Airing it Out

On the years when I am good Santa (cleverly disguised as my mother) brings me new underwear. If, like this past year, I’m super good and Santa is able to make the four hour journey to the mall I get a box filled with new extreme low rise panties from Victoria’s Secret because these are the only underwear on the planet that are cute and fun and comfy and do not stick out over the top of my pants most of which sit casually on my hips because the world does not make pants that fit both my hips and my waist at the same time. When I opened this gift a couple of weeks ago I pulled out a bevy of boyshorts in blue and pink and gray and one pair in red tartan with “take my photo” scrawled in cursive across the butt. Always a fan of ass graffiti I was thrilled that Mama Clause had finally seen the message baring potential of my rear end. Sadly when I offered kudos for this huge fashion leap she demurred, claiming that Papa Clause had rushed her out of the store and had she seen that “ridiculous” message there is no way she’d have ever purchased the underwear. I think it’s sad that mom has yet to embrace her inner J-Lo.

The cruel trick of owning cute underwear is that unlike the smart gray sweater I also got for Christmas or the sexy gold shoes I bought in September or the awesome “Math: Get Sum!” button that my friend Joe gave me last spring I rarely get to show it off due to a distinct lack of pantsless opportunities in my life. This is especially disappointing when the panties in question use my behind as a billboard. A billboard with no one to read it is a sad and lonely piece of marketing. But luckily, on Saturday my personal mobile messaging system was given an opportunity to communicate with the outside world thanks to Improv Everywhere’s No Pants 2K8.

No Pants Day has been taking place on the New York City subway every January for the past 7 years but this was my ass’s first time to get out and mingle. Not content to mingle alone we roped Kajal and the pooper (aka her fetus who is so far having a no pants life) into attending with us. 900 other people (most of whom you’ll be shocked to hear were far far geekier than Kajal and I) joined us so in addition to our cute boyshorts the subway was packed full of boxers, bikinis and tighty whities.

The plan was for us to break into groups of 25 or so and spread out over the train cars. Once we boarded the subway people would begin taking off their pants in even smaller groups (starting with one guy at the first stop), get off the subway and wait for the next train. My nerves kicked in as soon as the doors closed on the stop before we were set to bare our asses especially since Kajal and I were the first girls in our car to stand and drop trow. No Pants day was a bit of a sausage fest and Kajal and I had speculated while waiting to board the train that this was because boxers were much less revealing than women’s panties but as I sat on the subway with a depantsed man standing in front of me I quickly realized that going pantsless with penis was much more dangerous than standing around in my underwear. I am thankful to not have to worry about any of my bits falling out. I couldn’t chicken out now so off the pants came and frankly, once you get them off, the rest is easy.

As Kajal and I waited on the platform for the next train she pulled out her lotion and began applying it to her eczema. I cannot articulate how hot it is to see a pantsless pregnant lady applying cream to her dry skin. I had to fight the men off in order to preserve her marriage. The pooper and his daddy better thank me for keeping their family intact.

A couple of observations on the state of underwear in America:

1. There were a number of girls trying to rock boxers which was obviously some serious cheating and also not anywhere near as cute as my boyshorts and knee highs combo. Knee highs were surprisingly popular for the women in attendance -- one assumes that, like me, the other girls still like to save their ankles for their husband’s eyes only. Who says we live in an amoral society?
2. If the boxer clad men I spied are any indication of status quo then the boys I date have super good taste in underwear. Today I saw way too many cartoon character themed pairs of boxers. SpongeBob on your junk or Oscar the Grouch on your ass is not hot. I also saw an entire group of boys who had chosen to pull their boxers up into an impromptu thong-like contraption that frankly may have burnt my eyes out of my skull.

It is somewhat shocking how boring sitting on the subway in your underwear can be, especially when there is little to no reaction to your half naked booty. I know New Yorkers are jaded and nonplused but I think I witnessed a new plane of blasé. After 2 stops of pantless mass transit a father and his 10 year old son boarded the train which caused me to internally start freaking out about the possibility that the father might be seriously upset that his child was seeing me in all my naked thighed glory. I need not have worried. The ten year old didn’t even comment on the almost nudity around him! I assure you that if, at 10, I had so much as glimpsed panties in public I would still be talking about it today. But I grew up in the backwoods where people still pretend clothing is not in any way removable.

Our sojourn took us via the 6 train from City Hall up to 96^th street and back down to Union Square. We were instructed to pretend that we didn’t know any of the other pantsless freaks and if approached make crazy claims like, “Yeah, I forgot my pants, it’s a little cold” but short of a few catcalls no one talked to me(except for Kajal who I can’t just sit next to and not chat with, be realistic.). I believe there was some no pants after partying in Union Square but by then Kajal was both starving (having not eaten in over 20 minutes which I believe is the longest she can go without throwing sustenance at the parasite) and suffering from the effects of having a fetus kick her bladder for 2 hours. So we had our own post party at Veselka where the other patrons (whether they knew it or not) were disappointed that the two girl at the back table chose to wear pants to dinner.

