrained from comment. However, the gentleman flashed a look at me when he left as if to say, "What are you doing with that lunatic?" That same night he took me to the theatre. When my brother, Adam, found out my date was taking me to see Les Mis, he immediately called his friend and star of the show, Norm Lewis to say hello to us after the show and oblige us with a picture taken with him. Being the ex-actress that I am, I was very excited to meet the cast. I was like a kid in a candy store. After meeting Norm and Aaron Lazar and having our pictures taken with them, my date became quite jealous. As we walked away from the theatre he proclaimed, "I think that guy Norm Lewis was trying to pick you up…right in front of me". I looked at my date like he was crazy. I said, "Norm invited us to come backstage next time we were in mid-town. He was just being polite knowing I was Adam's sister". Ugh! My date also felt I was flirting too much with the actors. Whatever! Obviously, he doesn't understand friendly theatre people.

Anyway, what made this the absolute last time I would see him again was when I went back to "THE CRIB". You're wondering why on earth I went back there. There's an explanation. While my date and I were returning to my apartment, I smelled pot seeping down the hallway while we were coming up the steps. My roommate at the time, was clearly having a pot party from the noise level inside our apartment. "I can't go in there", I said. My date, the attorney that he is, didn't want to see me get arrested later that evening as an accomplice to illegal activity so he recommended in chivalrous fashion that I could stay at his place. I'll admit my curiosity on seeing his place intrigued me. I knew he owned an upper west side apartment. I'd seen his Brooks Brothers suits so I figured he's a successful attorney, he's 33, he must have at least a nice apartment. A Crib to entertain, keep chilled wine, play soft stereo music…you know. So we returned to his Manhattan apartment. Well, as I skeeved my way through the apartment halls I thought that maybe building maintenance was preparing to fix the place up or do major construction work soon. I proceeded cautiously. It was a disgusting run-down mess, ok! Inside his actual apartment was worse. Now I know he wasn't expecting to bring me back that night. So I shouldn't be so judgmental on every little hair in the bathroom sink but obviously, he most certainly had never entertained a female attorney there before. His "crib" had the strangest looking toilet stained rings I'd ever seen. His kitchen sink had something growing out of it. The furniture was mismatched college pieces, no couch, an unmade bed with sheets from who knows how long ago they had been washed. Thank god, he left for a while to return the keys to the company car. I managed to fall asleep. I woke up in the morning to find myself spooned by a six figured money making man who lived in a pigsty and who I swore I'd never see again. He offered to get the car and take me home. I said, "No no, I want to walk…" I figured I needed to air out my clothes. I think he knew it was over for me when I said goodbye. But that's not how the story ends….it only gets funnier. Actually hysterical.

Part I

Two days later I received an email from my date. It said, "Dear Tara, I am not prepared to take you out again after the way you acted on our last date. Good luck with the apartment and everything."

My first reaction was to laugh my head off thinking I'd never go out with him again anyway. What a psycho! Then I thought...You bastard, trying to make me feel there is something wrong with me!! I never responded to the email.

Part II – A month later.

Out of the blue, he wrote me again "I've started dating someone who is in the cast for Les Miz...yes, the same Les Miz we saw while you were trying to arrange dates in front of me with cast members...irony, or karma? We'll never know."

Possessive psycho with an actress! How funny is that? What a liar!

Again, I never responded.

Part III – Three months later

He wrote me again:

"Hi Tara,
How've you been? I have theater tickets for Saturday. Want to go? :-)

Hmm. Thinking this guy is nuts I'll respond with a respectful "No thank you."

His response:

"You're welcome. I decided I was too harsh on you before. It's probably too late to apologize. You probably hate me. :-( Hope you're well."

I never responded.

The Kiss Miss

2007-07-16T22:39:00.000-04:00

My second date on Match.com was with a very nice guy who asked me to meet him for dinner. Let's just say, his emails were charming and polite; so much so that I agreed to accept a date with him. For our first date we went to a casual Mexican restaurant in town. Afterwards we walked around Hoboken holding hands and easily talked about the usual first date information. After a while I politely told him I better be going home. He asked if he could walk me to my door to say goodnight. Now, after the date with the European, I was wise. I would not let a man in my door on the first date. At my door, Bachelor #2 politely asked if he could call me again and I said "yes". Now, I was not particularly attracted to him. But he was nice so I figured I'd give it a go again to see if anything changes. Bachelor #2 was a computer guy and worked for IBM. He was short, Italian, and I'll be blunt, needed braces about 10 years ago. The following week, my roommate was away on business so one night when Bachelor #2 called and insisted he would like to see me, I hesitantly agreed and he came over to watch a movie. Now, I'm well aware what happens when you invite a guy into your place. Being prepared I determined whether it's safe by how much the guy weighs and whether I feel I could kick him in the groin if I had to protect myself. I felt I would be safe. Before inviting him over I had rented a movie earlier in the day. It was a chick flick thinking I would be spending the evening alone. My mistake. Unfortunately, he became so bored watching the movie that he decided to make his move and kiss me. Geez, why didn't I rent Rocky III or Scarface! Bachelor #2 was a horribly bad kisser. It was practically painful. However, he really liked kissing me and I thought I was going to be sick. While I was painfully getting through what I prayed to god would be the last kiss of the evening I concocted a fabulous excuse for him to leave. I said, "You really need to go because I have to get up extra early tomorrow to get ready and look good for my photo ID being taken at work". Oh my gosh, he bought it and I got him out the door and on his way.

Now, the worst part ever. He kept calling me to ask me out again. After taking a census of my female friends it was recommended for me to resort to one thing only….tell a big fat lie. So I did. I told Bachelor #2 that I had just begun dating someone from my office…a guy in the Finance Department. I figured at my all female and gay-male fashion company there had to be at least one straight male in our Finance Department. Bachelor #2's response…"Well, you know, it's really not a good idea to date someone from your company". Ugh!!! I felt so guilty….But it was over. Well, I thought it was over. About two months later Bachelor #2 contacted me again because he noticed my Match.com profile was still active. He wrote me and said that he would love to hear from me if I was available to go out with him again. I never responded.

You probably think I'm a horrible person. Yes, Bachelor #2 was a nice guy but I wasn't attracted to him. Plus, the kiss style was something I could never endure. The reality of it is when you're paying for a dating service, why waste your time if you know it's just not there. After Bachelor #2 I became totally turned off by Match. I realized I wanted my dating life to happen more naturally. However, I was then contacted by Bachelor #3….

The European Invasion

2007-07-14T23:21:00.000-04:00

My first date with Match.com was with a European - a German. He was very handsome by his picture on Match and we corresponded via a few emails. Since his ad stated that he was relatively new to the area and was interested in making new friends, I figured it might be worthwhile to meet. I agreed to meet him for a drink at a local Hoboken bar/restaurant. As I entered the bar area, it took us but a few seconds to recognize each other. Yes, he was handsome…like his picture. His accent was scrumptiously foreign. He worked in Finance so I ruled out serial killer right away. I figured there was more chance of him boring me to death than anything else. Anyway, after those initial introductions and short stories of what we do and where we have been, I excused myself for a quick trip to the ladies room. When I returned back into the dining area I saw my date, giving his phone number to some sleazy girl who was standing at the bar alone flirting with him. Ugh, what a jerk! This guy was obviously obsessed with himself. I knew I should have left right then, but his excuse was that the girl was from the same town he used to live in. I knew he was a liar, but I stayed nonetheless. After a couple more drinks, I began pretending to intently listen to him talk about himself. In reality, I could not help but continue staring at his very, very nice lips. Cosmos make me do that. Anyway, after a while of watching him talk, I announced I had to get going. He asked if he could walk me home and I innocently smiled and accepted the chivalry. Now here is where Tara gets really foolish. As we arrived at my apartment, he kissed me for a short bit and then asked if he could come in for a drink of water. Now remember, they were some really nice lips, and I had just spent a good hour staring at them so with hesitation (ok very little hesitation) I said ok and allowed him in. Yeah, I know… I tend to take on the philosophy of Anne Frank way too often when she said, "In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart." Wait a minute…Anne Frank was taken prisoner by the Germans! And there was certainly no secret annex behind any bookcases in my apartment for me to hide. To make matters worse, my guy roommate at the time was away on business so basically in order for me to defend myself I would have to rely on a good swift knee to the groin or to face scratching and clawing of my newly painted nails. Anyway, he did have nice lips…and those Cosmos were working overtime. We went up to my apartment. Once inside, followed by a quick drink of water, we began to make out on the couch. That is, until my European date unzipped his pants and wanted me to "say hello to his friend”. Yes, that is what he said. I skillfully managed to get him and “his friend” out of my apartment as fast and direct as I could. Closing the door behind him, I swore that I would never again fall for the “glass of water” trick nor will I fall for another nice set of European lips for a very long time. Next!

Match.com- "It's Ok to Look" or should it be "Look, but Don't Touch"

2007-07-09T21:25:00.000-04:00

Being single and new to the New York/Northern New Jersey area last Fall, and having just graduated from college, I was anxious to meet new people and create a viable social life for myself. At first, I felt contacting old high school friends living back home in the Northeast was too awkward since I had regretfully neglected many of them while spending the last four years at college in Indiana.

I was adventurous, on my own, grown up and ready to meet a successful and ambitious J. Pierpont Finch that would someday believe me to be his Rosemary.

I quickly learned from the girls I worked with that New York/North New Jersey is a tough place to meet a Mr. Nice Guy. Guys just out of college are still acting like they are in college but manage to get up and go to work in Manhattan everyday. The difference between college and the real world is that in the real world you can’t roll over, turn off the alarm, sleep in and cut work. Anyway, I decided I would take a chance and join Match.com for 3 months to see if I could meet a nice guy with similar interests. Who knows, right? Besides, being taken to dinner by a man is a nice way to save on spending when you’re rent is as high as mine.

I joined. Even though I am one of the younger ladies listed on match, I am extremely particular about who I go out with. Pictures are not always good indicators plus you can never be sure if the person in the picture is actually the person you meet or whether their profile is accurate. Then again, maybe there are men who (as their profiles say) are sick of the bar scene and want to meet a nice girl.

I was skeptical and at first suspicious. But, here I am spending money on this service so I figured I better accept a date with someone.

I began looking at profiles of men 24 – 32 with my usual requirements of height, employment, religion, ethnicity, etc. My first meeting was for a drink at a local bar/restaurant in Hoboken.

To Be Continued...

RunningNheels Returns

2007-07-07T12:49:00.000-04:00

My mother laughs and says, “We’re going to buy you a cat”. Actually I don’t think I could live with a cat either. After spending a night with a snoring male friend, I’m starting to doubt I could ever live with a man. I know, I know...I’m too particular. But you know I need my sleep! Let’s just say since college graduation in May ’06, I have moved a total of 4 times. Finally, again, like in college, I live alone….just how I like it. I love my Hoboken apartment…my private nest. However, like everything in the New York area, the rent is ridiculously high. In Bloomington, Indiana I was paying a mere $465 a month rent for a one bedroom apartment. Now I’m paying $1,600 per month for the same. My ten minute hike to the path plus a quick 15 minute path train ride and a 5 minute walk to my office is actually quicker than most of my Manhattan-living coworkers. Hoboken is a perfect place to live. Best known as Frank Sinatra’s birthplace and where Frank, the teenager actually began crooning on street corners, Hoboken today still recognizes him as their favorite homeboy. His picture is everywhere…local restaurants, bagel stands, etc. Today, Hoboken is filled with post-college grads, young Wall Street types, young film artists, and young fashion felines. Film, Fashion and Finance! Yes, the 3F’s make up this square mile city where everyone walks to the path train each morning for a long day of work in Manhattan. Bars are everywhere…on every corner! A $15 Cosmo across the river in NYC goes for a mere $10 here in the boken. Streets consist of turn of the century apartment buildings that are 4 to 6 stories high. All have been refurbished or are in the process. I feel like I’m living back in time. So different than South Jersey where there are green lawns and shopping malls. Who needs a mall when in 15 minutes you’re in Manhattan!! Here, I leave all my wash off in the morning at the cleaners and pick it up at the end of the day to find it washed and folded. Sure beats sitting at the Laundromat. Washington is our Main Street where you can walk to the grocer, the gym, the shoe repair, the cleaners, church, city hall, the library and the beautiful park that overlooks the Manhattan skyline…Hoboken is packed with lovely small fashion boutiques of designers who probably just couldn’t quite make it in Manhattan. I finally took a browse in one of them a few months back and checked out this little red spaghetti strap chiffon cocktail dress, which I have been eyeing in the window for some time, retail price $350. That’s ok; I’ll stick to using my Bloomingdale’s discount.

Like college days in Bloomington, my past year on the east coast has also been compiled of numerous disastrous dates, adding Europeans, NY lawyers, Wall Street types and OMG an actual “really bad kisser” to the list. My co-workers say I should write a book…no, I’ll write a blog instead. So here I go again.

Stay tuned.

The Graduate

2006-04-25T20:43:00.000-04:00

As graduation day nears, and as I prepare to take my final exams, I have mixed emotions. Part of me can’t wait to get out of here, yet I’m also a little sad since Bloomington has been my home for the past four years and I will miss this place…a little. I’m not saying I’ll be back to visit, but I do have some fond memories here.

Yes, in spite of my constant teasing about this town, I do like it. Would I recommend it for my kids some day? Let’s see, by that time tuition for an out of state student will be somewhere up around $120,000 per year. My oh my…hubby’s going to have to be working lots of overtime on the Wall Street deals if we need to afford paying that ever increasing IU tuition bill. If I felt my child needed some good old toughening up so that they can defend themselves for being, what I like to call, a “Northeastern U.S. American” (instead of “east coast bitch”, thank you), then by all means I would highly recommend they be subjected to some hefty character building and self-awareness intimidation by attending IU. Or we could always recommend the other alternative for them…West Point.

Oh, I want to relay a recent funny story about my life and times in Bloomington. I work part time at the bank and grant it… I have a loud voice…hey, I was a theatre major and a singer…we always question whether the mics are working and need to make sure everyone in the back row can hear us. So, naturally, I’m a few decibels above the average person. Anyway, I was working at the drive-through window when one of my favorite little old lady customers drove up. So, I was making a fuss over her, ok, and speaking into the microphone with my normal 9 decibel voice (decibels range 1-10) having a wonderful conversation with the sweetest lady ever telling her how I would only be in Bloomington for a little longer and would be graduating May 6 yada yada yada. Meanwhile, inside the bank and around the wall where the regular customers come in, my friend and fellow teller, Ann, had a woman customer who said with disgust, “Who is that person that is talking so loud?” Since obviously everyone could here my friendly conversation, Ann said, “Oh that’s Tara, she’s going to be graduating in a couple weeks and going back to the East Coast.” The woman replied miserably, “Well that’s where she belongs!” Nice people here…Like I always say, too much friendliness just annoys the heck out of mid-westerners – excuse me, Mid-West Americans.

