The Girl All the Tabloids Want

Last week I received an email from my peeps over at Crazy Blind Date asking if I’d be willing to submit to a Daily News interview about their services. I considered asking if I was going to be put on their payroll since I am apparently a key member of their marketing department but refrained because being interviewed by a real life paper (even one that I often snear/snicker at on the subway) sounded like good times. So I called the writer who was so fun to chat with that there is pretty much no chance that I didn’t say something that will result in my family disowning me. When she offered to plug my blog in the piece I briefly considered asking her if she was interested in some hot lesbian loving but I somehow managed to restrain myself. God forbid I ever do anything interesting enough to warrant true news coverage of my life because all it will take is one “You look so cute!” from Oprah and I’ll be slutting myself out for an all night Oprah/Brianna/Gail sandwich making party.

Anyway. The article was supposed to appear in today’s Daily News in their weekly “Hers-day” feature (I would like to comment on that ridiculous name but embedding an animated gif of rolling eyes on my blog seems like cheating especially since that gif could adequately stand in for every single sentence I’ve ever written). You may have noticed that there was no such article in today’s paper (one assumes that, like me, you scoured the entire fucking web site and wasted fifty whole cents only to spend your subway ride begrudgingly reading about the superbowl). Because I am very well connected with the movers and shakers in the news world I emailed this one guy who I sort of know who works at the Daily News (in sports, but whatever).

So last week I was interviewed for this Daily News piece on crazy blind date and the writer implied that she might be able to sneak in a link to my blog so I’m pretty psyched (how far away can a million dollar book deal be really?). She said the piece would appear in today's "Hersday" section but clearly THIS WAS A LIE. Obviously I expect you to research this for me because, really, what could you be doing that's more important than this? NOTHING.

I have yet to hear back from him so clearly someone needs to reprioritize whatever the crap he is doing today.

I’m going to assume that the piece will eventually be published because I give great interview – they’re probably just saving it for some awful Valentines Day themed issue as the article meant to promise hope to the pathetically single among us (likely it will appear right between “Chocolate Tastes Great!” and “Maybe You Just Suck”). In the meantime single men in New York should take a long look at this blog because I think it’s obvious that I am THE BEST YOU CAN HOPE FOR. Now that might not be a particularly encouraging piece of news but sometimes the truth hurts. The Crazy Blind Date people could ask any one of their numerous single female contacts to shill for them on national TV and local newspapers. Ok, clearly they need someone with a nice rack and the ability to construct sentences that make her seem interesting and not crazy so that millions of single men will log on to their site and sign up for dates which I can only assume will somehow make the CBD people rich (though I still have no idea how this site is making any money even if they have implemented an innovative way of getting free marketing via cute girls with blogs). But how hard can it be to find some boobage with a side order of sanity? Apparently next to impossible since CBD has looked through their stash of single NYC girls twice now and twice come up with “fuck I guess we’ll ask this Brianna girl cause everyone else is either sporting a third nostril or might start mooing like a cow mid-interview.”

In conclusion: I’m free on Tuesday and I like fancy cocktails.

If Only I Had a Hope Chest to Bust Open*

Apparently my friends Amy and Joe own china. I have not noticed this because although I eat dinner at their house at least twice a month I am lucky if they so much as provide me with a spork. I am also lucky if I do not physically have to cook the meal myself but I can’t really complain about this since cooking meals for other people and basking in the “you’re such a talented chef!” accolades is what nearly 20% of my self esteem is based on (25% my job, 10% feeling superior to former high school classmates, 15% cute outfits, 20% people commenting on my blog, 10% boys smiling at me on the subway). Despite my paper plate meals I never should have questioned the thoroughness of Amy and Joe’s wedding registry, of course they have china! Married couples are required to own china because it is very likely that once you achieve matrimonial status you will be asked to host a state dinner. Many couples leave the chapel only to find that the president himself will be escorting them from the ceremony to the reception and he demands a nice plate.

I am single and therefore have never experienced the joy of forcing all of my friends to purchase overpriced kitchenware however I am constantly feeding people due not only to ego related needs but also because of an unrestrained mothering gene and the desire to eat really fattening food that I would never be able to justify were I supping alone. Sadly, my dishes are crap. All of my "silver"ware was purchased at a thrift store which I know sounds pretty sketchy but seriously it was $.10/piece and the frugal grandma who lives in my soul just could not resist. My collection of mismatched plates comes to us via Target the bowls are from Ikea and the large majority of my glassware was procured from an establishment in Tijuana Mexico that I will refer to as a market mostly because using a more accurate term may implicate me in a variety of cross border crimes.

