I might as well be preggo.

I cannot stop thinking about eating pickles.  I love pickles, but really the obsession is beyond this love.  My personal favorite is the bread and butter variety, but it turns out they're really bad for you, so I generally stick to dill.
Pickles I've obsessed about this summer:
- Giant, whole pickles.  Had no less than 14 this summer.
- Crispy pickle spears.  Also available in....
- Pickle Dog form.  Delish pickle spear wrapped in pastrami and cream cheese.
- Deep fried pickle chips.  Oh. My God.
- Baby Gherkin's.  Perfect snack.

I need to get laid, no one should ever spend this much time obsessing over pickles.

Pathetic excuse for a date

I admit, every once and awhile...

i.e. when my friends are gushing about their fantastic love lives, getting engaged, getting married, making little alien babies, and having more one night stands than Ashley furniture....

every once and awhile, I feel a little lonely.

Sometimes when this incredible bout of depression hits, I feel desperate. Enter: online dating. Best of all, I refuse to pay for this version of personal therapy, so I'm on a free site. Let's just say I will not commit to paying to go on a date because this way, I have better stories. Right? Right.

So recently, one of these little bouts of depression hit. Probably after being slighted numerous times when meeting groups of guys at the bar who would rather try to hook up with my obviously taken friends than the slutty, drunk version of me.

Anyhow, I agreed to meet this guy for happy hour in a public location so I would be heard if I screamed bloody murder. 7:30 happy hour???? Whatever, this guy doesn't have a clue about day drinking. So I agree for a Thursday night adventure. We agreed to this about a week and a half before the actual date. Then, out of nowhere he "deleted" his profile from the website - which meant I couldn't contact him to tell him it creeped me the fuck out or that I had other plans. Of course, I didn't have other plans, and my friends convinced me I should go because "what if he's the man of your dreams" or some other bullshit.

So I went, not remembering what he looked like (and not being able to do research since he deleted his profile), not having his phone number (because I have a strict "nobody gets in my phone before they get in my pants" rule), and pretty much a shitty attitude about the whole thing.

Showed up promptly at 7:20. Sat near the door until 7:30. Moved to the bar at 7:30, ordered a beer, and looked around, trying to see if there was a glimmer of recognition with any of the guys around. None. Paid for my tab at 7:40, left the bar at 7:45. I WAIT FOR NO ONE.

So yes, there you have it. I got fucking stood up by a guy whose name was "singing nerd", chose fucking Creed as his ultimate karaoke song, and was in a band that played at the Renaissance Festival. Never have I ever had such low self esteem.

And there you have it. Bitter with baggage seeks same.

Got any English in you?

Want some?

Bad decisions afloat. But they seemed so good at the time. Let's just say a certain "Staten Island" girl may or may not have rekindled a flame with an Englishman. Or boy. He finally turned 21, so I guess he's not a boy anymore. Note to self: stop calling him kiddo. It's officially inappropriate.

Let's talk bad decisions. What about such a bad decision makes it seem so good at the time? Assessing the facts, it almost always includes:
1. Alcohol
2. Karaoke
3. Accents
4. Slimy bar patrons that must be shooed away by a knight in shining armor
5. Friends who would rather see you make a bad decision than encourage you not to
6. Having to work the next day
7. Alcohol
8. Former Flames
9. Alcohol
10. Living up to your standards of being a cougar. Or a puma, or maybe even a little tiny kitten, but nonetheless too old for this quest.

What does a bad decision look like to you?

Peanut Butter makes the world go round

I would first and foremost like to say just how sorry I am for you if you are allergic to peanuts. Not only must eating in general suck for you, but I bet that whole "life threatening allergy" really makes you a little sad.

This summer, I spent some time with a young lady who had said allergy. We had to watch everything we ate around her, including not having peanut butter sandwiches in our lunches. It was the saddest week of my life.

Over the past few weeks, I've eaten an entire 40 oz. container of chunky peanut butter. This is averaging just under 10 ounces of PB a week. This is not abnormal consumption, by any means, on my part. However, I wanted to point out how abnormal it probably is for someone to be able to pound down a jar of peanut butter in 4 weeks. VERY abnormal. The average US consumer will eat 3 pounds of PB a year. (www.peanutbutter.com/funfacts). My jar of peanut butter is 2 lbs 8 ounces. In 1 year, I will have consumed 32.5 pounds of peanut butter. Yes, my friends. 11 times average. This makes me about 99% more likely than all other Americans to have a heart attack by the time I'm 27. How do I get to the YMCA again?

