Tag Archives: Raleigh

Raleigh To-Do List…because I love lists!

You guys. I am still alive. I feel like my frequency of posting has sharply declined of late, and I’m here to tell you there is no solution in sight. My life is hunky-dory not super exciting, and I haven’t been to Jason’s Deli to get hit on lately …dude, total flashback to my very first post ever…good times. But I’ve been trying to make life interesting, I swear. Things with my man-friend are going well. Though if they weren’t going well / if we break up, you can be sure I will not be opining about the drama-dramz on this jank. BUT, much like when I moved to California for that brief moment in time, I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish and I pretty much accomplished everything. In an effort to enjoy the place I am now calling home as much as the place I never intended to call home, I’ve compiled a list of things I would super love to accomplish maybe in the next year. The tricky part about this is that there isn’t really a deadline like my previous time since I am not moving away after a short 6 months. Very pleased about this, however with no deadline I find myself putting off things I really want to do. So here we go. And even though I’ve marked some things as “done,” you can be sure most of these will be repeat offenders, especially ones that involve food. Duh.

Go to the Raleigh Farmer’s Market (done). Wander the Raleigh Flea Market (done). Run a 5k downtown (June). Try as many Asian restaurants as possible (in progress). Party in Chapel Hill with one of my oldest friends (done). Get swanky and go to Solas (done). Play trivia at Flying Saucer on Tuesdays and lose weekly. Ride the R-Line at least once just because. Try everything at Sitti (in progress). Go to Raleigh First Fridays and watch Roomz kill it with the fire hoop (done). Check out as many galleries and live bands at First Fridays as possible. Hike through Umstead Park (done). Hike through Umstead Park numerous times since there are bunches of trails. Trail running near the Neuse River (done). Eat at Sono on Fayetteville Street. Find somewhere to go kayaking. Visit the museums near the Capitol (done). Get a tour of the Capitol. Walk through the gardens at the NC State Arboretum (done). Check out paintings and sculptures at the Raleigh Museum of Fine Art (done). Eat at Cookout (done, done, and done) . Bike First Fridays (tbd!). Volunteer at the Raleigh Food Bank (done…to be continued). Find the Raleigh Boys and Girls Club. Dine in downtown Apex (done). Tour NC State (done). Tour Duke. Fine Italian dining in Durham (done). Go to Durham Bulls game (done). Attend a play or musical at the Durham Performing Arts Center, or DPAC as the cool people call it. See Alison Krauss at the Koka Booth Amphitheater in Cary. See Ray LaMontagne and Brandi Carslile at the Koka Booth Amphitheater in Cary. Go to at least 3 country music concerts. Attend church at the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart downtown (done…and yes, Ma, to be continued). Check off things from LivingSocial’s list of 365 things to do in Raleigh. Enjoy breakfast at Humble Pie (done – delish). Take in practically the only view of the downtown city-scape from Boylan Bridge Brewpub while enjoying a flight of their specialties (done). Tour the brewpub, but apparently on on a weekday. Drive the historic district of downtown Raleigh (done).  Eat fancy but extremely delicious BBQ at The Pit. Spend all day drinking Bud Light at the Triangle Beach Music Festival (done, sunburn to prove it).

In addition to all the great things there are to do in Raleigh / Durham / Chapel Hill, there are some fantastic little towns and cities in this state and I can’t wait to see them and buy some antiques or something. And here they are.

Weekend trip to Asheville. Visit my aunt in Boone. See if Pittsboro is nicer than its name. Explore Apex. Find out if Wake Forest University actually used to be in Wake Forest. Visit Graham, South Port, Sanford, and Smithfield…see if these places are as quaint as they sound. Try to have a celeb citing in Wilmington (are they even shooting One Tree Hill anymore?). Do as the locals do and spend the day at one of the beaches in Wilmington. Try to get to every little town on the Outer Banks, even though they are just as far away from here as they are from Richmond. Go figure. Visit Winston-Salem and Greensboro for more than a day. Taste the wines at all the local wineries…only one I’ve found so far is Iron Gate Farm in Mebane (pronounced MEH-bin, not Mee-BANE as it seems like it would be).

