Friday, April 29, 2005

A normal amount of normal...

Vanessa here...

Okay, I'm just addicted to these web quizzes now. Check this one out...





You Are 65% Normal

(Really Normal)









Otherwise known as the normal amount of normal
You're like most people most of the time
But you've got those quirks that make you endearing
You're unique, yes... but not frighteningly so!




I love it. I don't frighten people. And, I've got endearing quirks. Haaaa! My mother was right!

Double Vee

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Open your Golden Gate?

Vanessa here...

Okay...here's a fun quiz I took a little while ago on what American city I should live in...

American Cities That Best Fit You:

70% San Francisco
65% Washington, DC
60% Los Angeles
60% New York City
60% Philadelphia


http://www.blogthings.com/americancitiesbestfitquiz/

Interesting...San Francisco? That's wicked cool! I've always loved the idea of San Francisco...and have wanted to visit there. My company goes there for tradeshows...it would be cool if I got to travel there. It reminds me of Journey, the Bay City Rollers (yes, I remember them), Party of Five and Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City. And that time Emeril went there to cook across the bay. Mmm...could be an interesting move one of these days...

Got to get back to work. Those marketing leads don't generate themselves.

Double Vee

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Two girls, a Governor and a lot of traffic...

Vanessa here...

Man...I'm not a good blogger these days. Slacking off on my duties. It was just a ... long weekend. Things didn't exactly go smoothly with our plans and we had to adjust according to weather, attitudes and traffic. But that's usually the case whenever Griz and I try to do something.

We drove down to New York City, as you may remember, to go to the Tribeca Film Festival. Griz drove, which was a mistake 'cause the girl's got a lead foot. We were stopped by the local fuzz, of course, somewhere outside of New Haven, Connecticut. (Birthplace of W, so it was probably the Kerry for President sticker that got her.) She did, however, schmooze her way out of the ticket, putting on her Southern gushing simp. Works every time. Girlfriend was going 85...she should have gotten a ticket.

We had to stay out in Newark because the Hilton there was much cheaper than staying in Manhattan. Beside, the friends we have there were already booked for the weekend, so it would have been too crowded. We relied on New Jersey Transit to get us back and forth from Newark's Penn Station to NYC's station of the same name. Quick 20 minute ride into the city. And let me tell you what, their slogan should be "We Don't Fuck Around" because when they say the train will leave at 9:32, you can bet the farm that it will. Now that's efficiency. (Here that Boston's MBTA? You could take a lesson from this!)

Tribeca was a bit harried and crowded...not too organized. Sure, there were these people walking around everywhere with clipboards, walkie talkies and the "aren't I so important" headsets with the sour pusses on their face. God forbid if you tried to ask a question. I went up to this one guy and asked a question, then went back to ask something else and before I could say anything, he goes, "I've already answered you." Well...excuse me for living!

The rain started, but we did get tickets for a show called "Proud" about the only all African-American crewed WWII ship. Great movie, very emotional...true story, too! The real veterans from the ship were even there. Not even kidding. We saw Ally Hilfiger (Tommy's daughter), produced the movie, and the Governor of New York (let's talk about that comb-over, shallwe?!) was even there. The only movie-type person I caught a glipse of was Liev Schreiber when he was buying a film festival t-shirt.

Afterward the movie, we went for very large margaritas at this place called Chevy's and ended up at this table next to some jackass man would could not stop talking about himself. "When I was producing MY movie" and "I was talking with Bill Clinton the other day" and "I found it most refreshing to see my name up on the screen." AHHH!!!! By the end of my drink, I wanted to smack him into the middle of next week. People should not be allowed to start every sentence with "me" or "I." There are other pronouns, people!

The evening capped off with me and Griz at The Lounge @ Elmo for dinner, drinks and some kick ass music by DJ Adien that was simulcast on M1Live.com...only THE BEST online dance music that I listen to all of the time. Bookmark it now...it rocks!

