Lingerie overdose

There’s an adorable lingerie store quite literally across the street from my apartment. Usually I’m pretty good at just sticking to window shopping, but this morning I got sidetracked on my way home from brunch. I don’t really need new lingerie, but it’s been a good two+ years since I did any serious shopping in this category. Random fact about yours truly: I worked in Nordstrom’s lingerie department the summer post-college and pre-law school (obviously I jumped ship on that latter destination).

NOT my standard Nordstrom client

What this means is that I’ve seen far more boobs than any heterosexual female ever should (except, I suppose, porn addicts or frequent European sunbathers). It also means that – like almost all Nordstrom employees – a hefty chunk of each paycheck was expended in my own department. So although I’ve been rather restrained over the last two years, the top drawer in my dresser still runneth over.

Whenever I reveal my former occupation, people expect spicy/sexy stories (especially guys). In truth, the day-to-day was rather mundane. Nordstrom lingerie is known for its broad range of bra sizes and expert fittings (and although it’s not listed on my CV, I am officially certified and pretty adept at guessing bra sizes on the fly). Accordingly, most of our clientele was comprised of rather heavy, very large-breasted women. Which initially terrified me. Before I joined the Nordy’s crew, I thought bra sizes ended around F. Oh hell no. One day we received a special order for a size 44M (44M!) bra and – I’m ashamed to admit – there’s a picture of me on a former coworker’s phone with one cup of this massive contraption covering my entire head. Very professional, I know.

Sure, there was the occasional babe shopping for wedding night lingerie, and we always fought over  these clients because  we could pick out the items we’d want to own. But for the most part, we spent our days sorting through the racks of Gs and Hs in the backroom, or trying to find that illusive but highly in demand urban legend: a strapless bra that would actually support a sizeable rack (impossible, btw).

All in all, the experience made me rather grateful for my own smallish upper body. Most sexy lingerie – especially the designer labels – simply does not come in sizes bigger than D. And after fitting hundreds of well-endowed, middle-aged women, I know that gravity is no friend to the buxom. And I will never EVER get a boob job after seeing first-hand what that really looks like.

Today’s stop in my neighborhood boutique didn’t result in any purchases. Lingerie is so damn expensive and – for better or worse – I have really good (read: pricey) taste after my Nordstrom gig. Guess I need a sugar daddy? ;)

Excuses, excuses

Oh poor neglected blog. I think my recent negligence can be chalked up to a combination of new job (love love but busy busy) and a relatively subdued dating life and therefore lack of material. The former is a pretty valid excuse – I’m doing a ton of writing at work (hooray) and the commute is slowly killing me (solution TBD). With respect to romance, I guess I’ve been so busy with career change, holiday shenanigans and recovering from a pesky month+ cold (looks like I’m FINALLY healthy, although very low energy) that I’ve not had much time for boys.

Too tired to date/blog/etc

Love lives of course came up over a delish dinner tonight. Some juicy gossip but less than usual of my own creation (of course, there is always some, wink wink). But the conversation topics were mostly abstract – how dating evolves as we approach mid-to-later twenties (I’m 25 this Feb!), how discussing the “future” of a relationship is utterly terrifying, how being in a relationship should always always enhance your life, yet some people seem content just to be in a relationship for its own sake (baffling).

Of course, my contributions were pure conjecture, seeing as how I am once again single. And I don’t mean that in a poor-me-I’m-so-lonely way. It’s more like WHEW. Because I really don’t have the time to date right now, or at least that’s how it feels. Between the commuting and wanting to kick ass at my new gig, I’m pretty much socially MIA on the weekdays. Dating is way too time and energy consuming…it might work if I could fast-forward to a sweatpants-and-a-bottle-of-wine level of relationship, but of course it doesn’t work that way (sigh). And I have had my fair share of intrigue over the past 3…6…12 (?) months, so perhaps it’s time to take a timeout.