One additional goal I have for the next year is to get my own place of residence. I love living with Roomz and admittedly it is a pretty sweet arrangement at a pretty awesome price, and I love having Roomz as my roomz. She’s awesome. Also I love living 1.5 miles from my office. But in less than a year I would like to be the proud owner or renter of an apartment or condo downtown that I can call my very own. Can’t wait to make this a reality.

So I think I have a pretty decent list for my modest time frame of one year. Any locals please feel free to leave some suggestions in the comments! I’m always looking for new things to do and new ways to enjoy the Triangle. I love living here and can’t wait to cross more things off my list. Feel free to come visit and enjoy it with me!

I’m dating, but I’m still single. Of course it makes sense.

Listen. So after last week’s post wherein I slyly revealed that I’m seeing someone (remember, Jim and Pam), I had a discussion with this young man with whom I am frequenting local food establishments and movie theaters (we also have dates at the mall…it’s like, so 9th grade). Apparently my definition of “single” and his definition of “single” are not really the same. So we had a chit chat about it, and I shockingly had to re-think if I was right about this one or not. That is not sarcasm. I am right about everything with very few people, one being this young man (eventually I’ll think of a cute nickname for him), so when hearing his point of view and listening to myself explain my own side, I realized, I might agree with him more than I agree with me. In other words, he might be right. Gasp! So here we are to evaluate. Feel free to commentate in the comments.

I must admit that it is a little weird being attached to someone specific after a significant period of time being without a “special” man in my life. When I moved back to Raleigh I was excited for this chapter. It would be filled with a job I liked, a wonderful roommate, and plenty of single young country boys. I’d never have admitted this, but I was thinking I’d find a special man within a year of moving here. We’d meet at a bar, or volunteering, or maybe at a young professionals meet-up, or if my mother had her way, at church (thereby checking off her single most important requirement that he be Catholic). He’d be super cute obviously, tall perhaps, of the dark and handsome variety since this seems to be the visual I gravitate towards. We’d go on some nice dates and eventually fall in love, and perhaps a year or less later we’d break up. Or maybe a couple / few years / however many years would go by and we’d become engaged and I’d plan a fantabulous wedding, and then we’d have some babies like good Catholics do and live happily ever after until we both die together like in The Notebook. Duh.

This little story has obviously not come to pass. After all, this is real life and I don’t live in a Rom-Com. Instead I found a cute boy/man at my office (and in my department no less…I mean). Pluses: he is a country boy, he is tall, he is cute (obviously…see numerous past entries about dating ugly men), and he has left tulips on my front porch. Hello, major points. Anyhoo. I don’t want to get into the gory details because they are too gory even for me and I live them. Suffice it to say, he’s great. Awesome. High five to me and to him for being great. But.

Here is where we originally disagreed. In my last post, I grouped myself with the “single girls” because I am not married or soon-to-be-married. I like him, but you guys, where’s the fire, right? And of course when comparing myself with two groups of gals, one group being engaged/married, and one group being single / casually dating / courting / whatever you want to call it, I would obviously fall into the second category. Which, for convenience and word-count sake I dubbed “being single.” Whatever. So then we went through this engineering type exercise and used nerd words like “boolean.” We both work in IT so some of our conversations are embarrassingly nerdy. I like it and then I roll my eyes and vom. Anyway.  It went like this: married = not single, so therefore not single = married. This is obviously false. We are not married. We are not engaged. We are not even talking about marriage except in abstract terms (you know, comments like “If we get married I will not clean up after you” or the like). But we are/I am not single either. I don’t go out without him and troll for dudes. He doesn’t go out with his boys and pick up chicks (ahem, he better not, trust).  Yes we both go out and sometimes even without each other (gasp, we are individuals!) but not trying to find Mr. or Mrs. Right. But we’re not committed to each other for the rest of our lives (yet? yikes). This doesn’t really make us available, but we’re not married. So we’re single? Eh, not really. But yeah, we are.