Took six hours to get home because of traffic. It was like that scene in Independence Day when they know the aliens are attacking and everyone's trying to get out of town before everything explodes. Only we never figured out the backup. At the first rest station, cars dove off for McDonald's and gas (gas for the car, although I'm sure you'd get it from FatDonald's as well) and that alleviated the problem some. Boy...this is what we get for trying to get away for the weekend.

I got home to a message from Ethan The Bad Kisser. He wanted to go to dinner sometime...at a restaurant. I've had some friends tell me that I should give him a chance and teach him how to kiss. Others have told me to drop back five yards and punt. I'm still thinking about it. At least he's a live one on the hook...right? How bad can it be?

Must. Ponder. More.

Hang loose...

Double Vee

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Look Ma, I'm in the Globe!

Vanessa here...

Back from a long weekend in Manhattan (which I'll inform you of later), but just found out that my blog, The Adventures of Vanessa Virtue, was featured in the Boston Globe's online blog log. Whoooooooohooooooooo!!! I've coined a phrase for all Bostonians to use. LOL! Check it out!

More later...

Double Vee

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Bitching and whining and carping...ole!

Vanessa here...

I won't complain about work. I just won't do it. It pays the bills and keeps me off the street. But I do need a vacation. I need sunshine...the beach...water...cabana boys... I get these e-mail newsletters all the time from Frommers and Cheap Tickets.com, teasing me with promises of Mexican vacations, Caribbean delights and European adventures. Yet, every time I put in dates and times and such, it's like $3,000! I mean, honestly!

I do need a break though...especially after "the sloppy kisser."

Props and shout outs to all my chicas, amigas and homies who have e-mailed over "the bad kisser." You guys are so supportive and great. I have to say, Ethan called me following the pizza-making date and I had to tell him that I was really busy with work these days and couldn't really get into a relationship. WHY is this my luck? Why is it the guy is totally gorgeous but has this amazing flaw? And I don't think I'm being superficial...it was just...nasty. I can't imagine taking this further...I just can't.

I know...I'll regret this, right?

Ummm...change the subject...

Let's see...the world is a fucked up place...it's not just my life. Did you read this story about the monkeys who stole liquor made from marijuana and literally went (pun intended) ape shit fighting with villagers with sticks and stuff and sending people to the hospital? Not kidding! Then, there was the mayor of San Antonio who had his twin brother doing campaign appearances for him so he could do other appearances himself. And what's up with the new pope being in the Hitler Jugend when he was a teenager? Hello?! I mean, what is happening to this world? And I'm supposed to feel bad that I pass on a bad kisser? (See, it all comes back to that right now.)

I know...I'm going to go to hell...so I might as well have some fun.

Griz and I are packing up and driving down to New York after work tomorrow. We're going to check out some of the movies playing at the Tribeca Film Festival and then we're going to hit The Lounge @ Elmo Saturday night for DJ Adien. Then, we're meeting up with some college friends of hers from her Clemson days for brunch on Sunday. Hopefully, there will be some cute guys there. If not, it'll be nice to hang with my bud, Griz.

If anyone has any advice, feel free to let me know...I can use all the help I can get in this quest for Mr. Right. He's got to be out there...I know it!

Hang loose...

Double Vee

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

He cooks, he cleans, he...can't kiss...

Vanessa here...

Sorry I haven't reported in from my Saturday night date. Things have been hectic here at work and then there was the marathon yesterday and Boston is completely paralyzed. You can't get anywhere or do anything because there are people everywhere. I mean, it's just a bunch of skinny people running for fuck all...what's the big deal? I've never been one of those people to hang out at a bar in Cleveland Circle and cheer on the runners all day. I mean, I'd feel sort of guilty chowing down potato skins and Sam Adams when these healthy runners are out there killing themselves on Heartbreak Hill...really!