In closing, now that I am about to graduate and return to my far distant homeland in the Northeast corner of the United States, I look forward to beginning my career as a New Yorker…hailing cabs, catching subway trains, and even taking a cross-town bus, not to mention walking, walking, and more walking. This IS where I belong. Just remember, New York City and its enormous melting pot filled with the world’s people has created a place where EVERYONE is welcome. Yes, even the fine people of Indiana. Hope you’ll all someday visit.

Frankly, My Dear....

2006-04-24T20:34:00.000-04:00

Tara…that’s my name…Proudly named after Scarlett O’Hara’s beautiful southern plantation home from the book/movie, Gone With The Wind. It is my mother’s favorite movie and has become mine as well. The name Tara is of Gaelic origin and means “Tower”. The Hill of Tara in Ireland is known as the seat of "the high kings” and is an important site to the Irish, dating back to the late Stone Age. In the early centuries after Christ, Tara was at its height as a political and religious center in Ireland.

I’ve always loved my name. But nothing bothers me more than people who mispronounce it. I have been wrongly called “Tarra” as in “Tar” –uh. And then there’s the dreaded Midwestern, “Teera” which absolutely drives me crazy!! So much so that I stopped dating someone because it was so painful to hear my name mispronounced.

Correct pronunciation: Ta-ra (“ta” as in tassle and “ra” as in the vowel sound of the word “rob”) Ta-ra….get it?

I do not understand how a four letter word can be so difficult to pronounce for some people. One of my professor’s goes back and forth with the way she says my name, both wrong ways, of course. It drives me crazy! I never ran into this name problem in Jersey, but ever since I came to Indiana people have such a difficult time with this very simple, four letter name. If I only had a quarter for every time I have had discussions and taught lessons to people I met about the correct pronunciation of my name, I’d be a very wealthy girl. In spite of it all, I have found those experiences quite amusing.

There are very few famous Tara’s today…Tara Reid, Tara Lipinski, and…that’s about it. We don’t want to wear the name out.

Growing up in New Jersey, I went to school with only one other Tara, who was three years older than me so we were never confused. It has been an easy name to carry for 21 years.

My mother walked down the aisle on her wedding day to “Tara’s Theme”, which is the Theme from Gone with the Wind. If I decide to get married someday, I want to do the same. How appropriate.

Here she is...Miss Ideal

2006-03-22T18:01:00.000-05:00

Over spring break last week, I sort of met up with an old boyfriend. We went out for drinks and talked for quite awhile. He’s the one I mentioned a couple blogs ago…ya know, the nice one lacking ambition, who I ended the relationship with because I returned to Indiana. Anyway, he’s been dating the same girl for a year now…A relationship that consists more of fighting than actually getting along. It’s sad to see him so perplexed and unhappy. He was always smiling and very easy to get along with when we dated a couple years ago. Truthfully, I don’t understand continuing with a dating relationship if the person you are with doesn’t make you happy. My parents always say “if things aren’t great when you’re dating, they’ll never be great”. I agree.

Anyway, what’s funny is that after two years, he still thinks I’m “the ideal”. His “dream girl”. The perfect girl from the perfect family…the girl who broke his heart…the girl who waits for true love and yet has “the passion of a bubbling volcano!” Yeah, that’s me…the tiger that got away and went back to college (I know, tigers don’t go to college, but you get the point.). Well, it’s nice to know I’m someone’s ideal. He even told me he used to drive by my house after I went back to school. He had such a difficult time when I left. He remembers everything I ever wore and on what night I wore it. He quoted things I said to him two years ago like he was quoting Bible verses from memory. Of course, I have little memory of anything. I remember he drove out to IU to visit me about a month after I left him, but when he came by then I felt nothing. It was over…just a summer fling for me. After he left Bloomington and drove back to Jersey, we stopped speaking. That is, until I ran in to him over Winter break.

I wish him the best always. I told him to call me if he ever wants to just talk. After our conversation that night I thought if I ever met this girl, I’d have to be restrained from punching her right in the mouth. How could someone hurt him so much? Uh, Ooops!

To Jersey Girl, With Love...NOT!!!

2006-02-28T20:46:00.000-05:00

Apparently, I park like an asshole…that is, according to the note I found on my car windshield this morning. Written in most definitely the female hand, she is apparently upset with the way in which I parked my car inside our apartment garage parking lot. Excuse me, if my tiny Toyota Corolla is not parked perfectly straight. It was still within my half side of the garage spot. She signed the note “Neighbor who is Pissed” Most definitely one of those classy mid-western gals from either...oh let’s say...the Indiana-Ohio vicinities.

Let’s see, there are only two possible female neighbors of mine who could have been this tasteless. Bachelorette #1 wears a ski cap, and if the size of her ass is any indication of how big her car is, then no wonder she couldn’t fit in the spot next to me. Or Bachelorette #2 the she-male who leaves her cigarette butts all over the garage floor. Remember the girl from Planes Trains and Automobiles that was strong enough to lift John Candy’s trunk by herself. Remember her snorting husband said, “She's short and skinny, but she's strong. Her first baby come out sideways. She didn't scream or nothing.” Picture that woman and that’s what Bachelorette #2 looks like.

At first upon seeing the note, I was really upset. It’s just one more reason I truly believe that people out here are just…plain…nasty! I came home late last night from doing laundry, and as always was careful not to pull in and park too close to the concrete walls next to me since last year I scratched my car on a piece of wood that was sticking out. I was not parked horribly crooked. I can understand getting upset with people who arrogantly take up both spots but there was no reason for this kind of hostility. Let’s hope nothing really devastating ever happens in this woman’s life. I’d be afraid to see what she would do. I’m convinced it was seeing my New Jersey license plate that drove her to rip out a piece of paper from her notebook and scribble the note. I’ve decided my only recourse…I’m buying a large white piece of construction paper and making a sign and hanging it between one of the double spots in the garage. Large black printed letters will read “ASSHOLE PARKING ONLY”. I will proudly be the owner of both spots, and if someone else doesn’t mind being called an asshole, they can by all means feel free to park next to me.

My Vote for the Real American Idol

2006-02-23T01:03:00.000-05:00

Today is George Washington’s birthday. Yes, I always remember George Washington on his actual birthday…every year on February 22. If he were alive today, he would be 274 years old. Both Abe Lincoln and George Washington are two of our country’s greatest Presidents and both were born in the month of February. In spite of our country’s combining their birthdays into a “President’s Day” holiday, I still feel it’s wrong not to recognize both of these great men individually on their special days. It’s a shame we live in a society where President’s Day is merely thought of as a day off from work or a great sale at the mall. As the world today blasts and criticizes the Office of our President, can we for one moment remember and recognize one great man and an enormously respected one at that. The Father of Our Country, Commander and Chief of the Continental Army, the first President of the United States, the man who led and kept our forefathers together so that we actually have a US Government, which despite its problems is still the greatest government in the world! George Washington was described by his friend, Congressman Henry Lee as “first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen”. The man was numero uno!! I’ve told you all before, I have been raised with a love of American History, which makes it easily understandable why I’m a fan of the real GW. I’ve visited his beautiful home at Mount Vernon, where I’ve walked the amazing grounds surrounding it. I’ve overlooked the same beautiful rear yard that he once overlooked with its magnificent scenic view of the James River below. I’ve stood at his gravesite and imagined how many famous historical figures stood at the same spot and paid their respects. I’ve gazed at GW’s large and revered wooden chair that sets on display in the Assembly Room front and center at Independence Hall in Philadelphia. The chair of a great leader, a great man who presided passionately over the Continental Convention. Yes, the chair really does have a carving of a “rising sun” on its headrest. I’ve also visited his small stone Headquarters house at Valley Forge, not to mention I’ve stood at the site of his famous icy Christmas night Delaware River Crossing. I’ve nestled myself into his marked church pew at Christ’s Church in Philadelphia, which I might add is directly across the aisle and around a column from Betsy Ross’s pew. Very cool place…and a very pretty church I might add. I’ve eaten at Philadelphia’s City Tavern, said to be where GW and the other forefathers grabbed lunch or dinner just a stone’s throw away and short cobblestone walk from Independence Hall. It’s awesome!

George Washington, the man, was best known for his integrity, honesty and passion in developing a strong central U.S. government. He was humble, not seeking fame, for it was the confidence of others in him that led him to achieve greatness. Read about him sometime…or maybe care enough to visit the places he made famous.

Happy Birthday George!

An Ex-Dilemma

2006-02-22T00:42:00.000-05:00

Over Christmas break, I ran into an old boyfriend. One of the few truly nice guys I’ve dated. It was actually very nice to see him again. We chatted a little, flirted a little and then I gave him my cell phone number and told him to call me if he wants to hang out. Since then, I’ve heard from him a few times. Recently, he text message'd me late one night and said he’s been thinking about me and is really looking forward to me coming home for break. Warning, warning, warning! Tara, you already hurt this guy once before in telling him the long distance thing “won’t work”. Be careful. Ah yes, the dreaded “Won’t work” phrase that I have been told and heartbroken by twice by two different guys in my lifetime. The truth is it was a very nice summer thing but that’s it. Besides, right now…I don’t want to date…anyone! I just want to be friends. Yeah, that’s it…friends. I’m just going to be nice, hang out with him, and tell him we’re just friends…no benefits…just friends. You’re thinking, Tara , he’s a nice guy, all you do is blast guys who are jerks and now you can have a nice guy and you still don’t want him.” The truth…He’s not ambitious enough for me, ok?…I like men who want nice things…like I do. Those who are driven to “have it all”. I’ll never have that with him. He’s the type that wants to stay home and take care of the kids, while I go out and work. Uh, I don’t think so! Well, I can’t give him the long distance “won’t work” excuse because I’ll be living only within an hour and a half driving time from him. I really would like to spend time with him…but I get so weak and I know what’s going to happen…I keep playing that scene from When Harry Met Sally in my head. You know, the one where Billy Crystal tells Meg Ryan that men and women can never be friends because the guy always wants to have sex. Here it is…it’s hysterical and one of my favorite movie scenes.

Harry Burns:You realize of course that we could never be friends.
Sally Albright: Why not?
Harry Burns: What I'm saying is - and this is not a come-on in any way, shape or form - is that men and women can't be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.
Sally Albright: That's not true. I have a number of men friends and there is no sex involved.
Harry Burns: No you don't.
Sally Burns: Yes I do.
Harry Burns: No you don't.
Sally Albright: Yes I do.
Harry Burns: You only think you do.
Sally Albright: You say I'm having sex with these men without my knowledge?
Harry Burns: No, what I'm saying is they all WANT to have sex with you.
Sally Albright: They do not.
Harry Burns: Do too.
Sally Albright: They do not.
Harry Burns: Do too.
Sally Albright: How do you know?
Harry Burns: Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.
Sally Albright: So, you're saying that a man can be friends with a woman he finds unattractive?
Harry Burns: No. You pretty much want to nail 'em too.
Sally Albright: What if THEY don't want to have sex with YOU?
Harry Burns: Doesn't matter because the sex thing is already out there so the friendship is ultimately doomed and that is the end of the story.
Sally Albright: Well, I guess we're not going to be friends then.
Harry Burns: I guess not.
Sally Albright: That's too bad. You were the only person I knew in New York.

Super Bowl, Toilet Bowl, Whatever

2006-02-05T16:49:00.000-05:00

Today is the Super Bowl. So what? So what does a college girl living in a college town like Bloomington suppose to do on Super Bowl Sunday? Football has never been my thing. But I do love Baseball!

During my senior year of high school, my best friend, Lauren, use to say, “My ultimate goal at college is to date a football player”. I use to laugh. So she chose to attend Division 1, West Virginia University. Lauren earned her degree in Football Players after about two weeks of class. Actually I think she graduated Magna Cum Laude in that Program! Love you Lauren! Now she attends the University of Arizona and is going for her second degree in Baseball Players. Anyway, I know Lauren will probably be watching the Super Bowl. She is probably surrounded by a dozen Football players and Baseball players having a great time partying it up. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here alone in my apartment doing Retail Marketing homework and hating life. I could go to Scotty’s with everyone else and pretend I like football. I sure could use a Tommy the Greek’s Hummus Salad with chicken right now. Or I can go to the gym and work out with all the other girls who hate football. Sounds like a plan!

Everything you always wanted to know about a man, you learn from AIM

2006-01-28T00:43:00.000-05:00

My mother is a spy! She’s also an excellent judge of character. More power to her since she’s found a perfect man (my Dad) even before the Internet was available. Now, she’s convinced me that the best way to tell if a guy is worthwhile is by studying his AIM messages. It’s foolproof. My mother’s AIM reading (more reliable than reading horoscopes and studying handwriting analysis) determines whether a guy is just one more jerk or whether he’s a keeper. I’m so tired of men that I’ve gotten to the point where I’ll give her a guy’s screen name and say, “check him out mom!” Even my girlfriends have used my mom for the service.