Um, ok. That’s kind of how the conversation went. I kept saying, “but we’re not married!” And he’d calmly and logically (ugh, logic) reply, “but you’re not trying to get with other guys, right?” To which I obviously reply, “um yeah, sorry to break it to you.” JK ya’ll. Of course I said no. I ain’t no cheater. But we were both honest at the end of the conversation and agreed, we’re not committed for life and therefore nothing is final. He may think I am the sweetest thing since French Toast, and I may be charmed by his country-boy accent and adorable dimple (ugh I am grossing myself out), but if one or both of us encounters someone else or discovers we’re just not that into each other, it will not take one year plus attorney fees to make that happen.

So in conclusion. I’m not single and neither is he. But I simply don’t think that being in a relationship or dating someone specific means you are completely and 100% taken forever. Yes, we will be exclusively “together” until such time as we aren’t. Or until we get married, at which point we will be exclusively together forever (optimism alert!). So maybe there should be three categories instead of just two:  married/engaged, dating, single. That’s fair.

It is so hard for me to say I’m wrong, so I’m not going to say it. It was simply a terminology disagreement and neither of us were right or wrong. But no, I’m not single. Fine.

Praise His Light, Country Boys!

It has been a hot sec since I talked about boys. I know! It’s like I don’t even care about boys anymore. LOL good one. This is obvs not true, but really I’ve just been busy being busy and have had no time to chat about trife boy stuff aside from my Valentine’s Day diatribe, which wasn’t so much about boys as it was about dating. Anyhoozies. I am bringing boys back to this blog, and much like how Justin brought sexy back, it’s kind of like they never left.

Did you know that Raleigh-Durham is the number 5 city / metropolitan area for young singles? I know, right! High five to me for picking this place to establish residency again. Raleigh is also ranked as the number 4 city for dating! Um, oh my gah! Am I in the right place or what! And guess who’s already had 2 dates after being here for less than 3 weeks? This girl. That’s right. Who’s shocked? No one. And you’re shocked even less now that you have this scientific information about Raleigh. If I can’t find a date in this place, then I’m just doomed and/or need a makeover and/or need a new personality. I mean really.

So after learning this fantabulous news, I immediately am happier to be in this city and be single. There’s a light at the end of the solo tunnel, at last. But then, is it really that terrible to be single? Is it really miserable and lonely? Is it so desperately depressing to be without a one and only? And the answer, ladies and gentlemans, is no. It’s actually quite liberating. It’s freeing. I have my own schedule. I do what I want when I want to do it. But then, it wouldn’t be so terrible to go on a couple dates. Maybe have some cutie patootie that calls every so often to catch a movie, be his date to a wedding, or go to a dinner party.

But in a world where people around me are dropping like flies to the institution we call “marriage,” and other less official institutions called “serious relationships,” being a single girl is really kind of a downer. Think about it. I can think of greater than 5 instances recently in which I have been not invited to something due to the fact that, well, who will she bring with her? I can also say that I am guilty of doing this to people. In fact recently I invited Ms. Foxy to a charity event because my family had an extra ticket and she was the only person I could think of that would be available to come by herself. “Go ahead and say it,” she told me, “I’m the only one you could find who’s single.” Guilty. But then, I only had a date because my friend’s parents were also attending. So really, is no date better than a pity date?

Other times it stinks to be single: New Year’s Eve. No one in their right mind likes to be dateless or single on NYE. It is the worst. This is possibly the one night of the year where ladies get all dressed up and pretty and everyone consumes copious amounts of alcohol whilst counting down the minutes to the one moment where you all shout, smile, and then kiss your boo. What does one do who is without a boo? Smile awkwardly and drown in champagne during the moment of relative silence that follows the “Happy New Year!” while everyone is sucking face. Oh and if you’re with friends, you get a cutesy kiss on the cheek and a hug. Fun. Tell me all single girls love this and I will tell you I just gave myself a buzz cut.