Not that one can plan these things, so this monologue is pretty useless. I’m definitely NOT going to take a vow of dating abstinence, but I have decided on one thing. Next time I start seeing someone, I’m going to give that poor guy this URL. Dangerous, I know, but my secretly chronicled prior e-affair totally messed with my head. And would have really messed with his had he discovered ProjMad inadvertently. Besides, maybe there’s something to be said for putting all the craziness out there at the start. Hey future lover, can’t say I didn’t warn you.

In an effort to salvage this blog, I’m also going to worry less about the quality of my writing in the interest of SPEED (as you can probably tell from this post). Please don’t be offended.

Arm candy

I’ve been a very poor blogger of late. No suitably impressive excuse…the best I can conjure up is that my commute (San Francisco to Palo Alto and back) totally wears me out. I barely have the energy to eat dinner. I remember a similar lethargy when I moved to San Francisco two years ago and first started working full-time. My roommate and I would come straight home from work five days a week, heat up bowls of oatmeal, and collapse on the sofa for an episode or two of The Biggest Loser (guilty!!) before passing out at 10pm. We got over it, and I’m hoping this too shall pass.

If I have no date to impress, this is probably what I'll wear :)

But on the bright side, I LOVE my job. It’s still early, obviously – today was day #8 – but the role and my coworkers are awesome. Everyone is pretty nerdy like me (the engineers obviously have me beat), and I’m a fan of the relative abundance of Y chromosomes…not because I’m hoping for an inter-office romance, mind you (I’ve learned my lesson…twice), but because it keeps the cattiness to a low purr. And I get to BLOG. For my JOB. Not about blind dates and dirty-talking, of course, but cloud computing does have its sexier moments.

There’s one thing I’m a little nervous about though, and it’s not an upcoming announcement or looming deadline. Rather, it’s the weighty, dreaded…office holiday party. Shudder.

Kidding. Kind of. Anyone who knows me, knows I love to party. It’s not the eating, or the boozing, or the socializing with my new coworkers that has me concerned. The question is: who shall I bring as my plus one?

Work functions are always tricky for the arm candy, male or female. You need to behave, since it’s a quasi professional setting, but you also want to show yourself to be the engaging, witty, desirable person that scored the invite in the first place. And on top of that, you need to accept the fact that at least half of the night’s participants will eventually talk shop, despite all promises to the contrary.

As I see it – unless I go stag – I have three choices:

1. Steady boyfriend: Definitely the safest option, and I would totally consider it…if it were an option. But sadly my e-relationship expired around the same time as my 3-month eHarmony membership (coincidence?). Stay tuned for a rather dull post on anti-climatic breakups (but I suppose they trump climatic ones?).
2. Platonic guy friend: I have a few solid options in this category, and they would probably make great dinner companions. Social, funny, and no added pressure from trying to make a good impression…in fact, they’d probably consider it a victory to humiliate me. There would be no awkwardness when asked to DTR (define the relationship). I would put my money on mimed gagging were anyone to assume we were together.
3. The crush: Yes, “crush” is a term used most frequently by 13-year-olds, but it best describes the butterflies-in-the-stomach, schoolgirl giddiness invoked by the unknown. This is the most risky option, and also the most tantalizing. Awkward introductions are almost guaranteed, but I happen to love awkwardness ;)

Unfortunately, I probably don’t have the cajones to make a move. I will most likely go solo or with a friend, keep wine consumption within reason, and avoid eye contact with my more attractive male colleagues. Mistletoe is strictly forbidden.

So long, eHarmony

My e-dating days have come to an end.

For now, at least. Back in August, I swallowed my pride and clicked “purchase” on the 90-day eHarmony package. Over those three months, I “communicated” with countless matches and went on in-person dates (more like interviews) with seven guys, one of which I dated for 2 + months…but don’t hold your breath if you’re hoping for an eHarmony commercial cameo. Today I was prompted to renew, but I’ve decided to take my love life offline for the time being.