Here is her wise advice on “Who’s a jerk and not worth your while” and “who just might be a good guy”…

1. The Sexual Deviant - The one who IM’s you and asks questions about your sexual interests before he even knows your birthday or what your parent’s do for a living. Block him!
2. Sexual Deviant #2 – The one whose away messages mention anything to do with their own genital body parts or “long standing” abilities. This guy is a braggart who probably uses a magnified mirror!
3. The Bore – The ones who only have “I am away from my computer right now” as away messages. They are dull and unexciting people, verbally non-responsive so you’ll never hear nice things like “I love you” or “you’re beautiful”. Steer clear. You’ll never know what he’s thinking or where’s he’s going. Totally boring.
4. The Intellectual Quote Man – the Intellectual quote man always has a quote and some obscure intellectual comment from some genius in history or right wing radio host. This is not necessarily a bad thing. These are men who are actually stimulated by something other than your breasts 24 hours a day! If the intellectual type appeals to you, this guy might be a keeper. If you are already bored reading #4, forget him. He’s not your type.
5. The Comedy Quote Man – the comedy quote guy whose away messages are from Family Guy, The Simpsons and movies like Napolean Dynomite are fun-type guys, but they aren’t really the relationship-type males. They are upbeat, usually in a good mood, far from manic-depressed and their maturity level is most likely equal to your kid brother’s. You’ll hardly have dates to a museum or the theatre so get ready for spending Friday nights watching whole season episodes of Family Guy on the couch…with his buddies.
6. Mr. Song Lyrics – Ah, the passionate romantic! If you like the romantic, poetic male, or the lyrical junkie type, most likely you’ve found a dreamer, a slacker, oh no….an actor!…One that you’ll be supporting for the rest of your life. Make sure you tell him how great he is 50 times a day or he’ll be off with someone else.
7. The Reporter – the reporter tells you everything, where he’s going, what he’s thinking, how good or how bad his day was. Even his “be back in a minute” means he’s most likely on the toilet. My mom highly recommends these guys. They are most likely good to their mothers since they want to report everything to you. They are honest, open, and content with their lives. They’re keepers!
8. The Imaginative – Their messages are creative and make the reader guess what they are doing. Not in a sneaky way, but in a positive way. Now these are the guys that will surprise you with a dozen roses…and not just on Valentine’s Day. For instance, “We’re gonna be the toast of Vegas”. Hmm.. Upbeat, exciting…interesting…a keeper! Too bad he’s a gay friend.
9. Mr. Sign on-Sign off – He’s most likely stalking somebody and since you’re online, it’s not you.
10. The Worker – The worker usually states that he is “at work”. Ambitious and has money….enough said…KEEPER.
11. The Sportsman – The guy who has his favorite teams on his profile, reports the scores for the game on his away messages and regularly goes to the gym. These guys are a little rough around the edges, lack female sensitivity, but will most likely respond to you if you dress up in a seductive nighty and stand in front of the TV (that is after Sports Center is over). Jocks are jocks and 80% of men fall under this category.
12. The One Word Wonders – “Out”, “Gone”, “Class”, “Food”, “Bed” “Sleep”, …grunt…Cavemen…enough said.
13. The Study-er – The one who is always “studying”…or “at the library”. A keeper…hardworking, seeks high ambition! Great provider. Mommy likey!
14. Boozers – the ones who brag about going to the bars, being drunk, and then come back to their computers and type “Im durnk an on the frolor”. Time to recycle!

So ladies, before you respond to that random IM from a guy you really don’t know, give yourself (or my mom) a week to check him out. And guys, be aware of your away messages. Get some personality, don’t be a pig, and maybe you’ll meet a nice girl.

Ch-Ch Changes

2006-01-25T23:48:00.000-05:00

The truth of the matter is people change. I’ve changed. Or have I? I know I came to college to learn, become responsible, have fun, experience life, freedom, and ultimately grow up, mature and learn to survive living on my own. Raised and nurtured in the safety and warmth of a loving family, I feel I have achieved my independence while gaining a true appreciation of those things that are really important. I am now ready to move on to the next chapter of my life. To find success, find happiness and maybe even someday find true love. With 101 days till graduation, I’m beginning to ask the question, “Has the IU experience changed me for the best?” My answer, yes. Oh some may say, “Whew, whatever happened to that dear sweet Tara I used to know in high school?” Well, that dear sweet Tara has now undergone the total IU college experience and she’s learned that in order to survive, you have to: (1) Do what’s best for you, (2) Believe that it’s not absolutely necessary to please everyone all the time, (3) Realize your family is truly who really matter in your life and who care about you the most, and (4) hard work and the ability to schmooze are the absolute keys to achieving success in college and in finding a career for yourself.

So what else have I learned? I’ve learned to cook. I’ve learned to keep a checking account and pay my bills. I’ve learned the importance of being on time. I’ve learned the importance of car tune-ups and the importance of applying for scholarships. I’ve learned you can’t force yourself or others to have feelings that just aren’t there. I’ve learned that speaking up and reporting someone cannot only help you keep your sanity, but help you maintain a good night’s sleep. I’ve learned that drinking and dating are as dangerous as drinking and driving. I’ve learned what makes me laugh as well as how to cope emotionally with having tons of work to do.

Yet has the Real me changed?…The real down-deep-inside me? A little, yes. I’m less needy, less rigid, and less gullible. By gaining knowledge, wisdom, and experience, I’ve learned two’s company and three’s a crowd. I’ve learned love pains the soul, but can’t possibly destroy it. I’ve learned that lovers can’t be friends, but another female can be your soul mate. I’ve learned that love, most definitely, changes everything.

What’s different? How else have I changed? Well, I don’t feel the need to turn on the “ditsy” anymore, which was once thought of as oh so cute. (Well, maybe on that rare occasion when I play miniature golf with a man. I turn on the “the ditsy” in order to heroically enable a guy to come up from behind me, wrap his big strong arms around both me and my golf club all so that I can be skillfully taught the fine art of precise aim. Yes, those wonderful strong arms covering mine as we gently stroke that cute little colored ball ever so carefully right into that cute little Astroturf covered cup. Yep, friends, that’s the “ditsy”! And my oh my how well “the ditsy” works!).

Well, am I harder-edged, tougher, and at times, hostile…Yes. Do I still cry?...not so much anymore. When I move to New York, will I vote for Hillary Clinton? No….Will I vote for Carmine Giovinazzo winning a People’s Choice Award? Yes. If I get invited to The People’s Choice Awards, will I throw myself at Carmine Giovinazzo and start making out with him? Yes. Do I still insist on only wearing MAC makeup products?...No. Will I save money and actually buy clothes at Target?...Yes. Will I use coupons at the grocery store?….Yes. Do looks really matter?...No. Do I still only date guys with dark hair?...No. Do I still take two hours to get ready on a Saturday night to go out?…well, Yes…Geez what do you want, miracles? The transformation of Tara is still a work in progress.

HOME Is Where Your Heart Is. And Don’t Forget It!

2006-01-19T19:31:00.001-05:00

I’m appalled at people here who think the entire East Coast is…let’s see, what did the last guy I spoke to call our East Coast cities…Dirty? Please remember this person had only been as far East as Pennsylvania for a cub scout camping trip and felt free and knowledgeable to make his intelligent conclusions of the East Coast based on his stop at the Philadelphia Airport. First of all, the City of Philadelphia is 8 miles from where I live in New Jersey. It’s an amazing city with an amazingly well preserved historic district. One that allows you to freely walk the cobblestone paths of our founding fathers, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and John Hancock. A city where all of these men not only made names for themselves, but determined our country’s entire philosophy of attaining Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Philadelphia is the most patriotic city in our country. Oh, I’m sorry, Indiana, I don’t want to neglect your well known historic sites, such as the original homestead of the KKK.

People who make comments here about Philadelphia and New York make statements that they know nothing about. Yes, every city has its poor areas. But that’s no reason to call an entire city dirty. New York City is not only the fashion capital of the world, but also the financial capital of the world. Hello, IU Kelley Business School Finance major, where are you looking to pursue your career?…Indianapolis? Well, I guess some of us want to be the CFO of Viacom or Time Warner in the finance capital of the world while others seek to be the CFO of Harry’s Tires and Brakes in downtown Indy.

New Jersey is called the Garden State. Despite what you think, it’s not the armpit of America. Recognized for its industry in the northern part of the state, it is Southern New Jersey that is known for its farming and produce that once supplied Pennsylvania and New York with all of their food. Although New Jersey today is known as one of the most expensive states to live, its location puts you within an hour of the beach, the mountains, New York City and Historic Philadelphia, and tons of preserved American Revolutionary and Civil War Battlefields. If you are raised in New Jersey, you have no doubt been raised with an appreciation of American History. Also, let me add the greatest tomatoes in the world are Jersey Tomatoes! Farms in Southern New Jersey are far from scarce, but Jerseyites live and love convenience, quick commutes to everything and are use to the hustle and bustle. Small to middle-size communities are everywhere. Family is most important and excellent school systems are its pride. Jerseyites are not snobs. (In spite of my comment about Harry’s Tires and Brakes, I felt forced to say that out of the shear frustration of having to be on the defense here all the time!) I do not drive a BMW, I do not wear Uggs, I’ve never met a mobster, and Philadelphia is not a dirty city! My gosh, have some patriotism, man! It’s a freaking holy shrine from Independence Hall to Carpenter’s Hall, from Christ’s Church to Franklin Hall. From Betsy Ross to Rocky Balboa…Yo!

In closing, I would like say that no matter where you live there are the good and the bad, the clean and the dirty. You can find a clean bad person as well as a dirty good person no matter where you live in the world. The comments people have made to me about Jersey, New York, and Philadelphia are hurtful and offensive. I came to Indiana 3-1/2 years ago without any pre-conceptions about the people living in the Mid-West. I was not prepared for an abundance of judgmental attitudes and hateful comments about the area where I grew up, nor the people I grew up with and around. Maybe it’s that competitive sports thing that goes on around here that makes people “hate” the competition no matter where they’re from. I don’t know. As for the Southerners at IU who seem to have the same misconceptions about the Northeast…Well, we all know where your anger and hatred lies,...and that should have ended about 141 years ago. As we Yankees say in New Jersey, “get over it!”

Shall We Dance?

2006-01-18T14:47:00.000-05:00

I’m taking a class this semester called Ballroom and Social Dance. It’s my first dance class since sophomore year when I was taking the musical theatre path (of destruction). Now in my senior year, I’m taking dance for the fun of it and, of course, the dire need for socialization. I figure, social dance can always come in handy at wedding receptions. If the guy sitting next to me at the reception table is gay, I might just have a great dance partner! So, I’ll be prepared. Anyway, I figured this class would consist of all girls and gay men. I was wrong. The guys are straight, Indiana-born and all corn-fed and most likely trying to either meet girls or please their girlfriends. First class was cha-cha lessons, second class, mambo. I think I’m the only one who’s ever danced before. Class consists of 25 girls and 25 guys…oh and lots of sweaty palms! Seriously, taking this class was a great idea. The teacher is cute. He’s straight and kind of reminds me of my high school boyfriend...who was by far also a better dancer than me.

Anyway, classes are Monday and Wednesday evenings in the HPER. Let’s just say I’m dancing with guys who much rather be at the IU basketball game than doing the Cha-cha. Fun times!

Roommate Needed

2006-01-16T18:15:00.000-05:00

Scheduled to move to NYC in May to begin working in June, I am looking for a roommate to live with in order to split expenses. Male, Female, Straight, Gay, I don’t care what you are as long as you have a secure job, are extremely neat and clean, and are willing to work together to create a civil, trustworthy, and friendly environment with each other under one apartment roof. Oh, and I want a roommate who cleans their own dishes! And that’s about it. I will live just about anywhere in the city. I prefer Manhattan over Astoria or Brooklyn, but I’m open to anywhere that makes for an easy commute. I want to get a nice place, but want to find something affordable for both of us.

Over the holidays I spent time in the Upper West Side around Columbia University as well as the Murray Hill area. Both are great. The Upper East Side has been recommended to me as well since a lot of the college grads live there. I can’t wait to get there and am planning to spend my spring break with as many trips to NY as possible to look at apartments. If you are looking to share an apartment, please feel free to contact me and we can meet and talk. Please feel free to contact me through Facebook or at thalpin@indiana.edu.

Good Things Happen

2006-01-11T13:58:00.000-05:00

“Whoever said life is fair?” “Life Sucks”, “Being female sucks”, “Men suck”. These are all phrases I’ve either said or heard in the past six months. It’s been a difficult time for me. I was incredibly lonely last semester, incredibly depressed yet incredibly emotional! But hence, finally, the long awaited silver lining has finally crept through the dark clouds that have loomed over me. After the excitement of receiving my much-wanted NYC job offer, someone I respect tremendously congratulated me then added, “Good things happen to good people, Tara.” This little phrase has meant so much to me. I’ve decided to add it to this blog so that I never forget it. Thanks, Tom.

Kudos to UITS

2006-01-08T20:03:00.000-05:00

The unsung heroes at Indiana University are by far, the group of helpful students that work the helpdesk at UITS. UITS stands for University Information Technology Services. Every time I freak-out about my computer, I know I can call the UITS 24 hour support hotline and they are always there with kindness to patiently walk me through my computer problems. They’ve destroyed viruses, reconnected me to friends and family, helped me retrieve important emails from professors, and guided me in downloading essential programs to make my computer run faster than a speeding bullet. The UITS hotline is the greatest offering that IU provides for its students. I sing their praises continually but felt the need to blog the praise. I don’t know any of the UITS people personally. In fact, I don’t know any computer specialists personally, that’s why it’s so great to have the hotline for students. Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times over and if this is the only time you get a special thank you, then shame on the students of IU.

Could I live with an Animal, a Child, or even a Man?

2005-12-12T21:08:00.000-05:00

I live alone. Actually it’s my second year of it. I like it. So much that I sometimes wonder if I could ever live with another human being ever again. Oh, I have neighbors right next door on both sides of me, which if I ever needed anything in an emergency, I could go. The thin walls between us make us sometimes feel a little too close for comfort since I can unfortunately hear everything from toilets flushing to their music playing to the intense orgasmic screams of their Saturday night dates. See, I’m not completely isolated from the world. And, of course, there’s my neighbor, Bubba who sits on his porch, shirtless in summer, (I might add) impersonating Buddha with a pink sticker on the middle of his forehead. I see and hear plenty of wonderful people each day.

Someone mentioned I should get a cat. Well, first of all, I don’t really like cats. They spray (whatever that means, but I don’t like the sound of it). Although they do manage to take care of themselves and they don’t need much entertainment except for a comfy ledge overlooking a window. Did you ever notice that cats look at you like they are far superior…like they know more than you. Heck, if that were true I would have gotten one last year to help me with my economics homework.

Then there are dogs. Ah, puppies, so cute! Dogs live in the city, right? That is, if I live someday near The Park. Central Park is a perfect place to take the dog for a walk. Think…101 Dalmatians! I love that movie! Maybe I’ll meet the man of my dreams while walking my little bull dog, Fi-fi, and he’ll be walking his bull dog, Brutus. We’ll meet on a park bench and love will surround the four of us…Right there in Central Park. And soon there will be 101 bulldogs running all over my apartment! EEEEK!