Additionally, though less comical than NYE, it stinks to be single at company holiday parties. Not only do they tend to be slightly awkward (at least until more alcohol is consumed to loosen everyone up), if you work in a corporate Amurica office like mine, everyone is married and brings their spousal unit. Leaving you to huddle with the other interns or weird 50+ -year-old bachelors. Good times. I’d rather bring my mother than go alone to these things.

Wedding season also sort of stinks for single people. I think this needs no further explanation.

Anyway. I successfully digressed from the point of this post, which is that I am in the perfect city for dating and I couldn’t be more thrilled with the dating record I’ve already started. Three cheers for me. Additionally I heard a rumor that not only is Raleigh a great city for young singles and dating, but there are more young men here than young women. Extra points. AND the young men are of the “country boy” variety who are college educated and enjoying the numerous cultural experiences to be had in Raleigh. More points. It is a little known fact (LOL little known fact indeed) that country boys are my favorite kind of boy. And to clarify, I use “boy” loosely, and really actually mean “man.” It’s implied. Three cheers again. Any sad single girls out there should get thee to Raleigh asap so you can party with me and we can get coupled up on the quick with a cultured, college educated, country MAN who loves his momma and thus will treat you like a queen. Trust.

Keep on keepin on, ladies. Don’t let wedding season get you down. Get some cute shoes and own the singleness, then pick your favorite gay friend and take him to all the weddings. Your friends will be jealous of your glamorous and carefree lifestyle, and soon they will be bogged down with gross things like mortgages while you will only be burdened with things like cab fares, which shoes to wear with that cute dress, and which hot hunk of man to commandeer for your next margarita. High five to you!

Lasting Friendships and Corporate Lingo Bingo

I had a light bulb moment earlier today while driving back from Le Subway, my exotic lunch of choice for 90% of my work days. It was sort of a deep and insightful light bulb, and there was a moment where I was sad, nostalgic, happy, regretful, and contemplative all at once. I immediately decided to write about it, make it less of a depressing thought by sharing it with you people, and throwing in some jokes to lighten it up whilst dissecting. Because that’s my style. We are not super serious here at Miss Sassy Pants, because we don’t take our sassy pants too seriously, unless they are just seriously sassy. See how I did that? Also not sure why I used “we,” since it’s just me here in these pants. [Baa! That one was for you, Senator]

So now here I am, taking a break from wrestling and arguing with the biggest, slowest, most complicated excel spreadsheet ever (bet you didn’t know they could wrestle or argue…now you know) to get this jank down on proverbial paper. Also I challenge you to a game of corporate lingo bingo. 10 points for everyone who spots them all (also fun to play on conference calls, but that’s not for this post). Here we go.

One of the biggest take-aways from this rotational program is the human experience. It’s not necessarily all about how many muckity-mucks I schmooze with, how many high-impact initiatives I participate in, what my visibility is compared to my colleagues and peers, or my success rate (thank goodness). It’s the people I meet and interact with, how I learn to interact with different personalities, different kinds of bosses, finding my place in the work community and “life” community (aka outside of work), making new friends and forming relationships, and learning which gas station sells the cheapest gas (a moot point out here, as I sacrifice future unborn children each time I fill up). It’s the soft skills, and if my HR manager was reading this, he’s be so proud as he is always stressing to us kids in the program how important the soft skills are.

The first rotation in Richmond was easy. I had previously lived there for a good number of years, aka my entire life minus roughly 4 years of college, so suffice it to say I knew people. I knew where to go, I had friends, and I had places nearby I could easily visit and know more people. Does that make me sound ridiculously cool and popular? No? Well you’re right, I wasn’t, but my point is, I had a network, I had family, and I knew people at work from the previous summer working there. Like training wheels, this situation let me learn slowly and safely about the “real world,” as real as a world can be while living in the same town you grew up in and still living with your parents and paying no bills. Have a chuckle, and we’ll move on. Then after 6 months of regularity, good work out schedule, my designated parking spot where I parked daily, good pals, weekly lunch outings, and Law & Order marathons with my parents, not to mention close proximity to VT (very important),  it was all brought to an abrupt halt.