Despite my inability to land a man I have still been forced to start referring to myself as an adult. This is unfortunate for a number of reasons (full price movie tickets, expectation that I purchase my own toilet paper, denied access to ball pits) but one of the most trying is that people will soon start expecting me to have things like matching towels and different glasses for red and white wine. Since I see no registry related opportunities on the horizon it seems possible that I may be forced to use up valuable space on my Christmas list for this kind of crap. Somehow I doubt that a 600 thread count sheet set will bring me much comfort when I’m jonesing for a round of Mario Kart. As a society can we establish some sort of “I ain’t getting married soon enough to meet the material qualifications of adult hood” buy out rule? I propose that under this rule everyone who is single at age 30 gets to register as if he or she were getting married and all of their friends and acquaintances have to buy them shit no questions asked. In return singles will forgo gifts should we ever decide to cross over to the world of joint tax returns.

I received $150 in Crate and Barrel gift cards for Christmas and since I don’t foresee my friends and family stepping up with a “Congratz on being single!” gift of plates I should probably use these to outfit my cupboards (and ultimately the top of my coffee table where all guests are forced to eat while sitting on the floor because I don’t really have any place to keep a dinning room table but that’s a whole different set of complaints) with adult-like plates. In an effort to be practical about my dish ware choices I have been trying to convince myself to purchase plain white plates and bowls but I haven’t yet done this because it smack of boredom. Much as I have a hard time purchasing a plain black sweater (New Yorker or not) when a bright pink version is available I feel completely broken by the idea of white plates. If I buy the boringest of dinner ware in the universe can a willingness to wear khakis be far behind? I have even tried to bribe myself with permission to purchase a fun set of salad/dessert plates to go with my boring white dishes but I’m still hesitantly poking around the Crate and Barrel website cursing the overpriced offerings and hoping that a more interesting plain white option might suddenly appear (and, ideally not cost $8000 which seems wholly unlikely given C&Bs inflated sense of self worth).

Here’s a related conundrum: Why do all dish ware sets come with mugs? I have no need for matching mugs. Do married people drink a lot more hot beverages? Is this preparation for the coffee drinking required by being a new parent?

* Does anyone else find the term "Hope Chest" decidedly hopeless? Why not just call it a "Good Luck Miss Ugly Pants Chest"?

Love is a Battlefield

Oh my god I suck at dating.

… Perhaps suck is not the best word to use in this context.

Oh my god I am very bad at dating.

Very bad as in my grandparents might think I'm a lesbian. Very bad as in there has been no noticeable improvement since sixth grade when boys routinely asked me out as a joke. Very bad as in I have repeatedly googled the phrase "human pheromone deficiency."

I would like to be able to write about my abysmal dating record with a certain amount of flair. I would like to trot out flippant comments about how fickle some boys are and how ridiculously stupid others seems to be and ultimately how my perpetual singleness is a sign of how incredibly awesome I am. I would like for this post to result in hoards of adoring attractive male fans competing to woo me (wish list here). I would like to draw some provocative conclusion preferably comparing my life to a popular 80s movie. I would like to seem cool and funny and not at ALL like I have EVER moped or lost sleep or cried like a big baby as a result of this record and certainly have not even thought of doing any of these in at least 10 years. I doubt I will accomplish these goals.

If I have a date it is safe to assume that I met the (alleged) gentleman online because I am completely incapable of meeting men in person. This is likely because I have very little patience for bars and I find dance clubs vile (have you been to one of these places? They put on loud music and expect you to move your body in rhythm; the whole concept seems rather far fetched.). I like doing stuff. I like joining clubs and attending classes. I like wandering and wining and dining. I like going to readings and concerts. It turns out that boys hate doing stuff. Don’t believe me? Well how do you feel about believing the New York Times? I’m not even going to get into how lame this makes men sound (cause seriously guys, LAME). For now let’s just say that I don’t meet guys on food tours of chinatown.

But thanks to the internet I go on a lot of dates -- mostly because I try very hard to go on a lot of dates. While the phrase "glutton for punishment" does come to mind about once ever 5 minutes my theory is that dating is like voting -- if you're not out there casting a ballot you don't get to complain when things turn out badly. I have earned the right to complain and I intend to exercise it here and now. So I should warn you that there may be some whining. And likely I will have to eat some ice cream. But as long as it doesn't end with me screaming "Why don't you like me?!?!?!" I plan on declaring success.