So, who cares about people running through the suburbs of Boston...you want to hear about the date, right? Well, it was very nice. No, no sex...but please, it was only the second date. And technically, not even, since he ditched me in the roller blading incident. In my mind, it was the "get to know me" date.

Ethan came over and I thought it was going to be to pick me up and take me to his place, but when I opened the door, he handed me over a bag of groceries from Stop 'n Shop. (Good thing Mia had plans with Larkin and was out for the evening.) I showed him back to my kitchen that Mia and I barely use (she's an intern at Mass General and only has time for roll ups on the go) and he makes camp. He brought all these makings for a pizza party. Dough, fresh mozzarella, basil, sauce, sausage, pepperoni, mushrooms. He also had salad makings, a tiramisu from the bakery. And he brought this gigomonic bottle of Yellotail Shiraz, which was way, wicked yummy.

We spread everything out on the counter and put all the toppings and stuff into little bowls so we could choose our ingrediants. Then, we made these individual pizzas and put them on the pizza stone that Mia had, but has never used. I made the salads and broke out the new bottle of Hidden Valley I had in the fridge. I never really got up the nerve to ask him why we didn't go to his place...and he didn't offer. Very strange. Maybe there was a breakdown in the communication. I assume, "I'll make dinner for you," means I go to his pad and he cooks to impress me. Good thing Mia had already cleaned up our shit hole of an apartment. She's been pulling some late nights at the hospital and has been living like a piggy with her Chinese food containers left in the dining room on top of all of her medical journals. I would have been mortified if Ethan had seen the place like that.

So, we get our pizzas together and go into the living room to dig in. I spread a sheet on the floor (one of Mia's new Ralph Lauren sheets...don't tell her!) and we had like this little Italian picnic on the floor with candles. I turned on the computer and cued up some music on Rhapsody.com...which was nice. We munched out on the salad and his yummy homemade pizzas.

In the course of the evening, I learned the following:

1. Ethan's from Vermont and used to milk cows as a kid
2. He works for Fidelity and wanted to talk me into opening an IRA (no hard sell, please!)
3. He went to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore for undergrad and Harvard for grad school (impressive, I must say)
4. His sister has three month old quadruplets (ouch!)
5. His parents have retired to Scottsdale so his father can play golf
6. He has a place on Nantucket that he rents in the summer
7. He's allergic to lobster...not shellfish...just lobster
8. He can peel and orange all in one strip
9. His eyes turn from blue to purple on rainy days (cool...wanna see that)
10. He once rode in an elevator in Toronto with Chris Rock and Al from Home Improvement
11. He ran the Boston Marathon in 2001, but said "no way, no how" ever again
12. He enjoys watching "America's Next Top Model" (who doesn't?!)
13. He does dishes
...
and...
14. He can't kiss for shit.

See...there HAD to be something wrong with him. Just had to be. Cute, fun, polite, he cooks, he cleans...he can't kiss. I mean, not just like 6th grade spin the bottle where you take any random smooch you can...but more like, just can't get it right. There was too much tongue action, then not enough, then it was like he was stabbing me with the damn thing. Then, when he started kissing my neck and my ear, I was a bit relieved and tried to relax into it, but then it was like I was bathed in saliva...ewwwww....gross!

We ended the evening on a friendly note and the peck on the cheek was nice, warm and appreciated. He even let me keep all of the leftover pizza makings and extra pies we'd made. He is a nice guy and I had a good time...but can I see myself married to that kind of a kisser? Hell no! Kissing is like the key to life...you kiss good morning, you kiss goodnight, you kiss hello from work...you kiss in the heat of the moment...it's an important function of life.

Maybe there's a class at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education for kissing? I mean, didn't some chick at some point in his life TELL him this? Why is this my luck? What's the problem? Are there no normal men out there?