On to Raleigh, where I knew approximately 2 people and moved in with this random chick I found on Craig’s List (she’s awesome btw, and we’re now friends…thanks Craig). I missed my friends, having tons of Hokies nearby, and knowing which bars to go to for a cheap drink and good time. It took me a little while, but after a couple months I had new (good) friends, pals at work, my “place” socially at work, and had a routine of regular things I did and people I saw. It was like I actually lived there. Then once I got used to it and settled, I up and moved myself to California. Which, among other things, means I’d be away – far, far away from Virginia Tech during football season. Talk about depressing.

And so it seems that two times of settling, connecting, and routine-ing is enough for me to adjust how I think about and do things during these short stints of life. I have found myself frequently thinking, “well if it’s only x number of months left, what’s the point?” Why form bonds and connect with people, only to up and leave a short time later and more than likely see none of them possibly ever again, aside from Facebook updates? Luckily for me, when I think these things, I immediately recognize the depressing-ness of them and do something deliberately opposite of those thoughts. Like make plans and do something to capitalize on fun.

But then other times I can’t get motivated to make the effort to meet people or meet up with the people I have met. There’s logistics, getting to know them, figuring out if I actually like them and if they like me, if we have anything in common, forming bonds, blah blah blah. Making and maintaining friends (and especially good friends) really is a lot of work, so then I think, well I’m not staying here so why am I putting in all this effort to form relationships with people who will soon be 3,000 miles away from me? And also I’d argue that some people would feel the same about me. Why will they put in a lot of effort to reach out to me when they know I will be gone soon, when they could be making time with more permanent people? I could visit, we say, or they could visit me, at some vague point in the future. It’s not such a big world anymore that San Francisco is inaccessible from Raleigh. And I may or may not do this, but none of us are made of that kind of money. But you get the point. It’s a balance. I fight loneliness and laziness to try to find a balance between being a total loner / hermit for 6 months, and putting work into making bonds which will possibly hurt me later when severed (or at least transferred to somewhere less tangible like the interwebs). But really, this shouldn’t be the first thought after meeting new people…I mean really: “Gosh, you are nice and seem pretty cool,  I think we could be friends, but I’m not sure I want to hang out anymore for fear that I might really miss you at some indiscriminate time in the distant future, so let’s examine the ROI before we spend man-hours to take this initiative further through the development life cycle.” Right! Who does that? No one.

I have no regrets, and when I think about making plans, accepting or saying no thanks to invites, I always consider this. Which will I regret more: going and doing, or not going and not doing? We know the answer. I am grateful for my job, for the chance to live somewhere other than Richmond via company funds, and to meet as many different people and see as many new things as possible. After all, we learn from each other, do we not? And no doubt I can only benefit from forming as many friendships and strategic partnerships as possible. Whether things turn out for better or worse, I will have learned something from them, and learned more about myself. Which is apparently what the 20-something years are all about, so they say. Whoever they are. They seem to know a lot, so we’ll take their word.

So I long-winded this one a bit and went over my self-imposed word limit, but whatevs. Anyone agree or disagree with me? If you disagree, I’d say you might be weird or have issues. But I’m open minded. Plus, it’s sassy to be adventurous and to put oneself “out there,” where ever there happens to be. Go forth and be sassy.

Also, I managed 10 to 13 corporate lingo bingo words, which I’d say is decent considering the mostly personal topic. High five if you found them all.

Big Hat, No Cattle.

Who doesn’t love this phrase I have learned recently?! Big hat, no cattle. It’s gloriously southern, to the point, charming, and seems to me can be used in a wide variety of contexts. I am pretty much in love with this phrase and will probably add it to the list of words that I apparently overuse on the regs. It is especially versatile and I’m really quite excited to put it in practice as often as possible. Since I had to get an explanation, I’ll assume I’m not the only one who’s unsure what it means – especially since I know some of you readers are yanks, I know ya’ll need some extra guidance. Miss Sassy is here to learn you once again, don’t worry.