Spreading the Geekiness this Holiday Season

Typically any walk I take with my father starts with a series of lies. The first is when he calls it a walk when in fact the proper term is hike or trek or, most accurately, death march. The walk is always “short” and has “hardly any uphill” and “will defiantly not make your legs fall off.” On the few occasions when I have pointed out that he lies about hikes and that I would rather spend my afternoon lounging in the sun with a book and a glass of spiked lemonade and (ideally) a laptop while someone paints my toenails and tells me how pretty I am dad has immediately turned to guilt. “Oh, right, you’re lazy. And you hate nature. And you want to be fat. And you don’t love me. Or the dog.” And then I’m hiking. On the trail (you know, assuming we’re not off-roading on our hike which is incredibly optimistic) the lies continue. “We’re almost there!” “This is hardly steep at all!” “It just seems like a long walk because you’re young, time is relative!”

So it should be seen as a testament to the holiday spirit and family togetherness and possibly my own fleeting sanity that on Monday I offered to go on a walk with my dad. Of course this was no ordinary walk. There was treasure to be had! Dad bought himself a GPS last spring when he found out that his friend Tyson had a gadget that he didn’t yet own and was forced to fork over $300 or be deemed totally uncool. Since then he has used the GPS to dress up jeans and tshirt for evening and as a mighty pretty dashboard decoration for his truck. I think he might have also carried it around in the woods a few times but the way I see it this is all months of wasted time that he could have spent geocaching! The fastest way to turn me from “lump” to “hiking aficionado” is to coat the trail with a thick layer of geekiness. What was once a walk is now an adventure. Trek? Now a scavenger hunt. Nature? Now realistic simulated arena for a battle of wits. Bring it on.

For our first foray into high tech geeky hiking Dad and I took on this challenge -- mostly because Dad knew the area and we thought that would make things easier. And it probably would have been easy – easy and boring. Don’t worry, I took care of that. One of the ways to make geocaching more challenging is to totally not read the GPS correctly. There are lots of ways to do this but I choose to turn on the “pan map” function which allows you to point at a location on the map and get that location’s coordinates and then accidentally start going towards this random point instead of the place where the geocache was placed. Because of this we ended up climbing an extra hill for no reason! I’m sure my dad enjoyed this mostly because the only things he loves more than watching me trudge up a sandy hill is forcing people to eat animal flesh of questionable nature (hey, have you ever had newt? Sure you have, I baked it into your dinner!”) and driving me crazy by implying that he totally loves George W Bush. Because of the holiday and because the extra hill was all my fault I suppressed my natural tendency to follow hill climbing with a heavy dose of whining. Merry Christmas Dad.

We finally righted ourselves and climbed back down the hill (Dad didn’t even mock me, which I considered his greatest gift to me.) and found the correct spot and began turning over rocks and glancing under bushes and eventually bemoaning the possibility that maybe the cache got stolen and we were screwed. But eventually I saw a beam of sunlight glint across a bush and thought “hey, bushes aren’t made of metal!” and low and behold like the star of Bethlehem the ammo case of treasure was revealed to me. The treasure inside might not save me from my sins (especially since it contained an unscratched lotto ticket and I think gambling is not so cool with the savior) but it did make my Christmas. Geocaching rules dictate that you take one prize and leave another we took a matchbox car (which we gave to a friend’s two year old.) and left a Christmas bow which, in retrospect makes us incredibly lame. See, when leaving the house we thought, “it’ll be cute, a bow because we found the cache on Christmas!” but now that I’m thinking more clearly (my mind finally out of the cookie/candy/pie induced coma) I realized that a bow is the lamest prize ever. Probably people in the hip geocaching community will now shun my dad and I. Probably “yeah he left a bow” will be the hip new way to say “What a loser.” Probably the next cache we find will contain a little note saying that if we so much as consider “bow-ing” this cache a stealth agent will be dispatched to take away our GPS forever. Probably our nerd credentials will be revoked.

Bring on the Crazy!

You know what I hate? Fruit cream filled chocolates hiding in a box that I thought was all caramels, shaving my knees and having to climb out my bedroom window and down the fire escape to take out the trash. But more than all of that I hate dating. I find the whole act painfully tiring ("oh you mean I have to be cute *again*?!?! Wasn't I cute just yesterday?") and trying to attract men and get them into a tizzy over buying me drinks seems like a poor investment of my time (especially in light of my track record). But this doesn't mean that I don't want to make googly eyes at a brooding stranger while drinking glass after glass of wine. I just don't want to put energy into getting to the boy and the bar and the glass.