In truth, I’ve been a rather inactive eHarmonizer since mid-September. I OD’ed after a dating binge of sorts, plus things were working out with the aforementioned e-lover. So I’ve let my inbox fill up with unread notices from potential matches. The supply appears to be endless – a clear indication that online dating is gaining traction in the twenty something crowd.

I may no longer be a card (or profile) carrying e-dater, but I’m still an advocate of others taking the leap. Not because Mr. (or Miss) Right is only a few clicks away – although that’s a possibility – but because services like eHarmony force you to shake up your dating routine, and change is almost always a good thing.

Looking back, my 90-day run was pretty educational. Granted, some of these lessons should have been learned at 18 rather than 24, but better late than never, right?

• Lesson #1: Be bold. I’ve always been competitive and goal-oriented (read: type A) with respect to sports, academics, career, etc., but when it comes to members of the opposite sex, I’ve opted for enigmatic and demure. Counterproductive! I’m not saying ladies should put it all out there on day #1, but if you like someone, it’s usually best to let them know. Online dating forces your hand in this respect: if you are seeing five matches, and they are seeing five matches, and you’re still living in a world where there are only 24 hrs in a day and 7 days in a week, expressing interest is a must. In the realm of offline dating, it’s a little less extreme but the rationale still stands: outside of jobs, friends, hobbies, etc., we only have so much time. Time that should not be wasted guessing someone else’s intentions.
• Lesson #2: Be honest. With yourself. People (most often women – guys tend to be a little more crude…er, direct) love to make silly claims like “looks don’t matter,” and “I don’t care about money.” Really?? Unless you’re Mother Teresa or have a really low opinion of yourself, it’s safe to say that most everyone has preferences. Unfortunately, we feel guilty admitting them. For example: being 5′9, I like relatively tall guys. There, I said it. Maybe I offended some 5′4 guy who stumbled upon my blog, but he probably doesn’t want to date me either. With online dating, you’re given an upfront snapshot of your potential match – career, age, height, religion, drinking/smoking behavior, interest in having kids someday – along with a few pictures. It’s amazing how easy it is to narrow the playing field when you’re honest with yourself. 20 potential lovers can quickly be whittled down to two. And I don’t think that makes me a bad person.
• Lesson #3: Chemistry, chemistry, chemistry. Whether you meet your love interest online or in line at the grocery store, it all comes down to chemistry. I still have yet to figure this one out – some couples don’t start off with fireworks, but smolder later on. Other times there are sparks at the beginning, but the relationship plateaus early. But if you’ve been drinking the eHarmony kool-aid, you approach any match with the assumption that there’s potential, which is always a productive place to start.

Okay, enough lecturing. I am by no means an expert in any of this, but I find it all fascinating. And just because I’ve signed off of eHarmony does NOT mean this blog is flat-lining any time soon. There’s still SO much to talk about. Wink wink.

I’m a big girl now

Some parts of growing up are a blast. Like having your own apartment and expelling the word “curfew” from your vocabulary. Or buying your own car, which happens to be on my agenda for this weekend.

When I think of car ownership, I picture myself speeding down Highway 1 along the Big Sur coastline, a silk scarf covering my hair. (A scarf is superfluous since I will not be getting a convertible – yet – but hey, this is my fantasy). Or perhaps flirting with BAC levels as I winery hop my way through Napa with a trunk full of Cabernet.

If only it were this simple

Now cue reality. This week and next, I’m not feeling the sweet embrace of a sea breeze, but rather the weight of paperwork, long lines and impending bills. Instead of debating destinations, I’m comparing insurance plans from Geico and Allstate…and by comparing plans, I’m mean I’m weighing the trustworthiness of a gecko with a Cockney accent versus the actor who played the deceased President David Palmer on 24. And yesterday morning, I spent four hours – FOUR HOURS – in line at the DMV to finally get a California driver’s license after a mere two years of living here. Never have I been so happy to return to my cubicle and overflowing inbox. Next up: figuring out parking in a neighborhood where convenient street spots are but an urban myth.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m indescribably excited and grateful that I’m getting a car. But all the logistics associated with this milestone make me nostalgic for the days of dependence. I never fully appreciated what a gift it was to have two people – aka parents – devoted to making sure all the un-fun components of my life ran smoothly. Dental appointments, vaccinations, stock portfolio…all these things were coordinated seamlessly behind-the-scenes. I haven’t been to the dentist in almost two years because no one makes me go. Bad Ashley.

