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Mating Sign Language

8 Jan

Men, I’m about to clue you in on a little secret about women: we have a secret sign language that allows us to communicate with one another – right in front of you. This “mating sign language” (MSL) is something commonly used. Let me make it clear that we don’t all use the same signs. This isn’t like American Sign Language where you can learn the signs and then speak with anyone else that knows it. MSL is constantly evolving and redefined by each group of women that uses it.

Let me give you an example. Last year, I went to a huge party (which was somewhat in my honor, but that’s another story). Muffy and I were in the car on the way to the party, and we had this conversation:

  • Me: I’m so excited to go out and meet some hot new men tonight!
  • Muffy: Me too! It should be a blast, or else it’ll be Loser Fest 2008.
  • Me: Ach, you’re right. It might end up being 300 girls and 8 guys.
  • Muffy: What’s our sign going to be if we meet someone and want to talk to him alone?
  • Me: How about we rub our right elbow if we want some alone time? That will mean, “If you don’t go away, I will elbow you in the gut!”
  • Muffy: Perfect! And if you want me to save you, just rub your left wrist. That will mean, “This conversation makes me want to slit my wrists.”
  • Me: Agreed!

No more, “Don’t you need to get another drink by yourself,” or, “isn’t that your friend ringing?” The simple agreed upon sign is enough to notify your friend that she best be on her merry way before she ruins everything. It’s much more subtle to rub your wrist, which could mean anything, than be caught rolling your eyes at someone that’s trying to unsuccessfully flirt with you. The established MSL also ensures that your friends are reading your signs correctly, and that you don’t have to play charades to try to get them to leave you alone with the hotty that you want to take home with you.

Assuming that your friends are reading your signs without agreeing on them ahead of time can be a fatal mistake. When I go out with Claude (who is gay and is therefore automatically included in discussions of MSL), I might play with my necklace to signify that if he doesn’t come and help me, I will strangle myself with my own jewelry.

One night when he went out with another girlfriend of his, he saw her fiddling with her necklace. Assuming that she was on the verge of hurting herself to end what was a torturous conversation, he immediately ran over and dragged her away. She was livid as she had been having a wonderful time with a potential mate. When he explained that he had seen the “save me or I’ll strangle myself” sign, she tore into him as that wasn’t what she meant at all. Rather than saving her from one of the world’s biggest losers, he ended up cock blocking her. Agreeing upon MSL before going out is critical as we may use different signs with different friends.

Unfortunately, gentlemen, I can’t tell you what all the signs mean as we make them up as we go. What I can tell you, is that the next time that you see that girl you’re talking to rub her wrist/elbow/neck, tug at her earring, or put her hair in a ponytail she could be signaling her friend to get lost. Then again, she might be telling you to get lost…

Making Bad Decisions for a Good Cause

25 Oct

You remember that time last year when I happened to find myself making out with a giant tool (Mr. Yellow Mustang) in his Tang colored Mustang?  Yeah, that was so “magical”. 

It just so happens that today Lola, Muffy, and I are volunteering at the same event where we met last year.   My guess is that he will be there as he’s best friends with the event planner.  Lola has met him before, but Muffy has not.  For reasons unknown to me (thanks 3D for giving us some new phrases that we’ll all start using), I believe that Muffy and Lola will take any chance they get to mock me.  No, really, I can’t wait…

Oh!  And it’s kind of rainy here which will mean that my freshly cut hair will turn into a rat’s nest.  So sweet.  My hair has this way of looking like I’ve recently put my finger in an electrical socket-it’s a gift, really.  If I’m lucky, maybe there will be tons of drunk sailors there who have no interest in me what so ever.  That would be the best in the world.  No, really.

I’m Chuck Bass

9 Sep

Muffy and Lola, this one’s for you.

Thighs & Lows

21 Jul

Oh God, the horror.  THE HORROR!!  White, dimpled thighs sticking out of the bottom of a swimsuit which is straining to conceal what’s inside.  The sun bounces of the pastier-than-white thighs to blind everyone within a 2 mile radius.  Corneas are burned-it’s like staring straight into the sun.  People will actually go blind.  If they’re the “lucky” few who have chosen to wear sunglasses, they will retain their eyesight.  But the horrors of dimpled thighs will haunt them for a lifetime.  No one wants to see that.  No.  One. 

It’s swimsuit season and you all know what that means: women all over the world are trying to find the swimsuit that hides all their flaws and makes them look cute AND feel good about themselves.  This is just as easy as proving the existence of the Loch Ness Monster or finding Atlantis.  Every year as the season approaches anxiety builds, and we know that we’ll have to squeeze ourselves into bathing suits in dressing rooms with lighting that shows off every single wobbly bit that makes us want to die a thousand deaths.

Finally, we find one that is tolerable.  Essentially this means that we think that people may not laugh too much when the see us in it.  Sure, it’ll still require that we take a Valium to wear it out in public, but it could be worse (or so we try to convince ourselves).  Then it’s a matter of putting it on and going in public without wanting to die or cause permanent damage to those that directly look at our whiter-than-white-cottage-cheese thighs.  Yet this is exactly what the people will be exposed to when I don my swimsuit to sit poolside with Muffy-my pasty, dimpled thighs.

I can suck it up.  I can mentally prepare myself to don the suit and pretend that my legs are smooth and that there’s no such thing as cellulite.  I can do it.  As traumatic as swimsuit season tends to be, I am far more comfortable humiliating myself in public when I’m with my girlfriends.  All I need to do is manage to get from the chair into the water, and then back out again.  That’s it.  The rest of the time I can cover myself under the guise that I’m protecting myself from the sun or am cold from coming out of the pool.