My favorite and probably the most excellent example of how this phrase can be used is when referencing a big talkin man. You know, the kind with big egos who yack at the mouth about all their crazy skillz with women. Miss Sassy of course knows nothing about any sort of anything about these supposed and rumored skills, however she does have a fantastic BS meter! And this weekend, it was tested and proved to be in good working order.

Friday night, Roomz and I found ourselves with some friends at this cool place in downtown Ralz called Hibernian. It’s the perfect place for seeing, being seen, meeting and mingling. There’s at least 4 different bars, plenty of seating, a cute little outdoor patio perfect for people watching, and the music isn’t too loud. Nothing worse than zero conversation because I can’t even hear myself think. Anywho, so Roomz and I are on our last drink, closing out tabs, beginning to think better of the shots we just took, when Roomz spots a real live cowboy across the bar. She’s from Pennsylvania and has never seen a man in a cowboy hat and boots (and tight jeans and a big belt buckle if you must know) so she wants a picture. I don’t have my camera but we don’t discover that until we’ve already drawn him into conversation. So we’re chatting and then mid-convo, he leans over to me and asks for my number. Oy. Roomz excuses herself thinking she’s doing me a favor, meanwhile in my head I’m screaming please don’t leave me with this tool! Too late. I hesitate, thinking that I’m about to say my usual: no thanks, I don’t give out my number, sorry. But then I say “I’m moving in 3 weeks, does that change your mind?” (cute right!) He says he doesn’t care and I shrug and hear myself say “um, sure.” I know, so enthusiastic. He’s excited, it’s kind of cute. I’m still trying to decide if he’s actually good looking or if it’s just the hat that drew me in. We chat for a couple minutes about standard things. Where do you work? What do you do? Where are you from? I ask a bit more unconventional questions like, “Are you really a cowboy?” and “Why are you wearing that hat here?” dripping with my usual sarcasm. He thinks I’m joking, which is also cute because I’m so not. Then he asks me what my first impression of him was. This kind of question always makes me laugh, because really, it’s like asking “So, you think I’m hot right? I know.” And ya’ll know, I’m not a batting eyelashes while nodding and giggling kind of girl. I will say what I think, especially if I’m on the backside of 5ish drinks. So I gave him a once-over and told him he was wearing that big hat and buckle for a reason, and that his boots were awful fancy (I think they were snake skin. Yuck). He chuckles and asks me what I mean by that. I politely explain that no man in Raleigh, North Carolina wears those big 10 gallon cowboy hats so he must be trying to get noticed with all his Texas finery. He of course denies it and says that he’s been wearing that hat since he was 5 years old. Again, I repeat, this is Raleigh, not a party on your daddy’s ranch. It is at this point that I devise my exit strategy. My future husband is not hiding underneath that hat, and I don’t do snake skin. Next in line please.

Why is it that most men will deny that they are trying to get noticed? I have no problem admitting that when I get dolled up to go out, I am wearing shorts with 4 inch zebra heels to get noticed. I do not wear them for my health or because they help tone my gluts and hamstrings. If I wasn’t trying to get noticed I’d probably wear baggy jeans and a t-shirt. Or I’d stay at home and watch Gilmore Girls instead. Simple. And really, it’s not so bad to just admit it. Why lie? Why try to be all, “Oh I’m just here to hang out with friends and have a few beers.” It’s cute really, but we all know why we are all there. If you only wanted a few beers with friends, you could hit up the Piggly Wiggly and get yourself a case and catch up with friends on your couch. I feel like it’s just human nature. We spend time making ourselves look as not trife as possible and go out to be social because we are social creatures. And there is nothing wrong with admitting that you are proud of your tush and so yeah, you bought those tight jeans specifically to go out in because you heard chicks dig them (fact). And yes, you bought that shirt because it fits better, shows off your pecs and biceps that you work so hard on. Seriously, it’s ok. And yes, we notice. But please, don’t try to be all innocent like it’s an accident that you look so good (or flashy, which does not necessarily equal good). You consciously decided to wear that big buckle, put on your best boots, and wear that hat (indoors even. Rude.) because you know it’ll set you apart from other tight-jean’d dudes. And surprise! It worked, we noticed you. But, surprise! You had nothing behind the hat to back it up except for a feeble and disrespectful attempt to get me to go home with you. Ergo: big hat, no cattle.