On Thursday night I did the best thing ever. I went on a Crazy Blind Date. Every single person on in major urban areas should be doing this constantly. Especially if you are too lazy to bother with finding and scheduling your own dates.

Crazy Blind Date is an off shoot of the Okcupid online dating site and it is the best idea to hit the internet since Urban Fetch (RIP). The web site matches up singles and schedules blind mystery dates. I was super excited to receive the announcement about the launch not just because it seemed like someone was finally automating a severely broken system but because it felt like mid NaBloPoMo someone was handing me a blog post on a silver platter. A random date with a potentially crazy dude set up by a web site? How could this not be hilarious and/or tragic? Thank you God.

Like all examples of good design in 2007 the date started not with me having to interact with a human (that's so 1993) but with filling out a form online – I was a fan from the get go. I specified time and age range and choose not to specify a height requirement because I am not a crazy bitch. My god women are freaky about height! This is a “date” with a random guy that you do not know, you can’t possibly expect this to result in a crazy love match and you’re *still* concerned about inches (dirty.)? “Yo girl, I’m fine going out with some stupid potentially crazy stranger but he damn well better be tall!” I hate when my gender embarrasses me.

I was also asked the following questions

What is your ideal scenario for this date?

You’re funny. You’re cute. We suffer a minor tragedy and overcome it together thus providing the ideal story arc for the blog post that I’ll be writing about this date.

What do you look like?

I’m really cute. On the off chance that there is more than one cute girl at the bar I’ll be the blond carrying a laptop bag with a big red poppy on it.

What are you good at talking about?

video games, food, pop culture, indie pop bands

The web site also has a cool little widget that allows you to specify neighborhoods that you’re willing to go on dates in. Because I am incredibly lazy when it comes to dating, blogging AND walking I limited my selections to neighborhoods that I already had to pass through on my way home from work.

Oh and they let you choose a coffee date or a bar date. But would it really be a Crazy Blind Date without booze?

I have not been this excited about an event since the rodeo came to Madison Square Garden. I spent all of Wednesday and Thursday telling everyone I talked to about my crazy blind date plans. “Guys! I either go on a hilariously bad date OR I end up locked in some psychopath’s basement! Either way the blog is getting super famous!” By Thursday evening all of my friends and coworkers were wishing they were single and I had mapped out at least 3 new best case date scenarios

1. Guy is super into Dianetics. Tries to convert me to Scientology. Calls Tom Cruise who offers to set me up with any one of line up of gay Hollywood actors if I agree to having Xenu’s second baby. I duck into the bathroom to prep for my auditing and sneak out the window
2. Guy has uncontrollable fear of the color red, runs screaming from the room when I order a glass of pinot noir.
3. Guy brings his wife and girlfriend with him on date. We hit it off and spend the end of the date trying on matching dresses at Anthropologie.
   

This was going to be AWESOME.

The fun began Thursday morning when I received an email notification that the web site had found a match for my date! I logged on was able to review Dan’s profile and his heavily pixilated picture – I hardly bothered to review his basics before agreeing to an 8:30pm date at the west village's Bar 6. Thirty minutes before the date was set to begin I received a code to text message Dan – all text messages were forwarded through an intermediary to prevent me from stalking my date just in case I happen to be crazier than he bargained for.

What are the chances that the guy I get set up with is compos mentis? The only proof I need that God is fucking with me is that when I’m hoping for a tragic failing of the entire dating system I get handed a big scoop of normal. My date, Dan, was not crazy NOR blind! The dude was good enough, smart enough and probably liked by people all over the place. His only failing was that he totally cheated on the mystery date by reading half of my blog before our date started (Dan, if you're out there say hi in the comments!), the fact that he choose to show up anyway might actually be the one sign that he was in fact a little crazy. Thankfully he was at least as excited as myself about the ridiculous prospects that crazy blind dating seemed to promise and we had plenty to talk about (the shared joy of hippy parents, toy design, video games, the pleasures of being a huge nerd, exactly how awesome technology was). He didn't seem at all upset that our date was disappointingly sane which probably means that the loony member of the date was me…

Despite the normalcy of my date I highly recommend CrazyBlindDate.com. Next time (hopefully Wednesday) I’m shooting for a double date on the hopes that 3 strangers equals 3 times the crazy.

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Third Party Resources

Going out on a blind date might not end up with an engagement ring, but it's worth a try. You'll never know if you'll be one day exchanging gold wedding bands with someone you took out on a blind date! If you hit it off, diamond rings may be in your future.