I have no idea what to do with this. He wants to see me again. But I don't know. Am I totally shallow not wanting to date Forked Tongue Messy Man? If he's this sloppy kissing, imagine what sex would be like! Nasss-tay, baby! It was just...unpleasant, people...I'm not making it up.

Ah well...back to the drawing board...

At least there's some Yellowtails Shiraz left over...

Double Vee

Thursday, April 14, 2005

It's happy hour somewhere...

Vanessa here...

I know it's only Thursday, but this was the stupidest day in the history of all days...work wise. The VP of Sales and Marketing was a little bitch all day asking for this, that and the other thing and then asking for it again. He's the name for my pain. So, to anesthetize myself from the day's activities, Griz and I went out drinking after work. It's not every day when happy hour starts at 5:00 p.m. and ends at 7:00 p.m. with me practically crawling home from the Kendall Square station. I think a guardian angel escorted me home 'cause I don't remember getting here, but here I sit in my flannel pants and my Hard Rock t-shirt listening to the Music Choice Dance channel and staring at the computer.

I understand I need a job to make rent, pay those student loan payments and get groceries, but does that mean I'm someone else's whipping post? Does that mean I can't eat my measley salad in peace without being asked for Excel sheets or Word documents? There needs to be a Geneva Convention for workers. Something to protect us during those 10 minute breaks or half hour lunches. Anything to provide a barrier from the stupidity of a cube farm office and the maniacal little manager men of the world out to make my life hell.

Okay...so, I had too many glasses of Pinot Grigio at The Rack tonight. And the place was dead anyway...not like it is on the weekend full of the beautiful people trying to hook up and hang out. There was this one guy there playing pool by himself and he kept staring at me and Griz as we pounded back our drinks. I think he was a Bruins player...I mean, what else does he have to do since there's no hockey season? But I just wanted to drink. Drown the stupidity of my day in a good glass of wine and a big ole honkin' plate of nachos.

I'm not as ripped as you think I might be...okay, maybe a little. But at least I can still type. I can still form sentences and spell correctly. Maybe I should start drinking during the weekday to get through the idiocy of marketing plans, direct mail pieces and a vice president that smells of cheese.

I get home to Mia and Larkin (her boyfriend who *I* set her up with!) macking all over each other on the couch. Get a room -- Mia's room -- for heaven's sake. They're totally going to get married and have millions of babies...I just know it. And where will that leave me? I'll be that crazy old lady with the cats and stacks of DVDs and empty wine bottles all over her yard.

See, this is what happens when I drink too early in the night. I get all philosophical on your ass and morose and silly. There's no reason that I can't find someone myself. It happens to people every day...right? I need to get over myself and just focus on tomorrow. What does Scarlett say? "Tomorrow is another day." Yeah, sistah had that right.

Now, I'm just hungry. I could order a pizza. Mmm...a sporkie from Bertucci's would be good. Or maybe Chinese. Sweet and Sour chicken and some crab rangoons. Or maybe Indian...tandori chicken...mmm...I'm on food craving overload.

You've never seen me buzzed like this, eh? Well, soak it up 'cause I need to get over myself.

Okay, maybe I'll call Ethan Greene back. Oh yeah...he called me today at work and left a message. He wants to cook dinner for me on Saturday night to make up for the runaway roller blading date. This dude better cook like Jacques Pepin to get back in my good graces...but how can I turn down a man who wants to cook for me? I'll bring a bottle of wine...maybe some dessert...it could be a fun evening. And God knows, it's been forever since I've had a good grub match...I sure could go for that. Man...I need to watch what I'm saying here. You'll think I'm a) an alcoholic; b) desperate; c) a skanky ho; d) all of the above.

All right. I'll have a Diet Coke...order some dinner and then I'll call Ethan. In the least, Saturday should be veeeeeeeeeery interesting...

Hang loose...and go have a cocktail, it's happy hour for heaven's sake!

Double Vee

Monday, April 11, 2005

The date that rolled away...

Vanessa here...