Fortunately, I still have parents that indulge my un-self sufficient ways…or at least tolerate my whining and then offer practical advice for next steps. When I had to set up my brand new tent along the Russian River in total darkness and couldn’t make sense of the stupid instructions, I called my father, only 700 miles north in Seattle. Did he laugh at my plight or scold me for wasting his time? No sir. He calmly instructed his urbanite daughter to spread all the pieces on the ground, and then borrow a flashlight…or better yet, a former boy scout.

I’ve always prided myself on not being the co-dependent type when it comes to relationships. I want good company, not a caretaker. But if I can someday settle down with a man who does the bills and takes the car in for regular oil checks, I’ll have hit the jackpot.

Bikinis and bed head

There is truly a someecard for every aspect of life.

Last week I stumbled upon this gem and sent it to my e-lover. In an ideal world, he would have replied with an equally witty and appropriate someecard offering, such as this snarky card. He responded instead with a text message (something along the lines of “haha, funny card”)…not what I was looking for, but not quite a deal breaker. This is about as close to a DTR as we’ve gotten in two months :)

I browsed through the archives today for a quick mental break, and quite literally laughed out loud (aka LOL’ed) from my cubicle. These cards bring to light all the silly, banal, ridiculous aspects of society…like an edgier, updated Dilbert that ventures beyond office politics.

The dating-related cards are hands down my favorite. There is just so much material ripe for ridicule when it comes to relationships. Some of them are just plain mean, but they’re almost always true, like this bad boy:

This card is SO me and the vast majority of ladies I know…not when it comes to rounding the bases on the first date, of course, but nonsensical body issues. Mom, Dad, please put on your earmuffs (or blindfolds?) but being in a bikini in broad daylight with a relatively new love interest is far more terrifying than after-hours, most likely with a decent BAC. Go figure.

For me, an early dating hurdle is not the bathing suit but rather my face sans makeup. I really don’t look very different without eyeliner, but when confronting the pressure of appearing “fresh” in the morning (not a natural state for me), I’m inclined not to wash my face before bed in hopes of retaining some of my artificial glamour. Of course, this totally backfires when I wake up looking like Marilyn Manson with mascara streaked cheeks. Unless, of course, the guy in question finds that sexy (red flag).

Confession: this is why I love dating guys who wear glasses/contacts. Even if their vision is only a few digits away from 20-20, I can convince myself that they are completely blind and I am but a lovely, fuzzy blur in the morning light, regardless of sleep deprivation and serious bed head. Works like a charm.

Dating schizophrenia

I feel like I’m living a double life.

And Madeline, my over sharing alter ego, is not to blame. My schizophrenia is entirely of my own doing.

It was my dad who called me on it: “I’ll bet you haven’t introduced [insert gentleman’s name] to your friends yet, have you?” Well no, we’ve only been dating for…wow, seven weeks. How have I kept my life segmented for so long? And how on earth did my dad know??

To me, “meet the friends” is a far more terrifying prospect than “meet the parents.” I’m not sure why…perhaps it’s because I’ve never really had to make the intro before. How, you may ask, have I avoided this awkward show-and-tell for nearly a decade?

It’s easy, when you perpetually date your friends of the opposite gender. Or friends of friends. It’s been an (arguably bad) habit of mine for quite some time now, and as such there’s never been a need to integrate love interests into social circles they already (at least loosely) belong to.  Until now.

Oh man up...meeting the friends is far more terrifying

Initially, meeting a total stranger was part of the e-dating appeal. No messy fallout if (when) it didn’t work, and I’d be broadening my awesome but rather static group of friends. I still see the value in both of these perks.