I won’t be able to have a dog anyway. My job might require some travel and there is no way I could leave a dog at a depressing kennel let alone afford a posh NY pooch spa! I can see it now, I’ll be the one hauling 100 pounds of luggage all over the country and stuck crashing in cities like Akron or Pittsburgh. Meanwhile my pooch is getting her toenails painted or getting a puppy massage. That’s my luck. That’s ok…I can’t see myself as one of those people that carries the plastic bag while walking the dog anyway. The thought of slipping my hand in the plastic bag to pick up fresh poop in public and turning the whole “event” inside out and carrying it a few blocks for everyone to see is just disgusting! Let’s just say I won’t put up with s*it from anybody!

Children, could I live with children? I am a very nurturing person, always have been. Love kids. I could live with…say…2 children. Depending on the affluence of my situation, maybe three. I believe children should be the result of two people who truly love each other and who totally commit to challenging themselves as one in managing not only their careers but 6 days a week of soccer, little league, and a busy jazz, ballet and tap class schedule.

Now could I live with a man? I think so…I hope so. I could definitely live with a gay man, but that’s not what I want. I want a loving, caring, and protective man who loves and cherishes me and I him. I want a man who believes in the importance of building a relationship together, who believes in the significance of honesty, trust and faithfulness to each other always. A man I can’t live without and a man who can’t wait to be with me. (sigh!) Is that too tall an order? The problem is I don’t think males are in search of love…I think they’re only in search of sex. You know, like Brutus the bulldog. Dispute me if I’m wrong.

In summation, I believe one day I could handle living with them all…All but the bag of poop!

Ring-A-Ding-Ding

2005-11-20T20:13:00.000-05:00

A male customer said to me last Friday, “You should have a ring on that finger.” (Is this the oldest pick up line in the book or what?) I laughed and said, “no, I’m only 21…I’m too young for that.” Then I thought, hey, my parents were married at my age! What am I saying? After I proceeded to write down his balance on a piece of paper, he added, “You can add your phone number if you’d like”. I just smiled. I’m not giving this guy my phone number. Since I didn’t comply with his suggestion, he smiled and said, “I’ll try again next week”. Grrrreeeeaaat! The whole incident made me ponder. Why don’t I have a ring on my finger? Will I ever have a ring on my finger? I swore last year purchasing a right hand diamond ring was going to be my first big investment after graduation. A Tiffany diamond bought for myself by myself. Who needs a man, right? Yeah…me…ok mom. Is there something terribly wrong with me? Is there really just ONE man out there for me and HE has to find ME? He’ll never find me….I’m stuck here in this god-forsaken all-goopy-Oreo-middle of the United States of America! What am I doing HERE? When he is most definitely not HERE!!! What if the man of my dreams is living in Brooklyn or something. He might never find me. I’ll probably be across the river in Hoboken and he’ll be in Brooklyn and our subway lines will never be the same. And there goes my happiness…there goes THE ONE. Now I’m really depressed. Ok, so I’ll check out apartments in Brooklyn. I’ll take alternate subway lines. Hopefully, he’ll find me someday. It’s funny, my grandmother tells me she always prays I’ll meet a nice young Christian man. Young Christian men don’t date here, Grand, so don’t waste your prayers on that. I’ve never dated a Christian in my life…They don’t like me. I date Jews, agnostics and atheists…what can I say? No, I shouldn’t say that. I dated one Christian and he really liked me. But, I ended it since he was back home and I was here. Eh, whatever. Now that I’m 21, I’ve become even more selective than I use to be. Announcement: I will now date to find a future mate. Ok, so once in a while I’ll date for a free dinner, but I’m not bringing home anyone who isn’t worthy of my wonderfulness. (tee hee!) The old saying goes, “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet your prince” Just tell me, who on earth came up with that stupid rule?

The Heels Have Landed

2005-11-19T17:01:00.000-05:00

It’s six months before college graduation and I’ve already landed my first big post-college career job! I’m all set…smooth sailing from here, everybody. I’ve signed on the dotted line and it’s “take me, I’m yours”. They’re even paying to move me out of Bloomington or should I say rescue me out of Bloomington. I’ll be where I’ve always wanted to be…the fashion capital of the world…New York City…starting June ’06. I’ll be working for one of the most famous NY retail fashion institutions known to man, and I am just so very excited! Yes, I’ll be a nine to fiver, a corporate office girl, wearing business suits, high sexy pumps and smelling so good of expensive perfume that the businessmen on the elevator will want to follow me to my floor. Oh yeah! Cocktail specials at 6, dinner at 7, theater at 8. I love it!

Call me if you’re in town! We’ll do the town…New York Style.

Where in the World is Carmine Giovinazzo?

2005-10-31T01:02:00.000-05:00

I’ve been having the most wonderful reoccurring dream lately. I couldn’t make this dream up if I tried. I dream I’m waiting on tables at a little Italian Restaurant in New York City. I’m wearing one of those white cotton Sophia Loren off the shoulder peasant blouses. Of course, my bust line and Sophia’s are quite evenly matched so I’ve got the Sophia Loren cleavage thingy goin on. I’m wearing a solid color mid-length voile skirt. I guess you could say the outfit appropriately belongs in an Italian Restaurant or maybe in a stage production of West Side Story. Anyway, into the restaurant walks Carmine Giovanazzo. He’s wearing an Italian style black suit, white dress shirt, thin black tie, hair in his usual tousled fashion with a cigarette loosely dangling from his mouth. He quickly removes his sunglasses and scans the room with his beautiful blue eyes. I want to die. Yet my glance shows little emotion. The maitre’d shows him over to one of my tables. I’m still as I watch him approach. He walks up to me with that hot deadpan "I’m a New Yorker hard guy" look of his, takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and slightly turns his head to blow the smoke off to the side. His eyes return to mine. He slowly moves closer and closer to me until our chests are practically touching (or it could be, mine has gotten in the way again). Continuing to gaze into each other’s eyes, he puts his hand on the back of my head and pulls it towards him (rather aggressively I might add) and begins kissing me long and passionate until soon my back is on the table and the dishes begin breaking onto the floor. He quickly clears the table of everything but me…and him. We slowly yet awkwardly get up from the table. I look around the restaurant while trying to regain my composure and the 50 or so NY Italian dining patrons are turned around staring at us in bewilderment. I quickly fix my skirt so that I again look presentable. Meanwhile Carmine, still holding my arm, leans in and whispers into my ear, "What do you say to going back to my place later for some dessert?" Dream ends – right there. Whoa! What a dream! I think I’ve been away from the East Coast too long. Yes, Carmine, not only do I want your spumoni, but I want to marry you and have little Italian Carmine babies with you! OK?
Well, after all this, I’m getting another shower and going to bed. Sweet dreams everyone!

Ten Things I'm Going To Miss When I Leave IU

2005-10-29T00:48:00.000-04:00

#1
I’ll miss our beautiful campus - Summer, Fall Winter, Spring. Each season I love walking from the Sample Gates passing the Union and on to the Business School. I have been fortunate to enjoy this IU nature walk many a day.
#2
I’ll miss many of my favorite professors especially: Apparel Professors Akou, Shaffer, and Paul, my IMP Musical Theatre Sponsor and greatest IU Theatre Professor, Bruce Burgun, and Professor Glenn Gass, aka the man with the greatest passion a person could possibly have for The Beatles.
#3
I’ll miss the crews at Starbucks on E. Third and on Indiana Ave.
#4
I’ll miss Asuka – my favorite sushi place.
#5
I’ll miss my co-workers at Monroe County Bank: Danny, Ann, Suzanne, Nick, Larry, Pam, Robyn and without a doubt my favorite customer and sexiest doctor I have ever known, Dr. Arnold.
#6
I’ll miss the SRSC, and all the nice boy-muscles there.
#7
I’ll miss Martin aka Bubba, my neighbor across the street. Although out of his mind, Bubba watches over our entire apartment complex. I will miss his friendly hellos as well as that pink sticker he has stuck to his forehead. We are all very safe here.
#8
I’ll miss my IU friends. It has been a blast! Since freshman year, we’ve grown and expanded our friendships throughout this gigantic campus. Thank you Facebook for allowing us to keep in touch and be able to remember what each other looks like. Sharing pics has been great. Let’s keep in touch whether it’s through Facebook, Friendster or Myspace.com.
#9
I’ll especially miss my Alexis, my Lexy, my Yang. We are the sisters that either of us ever had. I love you! I pray we both wind up in NYC together. That would be fabulous!
#10
Last, but not least, I’ll miss strolling down Kirkwood. Oh sure, I’ll soon be shopping on 5th Avenue or Herald Square in the future, but I’ll never forget the quaint shops on Kirkwood. I’m sure I’ll be wishing someday for just one more Steve and Barry’s IU Sweatshirt.

Ten Reasons Why I Can’t Wait To Graduate From IU

2005-10-27T00:05:00.000-04:00

1. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and get my degree and be done with school FOR-EV-ER! I’m at the point right now where I don’t even want to attend a Lamaze class someday, that is when I'm married and get pregnant. I’ve had enough of school and homework and papers and lectures and backpacks and tests and study groups and group assignments and scheduling difficulties and Oncourse and Onestart, etc. etc. etc.

2. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and have the moving truck come and take me and my stuff away from Bloomington FOR-EV-ER! No, I don’t really have anything against Bloomington…besides its drivers with Indiana license plates, and maybe the fact that I’m in the middle of our beloved U.S. and in the middle of No where! I’ve lived here 4 years and have made it to Indy (besides going to the airport) once. Getting out of Bloomington is kind of like “From Here to Eternity”. I need to get back to the city...any city outside the Midwest.

3. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and establish a new home. Everyone thinks moving is exciting. I am very excited to be a working girl and go to the office, hopefully only 5 days per week, and have the evenings off to do whatever I want! That sounds sooo good. Vacation and a 401K. What could be better than that?...Oh, yeah I can’t forget to add that all inclusive health club membership that comes with the job.

4. I can’t wait to graduate from IU so I can establish myself as an excellent credit risk! Organization and dependability are my forte. My parents tell me I’m receiving credit card offers daily in the mail back home. Visa, MasterCard and Discover are just fighting over me. Gee, it’s nice feeling wanted. Haha.

5. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and meet real men! Like 25 to around 35 year olds, oh heck maybe 37. Single, never been married, Ambitious – with a capital A, no baggage to speak of, well rounded, conservative, men who love to travel, and are serious about getting to know me!

6. I can’t wait to graduate from IU, to put aside Facebook and join Friendster. Friends, it’s a lot better set up and isn’t so “college” oriented. We’ll be out of college so let’s show we’ve grown up, graduated and we’re ready to network. Friendster isn’t about where the next beer and toga party are coming from. It’s a lot more professional and definitely more interesting.

7. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and finally be out of Bloomington. Oh, I guess I already said that. Sorry. I’ll just add: Bloomington, Village of the Damned…like the movie - every girl has long, straight blonde hair. Sometimes it’s a little scary here for a brunette!

8. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and become an IU Alumnus. I am proud of the school and have had amazing professors who have taught me so much. I can honestly say I’ve never met a professor I didn’t like.

9. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and be able to take a September vacation if I want.

10. I can’t wait to graduate from IU and be able to say, “I was an Indiana Hoosier…once!”

This or That

2005-09-29T20:02:00.000-04:00

We make decisions every day. Some as simple as “should I wear my hair up or down?” or the more complicated decision, “Should I walk to Starbucks on Indiana or drive to Starbucks on East Third?” “Should I study now or after I go to the gym?” Everyday “this or that” decisions make up most of our four years of college life. Life is good, fairly uncomplicated. Yet in those four years there is still that big looming decision that lies peaceful and still until Year Four. Then it raises its ugly head...What am I going to do after graduation? Where do I want to go? The good news is I don’t have to think about anyone else in my life so that does make the decision far less difficult. I’m leaving Indiana with a feeling of “job well done Tara, now get me the heck out of here”. The only company in Indiana that I would even consider working for is Eli Lilly. Lilly offers relocation to dozens of other cities all over the world. That’s amazing! Lilly would be an awesome company to work for as a sales rep. I think I’d be highly successful selling large stocks of Cialis to a group of middle-aged physicians! I could work that!

Other options would be working with retail or apparel companies. Here is where my creative side would play a part. Gap, Macy’s, and Saks come to IU to interview its graduating seniors. I like many of these companies headquarter locations so I’m pretty excited about pursuing them all. New York is still my first choice location. It’s where I’ve always wanted to work…where I’ve always imagined myself, at least where I would start. Am I afraid? No, never, not in New York. New York exudes a sense of excitement unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. It’s a melting pot of all of the world’s people. There are friends from back home and even IU who are currently living there now. I can’t wait to see them again.

Anyway, as I begin attending career fairs, going on interviews, and making next-step decisions about my life, whether it be pitching the use of Cialis for your erectile dysfunction, Strattera for your hyper-active ADHD kids who are out of control, and Prozac– to make everyone a little happier in life, OR whether I’m promoting clothing lines, working in the product development field of beauty products, or a Buyer for a top line designer, I think the little decisions I’ve made on my own each day, plus the IU experience as a whole, has given me the confidence to realize who I am, what I am capable of, and that the world is truly at my fingertips. As Franky so smoothly sings, “I’ve got the world on a string”.

A Confession

2005-09-23T22:56:00.000-04:00

I returned to my apartment around 8 p.m. one night after grabbing dinner out with a friend. As I opened the door to my apartment I quickly realized I had forgotten to turn my light on prior to leaving, an odd mishap for me. I shrugged it off and immediately did my usual rituals which was removing my shoes and making a quick phone call home to say hi. As the phone rang, I saw him from out of the corner of my eye, he was huge and frightening. As I dropped the phone, I could hear my mother say hello, but out of fear I ignored her voice and started to hyperventilate in panic of what I should do. I screamed…loud with terror. Trying to think fast on my feet, I knew it was going to be either him or me. He turned toward me and then stopped unsure of his own decision to either attack or run out. All I could think about was how did he get in here. I’ve never seen him around here before or anywhere else for that matter. I remember uttering 50 times over and over, “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” By this time my mother’s tiny voice was calling me through my cell phone yelling my name in sheer panic knowing she couldn’t help me from a million miles away, while her daughter was about to be raped and killed. The only thing I could grab as a weapon was my shoe, which I had just removed two minutes before. Now remember, I was crying and screaming but something inside me gave me power…power to fight back. For a minute an incredible amount of self-preservation came upon me. I knew the years of kickboxing and Taebo were about to pay off. I took my shoe and hit him…and hit him again, and again, and then finally, one last crushing blow to his skull and it was finished. He was dead. I killed him. I was exhausted and could hardly move. I threw myself onto my futon expressionless and limp. Breaking the silence I suddenly heard my mother crying through the phone still calling me saying “Tara, where are you?” I picked up the phone and began to cry and told my mother I had just killed the biggest bug I had ever seen in my entire life.