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Things have been nuts, beans and crackers. Work has been kicking me in the rear-hiney, let me tell you what. I'm in charge of all of these marketing campaigns for our company and I'm known at work as The Spaminator because I do the direct e-mail marketing. I have to be really careful with the lists I get because of the whole permission marketing thing and not wanting to be intrusive on people's e-mail. And some dude in what...North Carolina just went to jail for being such an abusive spammer? Eeek! So, I don't exactly want to get fitted for an orange jump suit, if you know what I mean. I went to this class on the new government regulations and I have to use all of these lists and stuff of addresses NOT to send to when I'm using the direct e-mail online software. Let me tell you, it's a completely pain in the ass, but I have to do it 'cause like I'd be responsible or something...not just the company.

Annnnnnnnyway. I know no one cares about that. I've gotten e-mails entitled "Call Ethan!" Okay, already! I got the messages, people. (Thank you for taking such a keen interest in my life. :) So, I called him. Yes! I did it! I played all cute and coy and "remember me from the train" and such. He was really sweet and we agreed to meet up on Saturday and go roller blading. (He had company in this weekend from NYC and already had evening plans, so I was down with this.) Only problem...I really SUCK at roller blading. I mean, what was wrong with skates with four wheels? Why did they go out of vogue? Why make me try to balance like Michelle Kwan on this one set of rollers? And sorry...I don't go for the helmet and knee pads. That's just goofy. If you fall, just put your hands out so you don't land on your head. What kind of moron falls on their head? Besides...the helmet would smash my hair and that so wasn't going to happen on my date.

Ethan and I met on Soldier's Field Road at the park and got suited up in roller blade attire. You would have thought the guy was a professional....gloves, kneepads, elbow pads, helmet, special sunglasses, etc. Me...I just borrowed the roller blades from Griz (who's the same shoe size as me) and went with the flow. Ethan's all scolding me about head gear and protection and what have you, but I told him I'd just go slow and not fall down. (Yeah, right!) It started out fun and slow and we were chatting about stuff (he's a wine connoisseur and a closet chef and promised to cook dinner for me one night -- nice...second date!), but I could tell he wanted to hit the NOS button on his blades and really get going. I told him to go on ahead and I'd keep up with him. Next thing I knew, I'm buzzing along the Charles with Harvard University on the other side of the water, having a good old time (I watch the ground as I skate) and next thing I know, Ethan's nowhere to be found. Sure, there were tons of people on bikes and skates or just running, but I didn't see the tight black bike shorts with the red Red Sox shirt. (Well, I did see tons of Red Sox shirts...it's Boston...hello!) He left me? I mean, this is supposed to be a date! And I'm like two miles from my car at the park.

So, I stopped and sat on the grass for a little bit (it was a gorgeous day, so I was basking in the lovely sunshine) and a little bit turned to an hour. An HOUR! When my ass started tingling from being asleep sitting on the ground (when everyone around me was paired up, running with friends or dates or skating two-by-two), I got up and skated back in the other direction...back to the car. I figured I'd give the guy a little more time and then I'd just leave a note or something and go home. Dates are more conducive to fun when there are TWO people involved.

I skated back (fell twice - UGH!) to the park and took off my blades. I waited another half hour for Ethan and then gave up. What a jerk! He was only supposed to skate ahead a little bit from me...keep me in eye sight. I mean, if he'd wanted to really exercise or workout or something, why did he invite me along? This was supposed to be the "get to know me" date that would lead to something else. Very strange.

I got out my notebook, wrote him a polite (believe me, it took some restraint not to say "thanks for leaving me for almost two hours, you jerk!" to him), but I said it was great meeting him, sorry we got separated (why am I always taking the blame for things?) and hope he had fun with his NYC friends. I left the note secured in his windshield wiper so he'd get it.

