Why Can’t We Be Friends?

A few months ago, I decided that I needed new friends.

Now, don’t get it twisted: I have the greatest friends in the whole entire world. Truly. I wouldn’t trade them for a penthouse apartment with a park view [Uh… No. I wouldn’t. I don’t think…].

I just decided that I needed to expand my horizons and perform a world paradigm shift by not limiting myself to what was already known, familiar, comfortable.

I began pursuing friend dates. I texted people who were acquaintances, friends of friends, strangers [uh… maybe I didn’t text strangers], whatever. I was (am?) really trying to put myself out there.

[Incidentally, if you are reading this and you would like to go on a friend date, I am your gal. Text/email/send smoke signals. There’s no sense in having a blog if you can’t whore yourself out for your own pleasure.]

I also decided that it was time to send a friendly text to someone with whom I shared a sort of tumultuous past. I suggested that we do some friendly activity. He suggested that we take a stroll down memory lane. Since I’m a sucker with a capital S, I obliged. [Whatever you’re reading between the lines here, you are correct.]

However, what I REALLY wanted was for us to be pals [and I told him as much]. I have an embarrassingly small amount of straight male friends. I’m looking to rectify that situation.

So, this past weekend I texted him again suggesting a friendly drink. And by friendly drink, I ACTUALLY meant a friendly drink, NOT a “friendly drink (and then we’ll go back to your apartment and bone)”.

He wrote back that he was “sorta seeing someone” [woof… “sorta”?] and so he didn’t think that was possible.

Me: But I thought we were gonna be friends!

Him: We are friends!

Me: So then there’s no harm in us getting a friendly drink!

[He didn’t respond.]

You guys.

Is this not a possibility? Was Harry right? Can men and women not be friends? Does the sex part ALWAYS get in the way?

I feel like I missed a day of LifeSchool.

The reaction of everyone that I know is: DUH. Meanwhile, I’m just sputtering in the corner like, “But… but… but…”

As Soon As Possible


When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Confession time: In my sickness-induced, week-long blogging hiatus, I’ve fallen in love. I can sense your disappointment as you all lament the end of my OkCupid journey.

Never fear.

There is no man involved in this scenario. [Well. There ARE men. Men, multiple. And I will be getting sweaty with them. But. Not like that.]

I heard about Mark Fisher Fitness awhile ago and have wanted to do Snatched in 6 Weeks ever since. I’ve stalked every single bit of social media that exists. Their youtube page? Watched all the videos. The before and after pictures? Studied them. Their tumblr? Read it all. Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. Check. Check. Check.

For sundry reasons, I just never signed up. It’s expensive. It’s a HUGE commitment [mentally, physically, alcohol-ly]. I was out of town. Whatever. Insert ALL the excuses <here>. I thought about joining in January. And then I contemplated joining in March. But I didn’t.

Against all financially sound reasoning, I have signed up for the May/June edition. I hemmed and hawed and discussed it with my therapist. But in the end, I was too excited about it to NOT do it.

And now? Now what? Now I’m sitting at home [still coughing like I have a 2-packs-a-day habit], just WAITING. WAITING until May 13, when all of the things begin. I feel like Harry. I want the rest of my life to start now. And by “rest of my life” I mean my health and hottness. [See. I told you I’ve social-media-stalked MFF within an inch of its life. Maybe we’ll just call it “research” instead of stalking so I sound less lame. Yeah. Research.]

In the meantime, I can’t even bring myself to workout. Walking up the stairs of my building spurs a 10 minute long cough attack. I’m seeing my doctor again tomorrow. Maybe my inability to engage in physical activity right now is furthering my excitment of what is to come.

Here’s to being super healthy, highly fuckable, and possibly winning that damn photo contest. Bring it on, Snatched.