D’ju Jew Brew?

2005-08-03T14:54:00.000-04:00

What is a Jew Brew? As I scan over the Indiana University Events Calendar for the month of August, I noticed weekly meetings called "Jew Brew". Is this where all the East coast people get together to drink coffee or speed date? Or are they Jews on the verge of becoming witches and make a brew together? Or is this so called “brew” a new form of East Coast beer. I’m not Jewish, but I would like to go to one of these meetings to see what it’s all about. However, I don’t want to walk in feeling like Rosa Parks or something. Everyone looking at me with a look like…"Who let the Irish Lass in?" Back home I have many Jewish friends and have been invited to numerous sader dinners and Bat-Mitzvahs. I’ve dated a few Jewish guys and have “hooked up” with numerous Jewish boys over the years (Best Kissers on Earth, I might add…FYI). I am an East Coast person wishing to become part of an East Coast group. Jew Brew and Hillel is a NJ connection for me. C’mon we can talk about Dunkin Donuts, the Jersey Shore, and our Excellent Public School Systems, or maybe…25 ways to serve matzah?

Let’s see, if I look on the Hillel website it says:

The Helene G. Simon Hillel Center at Indiana University is dedicated to assuring that Jewish college students have opportunities to recognize and develop their leadership potential and to express their Jewishness in many traditional and creative ways.

Jewishness? I can be very Jewish. My last name is Halpin so I’ll just change it for the meetings to Halpern. I love New York and I love getting manicures and pedicures and prefer Jewish doctors and love curly hair, Tiffany Jewelry and…who doesn’t adore the Adam Sandler Chanukah song. Hey, I was even in the chorus of my high school production of Fiddler on the Roof and wore a babushka for 3 hours!! Certainly this makes me a little bit Jewish.

Ok, let’s read further…According to the events calendar ad, this week’s get together says:

Come get a caffeine buzz on Hillel's dime, and meet our JCSC fellow, Aaron. He'll be hanging out at the Starbucks on Indiana every Monday afternoon at 4; it's a great way to relax, meet new friends, and chill out after a busy day.

Free Starbucks????? Holy gelfilte fish…I’m in!

Suggestion for next weeks Jew Brew:

Come get a caffeine buzz on Hillel’s dime and meet Tara, the Gentile. She’ll be hanging out at the Starbucks on Indiana every Monday and Wednesday at 11:00 a.m. Come and get to know a wonderful Gentile Christian girl who thinks jewish boys are amazing kissers and jewish girls are the best shopping partners on earth.

A Blonde Joke

2005-07-18T21:51:00.000-04:00

A blonde, wanting to earn some extra money, decided to hire herself out as
a “Handywoman" and started canvassing a nearby well-to-do neighborhood.

She went to the front door of the first house, and asked the owner if he
had any odd jobs for her to do. "Well, I guess I could use somebody to
paint my porch," he said, "How much will you charge me?" The blonde quickly responded,"How about $50?" The man agreed and told her that the paint and everything she would need was in the garage.

The man's wife, hearing the conversation, said to her husband, "Does she
realize that our porch goes all the way around the house?" He responded,
"That's a bit cynical, isn't it?"

The wife replied, "You're right. I guess I'm starting to believe all those
dumb blonde jokes we've been getting by e-mail lately."

A short time later, the blonde came to the door to collect her money.
"You're finished already?" the husband asked. "Yes," the blonde replied,"
and I had paint leftover, so I gave it two coats." Impressed, the man
reached into his pocket for the $50 and handed it to her.

"And by the way," the blonde added, "it's not a Porch, it's a Lexus."

Grand-Dot

2005-06-25T20:42:00.000-04:00

The most dreaded phone call you can receive while you’re away at college is when your parents call you to tell you that one of your grandparents was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance for chest pains. This past week my grandmother (Grand-Dot) was rushed to the hospital for just that. Growing up with a mom who worked full time, it was Grand-Dot who practically raised both my brother and me. Being half way across the country during a crisis like this is very difficult. The need to talk to her and be there for her is immense. Known as “Grand and Pop’s girl” I’ve always been told my need for routine was primarily due to Grand-Dot. For instance, at Grand-Dot's it was Grocery Store shopping on Mondays and Thursdays, Tuesdays were laundry days, Wednesday and Friday were Pop’s golf days. Monday was egg breakfast, Tuesday was cereal, Wednesday was Pop-tarts, etc. etc. (You get the picture). The funny thing is…I’ve grown to be much the same way except most days I have cereal (measured out in a cup) with a piece of fruit. I keep a remarkably explicit work-out schedule routine that would make Grand-Dot proud. I grocery shop Sunday nights and do laundry on Fridays. I always loved my Grandparents routines and though some call it anal, I love the rhythm of it. You don’t want to know about the written journal I kept in high school keeping track of what I wore to school each day.

My grandmother’s condition is now stable. However, she did have a mild heart attack. It was determined that she might have blockages. Despite the heart attack, my mom told me the first thing Grand-Dot said to my mother when the doctor walked in to check on her again was, “See, I told you he was good looking.” Then she asked the handsome young doctor, “Are you married? We’re always looking for a nice young man for my granddaughter.” Thanks Grand, for thinking of me! She’s a riot.

Update: As of Wednesday night, Grand-Dot had quadruple by-pass surgery. She is slowly recovering. Before her surgery, the surgeon assured her that he would be giving her “all new pipes”. Grand-Dot’s response, “Does this mean I’ll be a good singer?” Get well soon Grand! I love you! You are constantly in my thoughts and prayers.

The Bad, the Bad and the Ugly

2005-06-18T21:40:00.000-04:00

As a single young woman with a bag full of recent stories about blind dates, dating an ex, meeting a man in the grocery store, and dating a bank customer, etc. etc. etc., I have to admit that all have been nothing more than futile efforts for me when it comes to finding a good man to date. Recently, I had a blind date - a double date, where I was paired with the best friend of a good male friend of mine. He was actually a very nice guy. I just wasn’t attracted to him in my usual sense plus he was only visiting the area so hardly a reason to think of it as anything more than a night out. Blind dates have the reputation of being indisputable disasters, but if you double with friends, it usually means a non-committing, safe night out. I would blind date again only because…well because…a girl’s gotta eat. Lessons Learned: #1 Never expect anything out of a blind date except the opportunity to be fed. #2 Be aware of your best friend’s taste in men, there’s a good chance her idea of the cute blind date she’s setting you up with will keep you asking yourself throughout the entire evening, “what the heck was she thinking?”

Dating an ex is a major no-no. It was your typical state of affairs…girl starts to realize that the ex wasn’t as bad as the rest of the losers she’s dated in the past couple of years. Somehow all of those annoying things about your ex seem to have miraculously been erased from your memory. (When this happens, ladies, give yourself a good slap in the face and snap out of it!) Although he’d been gone for two years, and he was really looking good, in the end, and I do mean this time THE END, the whole thing was a mistake on both our parts. Lesson learned: Remember Humpty Dumpty.

The chance of meeting Mr. Wonderful at a grocery store while knocking on cantaloupes is a ridiculous myth. Alexis and I met a friendly man one night while shopping on the fruit aisle at Kroger. After a 15 minute conversation he invited us to have dinner with him at his house. Supposedly, he’s a great cook. No, we did not meet him for dinner! Don’t worry. Good thing since a month later my boss (who is like my new protective father away from home) told me he’d read in the newspaper that this same guy was recently arrested for indecent exposure outside his apartment complex! So, that’s it for talking to friendly men in the fruit aisle of the local grocery store. Lesson learned: Always wash your fruit extra well!

Oh, and that customer I dated. My mistake! Oh, he was cute all right. It’s just that I had to shell out $30 for wine and cheese since Kroger would not accept one of his checks EVER AGAIN. Ugh! The funny thing is since he’s a customer I know his checking account had money in it. In spite of that, Kroger’s bells and whistles went off when he tried to pay with his check. So, in order for me to prevent a brawl between the cashier and my date, I paid…This, my friends, was the beginning of a first date disaster. Would you believe this guy had a rottweiler and thought it was funny when he pointed at me and gave the command “GET her!” Thank god the dog continued licking my leg and ignored his good master. Lessons Learned: “Do not buy the wine nor drink from the vine on a first date.”

I love my fellow employees at the bank. My dating life has become the entertainment for my near middle-aged bank co-workers. They’ve told me, “We’re living through you, Tara”. They not only want to hear about my dates, but they want to protect me, fix me up, and, of course, offer me all the free advice I can handle. There’s Danny, my protective father and manager, Debbie, my “cool mom”, Suzanne, “my older sister”, Brian, “my protective brother”, and the other Brian, “the frat guy pervert who Danny tells me not to listen to”. And like my life back home, I’m still the little sister.

With the many dating anxieties a single girl experiences today, this single girl still maintains a positive, optimistic attitude when it comes to someday finding love. It remains my constant practice that a man begins with a clean slate. As the minutes tick by and then once again I hear those dreaded screeching fingernails chillingly coming down that once meticulously clean slate, I know it’s time to once again push the eject button on my parachute for virtually a safe landing, alone on my own two feet…While alone isn’t perfect, it’s ok for now. Even so, I still believe in my heart that someday, somewhere out there is the right man for me. One who will gently take a mere piece of chalk and write I love you on that slate.

Sunburn

2005-06-16T23:50:00.000-04:00

I use to be able to run outside my house during a sunny day in June to get the mail at the end of our driveway, and return inside with a tan. By August every year, my baby-like skin would have a beautiful deep natural tan and my brown hair would naturally turn a very light brown with glistening blonde highlights all over thanks to the sun.

Yesterday I went sunbathing at my friend Weronika’s house and after only a couple hours came back with a sunburned stomach, which felt like I’d started a fire! I also forgot to flip sides evenly, and like an egg cooked over easy, my back remains white. I use to have the tanning process down to a science. Looks like I’m going to have to not only buy aloe gel today, but I’m going to have to retrieve the sunscreen for next time. What on earth is happening to me? What, am I fading like Michael Jackson? Am I going to have to put up an umbrella when I get out of my limo….I mean my ’99 Corolla? Is sunburn part of a curse that begins at age 21? I’ve waited forever (well, 21 years to be exact) to turn 21 and now I’m being cursed with…sunburn? Maybe turning 21 means it’s time to become acclimated to darkness. After all, bars are dark inside. Umbrellas surround the outdoor tiki bars in order to keep 21 year olds out of the sun. Sun screens go up to numbers like what…48? Now that I think about it what did Elton John mean when he sang Don’t let the sun go down on me? Was he worried that he’d fall asleep on the beach and turn lobster red? Hmmm.

Rachael Ray, My Mom and Me

2005-06-12T17:11:00.000-04:00

This past year for the first time in my life I am learning to cook. Growing up my mom did everything. I never had an interest in learning to cook. In fact, even coming home at Thanksgiving time, my mom would ask me if I wanted to learn how to prepare the turkey and my response was always, “um...no, I think I rather sleep in”. Even last year after begging my mom to teach me to cook, she said, “ok, I’ll be getting the turkey ready at 9a.m.” I changed my mind and slept through the preparation. This year in Bloomington, I have my own kitchen, and a very tight budget so in order for me to survive I had to learn to cook for myself. I don’t eat processed food, and I am very particular about what I eat. I don’t eat high fat or high carb meals. So basically, I had to learn to make low fat healthy meals.

My mom and dad are big fans of Rachael Ray of TV’s Food Network fame. Rachael’s show, “30-minute meals” is where my mom gets many of her new recipes. She tries them and then shares them with me. Over the phone she mentors me on how to prepare and cook everything so that I have a delicious new and exciting meal for myself, or as Rachael would say, "A delicious, healthy meal all cooked in 30 minutes or less". Most of my recipes include fish, chicken and pork. I’m not really a beef eater and rarely eat pasta. I cook fresh vegetables every night and/or with a baked or sweet potato on the side. Another great recipe place is http://www.allrecipes.com/. My mom and I find a lot of easy and healthy recipes for us through that site. By being a necessity, cooking has become a self gratifying accomplishment for me. To be honest I used to think what a horrible wife I would be someday since I trembled at the thought of boiling water. Now, I’m a regular, June Cleaver from Leave it to Beaver. (I kinda like wearing pearls in the kitchen.)

This Thanksgiving I am destined to stuff the bird, and learn how to make the greatest mashed potatoes on earth. My butt will be out of bed by 9a.m. this year. Bon Appetit everyone!

Memorial Day

2005-05-30T17:01:00.000-04:00

Both of my grandfathers fought in WWII. Both are still living. My grandfather, Thomas Halpin, was with the U.S. Navy and stationed in both Puerto Rico and Pearl Harbor following its infamous attack. He doesn’t talk much about that time in his life; however, he still attends his Navy reunions faithfully every year no matter where they are held. In recent years, fewer of his buddies remain alive to attend the reunions, but he still looks forward to getting together with those who remain for a good time. My other grandfather, Elmer Carter, fought in North Africa, Italy, and Germany during the war. He received the bronze star in Italy and fought in the famed Battle of Casino. Today he is 94 years old. He basically lives on a can of Coca Cola for lunch, as well as candy (his favorite is licorice and gumdrops) and pretzels throughout the day. He doesn’t eat vegetables. He is rarely sick and never complains about an ache or pain. He just officially gave up golf last year, but I hear he still sneaks out to the driving range. Although basically in excellent health, the war did take a toll on his hearing. He has two hearing aids and if you know me, you’ll understand, I am one of those few people he does hear. Pop-Pop Carter has amazing stories to tell about his experiences in WWII. Everything from his best friend being taken away in a straight jacket to the beautiful Italian girls he dated in Italy. He’s talked about his driving an open jeep alone through small towns where the enemy could easily have been hiding with clear shot of him to stories of IU’s beloved Ernie Pyle who visited his camp (primarily to drink). He talks about cold, rainy nights sleeping in muddy fox holes as well as seeing his buddies blown apart by a mine. My grandfather’s memories are vivid, almost like it happened yesterday. I guess for him, it has been better to talk about the experiences rather than to try to forget. His military uniform is kept tucked away in a trunk with other mementos of the war.