I suppose I need to address exactly what is happening on these dates -- this is the hard part of the post. I feel that to do this I'd have to have an inkling of exactly what is going wrong and I’m mostly at a loss. I admit that I am a huge geek and that I am making no effort at all to hide this fact while out on dates. I keep thinking that being a huge geek is a plus –it's 2007, the nerds have won, right? Personally I LOVE geeks so my general approach to dating has been, “I'M A HUGE GEEK, COME AND GET IT.” Perhaps this is part of the problem but I doubt it. I’m a great date. I’m witty and articulate and prompt. Most of the time I even pull off cute. Typically the date ends with me thinking, “Oh, this one is in the bag! I am an awesome dating machine!” And then I get bored with waiting for him to call. And then I call. And then he announces his general dissatisfaction with the idea of a second date. And then? The ice cream.

This current state of affairs is bullshit since I was all but promised that the little bug in my "make boys like me" plug-in was going to right itself in due time. Remember how I was going to be a heart breaker right after I got out of junior high and boys realized that girls weren't icky? Or right after high school when boys realized that smart girls are awesome? Or right after college when boys took off their beer goggles and noticed that funny girls are much cooler than pretty girls? I'm waiting....

My frustration is further complicated by the fact that girlfriend-wise I am a really good deal. I invest a decent chunk of money in my 401K. I buy cute underwear. My dentist has all but promised that I will not need dentures. And also I am crazy only in the really attractive good ways (obsessive about being on time, incapable of falling asleep without playing a rousing game of Scattergories in my head, etc) rather than the annoying bad ways that are most commonly seen on reality TV programs (tendency to scream at people, belief that men should always pay, inability to conceal naughty bits underneath clothing). And yet the girls on reality TV have men competing in ill conceived contests to win dates with them and I am babysitting a friend's 3 year old on Friday night (admittedly he's cuter than most TV bachelors).

I suspect that my melancholia over the dating experience as a whole stems from the fact that I am completely unable to view each experience in a vacuum choosing instead to believe that every boy who doesn't call is symptomatic of the one eternal truth -- not that you can't eat just one potato chip, or that naughty girls need love too, or that skinny jeans don't look good on anyone but that all boys hate Brianna. Or perhaps less dramatically: No boys click with Brianna

To be honest the problem is not always with the boys clicking with me. Occasionally, I don't click with the boys. Always these are nice boys who I seriously wish I could like but the issue is chemistry. It seems likely that this has been my problem all along. I don't understand chemistry at all and I'd like to just outright deny it's existence since trying to please powers that we don't understand inspires magical thinking. This path leads directly to disaster. Maybe if I click my heels three times the fickle god of chemistry will smile on this date. Maybe if I chop the leg off of this cute little bunny it will bring me luck. Maybe if I forget to wear a shirt he won't even notice the lack of chemistry!

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.

Now Accepting Applications for the Position of Wife

Being single is a pain in the ass. I suspect that other people have not noticed this mostly because they are too busy beating their spouses. Now sure, I’d like to fall in love, find my soul mate, feel my heart jump out of my chest and runaway with his heart so that both of us are left as empty heartless shells who must cling to one another for body heat for all eternity. But mostly I need help with the house work.

You couples probably don’t know how much of a chore being single is, let me paint the picture for you. Picture it – you pull a late night at the office, you’re trudging home at 9:30pm thinking about the laundry you were going to do, the gourmet meal you were going to cook for dinner, the online shopping for your mother’s birthday that you won’t be getting to. If you are half of a couple you can probably entertain the thought that *maybe* one or more of these chores was done in your absence, maybe you’ll come home to a cleaned shower and a pot of bubbling beef stew – it totally could happen! Now sure, we both know that your significant other is a lazy good for nothing who spent the evening lounging on the couch watching “What not to Wear” and starting yet another craft project that she will never finish. (Hi Joe!) But this could be your night! Maybe the Tivo broke down!

But for us singletons the dream was dead at the get go. The cleaning, the cooking, the hooking up of electrical equitment, the killing of bugs, the decorating, the social planning, the wearing of the pants (and the lying on the couch with my hand down them), the bringing home of the bacon? ALL ME. (except when my mom visits). When I get home at 9:30 I’m lucky to get through one chore before I want to curl up with a pint of premium ice cream. Of course, as a single girl I also can’t buy ice cream. If I had a live in boyfriend I could pretend that he was going to eat most of the ice cream and thus justify purchasing it in large quantities because he has a really big appetite. This same logic would also allow me to buy bratwurst and bourbon by the case. If Hagen-daz and Maker’s Mark go out of business this year you can blame my dry spell (and my amazing self control).

Next time you look at your significant other and say, “It’s your turn to clean the refrigerator and tweeze my eyebrows!” try to remember that I am having that conversation with a chinchilla and his reply is always the same, “Shut up and get me another banana chip you tired old maid.”