Ridiculous online quizzes

Genghis Khunt Random Brutal Sex Master (RBSM) We almost called you Brutus the Uterus and attached this picture: But we figured you wouldn't understand, and rightly so. We don't understand either. So you are Genghis Khunt: master of man, bringer of pain--riding your way to conquest after conquest. Your sexual avarice is legendary. You've already had an unusually high amount of experience, and, still you look for more. You intimidate many. You make no apologies. Personality-wise, you're carefree and relatively easy-going. You don't plan things out ahead of time; you tend to live in the moment. Of course, this can cause some damage when the moment happens to include a screaming orgasm with his younger brother. Hence the 'brutal' tag we've given you. But you know what, take five seconds to lock the doors, and you'll be fine. There's nothing wrong with a little sex, or a whole lot. Your exact female opposite: The Sonnet Deliberate Gentle Love Dreamer Always avoid: The Slow Dancer (DGLD) Consider: The 5-Night Stand (DBSM), The Hornivore (RBSM), The Playboy (RGSM)

Link: The Online Dating Persona Test

So this is interesting. Quite the fun test.

Bitter with Baggage Seeks Same

Well long time no talk. I've missed you. Perhaps this will turn out to be much like my other "hobbies" - a dead end.
Only time will tell.

A few years ago for Christmas, my good friend gave me a fabulous book called "Bitter With Baggage Seeks Same". It is a coffee table picture book- bitter humor for the metropolitan single girl- my kind of dish. I came across this book on my shelf the other day and decided to give it a little page-turn. These hilarious little plastic chickens started to make me sad, and I thought- "Paula*, why so glum? Plastic chickens are too funny to be sad!" Then it occurred to me: my dear, sweet friend knows me so well, that she purchased this book, because I am, in fact, Bitter with Baggage.

Would you like my stats? Put it on a baseball card:

• 23 years of age
• single straight white female
• numerous boyfriends/one night stands of which 3/4ths ending with said boy dating/falling for close friend or BFF and thusly .750 batting average for getting my heart broken
  
• Glamorous non-profit job that leaves little to no time for a personal life
• Size 36F rack. I'm an effing catch.
  

I see bitter. I see baggage. In fact, I pretty much live it. I have wonderful friends, however find myself spending my "free time" with an ex (we will call him Hammer**) who broke my coal heart when he fell for my BFF/roommate. (He's not the only one... hence 3/4ths). Spare me the lectures- we dated 4 years ago and we're best friends now. It happens.

However, its times like these (Holidays, Tuesdays, freezing cold days, pretty much everyday) that I find myself realizing that I am still head-over-heels-hit-me-in-the-head-with-a-hammer-
because-it-feels-so-good-when-you-stop in love with Hammer. Too bad he moved on.
He is dating a cute little mouse of a thing who I really can't find any fault in (bummer) aside from the fact that its not me. However, Hammer feels it appropriate to share all her faults, stupidity, conservatism, and general bland-ness with me. I think this is what drives me into the ground bitterly with heavy baggage: Not only is he not dating me, but he's dating someone he's not really into and is just along for the ride (I chastise HJ's because I haven't done one since the late 90's, yet apparently she considers this a "treat".)

So the moral of this story is: It is Christmas time (or whatever holiday you celebrate or don't celebrate. Whatever, its snowing.) and my family has unfortunately moved on from chastising my sister about getting married to criticizing me. Pretty sure they have fostered rumors of my sexuality- but I digress.

But why should I ruin Christmas for everyone by changing the norm and bringing a boy home? This Christmas, I am giving the gift of selflessness by not changing our family traditions of scathing comments and ruthless jokes about my singledom. I sure hope they appreciate my deep concern for keeping our family traditions alive.

So Merry Christmas! Can I provide any selfless acts for you?
Have a wonderful day and don't crash your shit up in the snow.
Paula

*Paula: This is my introduction to my alter-ego, Paula Rubinowitz. She's a sassy cougar from Staten Island who drinks too much. We all know we can't use real names online!! Enjoy her musings.

**Hammer: His real name shall not be divulged (see above). Think "Why do I keep hitting myself with this hammer?" -because it feels so good when I stop.