I went out with Mia and Griz Saturday night (wayyy too many apple martinis!) and then Sunday mid-afternoon, I get this call from Ethan apologizing up one side and down the other about how sorry he was that he'd gone off. Apparently, he'd met up with this guy from work (one he's really competitive with) and they ended up like having this mini-race all the way up to the sail loft in Boston (a realllllllly far way up Storrow Drive.) By the time he got there and they were all high-fiving and praising each other for the "good run," Ethan remembered he was with me and felt like a huge ass. Ah well...at least he admitted it. He's going to make it up to me by cooking me dinner next weekend. That'll be nice.

So, a typical Vanessa date, but this one has a little more potential on the back end. A homecooked meal by a little hottie. I can go for that. I'll be sure to keep you posted. Don't worry...I'm sure I'll have more to say before Friday.

Hang loose...

Double Vee

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Taking the bullshit by the horns...

Vanessa here...

What is it with men who can't get the hint?

Now, I'm no Uma Thurman in "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" where strange men do wheelies on bikes in the middle of the street to get my attention. In fact, I seem to attract the oddest men to me...and Saturday night was no exception.

My friend Griz and I went out to see a movie and then were stopping by this hotel in the burbs where a friend of hers from college (Julie) was attending conference. We're sitting there in the hotel bar with her having a nice Chardonnay and discussing life's issues (and trying to ignore the Pope Watch on the TV bar) when all of a sudden, this guy comes up and asks if he can ask us a few questions. (Okay...novel approach.) He wasn't cute, nor was he ugly...he just was, although he was wearing baggy jeans, a sweatshirt and had about three earrings in his left ear.

He basically asks..."What do women want?"

Was he serious?

He started quoting the movie As Good As It Gets (a stellar film, IMO) and the scene where Melvin Udall is at his publishers and the receptionist intercepts him to ask how he can write women so well. Melvin's response: "I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability."

Now, is this the way to score with three women?

Thing is, Griz's friend Julie is a Ph.D. in English and has no hesitation facing anyone down when she knows she's right. So, we have this debate with this guy about women vs. men and he's all trying to pull The Sensitive Male act on us, saying he's only asking us these questions so he can properly understand women more.

Then he's all like, "yeah, but don't women really want the man to take care of them and protect them so they don't have to." He was met with a resounding chorus of "no." I mean, sure, if you're in a dire situation and need rescusing and are unable to rescue yourself, then sure...it's great if there's someone who cares for you who'll step up to the plate and come to your aid. But is it necessary and needed? No...not always. We're women of a new century. We have jobs...apartments...responsibilities. We're not the wilting little flowers who need the big, strong man for protection. That's like so...1950's of him! For this guy to make that assumption about all women, well it was just wrong.

Then, he had the nerve to say that it was easy to pick up women in hotel bars because they were usually needy and wanting and looking for some action while they were away from home. This was when we thanked The Sensitive Man for his time and vamoosed. What. A Jerk. We walked Julie up to her room and then Griz and I got a cab home. TSM was still hanging around in the hotel lobby when we left...best to make tracks from that. He should have to wear a sign around him that reads "Beware of Predator with Bad Pick Up Lines."

On the cab ride to my apartment, I couldn't help by wonder why that was the kind of man who would talk to me and why hadn't I heard from Ethan Greene...the cutie pie from the train who helped me when I was in my stuck backpack situation. Perhaps the run-in with The Sensitive Guy was a lesson I needed in aggressiveness. So what that Ethan hadn't called me? I'll just call him. Maybe sometime this week. I'll take the lead. I'll show that I don't need a man to be the aggressor. Women are empowered these days...so I'll go after what I want. Hmmm...maybe I did learn something from The Sensitive Man?

Note to any men reading this blog: having an act really doesn't work. Just be honest and be yourself.

Maybe I'll get up my nerve and call Ethan after the weekly sales and marketing meeting. Be bold, Vanessa! I can do it!

I'll keep you posted.

Double Vee

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