Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating

“You’re a blushing school girl. Or a blithering idiot. One of the two.” (one of my brilliant friend’s quote).

I vote blithering idiot.

While walking home with a friend, last night, a very handsome, very tall, very square-jawed guy with piercing blue eyes, walks out of the bar and walks past us, checking his phone messages.

Our conversation, taking its obvious and natural course, turns into how I plan on spending the weekend making barbecue. I mean, what else would two girls in high-heels be talking about at 2 o’clock in the morning?

Square-Jaw, for some reason only God in heaven knows, has turned around, and is now standing behind me, listening to this INSANITY. Listening to me yammer on about GRILLING and PORK. And then turns to me, in an attempt to start a normal, human-on-human conversation, and says, “You grill?“

Clearly incapable of having a homosapien-like conversation, I respond, “Yeah, I guess, if I need to. Sometimes. I mean….uh, yeah. I guess. Uh, yeah.“

Square Jaw, somewhat taken aback, but still hopeful of finding intelligent life in his way home, tries again, “I hear guys talk about that stuff all the time, but never a girl.“

As I start blushing furiously FURIOUSLY (like my head is about to explode off my neck) I respond, “Um, yeah. Grilling, I uh…sure. Barbecue. ” And take a right turn in my way home.

THIS, folks, is why I deserve to be single.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

.

They say it’s a woman’s job to prove men wrong. But I’m afraid I have failed. I can not spend less than an hour in the bathroom getting ready. It doesn’t matter that I have to be somewhere in 10 minutes, I don’t care that you’re dressed ready, the taxi outside horn blaring doesn’t seem to get my attention…if my hair doesn’t look perfect, I am not going out!

So I feel like I should appologize to all men on behalf of all women who spend half of their lifes (and a quarter of their men’s life) in front of the mirror. We do not intend to start getting ready 3 hours before you and actually finish 2 hours after you’re ready. It just happens. Yes, every time. Or, as you often express it… “every fucking time!!!”.

And yes, when we’re finally ready and we arrive at that club, we do have to go straight to the ladies room to fix those finishing touches. No, we have no idea why it takes so long and no, we don’t mind if you trick us, by telling us the start times for things are an hour earlier than they really are. However, it will never work, fate is a strange thing.

My aura is angry-cherry-red today

So today is the 8th of March. All day long. Until the clock strikes 12. Which means I still have time to be congratulated by normal people, unlike my mother. Who has evil powers. I mean, all mothers have evil powers, but my mom takes the cake. And her scariest evil power is the ability to know when I’m dating someone. And now I’m not. Which is ALSO a problem for her.

Because, apparently by now, I was supposed to have a serious relationship. Which should become an engagement at the age of 23. And a marriage by the time I turn 24. And my mother’s evil plan ends with me providing her grandchildren by the time I turn 26. And for that plan to work and her grandchildren to be cute AND smart, the future father has to fit a very strict profile.

The first “must be”, which should be answered in the affirmative before I can pass go and collect the $200: Is he Romanian? (’cause what good providing grandchildren if he gets them out of the country anyway?). Check.

I can then move to:

Educated. Check.

-if he uses the causative correctly and knows how to use the fish tableware: secret bonus check

Doctor or lawyer. Check

- medical or law student: possible future check once they pass the boards or the bar.

Engineer, police officer or future priest: half a check.

Writer, artist, or teacher: you lose a previously awarded check.

-writer with published books, artist with paintings in galleries, college teacher who happens to be under 30: check reinstated.

Comes from a good family. Check.

-comes from a ridiculously wealthy family: secret bonus check-check.

Is a good boy (translation - you’ll be having sex in the missionary position for the rest of your life…May God have mercy on you). Check.

Usually, my mom doesn’t understand why I don’t just get along, fall madly in love and get married with a guy that goes through this interview process (a.k.a. dating) and gets all the checks and bonus cheks.

You would think that now that I finally decided not to date men who don’t fit my mom’s profile, she will be happy. But she’s not. She called to say “Happy woman’s day and don’t you dare be alone today, get a men, damnit, or I swear this time I WILL disinherit you!”.

Things That Annoy the Living Fuck Out of Me

1. Sa fiu obligata sa-mi umplu portofelul de bonuri si maruntis (sau chiar mai rau, de “gumitze”) cand primesc rest.

2. Oamenii care aud o expresie noua care li se pare “cool” si incearca sa o incadreze in orice conversatie.

3. Oamenii care imi dau sfaturi nesolicitate-umm…mersi pentru analiza psihologica gratuita, dar incearca sa traiesti in capul meu 5 minute, IT’S MORE COMPLICATED THAN THAT!

4. Cand am ceva intre dinti si nimeni nu se oboseste sa-mi spuna.

5. People who complain but never ever ever ever do anything about it.

6. Paris Hilton.

7. Oamenii care se iau prea in serios.

8. Oamenii care repeta aceeasi rutina autodistructiva over and over again, dupa care se intreaba de ce le merge totul atat de prost.

9. Majoritatea profesorilor.

10. Ca premierul Romaniei nu foloseste corect acuzativul.

11. Francezii.

12. Cand baza tocurilor mele se toceste si ajung sa faca un sunet metalic in timp ce eu incerc sa fiu sexi.

13. Ca am un calculator care mi se strica doar atunci cand am cea mai mare nevoie de el.

14. Sa intreb “De ce?” si sa mi se raspunda “Ca asa am hotarat eu si nu ai ce face in privinta asta”.

15. Si desigur, sa merg la sala si sa dau peste “fostul”.

I’m a bomb, can you hear me tick?

Bad news, a inceput sesiunea, adica perioada in care imi dau seama ca facultatea e pe bune si ca trebuie sa fac repede ceva, ca sa trec examenele. So, am cam intrat in priza, no more clubbing, no more shopping, no more flirting, no more FUN.

Judecand dupa experienta sesiunilor trecute, pot spune ca in perioada asta sunt o bomba alimentata cu cafea si redbull. De obicei explodez inainte ca sesiunea sa se fi terminat, cam cu 4-5 zile inainte de ultimul examen, deci feriti-va din calea mea, sunt un tiny little Achmed terrorist, gata sa fac victime in viitorul apropiat.