Not only have I grown up hearing my grandfather’s war experiences, but our family has visited just about every civil war and revolutionary war battlefield, monument, birthplace and historic site from Boston to Georgia. My parents emphasized and made sure we understood about the bravery of those young men leaving home and fighting for their country as well as the tremendous sacrifices they made. For example, Arlington National Cemetery is a sobering place. Not because of an eternal flame and JFK’s grave; it is in seeing thousands of grave markers that cover the hill that opens your eyes to realizing sacrifice and love for country.

Today’s U.S. soldiers deserve the same respect and honor. You might not agree with the current war in Iraq, but let’s not let our political differences, whatever they may be, lessen in any way realizing the bravery and sacrifices shown by the U.S. Military today and tomorrow.

Thank you all for serving our country.

RunningNheels (literally)

2005-05-24T20:38:00.000-04:00

The reason I named my blog, “RunningNHeels” is two fold. Well, maybe three fold. Not only do I love running (see SRSC February 15 blog) and I love wearing high heels, I think the name describes well my personality and my unyielding race to be on time. Although never considered a slacker, I have for most of my life been late. I know…this is a bad habit. I live down to the wire, on the edge and near the brink. Although I consider myself a very organized person, my lateness has forever been a problem.
Living with me back home was a nightmare…I took at least two hours to get ready for anything and then I’d still be late! Even a shopping day with mom couldn’t possibly begin before noon. Getting me ready on vacation was…well let’s say I growled a lot. My brother whom I shared bathroom space with, never really complained about me unless we were going out somewhere together. Actually, Adam was the only person who could get me to “push it”. My freshman year in high school (his senior) he used to drive me to school and all it would take was for his firm command of “Tara, let’s go” and I would be following him out the door. Sure, maybe I’d finish applying my mascara and blush on in the car, but I’d be on time. My junior year, after Adam went to college I relied on my mom driving me to school every day. With my lateness and her phenomenal Mario Andretti driving techniques, I would manage to arrive on time; however, my poor mother would start each day at her job frazzled from the dodging and weaving up Route 70 to get me to school on time. It’s a miracle she didn’t have a stroke! Senior year, I drove myself. Let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and I'm Mario Jr.
RunningNheels also describes my “girly girl” athleticism. Ok, so I’ve never been considered a jock, but I bet I could out run anyone wearing 4-inch heels in a 100 meter sprint! Jackie Joyner-Kersee, bite my dust!
This week I actually caught myself literally “running in heels”. With only a 45 minute lunch break I had to grab lunch and then make a quick stop at the dry cleaners. I ran in the parking lot like I was in a relay rally! I sprinted from my car to the cleaners, then from the cleaners to my car. All so that I could return to work as on time as possible. And I made it on time…I think they actually waved a black and white checkered flag at my return!
“RunningNheels” also describes my future career aspirations. You know, professional, working female, out to get ahead in the corporate world. Running in heels describes my dreams to not only be on time for corporate meetings, but to lead corporate meetings. Yes, time is money and running makes a winner and if you step on my shoe, I won’t cry. Just watch out for the spike! (teehee).

How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?

2005-05-22T17:11:00.000-04:00

Doctors can cure everything, right? They can mend collapsed lungs, torn muscles, clogged arteries, torn rotator cuffs, fractured skulls, dislocated arms, broken hips, broken legs, etc. but one thing they cannot fix is a broken heart.

Broken hearts are painful. A broken heart affects the mind, the entire physical body, the capacity to eat, sleep and breathe. Robert Browning once said, “Take away love and our earth is a tomb.”

In the grand total of 20 years, I’ve had my heart broken twice. The first was with my first love when I was 15. It was my first experience with a broken heart and the only thing that finally got me through was realizing I was young and I can do much better. However, it still didn’t make the task of getting over it easy. It took a long time to heal from that hurt since it was the first time I have ever felt and experienced love with another person so closely and deeply.

My second broken heart was recent (too recent to talk about with any detail). Sometimes the best cure is getting back out there and finding love again. Other times, it’s just retreating all together. That’s where I am right now. The hurt, the feelings of deception, of mistrust, of feeling used, and inadequate, just makes you want to hide. I am retreating into the abyss of singleness! I’m joining St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club, I’m staying at the Heartbreak Hotel, and I’m singing “what do you get when you fall in love, you only get lies and pain and sorrow”. But, I Will Survive – Hey hey!

Trusting my heart to someone again soon would be a near impossible feat for me. It will most likely always be a problem. How can a nice girl with the greatest Dad ever and two perfect grandfathers for male role models find herself so cynical about men? Guess I can’t find one that comes anywhere close to them. Blog writing helps. It helps me get off my chest what I’m feeling. I’m sorry if this bores you, but as I said before it is like free therapy. Keeping my feelings in has been my style for a long time and it’s not very therapeutic. My cynicism is years in the making, not just from these two episodes but has been from dozens of dating diasters. Some of my feelings are from listening to what my friends go through. And it’s not that I haven’t hurt a guy, I have a few times. I’ve stopped dating guys sometimes for fear of getting hurt. It’s like pulling the reins in on a horse. And then the horse is wondering “What happened?”

So, now the pain (like a bad bad cold) will take its course…first heartache, then anger, then the ugly bitter stage (with the I can’t look at men stage in the middle), then the “eh, I’m over it”, then the “no, I’m not and it still hurts” stage, then the famous, he’s an a**hole stage, then the “I don’t care” stage, along with the “I’m not attracted to him anymore anyway” stage, then finally, and last but not least, after about two years, the “Who? Oh him” stage.

Toto, I Have A Feeling We're Not In Jersey Anymore

2005-05-17T01:44:00.000-04:00

Currently I am working in customer service. I have worked in jobs dealing with the public since I was 14 years old. While working at my Dad’s restaurant for years dressing sandwiches for hungry lunch customers, I’ve met hundreds and hundreds of Jersey people who are friendly, who smile and ask how you are doing…Despite paying high taxes, outrageous insurance premiums and driving overcrowded roads, Jersey people are generally in a good mood. However, I’ve come to the opinion that people in the Mid-West are just not friendly people. I see so many miserable customers here every single day. What is wrong with people here? Is it that they are not getting any fresh ocean air or something? Don’t get me wrong I can still get a male customer to smile, but the women…forget it! I’ve been given the finger…I’ve been called a bitch…and I’ve been given evil looks that would scare Satan! One customer mocked my cheery “Have a nice day” by miserably repeating and mouthing my phrase to herself as she pulled away in her car. Hey, I am a friendly person. I believe in providing excellent customer service, however, I also believe in following the rules of my job. If you are asked to present proper ID, it is to protect you, not to insult you! Ugh! I was told when I moved out here I would be living in the “Bible belt”. I’ve yet to see the association. Um...maybe you can compare the Indiana crowd to the hostile crowds at Pontius Pilot’s court…that’s in the Bible. Yeah maybe that’s it. I was recently reminded about the song from The Music Man sung by the townspeople from Iowa when Harold Hill (the Music Man) first came into town. Harold, a friendly outsider, was brushed aside when the they sang these words:
Oh, there's nothing halfway
About the Iowa way to treat you,
When we treat you
Which we may not do at all.
There's an Iowa kind of special chip-on-the-shoulder attitude.
We've never been without that we recall.
We can be cold As our falling thermometers in December
If you ask about our weather in July.
And we're so by God stubborn
We could stand touchin' noses
For a week at a time
And never see eye-to-eye.
But what the heck, you're welcome, Join us at the picnic.
You can eat your fill of all the food you bring yourself.
You ought to give Iowa a try!

I’m gonna click my heels three times and repeat, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.”

Yeah Yeah Yeah

2005-05-15T22:59:00.000-04:00

One of the best things about getting a college degree from IU is that the classes offered here can sometimes be more fun than highly educational or valuable for future success. For instance, there are classes offered such as Billiards, Ballroom Dancing, IU Traditions, Lyrics and Popular Songs, etc. These “GPA boosters” are sometimes necessary to complete your degree. This summer, I am taking one of those classes for credit. I am taking Z401 Music of the Beatles. Yep, I’m increasing my knowledge of my favorite band the Fab 4! Since my parents were huge Beatles fans and can both recall watching intently to that famous Ed Sullivan Show when the Beatles sang in America publicly for the first time, I have for years been highly cultivated in Beatles music. I know the words and can sing just about every song from She Loves You to The Long and Winding Road. I know Wings music and John Lennon’s solo work as well. I’ve listened to my parents telling me the impact and their early memories of hearing them on their little handheld transistor radios and how everyone from 6 years old through teens were transformed by the 4 young men from Liverpool. My mom's cousin went to see the Beatles movie, “A Hard Days Night” 10 times just to see Paul McCartney wink.
So far, class is awesome! I look forward to every class. We’re learning about their early lives right now, and about the small clubs they played in together in both England and Germany. Of course, my professor is a big Beatles fan and you can tell he is quite passionate about teaching this class. My friend, Brian, burned his complete Beatles collection for me, which will really help since most of the tests will be naming the song, who sang it, the album, and the year. Is this great or what? Thanks again, Brian!! This sure beats having a used textbook at the end of class!!! Now I’ll forever have a great collection of music!
I wish my brother Adam was here taking this class with me. He loves the Beatles and has enough Beatles knowledge to ace the class even if he only showed up for test days. Maybe I can apply this class to my own life and make it an extremely worthwhile learning experience. The Beatles can teach us that enormous successes can unexpectedly come our way when we cultivate our talents and creativity, be driven to “make it” in the business we love, find the right manager to promote us, and most important, market ourselves with a great haircut!

Ring Ring

2005-05-07T04:10:00.000-04:00

A drunk dialer called me a few weeks ago. He’s actually a friend who had no clue who he was calling from his cell phone. I laughed till I almost peed when once he figured out who he had called he then began repeating not only the story lines to all my blogs but knew my blog site name off the top of his drunken head. Gee, I’m flattered. Maybe I have a subscriber list by now. Other friends have told me they read it on a regular basis and get a kick out of it. My drunk dialer described it as “hysterical but mean!” Honey, all I can say is I’ve been restrained from saying what I think for years. I’ve held back because I was always too worried about being well-liked and accepted. Now…eh! Don’t get me wrong, I am still that nice girl you remember. A nice girl who is finally secure enough to say what she thinks. If you don’t like it, read Dr. Seuss!

For instance, if you disagree with my opinions of men from the mid-west, (see March blog) then prove me wrong. If you think you’re all so perfect then I dare you to…to… fall in love with me…yeah, you see…crawl back and hide like usual. Ha! Actually, I think you guys need some toughening up or maybe it’s actually softening up. Maybe I need to contact “Queer Eye for the Mid-Western Guys”. Actually, it’s not the way you guys dress here or even your chivalry and manners that need help. I’ve had more doors open for me here than in Jersey. In Jersey you get, “Just move all that crap out of the passenger seat when you get in”. I don’t know, maybe Dr. Phil would be a better “fix it” here. He even has a southern accent so I know you’d all like that. Oh, stop being so defensive! I’m just messing with you…NOT! OK, I’ll stop. (Wow that felt good!)

Anyway, thank you for reading my blog…whoever you are. If you’re my friends, I can only say keep reading, laugh without feeling offended, and realize I am writing this for my own therapeutic needs. (That sounds good). See ya!

Kiss Me Damn It!

2005-05-04T21:12:00.000-04:00

I’m in my third year at IU, and do you know according to Indiana University tradition I am still not considered a co-ed. According to tradition a female student is not officially a co-ed until she has been kissed beneath the dome of the Rose Well House at midnight. The Rose Well House is an open-air pavilion in the heart of campus. It covers the original well for campus and was a gift from Theodore F. Rose in 1908. I remember during my first IU tour the student guide told our group all about this tradition as we walked by the Rose Well House. Being 18 I immediately thought it was so cute. Time and again I would think about it but then I would forget. I know you might think this is stupid or shallow, but I would really like to take part in this IU tradition. I want to graduate from this school next year feeling confident that I was at one time a freaking Hoosier co-ed! So, what should I do? I don’t chase boys and I feel funny asking a friend, but then again I don’t want to ask a stranger. Maybe I should have a t-shirt made that says, “Kiss me, I want to be a co-ed – midnight at the Rose Well House” No, that’s dumb. What about placing an ad in the IDS news? No, too desperate. I could get a friend to mention it to another friend who might be willing to accept the ceremonial tradition task. Or I could wait at the Rose Well House around midnight with Alexis (who will probably bring her camera) and we could grab and force someone walking by to kiss me…No, I really want a “Kisser by appointment only”. Hmmm. Wouldn’t you know with all the studying I have to do for finals right now, this is what I am thinking about? Maybe it’s just the beautiful weather outside and that spring is in the air, maybe I’ve become so assignment oriented that this is just one more thing I pressure myself to complete, or maybe I just sincerely need a really good kiss right now. (sigh!)

Life Should Be More Like A Musical

2005-04-29T01:52:00.000-04:00

The past couple of weeks have been crazy busy, but something great happened that actually made me extremely happy.

Let me begin by saying, I came to IU as a theatre major and after one year became part of the IMP for Musical Theatre. Realizing the program was a dead end for me, I changed majors last year to Apparel Merchandising with a business minor which I love, especially since THIS program isn’t controlled by one specific person who makes or breaks your IU career!

Anyway, a couple of months ago, Alexis asked me to be part of a scene for her Directing Class. The scene was from Urinetown: The Musical. I saw the musical with the original cast on Broadway a few years ago and absolutely loved it! In Alexis’ directing scene, I played the part of Hope. With me in the scene is one of the most talented actors on IU’s campus. It is a love scene in which we had about 10 minutes of dialogue, sing to each other, and then ended by a couple long kisses. Wow! Was that amazing! The thing I’ve missed and forgotten about acting is how fabulous it feels to actually allow myself to feel love for someone even though in a pretend state and then not have to ever worry about getting hurt. I actually let myself go and forgot about past tragedies. Yes, for the first time in years I didn’t worry about love being painful or someone getting hurt. For 10 exuberant minutes, I didn’t feel uncomfortable about anything. The opportunity to perform with an amazing actor brought out incredible freedom for me. Heck, I probably would have done a freaking nude scene with him if the script called for it. But it didn’t! Just a couple passionate kisses, romantic lyrics, words of love, and a foot pop! This kind of love IS grand!