No, I do not want to be your magicians assistant but thanks for asking.

I am very excited to share the myriad of trifeness that occurred this past weekend. It began when Queenie flew down to good old R-town on Friday and we partied like it was 1999 with some pals from work.

So after a lovely dinner just us gals, we ventured to Natty Greene’s, where apparently it was “Be as Trife as Possible Night”. We are sitting at the bar with our friends, I am telling a story about something not important but probably extremely funny, when I hear, “Excuse us, I know you’re in the middle of something but we want to ask you something.” Strike one. Of so many more.

Of course I stop talking and we give these two young men our attention. My first thought is that they are sort of cute but a little skinny for my taste. My second thought (before they started speaking again) was that maybe they could redeem themselves for interrupting me by having something cute or interesting to say.  “My friend here believes in magic,” the taller one says, “like the kind with magicians and rabbits and hats and stuff. I think it’s all bullshit. So we want to know, what do you think? Is magic real?” Strike two. THIS is what you interrupted me for? Oh but wait! It gets better. Queenie and I both agree, magic like that is all BS, all an illusion, and can always be explained. Hearing our answer, the shorter one pipes up and says he can prove that magic is real. At this point I am so tired of these guys I don’t even want to be nice or polite, I just want to walk away but the bar is crowded and I don’t want to give up my seat. He asks us if we have two dollars. We don’t. No one around us does. Shockingly, he finds two dollars in his pocket, shows them to us, and then folds them in fourths in a ball in his hand. Is anyone else cringing? I was, and was not taking pains to hide my displeasure with him and his money trick. He holds his hand out to me and tells me to blow on it. Blow on his hand. Like I am a 5 year old girl at the carnival. Strike three. I give him the not-amused eyebrow raise (not the cute smirky eyebrow raise) and blow because he’s being a pain in my tush. Then he proceeds to futz with the two dollars in his fist until he’s produced a $5 bill. OMG! Magic exists! EXCEPT then the other two dollar bills peek out from behind the $5, thus ruining his trick and his point. Strike four. And hilarious, something we also take to pains to hide. At this point, I deem it appropriate to turn around on my stool putting my back to both of them and continue my conversation with Queenie.

This definitely is in the book of worst pick-up lines/stories ever. I mean I can’t even explain how awkward, not cute, and irritating it was. Dudes: if you are irritating me, it’s not a good sign, and you should probably move on to a more drunk chick who might confuse your annoying-ness for attractiveness. But wait! It’s not over yet. [Right?! Some just don’t know when to call it quits.]

An hour or so and two or three beers later, same bar, same friends, these same two dudes approach us again. AGAIN. And once again interrupt our conversation with other, cuter boys. Strike five. “Hey listen,” says the taller one, “We were totally joking with that magic stuff earlier, we just wanted an excuse to talk to you ladies.” I laughed out loud because a) this is not news and b) it does not matter that they are admitting this now and c) it is just sad and hilarious. They both hold out hands to introduce themselves, trying to be cool in the face of my laughter. Their names might as well have been Dumb and Dumber for all the attention I paid to them and their limpy handshakes. Then the shorter one says, “I mean you two are the prettiest ones in here, of course we wanted to talk to you!” This is just ridiculous. After all of the magic jank, they think they can still charm us into a little flirty convo.  Queenie and I exchange that glance that only girls have that says are-you-freaking-kidding-me-could-this-get-any-worse. Their parting trifeness included using the word “seriously” way too many times, and pointing out their table in case we changed our minds later. Strike six. Sure! If I suddenly get amnesia I’ll let you know. And apparently later in the evening, one of them followed Queenie to the bathroom and waited for her outside the door (creepy and not cute guys, do not follow any girl to the potty, especially if she has shut you down greater than or equal to one time in one evening). When she came out, he asked her about the other boys we were hanging out with. As in, “are you serious with those guys? They’re so not as cool as me.” Strike seven and eight.

