August 4, 2011

Ew

Posted in Sex at 2:33 am by biancas & bourbon

I had to share this. Sometimes, I really hate humanity.

Watch CNN’s report on a site that hooks up out of look girls with sugar daddies

What do you think?

July 28, 2011

And, time is up!

Posted in Dating at 2:49 am by biancas & bourbon

When Barney Stinson announced that he would make Lemon Law a thing, I’m sure it sent bloggers into a frenzy. Some probably expressed outrage while others agreed it would save everyone a lot of time and heartache.

For those of you who don’t watch How I Met Your Mother, the Lemon Law is as follows: When you buy a car, you have the opportunity to return it in the event that it is a lemon. One of the show’s characters Barney hoped to apply this to dating. You usually know within the first five minutes whether you’ll sleep with your date. So why prolong the inevitable further?

I am a huge supporter of the Lemon Law, especially in the world of online dating. Sure, the downside is that your feelings may get hurt. But it’s a tough world out there cookie, and best you know now. Plus, time is a precious thing. Think about what you could have been doing instead of pinching yourself to stay awake during the last half hour of that date with dull guy number 200.

Let’s just take the documented tidbits of my dating history and see if the lemon law would have helped:

  • My work husband–definitely yep
  • The brain injury–obviously (and I wouldn’t have cried that evening)
  • Stank–probably not, but I blame that on my lack of logic during those three months; let’s just blame it on alcohol
  • And I’m sure it would of have helped everyone in my eavesdropping series
Let’s take a real date and hypothetically put it to the Lemon Law. Per recent memory, this is how the failure went:
 
Dude: Nice to meet you (with an obvious look of disappointment).
Me: Nice to meet you too (with the realization he lied about his height because yet again, my 5’4” frame is taller than his NOT-5’9” frame).
Dude: Um, I’m really tired.
Me: That sucks. Well, thank you for coming.
Dude: Let’s get a bottle of wine.
Me: Um, okay. (I’m puzzled. Does fake 5’9” dude really want to stay for an entire bottle of wine? Wouldn’t he prefer to make a quick exit after just one?) Well, if we’re going to get wine, I gotta eat. Seafood couscous platter please.
Dude: Um, I’ll get the side salad.
Me: Sigh…
 
This date was awful. He was fine, but we just clearly were not into each other. I asked him five separate times what he did for a living, and the second through fifth time, I realized the faux pas I was making but didn’t care because I had nothing else to say and couldn’t stand the pauses.
 
If the Lemon Law was a thing, here’s how the date would have gone:
 
Dude: Nice to meet you (with an obvious look of disappointment).
Me: Nice to meet you too (with the realization he lied)
Dude: Let’s Lemon Law this.
Me: Agreed.
 
My goodness, I would have saved cab fare, I wouldn’t have eaten that entire baby octopus and I wouldn’t have woken up with a hangover.
So let’s make the Lemon Law a thing!!!! Please?
What dating rule would you like to see be made a thing?

July 22, 2011

You’ve been here before…

Posted in Awkward moments, Uncategorized at 12:02 am by biancas & bourbon

Everyone has a local, whether it’s the Italian place that puts crab on their pizza or the dive bar known for cake batter shots. Having a local bakery, coffee shop or dry cleaner may not seem like a big deal to many, but in New York where one can find two Starbucks across the street from each other and three delis on the same block, it’s a big deal.

I don’t have many locals, but I was reminded of one of the very few I’m currently committed to when someone sent me the following picture.

For three years now, I have been a loyal customer of the Brazilian waxer around the corner from my apartment. Prior to discovering this spa, my waxing regimen was dictated by what Spa Week deal was in my inbox.  I’m still poor, so I don’t go bare down there every month like them 20 year old Park Avenue gold diggers. I only wax the vaj around beach time and go about three times a year.

My most recent visit was definitely the most awkward waxing experience I’ve ever had. This is quite the feat given what a Brazilian already entails—being naked waist down in front of a relative stranger, having hot wax poured over your delicate private parts and then ripping out hair and sometimes skin. (I loathe being a woman at times.)

I walked in and the spa was dark. The receptionist said they had lost power and air conditioning (this was during one of those unpleasantly hot days), but she reassured me that the wax heaters were still functioning. While we were chatting, this woman walked in and asked if there were any available walk-ins. The receptionist politely said, “No, I’m sorry. It’s peak season and we are already behind with this client right here (she points to me). Usually at this time of year, you have to book two weeks in advance.”

This woman responded with the following: BAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK.

Um, really? Were you really that upset about not getting waxed? Although, I fully appreciate the exceptional job these waxers do, I can only imagine not getting waxed at the time you planned is similar to your dentist postponing your cleaning. Sure you’re annoyed, but aren’t you relieved you don’t have to go to the dentist? And lady, this was your goddamn fault. If you are a jungle down there, just march your ass to the nearest Korean nail salon or take a razor to that shit. My god, it’s just hair.

But the most awkward moment happened later into the appointment. My waxer came out to greet me and asked if I had been to this establishment before. I said yes, and she didn’t believe me. I was adamant about me being a regular for the following reasons:

  1. When you’re a new patron anywhere, they make you sign up for stupid newsletters. I hate that shit so I always say that I’ve been before even when I haven’t.
  2. I really wasn’t new.

I entered the private room, de-panted and laid down on the table of pain. As soon as the waxer got a good look at my vaj, she exclaimed, “Oh you have been here before!”

If that doesn’t prove that I’m local, I’m not sure what does.

Maybe she recognized the fade she gave you last time.

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