Little 500

2005-04-16T00:13:00.000-04:00

Breaking Away…great movie! I watched it for the 1st time last year back home and thought it was an adorable story and I especially loved seeing the familiar scenes of Indiana University’s great campus and home town Bloomington all through it. In case you don’t know, the movie is about a group of townie boys who are known as the “Cutters” who ride in our country’s biggest cycling race, called Little 500, which happens to take place on our beautiful IU Campus. Little 500 is a huge fund raiser for the IUSF (Indiana University Student Foundation). The race raises money from various corporations who become major sponsors for the event. It’s supposedly a great event for the frats, sororities, alumni and even our dearly beloved Bloomington Cutters to participate in. It’s the wildest week on campus, drinking going on all day and ambulance alarms going on all night!

I myself am not partaking of the festivities this year. I have too much work to do. I have three papers due next week as well as a presentation and an exam. Plus I work off campus Friday and Saturday’s so my time is limited. Yeah, I’m one of those people who do every assignment and have a calendar filled with meetings and appointments like that of a CEO of a major corporation. My partying days are rare events anymore.

It’s hard for me to relate to the Little 500 race. My history of bike riding ended by 5th grade. The enforced helmet law was enough for me and my brother to stop riding bikes. Ugh! I hate those things! There’s nothing attractive about them on females and my brother being ADHD would never be bothered with taking the time to put one on. He was an avid bike rider until the helmet law became enforced. In fact, I don’t remember my brother ever wearing a helmet. Must have been he didn’t want it to wreck his then popular “spiked haircut”. I got a nice bike for Christmas when I was in the 6th grade. I think I rode it in my cul-de-sac once and that was it. By 6th grade, I was growing up and begging my mother to let me wear heels. I wasn’t interested in bike riding the neighborhood wearing that ridiculous helmet on my head. Now a little beret to the side would have looked cute but not that awful hard helmet with the black strap choking my chin. Oh I know, those helmets come in all sorts of fancy stripes and colors now…so what! When was the last time you asked a girl out on a date while she was wearing one of those helmets?....Exactly!

Although I don’t ride a real bike anymore, I do enjoy the Spinning classes at the SRSC which I take twice per week. Spinning class takes you both mentally and physically up hills, mountains, and across the plains of Indiana…all without wearing a helmet! It’s an awesome workout and I never have to worry about cars, getting bit by a dog, or most importantly getting lost!

Good luck to everyone riding this weekend in Little 500. Have a lot of fun and don’t drink and ride…and don’t forget to wear your helmet! Go Cutters!

Addicted to Starbucks

2005-04-15T00:34:00.000-04:00

Back home I am a “7 days a weeker” coffee drinker at any one of the 8 Dunkin Donuts Shoppe’s in Cherry Hill. But here in Bloomington, I am a Starbucks girl, every single day. It’s an expensive habit, but when you have an addiction, you know you have to meet it. I usually go to Starbucks near Kirkwood 5 days per week. But on Fridays and Saturdays I’m getting my caffeine high on at the Starbucks by College Mall. The employees all know me. I’m the Venti Americano aka Espresso with water. I’m no French poodle when it comes to coffee. You might look at me and think…"Ahh, she’s a Non-fat Caramel Macchiato for sure." Nope, I want the real thing baby. No whipped cream fluff here. Hardcore caffeine is pumping through this girl’s veins.

Coffee time is generally after wake up, or after my first class…which sounds like I’m sleeping through my first class…whatever. Once in awhile in the late afternoon I meet Alexis for an Americano so we can catch up with each other. Nothing like having a good vent with your Venti!. Haha.

Starbucks is a great 1st date place or an “I’ll meet you but I won’t hook up with you” place. It’s safe, busy, and comfortable. I wouldn’t recommend it as a “break up” place or a place to settle an argument, since Starbucks at times can be as quiet as the Library, but it is definitely my second favorite place on campus (next to the SRSC).

Whenever I leave Starbucks carrying my paper cup in hand, I know I am about to reach my ultimate happy place. My veins will be thriving, my energy level peaks and my eyes roll in the back of my head with the first sip. Who needs a man when you have Starbucks!

Bubba My Hero

2005-04-06T14:38:00.000-04:00

By now, you know I live in Bloomington, Indiana, where I attend school at IU. You know I wake up to loud construction every day, and am serenaded by fire alarms at least three or four times a day as well. But what I haven’t told you is about my every day repulsive challenges of walking by construction workers near my apartment. Not only have I been whistled at and called to, but I have also been followed home. Thank god my guardian angels, Bubba and Jed (see March 7 blog) are there always watching over me. Ok so Bubba talks to himself, has a long gray beard and kind of waves his hands in front of his face like he’s in his own little world, but he clearly articulates (like a Shakespearean actor) his responses and hellos back to me. For example, on St. Patrick’s Day he called over to me as a response to my “hello” and said, “Have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day!” His booming voice is like the voice of God. The day I was followed home by construction workers, Bubba and Jed were watching. The first thing I thought of coming around the corner was please let Bubba and Jed be in their usually spots on the porch. Thank you God, Bubba and Jed were there. The construction workers saw me wave and acknowledge Bubba and Jed as I turned into my apartment complex. The workers did see the approximate location of where I live but not fully. There was no reason for them to follow me as far as they did. Trust me, these guys aren’t the likes of the good-looking construction worker in the Diet Coke commercial with his shirt off attracting women in office buildings everywhere. These men are low lives…trailer trash! (Darn, why did I start thinking about the guy in that commercial)…Anyway, Bloomington has its jerks, yet it has its “Clark Kent's” too. Although Bubba is hardly faster than a speeding bullet, I know if anyone came too close, Bubba could rip their head off! Thanks, Bubba for being there.

All Work and No Play

2005-03-28T15:30:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago during Spring Break I worked full-time or 40 hours at my part time job. I figured it would not only give me a nice chunk of change but it would also help me realize what getting up every day and going to work would be like. Result: I was exhausted and fell asleep every night by 9:30 p.m. My job has me on my feet all day while wearing heels.
By the end of the day my dogs were barking and I really didn’t have the energy to do much else. College life is easier, but I am over it and can’t wait to work after leaving IU next year. Now I understand why my parents want to collapse after a days work and kudos to them for working all day and coming home to Adam and me all those years. Working full-time is definitely mentally and physically exhausting. So physically exhausting I didn’t have the energy to do my normal gym workout that week. This summer I’ll be living in Bloomington and working about 30 hours per week, plus taking two classes (one each summer session). In between work and class, I’ll be at the gym. I won’t have time for much else. This hard working Irish girl is just about ready to take on the world!

It Might As Well Be Spring

2005-03-24T18:35:00.000-05:00

Back home, outside my bedroom window, always this time of year, little birds wake me up in the morning with their gentle chirping sounds happy and excited that spring is here and in the air. It’s sweet even though it does wake me up when I so long to sleep in. Here, in Bloomington, I wake up every morning to hammers, jackhammers, crane wielding balls and electric drills. Ahh…spring! Will they ever finish that building? They’ve been there since I moved here in August. Now they work every day…even on Sundays, which is my only sleep in day. I just want one day…one day of sleep! Please somebody give those poor Mexican workers one day off please! POR FAVOR!!!! For Pete Sake!

Spring is great for running. Now that I’m up to 5 miles of running (note February 15 blog called SRSC) per session, springtime is great to move your SRSC treadmill workout outdoors. The air is fresh, the trees are budding, the flowers are sprouting, it’s amazing! The one thing I absolutely love about IU is our beautiful campus. Thank you God that I’m not at some ugly campus like Rutgers or Rowan. Eek! I love Jersey, but the Campus choices are awful (sorry Princeton…but you suck). Anyway, get ready, Hoosiers, IU is about to be transformed and will be beautiful. Spring is here! I’m so excited!

What Is Your Claim to Fame?

2005-03-21T15:18:00.000-05:00

Recently someone asked me…so what is YOUR claim to fame? My claim to fame? Hmm. Well, last summer I worked at Victoria’s Secret and sold two pairs of cotton pajamas to Cuba Gooding, Jr. um..let’s see…I made a TV commercial for ABC when I was 10 years old. I was Little Miss Barrington when I was 9 years old. I am a distant relative of both Robert E. Lee and Dr. Samuel Mudd (aka John Wilkes Booth’s Doctor) and my Great grandfather, Charles Franklin Carter used to hunt and drink (heavily) with Buffalo Bill. I have a great uncle who struck out Babe Ruth and was later traded for the great Rogers Hornsby. My grandfather swears he sees “dead people” at night in his bedroom and my grandmother says he's crazy. I’ve sung the National Anthem before two AA baseball games and I have two remarkable and unique dimples in the back of my shoulders. And that, my friends, is my claim to fame.

National Threat to Airport Security...duh hello?

2005-03-15T01:23:00.000-05:00

During one of my recent escapes home to Philadelphia, I was mistaken as a Terrorist at the Indianapolis airport. Now, I agree I am quite unusual looking to the general Indiana population – I mean being a brunette and all. But do I look like a terrorist? I am not of Middle Eastern descent. I wear cute hats and stylish clothes, not kitchen towels or black scarves over my head and face (Although some times when I’m experiencing a bad skin break out I wish I could wear one over my face). Anyway, I always come walking up to airport security with a big friendly smile on my face, ready to say “hello” to everyone and I am usually chewing gum. (Three obvious signs I am not a terrorist). Now does that sound like someone who would be a threat to airport security? Anyway, when my carryon went through the inspection machine, the security guards jumped on my bag like I was smuggling alcohol into my high school choir trip (Long story, don’t ask). Here they found via their hi-tech screening my tiny eyebrow shaping scissors, which I keep in the bottom of my makeup bag. They are my very favorite pair since I spent an exorbitant $15 for them at Cherry Hill Beauty Supply last summer. They pulled them out of my bag and looked at me like I was going to hold the plane load of people captive with my eyebrow shaping scissors which are a total 3 inches in length. Security scolded me saying that I should have put them in my regular suitcase and now it was too late. Sadly, I watched them throw my scissors in the same pile as the handguns, the automatic weapons and machete knives. I begged “Pleeeeese let me have my scissors back”. But they didn’t care. They didn’t care about my eyebrows. They didn’t care about the $15 I would have to pay Cherry Hill Beauty Supply for another pair! Well, everyone on my plane, including me, made it back safely to Philadelphia. No one had a gun and no one had eyebrow-trimming scissors on board. We were all definitely safe.

There's No Place Like Home

2005-03-12T22:04:00.000-05:00

A song from The Wiz called “Home” starts out, “When I think of home I think of a place where there’s love overflowing.” I am so fortunate to be able to sing and feel those words. I miss my family and home so very much.

Now that I have one more year here at IU, I am excited about where life will take me. It could be anywhere. But I know that my memories of home will always be with me wherever I am. Even now I can visually picture my mom and dad relaxing in our family room, each in their appropriate loungers. I can almost smell the Yankee candle burning from our dining room table that welcomes you as you enter the front door. I can picture sitting around the table for dinner at home or going out to eat at our favorite restaurants together, our family trips to Manhattan, our trips to the shore, eating on our deck, Christmas mornings, birthday parties at the house, and being tucked into bed at night and always feeling safe and loved. I can picture walking by my brother’s bedroom and hearing the clicking away of his computer keyboard late at night or singing at the top of his lungs making sure I hear how fabulous he is. I can picture my brother and I sharing the bathroom sink as we both stand in front of the large mirror “getting gorgeous” together. I can hear his voice as we say goodnight to each other. These are all visual and happy memories for me…Instant visuals that appear, when I think of home. When I’m lonely, my family is only a phone call away, an IM away, and for that hug…a plane ride away. Dad, Mom, and Adam...I love and miss you all.

Do Guardian Angels Sit on Porches?

2005-03-07T15:02:00.000-05:00

There are two old men that sit out on their house porch across the street from my apartment complex. They sit out there, eat out there, play cards out there, smoke cigarettes out there, and watch everyone’s coming and going from the chairs on their porch. I can only guess their names are Bubba and Jed. Anyway, at first I was a little annoyed by them watching my comings and goings. They watch me leave my apartment, unload the groceries from my car and watch me carry my laundry in and out. However, someone did open my eyes to the benefit of having Bubba and Jed across the street. He said, “Think of them as watching over you…good neighbors who make sure no one suspicious is coming around”. Then I realized he was right. From that moment on I began waving and saying hello to Bubba and Jed. They always wave back. Not with a lot of expression, mind you, but I understand now the importance of having Bubba and Jed living across the street.

Why are there so many fire alarms sounding every 10 minutes in Bloomington?

2005-03-02T14:43:00.000-05:00

Did you ever count how many fire or ambulance sirens you hear during any one day in Bloomington? I do. The other day I counted five. Five alarms at different times during the course of one Tuesday afternoon. What is wrong with the people in this town? Does no one know how to cook, put out their cigarette, blow out a candle, or even light a candle? Are people setting themselves on fire? What is the deal? A few weeks ago a fire truck went flying by me on Third Street and just the breeze from it almost knocked me down. I was like, “Hey buddy, where’s the fire?” Maybe people in Bloomington aren’t careless at all. Maybe somebody’s cat got stuck in a tree or maybe an elementary school is visiting the firehouse and the kids want to hear the alarm go off. Maybe, Quasimodo lives at the fire station and loooovvvvveeeessss to sound that siren!

The only time a fire truck comes around my town back home is when Santa Clause makes his annual appearance one Sunday afternoon in December to ride on top of the fire truck and hand out candy canes. That’s it. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen a Cherry Hill Fire truck, which is funny since Cherry Hill has a pretty large population of about 75,000 people living there.

So try it…start counting fire sirens during the day. I think something strange is going on. So friends, remember, stop, drop and roll!

Loving Laundry Day

2005-02-25T22:12:00.000-05:00

One of the most dreaded rituals of every college student is doing laundry. During freshman year, my laundry room was in the basement of Forest Dorm. The laundry room was shared by about 500 students. So, basically I had to carry my laundry basket full of thongs and bras down a full elevator ride of 5 floors to the dingy basement where usually there were at least a few others doing the same dreaded ritual.

Sophomore year I moved to an apartment off campus. The laundry room was shared with my roommates and a few other apartment dwellers and is just a quick walk downstairs to our building's basement. Our one dryer we shared never blew hot air so basically our clothes were always still wet as we returned to the apartment. Maintenance could never fix the problem.

This year I moved to another apartment. However, this complex has no laundry. So, I carry my basket of thongs and bras in my car down the street to the local Laundromat. Do you ever feel embarrassed about transferring your underwear from washer to dryer and dryer to basket? I hate it. Especially when some old guy is in there too hoping you take a peek at his X-large boxer shorts. Then there are the times when you are doing laundry alongside some good-looking college guy, and suddenly you find you’re moving in slow motion removing each thong and bra from the dryer to the basket.