Un-freaking-believable and hilarious. Dudes, please read carefully and learn. Luckily, the evening got infinitely better after that trifeness. Stay tuned for more from Nascar-bomb weekend, each day gets better ya’ll!

How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences

Last night Roomz and I ventured out into the wild that is dt Rals. Tuesdays are ON FIRE let me tell you. Just playing. But seriously we did go out, and I’m proud of us because we stayed out until 1am! A record for me of late, as I am fast turning into an old lady who goes to bed no later than 10:30pm. Feisty. Anywho, we met some friends (yes, friends! I found some!) at this cool bar called the Flying Saucer, where they were having weekly Trivia night. Super fun, totally unrelated to the story. So we’re chatting it up and one of my pals brought up Miss Sassy Pants! This here blog loves to be mentioned in everyday convo because it means more readers and typically fuels the fire for some good sassy stories to share (spread the good Sassy news people). Which is exactly what happened here. I was saying that I am sort of boring lately and haven’t had any good stories or triflin messes to share…and my sweet little Roomz reminded me that I haven’t shared the gay waiter story! Oh yes. Now you’re hooked. So now Miss Sassy will commence to explaining How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences. You know, for all those times you just aren’t sure.

Let’s rewind to the first weekend after I moved to the Rals. So picture it: Just met Roomz, know nothing about Raleigh, tired from the first week of work, stressed a bit from all the projects I was assigned, probably feeling a bit overwhelmed, not on my game. So Roomz’ friend GBFF, who we can all infer from his nickname is gay, comes to visit this weekend. We all go out to dinner to PFChangs, and while waiting for our table at the bar, all take notice of a particularly good looking waiter. I mean really good looking. Tall, dark, and handsome, mysterious, cute smile, total package. And he’s not a 50-yarder, which is a plus. So GBFF points him out first, saying that he’s hot stuff, to which Roomz and I instantly agree. BUT is he gay? GBFF thinks yes, I said no, Roomz couldn’t decide. Eventually we’re seated, unfortunately not in his section despite trying our hardest. Throughout dinner we all get our stare on, discreetly of course, and may or may not have drawn attention to ourselves while simultaneously eye-flirting with him throughout our meal. Honestly I don’t remember, but it’s entirely possible and probable. Then the end of dinner roles around and GBFF is stuck on this guy. I mean rage-at-the-machine in love with him because he is so ridiculously good looking. But what to do? It’s not a typical pick-up scene. He’s busy waitering, we’re busy with our teriyaki, would probably be rude to interrupt him taking orders at his table and ask him what sign he is and does he live nearby. Not to mention the fact that we still can’t decide if he’s gay or not. Conflicting gay-dar readings do not a concensus make. So Roomz comes up with a brilliant plan, grabs a cocktail napkin and pen from my mom-bag and writes the following:

Are you gay? If yes: GBFF, 919-555-0000. If no: Roomz, 919-555-0001.

Except she used their real phone numbers, duh. Then, when we had all paid our checks and were ready to leave, she bravely walked up to Mr. Hunky Waiter and presented him with the little note. Ballsy little gal! We walked out of there giggling like fools, vowing to never return to that particular PFChangs if neither of them got a phone call. Which they didn’t. What makes the story even better is that GBFF’s parents visited the next day and wanted to go to PFChangs for lunch. Clearly that didn’t happen.

The moral of this story is that sassiness comes in all shapes and sizes. While Miss Sassy does not personally give out her phone number to strangers or even good looking men in bars or restaurants anymore (unless it says “Mr. Perfect-for-Miss-Sassy” on his forehead), it is sassy to act if you like what you see. Because you never know where the next adventure will start. No, you probably won’t marry Mr. Hunky Waiter, but he might be a nature enthusiast just like you! And maybe he’ll take you out a couple times and you might get some fun flirting in. Why not? Do it while you’re young people because eventually you’ll be a creepy old guy or a wrinkled too-tan cougar. But always always always, as I always say always, maintain the class. Sass – Class = Trash. And trash smells bad, even from 50-yards away.