The really stressful part comes when I know that I’m going to have to wear the suit in front of males or people that I’m not comfortable with.  You can imagine my panic this morning when 3D asked me if I wanted to go tubing with his friends.  Oh God.  Please.  Not that.  Anything but that.  There will be tears-both mine and theirs.  I’m going to have to wedge my fat white butt into an inner tube and that’s just going to make my thighs look even bigger than they really are.  Will the dimples get bigger too? 

My heart is beating so fast from the thought of having to lose 40 pounds in 2 weeks.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull that off.

So Busy & Important

1 Jul

I have returned from vacation!!  The picc line is gone, I’m still not at work, I have about 60 comments to respond to, and I haven’t caught up on anyone’s postings. 

God, I’m totally beat.  Let met tell you about how thrilling my day has been:  I woke up at 7:00 to let the Cujo out, then went back to bed until 11:00 (3D and I were up late “talking”).  Spent 20 minutes cleaning his shower and bathroom sink.  Unloaded the dishwasher.  Took a shower.  Then I played on the computer.  All of this is making me tired and I’m considering going back to bed for another 2 hours.  Or maybe I’m tired because I haven’t had anything to eat since 9:00 last night.  Who knows.  What I do know is that being off of work is exhausting!

Next Monday I go back to work-no more life of leisure for me.  The prospect of getting up at 6:30 in the morning and being trapped in my cubicle or attending boring meetings doesn’t really appeal to me.  What I am looking forward to is seeing my friends, having more time to post (that’s all for you, kids), and feeling like I’m actually productive.  I could totally get used to this whole not working thing, though I’d have to have more to do than run errands and do chores.  Chores and I, we don’t mix.

The other thing I’m looking forward to is my social life picking back up again.  That whole being-in-the-hospital-and-practically-dying really puts a damper on the social life.  Kind of hard to go out and get your boozy suzy on when you’re too tired, on antibiotics, and sporting a stupid picc line.  Last week on vacation, though, I did enjoy a little bit of booze.  Then on Sunday night, to celebrate the removal of the picc line, 3D and I drank an entire bottle of Prosecco.  Is that wrong.

Tonight is going to be a very special night which really does signify the return of girl dates!  I get to see Muffy and Lola tonight AND I’m going to have a cocktail with them!  Woo hoo!!  Then I’m coming home and getting some. 

What could be better than that?

No Sharing

6 Jun

It’s possible that this may come as a shock to you, but I’m a total diva.  As a matter of fact, Muffy and I like to bask in our diva-ness.  One lovely Saturday, we were enjoying brunch at one of our favorite spots.  Muffy’s mom joined us for a latte and we were enjoying one of the first weekends of the year.  Muffy made an observation: she looked at the chair that was holding all our handbags (because we divas do not put our handbags on the floor) and said, “There’s over a $1000 worth of handbags on that chair.”  It was true.  What made the situation even more fantastic is that we were all dropping off mink coats for summer storage right after brunch.  Divas, I tell you.

When I travel, I do it in style.  I do not backpack, I do not stay in hostels, nor do I book at the Holiday Inn.  The accomodations have to be at least 3 stars, and that’s freaking stretching it-I’m used to being spoiled by hotel staff.  And mama likes the room service.  You can imagine my chagrin when I was admitted to the hospital and wheeled into my room.  I nearly had a freaking heart attack when I realized they wanted me to share a room.  What??  Are you kidding me??  Me?  Share a room?  I don’t think so.

On the other side of the curtain was an older woman who was hacking up one of her lungs.  She’d have a terrible coughing fit, and then pass out and snore for an extended period of time.  No.  I was not going to share.  So there I am, dying from blood poisoning, and I’m demanding my own room.  I sent my mother to go and talk to the nurse to see what it was going to take to get my own room.  My mother thought my request was ridiculous.  I could overhear the conversation with the nurse as they were in the doorway of the room.  The nurse asked my mother why I wanted my own room, and my mom (being so supportive and helpful) responded, “Because she’s picky.”  Way to plea my case.  The nurse came in to talk to me and I gave her a whole song and dance about how I was a really light sleeper and blah, blah, blah.

Right around this time Lady Hacker on the other side of the curtain buzzed the nurse.  The nurse excused herself for a moment and went to the other side of the curtain.  Lady Hacker needed to use the bathroom.  No problem, they just wheeled her little commode over.  “Oh God,” I thought to myself.  “Please, please, God, please don’t let me hear her have to poop.  Only #1.  Only #1.”  I could hear her position herself on the commode, as she was literally less than 2 feet from me.  And then she started peeing, and it was like the happiest moment of her life because she kept saying, “Ahhhh.”  Who taught that woman manners??

My mom and I just exchanged looks and then she said, “Don’t worry.  You’ll get your own room.”

Two hours later Lady Hacker and I parted ways and I was taken to my own room.  Sure the air conditioning leaked all over the floor, I had to request more soap for the bathroom 8 times (it took them 12 hours to fix it), and the sink drained slowly, but at least it was mine.  I totally thought the nurse had come through for me and just pulled some strings.  Not so much.  I was so sick that I was in one of the isolation rooms.  Everyone that came in had to wear gowns and gloves.  It was hot.

No Soup For You

27 May

There’s nothing like scalding your sore throat with hot soup on a warm spring day.  Seriously, I’m surprised that my throat isn’t bleeding just about now.  It fucking hurts.  A lot.

I’m starving to death now.  I haven’t eaten anything aside from a Popsicle and some sherbert.  Everyone always says that soup is good for you and you should pretty much attack an IV of soup into your arm when you have the flu.  Why I listen to these people, I do not know.

I’m still freaking hungry and my throat is nearly so closed up that I can barely breathe.  And I’m missing a good time with Muffy and Lola at the Duran Duran concert.  Boo!

Oh how I love being ill!