Tag Archives: Writing

If At First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try…Ugh.

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The Fun Committee had convened in the Cafe, along with our part-time 21-year-old intern from NYU, Tara. The Cafe is an empty office that my company had turned into a hodgepodge lounging space complete with a working cappuccino machine and random scarves and pillows strewn everywhere. There is even a colorful collection of plastic tambourines arranged on the desk. I don’t know why.

I pulled out my notebook as Anna finished up making our coffee drinks. “Guys,” I said. “We have a situation.”

“What is it?” asked Emily. “Did the location for Office Happy Hour fall through?”

“No. Something much, much more serious.” I took a deep breath. “OkCupid is not working out.”

Emily’s expression darkened as she fired up her laptop. Tara straightened up and pulled the pen from her make-shift hair bun. She poised it over an empty notebook page. Anna somberly placed a cappuccino in front of me and put a hand on my shoulder. There would be no talk of Amanda Knox on this day. Continue reading If At First You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try…Ugh. →

Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em.

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“I’m quitting smoking,” my co-worker, Archie, announced as we were taking a cigarette break outside the Duane Reade below our office.

“Wow,” I said, as I took a drag. “What brought this on?”

Archie had always said he loved smoking too much to ever stop. “It’s my only vice!” he’d exclaim. Of course, I knew this not to be true.

He rolled his eyes. “Chad says he won’t pay for my plastic surgery if I don’t quit.”

Chad is Archie’s much older, kind and quite distinguished boyfriend. He lives a very healthy lifestyle and doesn’t smoke or drink but always lets the rest of us run around his penthouse and play Flip Cup on his marble dining-room table. I was pretty sure this plastic surgery nonsense was not Chad’s idea. Continue reading Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em. →

Date One.

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There was something going on with my eye. I don’t know if I got Oil of Olay in it or what. But the right one was totally red and sickly looking. This is the kind of thing that, naturally, only happens when you have a job interview, when you’re at an event where you’ll have your picture taken often – such as a wedding, or if you’re going on a first date.

Which is what I was doing today. Continue reading Date One. →

My Ex Has Been Reading My Blog.

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“Are you sure you aren’t using this as an excuse to contact him?” Veronica asked. We were having our usual Sunday phone chat, where it was early afternoon for her in Portland so she was getting ready for CrossFit and it was late afternoon for me in New York so I was getting ready for the workweek ahead.

“I…,” I had to stop and think about that. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she said warily.

“No,” I said with more assurance, as I filled my Monday through Friday vitamin packets. “I’m not. I have to tell him. If he hears I’m writing about him from someone else, he’ll be really pissed.”

“Well, let me know how it goes,” she said.

“I will.”

In all honesty, he would probably be pissed regardless. My Ex is the most private person I’ve ever known. He doesn’t even post things about himself on Facebook. It’s either about his band or some sort of informed political rant. Meanwhile, I’m like, “Hi everybody! Now I’m chewing blue gum!” Continue reading My Ex Has Been Reading My Blog. →

Zeke Comes to Visit. Part Two.

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Zeke let me cry into his shoulder for awhile on the couch. Then, after I’d wiped my nose on his sleeve, he’d gotten up to find me some Advil. “So, what’s going on Trace?” he asked, as he rifled around in the medicine cabinet.

“He doesn’t love me anymore!” I wailed. I flopped into the couch and buried my face in a pillow.

“Well, yeah,” he replied. “That’s what happens with breakups.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. But he couldn’t really hear me. Continue reading Zeke Comes to Visit. Part Two. →

We’ll Say We Met at Starbucks.

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“I think I’m pretty cool.”
“I am very busy discovering the world we live in.”
“Duty is a turn-on.”
“I love to smile.”
“I’m looking for someone with pretty hands and feet.”
“I love epiphanies.”
“If u have a problem with me being 5’4″ then ur are missing out!”
“I live to inspire people and be inspired. I would like more of everything.”
“I’m not good at describing myself…you would have to talk to me, or meet me to know me.”
“You should message me if you love intellectual gymnastics, but you understand that the poetry of the everyday can not and should not be forced.”
“How can I be better than I am today? A better teacher…. a better lover… a better human being…”
“The woman I’m looking for: She loves to talk but observes long silences peacefully and appreciatively.”

Oh my. Who the fuck were these guys? Continue reading We’ll Say We Met at Starbucks. →

Sanity in Sweat.

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I’d really let myself go.

Two months ago, I’d been in incredible shape. This was because I was going home for my 25 Year High School Reunion and also because my long-distance high school boyfriend was going to be staying with me in the hotel the whole time I was there.

I’ve literally never been so excited.

I am incredibly disciplined when I’m happy. During the weeks leading up to the trip, I would smugly post one word updates on Facebook like ‘SPINNING’ or ’30/60/90′ or ‘METCON3’ and regularly check myself into every Equinox across the city. I was eating better, exercising a ton and wearing the shit out of my skinny jeans. Continue reading Sanity in Sweat. →

When life gives you lemons, send that shit back and demand champagne.

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“I’m sorry I drunk texted you all night last night.”

“Trace? What the hell time is it?”

“Um, ten o’clock here so I guess seven o’clock there?”

“Trace, I don’t care if you drunk text me all night. Drunk text all you want but don’t call me at seven in the morning on a Saturday and wake me up to apologize for it.”

“Okay, um… But do you still have an OkCupid profile?”

“Oh shit, okay. I can see you’re not going to go away. Hold on.” I could hear Zeke pull himself out of bed and move to the bathroom. He clicked the door shut. Then he reemerged and I heard the familiar flick of a lighter to light his cigarette. “Alright, what’s going on?”
Continue reading When life gives you lemons, send that shit back and demand champagne. →

Wait. So you mean crushed-velvet blazers are not the look for Fall?

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The next night, three of my closest girlfriends burst into my apartment like a fashion SWAT team – high heels clicking on the wood floor, bangles clanging against each other, chic bags slung tightly over shoulders. I looked down at my chosen outfit for the night: a faded, too tight pink Motley Crue t-shirt, black jeans that accentuated my muffin-top and black knock-off Uggs.

This was why I needed their help.

After I finished up my profile, I’d immediately sent out an emergency distress signal to my friends. They’d kindly canceled whatever plans they’d had and showed up toting bottles of wine and enough food to feed us for a week-long sequestering. They knew this was an extreme situation that warranted extreme measures.

An extreme closet makeover was in order.

I hate to shop. I always end up simultaneously dehydrated and also having to pee and never able to find a bathroom. I easily get overwhelmed and so I find myself sweating and breathless, feeling claustrophobic as people shove by me, scratching my arms with their hangers. I just don’t care about clothes and therefore don’t give them a lot of attention and time. As a result, I go shopping about twice a year and try to buy a whole season’s worth of wardrobe in one morning. I’ll find a few things (usually dresses because I am too lazy to try on separates) and then, already aggravated with the whole thing, I’ll just purchase each item in three different colors. Inevitably, I’ll not buy enough so I end up wearing the same outfits for many, many years. Long after they’ve gone out of style. That is, if they ever were in style to begin with. This was not suitable for dating in NYC.
Continue reading Wait. So you mean crushed-velvet blazers are not the look for Fall? →