But there’s a downside too. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach to inserting an outsider into a tightly woven and highly opinionated group of friends. And so I’ve been taking the easy way out – splitting time between my man and my friends (I refuse to be one of those girls who ditches her platonic pals for a beau), leaving me exhausted, confused, and with very little quality me-time.

And to be honest, it’s not just that I’m nervous about him meeting my friends, or my friends meeting him. More than anything, I’m nervous about him meeting me. Or at least the version(s) of me that he has yet to see. As are most people to a degree, I’m a total chameleon based on the company I keep. And over the past seven weeks, I’ve been showing my much sweeter, more laid back side.

That watered down me won’t fly when my friends are thrown into the mix. They’ll (rightly) expect the crazier version that they know and hopefully love. The wine-drinking, scandalous dancing, sarcastic joke making me. The version that doesn’t shy away from political debate, and usually has some outlandish story to tell.

Will my current love interest like this bigger/bolder side to my personality? Or is the continuation of our seven week run contingent on me reining in my more colorful but potentially intimidating attributes? If the latter, we have a problem.

And this is why it’s so very tempting to date friends. They’ve already met my multiple personalities, absorbed my snarky remarks, and witnessed the remarkable speed with which I can down a bottle of wine. If after all this they’re still willing to (quite literally) kiss our platonic history goodbye, well…what could be more validating than that?

Win a date with…Jessica Simpson?

Wait…is online dating now en vogue? I’ve been running with the thesis that it has become (or is becoming) socially acceptable, but a celebrity endorsement from Jessica Simpson takes it to a new level.

According to People Magazine, the now-single singer and former reality TV star is “open” to online dating:

“I mean, anybody who can find love online, so be it,” says Simpson. As for getting her own feet wet in the online dating pool, she says, “Maybe. Who knows?”

Congrats! You've been matched with...Jessica Simpson??

If I handled publicity for eHarmony or Match.com, I’d waste no time in hounding Jessica’s agent for an endorsement. Granted, online dating sites are purportedly about finding true love and not scoring a date with a B-list celeb, but there’d be a huge spike in male e-daters if they thought they might be matched with the curvy ex-Newlyweds star…even if she doesn’t know the difference between chicken and tuna.

Perhaps Jessica’s openness will open the floodgates. You always hear about how hard it is for the poor celebrities to meet someone outside the industry…here’s their chance! Maybe if Angie and Brad split they’ll give it a shot. Hell, if that happens I’m more than happy to extend my eHarms membership (due to expire in a few weeks) for a chance at Mr. Pitt. I’ve always known we were meant to be, and I’m confident eHarmony’s Compatibility Matching System would recognize this as well.

Jessica, if you do decide to go the e-dating route, a word of advice: avoid posting your unflattering photos from January 2009 on your eHarmony profile. I know, I know…it was the stylist’s fault. No one looks good in mom jeans.

Avoiding the DTR

I learned a new term the other day – courtesy of a male friend, surprisingly. DTR: define the relationship. As in, “Have you and [insert lover’s name] had the DTR talk yet?”

And no, I have not. As mentioned previously, I tend to shy away from all things direct and/or sentimental. And the gentleman in question hasn’t exactly pushed to lock down a verbal contract either.

Seriously, what’s the big rush? We don’t insist on labeling our platonic relationships: “Hey, are we friends or are we best friends?” I understand that there are legit reasons for establishing exclusivity in a relationship (sexual health, emotions, etc.), but a case can also be made for going with the flow and reading the more subtle signals.

Maybe I’m just a cynic, but overuse of terms of endearment (baby this, sweetie that) makes me suspicious. Same with repeatedly and pointedly referring to a significant other as “my boyfriend” or “my girlfriend” (they have names, right?). I guess my overriding point here is that in the early stages of a relationship, actions usually speak louder than words.