My Laundromat has an adequate number of washers and dryers but the décor is typical…bare, drab looking walls with, of course, no attempt at attractive décor at all. But the washers and dryers work. Still, the surroundings make for a depressing chore. Usually I bring reading, usually the current month's issue of Vogue and/or homework with me as I sit there minding my own business and do the long “wait”.

I know exactly what I would do if I owned a Laundromat. My ideas would increase sales dramatically and could actually make the place one of the hottest spots off campus. First of all, I would change the décor. I would paint with bright colors, not obnoxious ones, but definitely inviting warm shades. I would create a “like home” feel by adding framed pictures that coordinate with the wall colors. Since IU has an amazing Art Museum on campus, I would either choose framed poster artwork by Picasso or Monet. Better yet I would contact a few of IU’s outstanding Art Students to create a unique painting to go with the rest of the place. And I’d definitely get rid of that awful fluorescent lighting. Music? Ah yes…we would have taped music and different styles of music. For instance, Monday night from 7-11 pm is for Broadway Night. Some of the best of Broadway past and present would play. Tuesday is Jazz night – everything from Ella Fitzgerald to Harry Connick, Jr. Wednesday - Country Music Night, only not the old country but the more upbeat stuff…Clint Black, Shania Twain, or Lee Ann Rimes. (I couldn’t stomach much else). Thursday – Classical, yep, I’d call it “Mozart at the Mat”. Friday, well, that's easy…"Friday's with Frank", which means Sinatra all day and night. Saturday, would be either Karaoke Night or Dance Party Night. They could switch off. Winners of Karaoke or dance contests would either receive “free dry” or “free wash” coupons. Sunday is especially for Singles. We’ll call it, “Gentle Cycle Dating”. As the dryer turns, get to chat with other singles to see if you can really find love at the Laundromat. (Wine and cheese provided at an additional cost.)

Wouldn’t it be great to love laundry day.

Pageant Reform

2005-02-17T02:25:00.000-05:00

When I was young and a true girly girl through and through, I entered a few beauty pageants (which is another blog day in itself). I loved to dress up, walk the runway, pose, sing for my talent, and like the adorable flirt that I was, charm the judges by my interview. One of the typical stupid pageant questions that judges ask little girls is “Who is your favorite cartoon character and why”. Well, now that I’ve grown up, I want to revise the question for myself….Who is your favorite TV character and why? Ok, here goes and remember always answer a pageant question by repeating the question. “My favorite TV character is Carrie, from Sex in the City. (Since this is a pageant, let’s clarify the TBS version of Sex in the City). Carrie is a strong, self-confident, working woman who writes an s-e-x (never say sex during a pageant) column for the New York Star. She is single, lives in New York City, and is well-known and recognized by her readers. She has a body to die for and the greatest shoe collection on earth. She has three wonderful girlfriends who stick by her, encourage her, seek her advice, laugh with her and listen. Carrie attracts perfect men! Who wouldn’t want the sweet Aidan (John Corbett), a romp (or shall we say a “pas de deux”) with Mikhail Baryshnikov, and finally the very sexy Chris Noth, Mr. Big. Carrie has what every woman wants…a successful career, great clothes, great shoes, maintains a perfect body, and in the end finds true love.

SRSC (Student Recreational Sports Center)

2005-02-16T02:00:00.000-05:00

My favorite place on campus is by far the SRSC. It’s my nirvana, my heaven, my escape, my reality, my...my oh my there are cute boys here! Anyway, I make my way to the SRSC, religiously about 4 – 5 days per week. During my years at IU, my body has been routinely exposed, exhausted and excruciated by Kickboxing, Pilates, Spinning and a general routine work out program of weights and cardio. After gaining the freshman 15, I took on a personal trainer my spring semester freshman year, which unfortunately pumped me up so big I started talking with an Austrian accent, “Hava la vista baby!” After that, I did a lot of reading on exercise, changed my eating habits, and began a serious work out regimen on my own. I have been addicted to working out ever since. I love it! I feel better than ever! I look better than ever! I’m so into my workout I recently booted out one of the hottest guys on campus who was about to put his brand new Nike running shoe on my #12 treadmill, when it was obviously my turn from the signup sheet and not his. Don’t mess with me and my #12 treadmill you..you..gorgeous stud you! He sheepishly backed off.

My treadmill time is the first thing I take care of when I arrive at the SRSC. I sign up for two spots so that my invisible friend and I can be sure to get the “extra time” we need to run for at least 30 minutes. Right now, I’m running up to about 4.5 miles per session. Wow, you say? How do I do it, you ask? Well it’s all about concentration. I’ll let you in on a little secret. And the next time you see a lineup of 10 girls running like they are being chased on their treadmill, you’ll ask yourself I wonder if they are thinking about that too. Trust me, they are not thinking about homework, or about food, or about class, or about family or good friends, or about how great they’re going to look by working out, or even about buying those fabulous new pair of shoes. What gives me my 5.0 mile inspiration is concentrating on my horrific past relationships and other jerks I’ve dealt with throughout my life. These thoughts empower women to be tough, be strong, be mad and get passed the hurt, and I don’t mean the hurt that your ankles are feeling by running so much. Like Christina sings, “Thanks for making me a fighter”, cause when I’m on that treadmill I am fired up like…well, like did you ever watch Cape Fear with Deniro playing Max Cady? And remember when Cady was doing that extreme workout in his cell? Yeah, like that! So now here’s some advice for the men. When you see an attractive girl getting off the treadmill after an extreme work out, trust me, that is NOT the time to flirt with her. Stay clear! She has just set up all her ex’s like bowling pins and got a STRIKE!

No matter how many complaints people have about our beautiful SRSC, my main gripe is not only the lack of treadmills available and spinning classes that fill up too quick, but first and foremost with parking. It irks me that I am paying out of state fees of $25,000 per year to attend this fine institution, plus the normal athletic fees to use the SRSC, plus an annual fee for my “E“ lot pass, but I am also fined every time my work out goes over a two hour parking limit. This is the most ridiculous rule I know! I’m a maniac ok? My usual workout lasts two hours. If I have to wait for a treadmill I am surely going to run over my parking limit outside. This school is so money hungry it’s ridiculous. Last week, I was fined $1.50 for coming out of the SRSC 15 minutes late. I don’t carry money on me when I work out since there has been a known theft problem at the SRSC. Not only are there thieves inside the SRSC but obviously the people working the outside parking lot are there to “steal” your money as well. The parking attendant saw my face contorting and turning to a greenish hulk-like color with steam shooting out my ears and proceeded to give me the phone number of someone to contact since I was obviously ready to explode. Trying to compose myself, I called the number she gave me to find a man who could only recommend that I get involved with the IUSA Board and change the rules. That’s funny, since when did the IUSA Board care about anything but lowering the price of a keg in Bloomington?

Valentine's Day with my Lesbian lover, Alexis

2005-02-14T03:15:00.000-05:00

Now that I’ve gotten all of your attention, I have to laugh. No, I’m not a lesbian and neither is Alexis. We’re best friends…girl friends. It doesn’t matter that we say “I love you” with an additional sharing of “mwa mwa” kisses in mid air to each other at the end of our phone conversations or when we say goodbye. We are quite frankly two healthy All-American heterosexual females who have no physical attraction towards each other. Even though, quite a few out there have questioned us and hinted at the possibility. We don’t hold hands or walk with our arms around each other. We don’t even rub noses in public. We have coffee together, watch movies together, go out to eat together, and, of course, talk in half sentences to each other. We remember each other’s birthday and share gifts with each other at Christmas even though Alexis is Jewish. Yeah, I guess that does sound a little serious.

Since neither of us is currently boyfriend-endowed, Alexis and I will spend Valentine’s Day together. Actually this is our second Valentine’s Day together. That’s pretty sad, huh? It’s our least favorite day of the year. A day in which we huddle together and reassure each other that there is nothing wrong with either of us, that men are non-essential beings, and that this day is nothing more than a way for Hallmark to make money. Oh don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge lovers on Valentine’s Day. There’s nothing wrong with avoiding Hallmark Stores and even drug stores, between New Years and February 14. Any necessary medications are purchased prior or after those dates. I did have one really nice Valentine's Day in my poor, pathetic life. And I’ll try not bash any ex’s today, but he surprised me with beautiful red roses and then we went to a park at night, swung on a swing together and then made-out in his car for a while. Yeah, that was nice. Until 1 week later he freaking broke up with me. Ugh! Don’t get me started. Haha, get this, he used male excuse reason #25… “I’m going away to college in 4 months and I don’t want to get in a serious relationship”. Aren’t men grand?

Anyway, Alexis and I are taking each other out to a nice candlelit restaurant and then afterwards we’ll come back to my apartment and watch some sappy chick-flick together. I’ll take her home and then return and proceed into my normal bedtime routine remembering to say my prayers thanking the Lord that He got me through another Valentine’s Day.

Happy Birthday Abraham!

2005-02-12T16:03:00.000-05:00

Today is February 12. The day we traditionally celebrate Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. And even though my ancestry connects me to one of the Lincoln Conspirators who was tried and thrown in prison as a conspirator, aka Dr. Samuel Mudd, you know, “your name will be Mudd", I have always had a soft spot for Abe. First of all, his wife was a little crazy but then you would be too if you’d lost a couple of children, was obsessed with the possibility of someone killing your husband (which proved right), had everyone criticizing the way you dressed (which is political suicide), and then have your oldest son commit you to a mental institution. Abe was constantly tortured by nightmares, usually of his own death. The stress of war paid its toll on Abe as well…Thousands and thousands of young men dead, brother killing brother, cousin killing cousin. His own cabinet of long beards was against him. The North hated him. The South hated him. Thank god Abe believed in preserving our union. Thank god, the slaves are free. Thank god, we have great movies like Gone With The Wind. Thank god, Mammy got an academy award. Thank god, for Stephen Sondheim. Wait a minute, what was I talking about again?

Oh yeah, the man couldn’t even watch a play without some crazy, starving for attention actor coming in and rudely upstaging a great performance (one which Lincoln was enjoying, by the way) to shoot and kill him.

Did you know this country had Abe exhumed in 1901, 36 years after his death just to identify the poor man’s body in the casket because rumors surfaced that his body had been taken? Good thing Mary wasn’t around when that happened! That would have really sent her off the deep end.

And finally, remember Shirley Temple in the Little Colonel when she sat on Abe’s lap and he shared his apple slices with her and then he freed her father in prison….How can anyone not love this man?

Abe, Happy Birthday. Rest in peace.

Bugged

2005-02-11T22:46:00.000-05:00

One of the more practical things I have learned by living away at college is how to kill a spider or this other ugly thing I’ve heard called a “silverfish”. As a child, I would see a spider in my bedroom or bathroom and scream like I was being attacked so that my father would come rushing upstairs to save me. He always did. He was and still is my hero. But since Daddy doesn’t live here in Bloomington, I have learned to fend and fend off for myself. Therefore, when I see a bug of any kind…even a knat, I can put it to its death. It’s hard, but I manage. I am woman, here me roar….For I am Tara…brave daughter of Mark, Famous Bug slayer of Cherry Hill.

Recently I saw a couple silverfish in my apartment. After I slapped them silly with a shoe, I called my landlord and they immediately came out and sprayed enough to almost kill their tenant. Anyway, things are good.

What I've Learned from My Dating Internship Study at IU: A Pschological Comparison of East Coast Males vs. Mid-West Males

2005-02-10T22:41:00.000-05:00

After three years of high school dating east coast males, I entered college in the beloved Mid-west believing in my heart that I truly needed to see what was on “the other side of the fence”. Unknowingly, I had always perceived Midwestern males to be made up of simpler, kinder, down-home spirits, who would treat their women with a non-“Soprano style” harshness that east coast girls have become accustomed to. Yes, east coast males love a good fight and an “in your face” argument. They build up this muscle-bound defense system (MDS, for short) however, when they want you, they make it clear, they want you! And, when it’s over, you’ll not only receive your typical top ten male excuses but you’ll also receive as a parting gift this lovely east coast proverbial addition, “But I’ll always love you” as a finale’. On the other hand, Mid-west boys are vague. They leave you hanging…tell you nothing…AWOL is the name of their game. They are non-confrontational, and have little or no verbal skills, which is probably why SAT’s are not taken into consideration when applying to IU. Midwest males from Detroit, through Chicago, and down to our beloved Bloomington, have that natural down-home glow, but are more in a rush to get you into the “haystack” than your east coast boys who can “at least count” to 7 or 8 dates before pushing the…well, let’s just say we don’t have “haystacks” in New Jersey. A mid-west boy finds out you’re from the east coast and it’s a sure thing they’ll be screaming “run for your lives!” I think they truly believe brunettes are from outer space and want to capture the Midwest male and transport them via UFO (aka black BMW) to their unknown atmospheres known by some as…New York. (Scary thought…just frightening!) Midwest males believe east coast girls are shrewd, crude, can probably beat them in arm wrestling (they’re probably right) and are all Jewish…or maybe Italian with papas in the Mafia.

Summation:

I’ve learned so much from living amongst Midwestern males these past three years. Blondes, I’ve finally figured out the way you’ve survived your men all these years. I’ve learned “when in Bloomington, do as the Bloomington-ites do”. I’ve learned to hit the eject button so fast that I can survive the Midwestern male without a scratch. Honey, you won’t need to say a word. Trust me, when high noon comes, I can pull the trigger faster, shoot ‘em dead before they even had a chance to “pull back” and run.

For me, after graduation, I’m going back…..back to that far distant planet where men are real men…Men like Rocky Balboa, Tony Soprano, Frank Sinatra, Bruce Willis and Billy Joel. I’m leaving the wimpy David Lettermans, the annoying Tom Arnolds, and the light-weight, brooding, insecure actor-types like James Dean without regret. I tried to take on your Midwest girly ways by idly sitting back and remaining…sweet. Without dying my hair blonde, I thought I would perhaps stand out in a crowd, however, being a brunette in the mid-west makes you virtually…invisible to the Midwest male. So how did I go about attracting a few Midwest males to complete this comparison? Trust me, it’s never hard to find a male willing to bite in the Midwest, in fact, that’s all they can do is bite…no talk…just bite…no explanation…just bite. Beam me up Scotty!