I don't want to hear it...yet

Believe me, I have great respect for the power of words. I love speaking them, and I love writing them. But when it comes to matters of the heart, they can be more trouble than they’re worth. People – especially girls – can become so hung up on listening for verbal signals (or the digital equivalent: interpreting text messages) that they forget to open their eyes.

I’d rather be dating the guy who makes all the right little gestures (like picking me up from the airport last night!) than the one who uses all the right BIG words. It’s a better indicator of how he’d behave in a relationship, and you’re not weighed down by labels from the onset. Sometimes it’s best to let things happen (or not happen) organically, which can be tough for goal-oriented, A-type people (like myself) to accept. Bottom line: people are complicated. And because a relationship involves two people, there are a lot of moving parts. Don’t buy the car before taking a decent test drive.

Disclaimer: this is the opinion of someone who actually enjoys being single. (Gasp! Not all girls are dying for a boyfriend!) Casual dating is a great default, and in my mind, relationships are the consequence of really amazing chemistry, not determination/desperation.

I’ve always been in awe of the girls (and guys) who move seamlessly from one serious/committed relationship to the next, apparently without any break. Is it that they’re universally compatible? Hyper self-aware? I date pretty frequently, but when it comes to converting those dates to proper relationships, my batting average is pretty low.

And honestly, I’m okay with that. I’m okay with taking things slow on the verbal front, and being prudish when it comes to labels. As long as things are going well, I’m in no rush to propose a DTR session…we could all do with a little more mystery in our lives.

Mad about Mad Men

Every now and then, I’ll pull up ProjMad and scroll through my posts to date. I try to avoid actually reading them, as I’m sure I’ll hate what I’ve written and feel compelled to edit/delete. But I find the quick scan motivating – look at all I’ve written! And without any deadlines or supervision!

Over the past few days, I’ve caught myself hovering over my entry from Monday, and not because of my pretty prose. Rather, it’s the far prettier Donald Draper – Mad Men’s leading man – that catches my eye.

Now I’m not usually one for celebrity crushes. I had a brief (one-sided) affair with former Seattle Mariner Alex Rodriguez, before he betrayed me (and the city of Seattle…and his career…and the game of baseball) and sold his soul to the lowly Texas Rangers for a $252 million price tag in 2001. Ever since that heartbreak, I’ve been wary of flings with famous men.

But the snarky, maverick Dr. House changed my mind and won my heart. And the fact that he is fictional does not register with my love-addled brain. For the past two years, I’ve had a strictly monogamous crush on this sarcastic MD, won over by his sarcasm, medical genius, and yes, even his limp. But lately my eyes have wandered…

What is it about the philandering, guarded Donald Draper that makes him so enticing? Yes, he’s tall dark and handsome, strong and silent, but what else? Is it the way he’s always calm in a crisis, or how he appears to not give a damn but happens to be the most talented individual at his firm? Or perhaps it’s the air of mystery surrounding his patchy personal history?

I’m certainly not alone – ladies across the country swoon whenever Don appears in one of his sharp suits, a midday drink in hand. And it’s not only Don that has hearts beating faster: his lovely wife Betty Draper is a common crush among the male audience.

At first, Betty’s character offended me. I found her dull and lacking personality; not an excuse for Don’s infidelity, but certainly a factor. She’s the quintessential 50s housewife: perfectly coiffed and bored, eagerly awaiting her husband’s return from work.

But the more I watch Mad Men, the more I like Betty. She does have gumption, just few avenues to express it. She can be sarcastic, moody, and stubborn. In short, human. And I love love LOVE her clothes.

Despite the fact that Mad Men is set in the 50s and sexism is one of its major themes, there are several strong female characters. Peggy pisses me off, but I love the sultry yet strong-willed Joan. And Betty’s feisty neighbor, Francine, shakes things up on the domestic front.

And honestly, I can’t say things are that different in our enlightened modern times. Women are still each other’s own worst enemies in the workplace (Peggy v. her secretary), and the mysterious, noncommittal hunks are still the most desirable. If only we could bring back the daytime drinking and snazzy dressing.