Friday, April 30, 2010

the week in celebrity BLOW OFFS

the blow up:  Jenna Jameson (former porn star) and Tito Ortiz (UFC Champ) got into a big fight and Jenna had Tito arrested for domestic violence.   He then accused her of being an Oxycontin addict.   Now, they're both saying their allegations against each other were blown out of proportion and they're trying to work it out.  Good luck with that.  

the baby & the blow off: Wait, hold up, between award season and the break up with Jesse James, Sandra Bullock had adopted a baby and no one knew about it?!   This is a crazy third act twist that even M. Night Shyamalan wouldn't have come up with.   I'm glad Sandra confirmed that she's filed for divorce, good for her.  But the whole situation is sad and I wish someone would invent a time machine so Jesse James could go back and keep it in his pants.

the rumored blow off: TMZ claims today that Halle Berry and her man Gabriel Autry have called it quits and are quietly working out custody arrangements for baby Nahla.   But they're both so beautiful and they just had a child together not too long ago.  I'm so confused.  What could have gone wrong?   Somebody better have a drug problem or an infidelity problem, because if these two just got bored and fell out of love, then that doesn't bode well for the rest of us.

the week's biggest blow off:  Julia Roberts was supposed to land the cover of People Magazine's most beautiful people issue, but she was relegated to the upper right hand corner when Sandra Bullock gave them the exclusive about her divorce and adoption.   I don't care how nice everyone says JR is, I would not have wanted to be the person who had to tell her she lost the cover to America's now more famous sweetheart.  

Pivot, Pivot, Pivot

Another funny cartoon from the April 26th issue of The New Yorker.   Next time you're blowing someone off, why not just tell them you're pivoting.  

Thursday, April 29, 2010

the night Jimmy Fallon BLEW ME OFF

It was the summer of 2001 and I had left Norcal to attend summer school at NYU. I can't remember how my crush on Jimmy Fallon started or which SNL sketch made him my #1 celebrity crush, but among my new NYU bffs, my undying love for Jimmy became one of our many running jokes that hot, humid, pre-9/11 summer.

One of our favorite things to do in NY with our fake IDs was 80s nights at Don Hill's in the West Village. Give me Billy Idol and alcohol and I'm all smiles. But when my friends told me that they'd had Jimmy Fallon sightings at Don Hill's, it became my new favorite place in the world.

So, one night, after six tequila shots in our dingy NYU dorm room, me and my roommate from San Diego headed to Don Hill's together. For some reason, when we got to the bar, we decided to start drinking red bull and vodka. I'm having a vomit flashback just thinking about it. We hit the dance floor with our drinks and my much calmer and cooler roommate whispered to me that Jimmy Fallon was standing right behind us. I thought she was full of shit, but when I turned around, sure enough--- there he was--- double fisting two beers. She warned me to play it cool, but when you're 20 and filled with tequila, that's nearly impossible.

I walked straight up to Jimmy and asked him why he was drinking two beers at the same time, then pulled one out of his hand and proceeded to pound it. There were two girls with him, a blonde and a brunette, and I couldn't tell if they had just met him that night or if they were his regular girlfriends. It didn't matter. My next move was to ask him what his name was and pretend like I had no idea he was famous. He said his name was Jimmy (duh) and asked me my name. He smiled politely and then basically went back to his friends.

The rest of the night is kind of hazy. I think at one point we maybe sort of danced together to Freedom by George Michael, then after that I ended up getting sick in the bathroom. Once I semi recovered, Jimmy was on his way out. I asked him if he was leaving and gave him a hug good bye and I'm pretty sure I kissed him on the cheek or he kissed me on the cheek. I have no idea. He left arm in arm with the brunette, while I wallowed in jealousy.

Somehow I managed to get myself home in a cab, where my roommate who had stayed behind held my hair back while I got sick and shouted "Jimmy Fallon" between puke sessions. When my other roommate finally got home, she broke the news no one under 21 wants to hear. Her purse had been emptied out and both our fake IDs were gone.

I woke up the next morning feeling super embarrassed. I didn't like being the girl that had no shame when it came to trying to bag a celebrity. And I promised myself I'd never act like that again. If that meant never having a one night stand with Ryan Gosling, then so be it. Plus, celebrity crushes never last. I don't even think Jimmy Fallon makes it on my top ten list anymore and while I have enjoyed his late night show, I've probably only seen it twice. Now that I'm a little older and wiser, the thing I actually find the most attractive about him is that he ended up marrying a smart & successful woman. Someone i'm guessing never pulled a beer out of his hand and followed him around all night in a club. I'm sure that's worked for a lot of groupies, but as quickly as the morning after, I knew that kind of behavior deserved a blow off.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


It was sixth grade and I was pretty happy-go-lucky. Sure, I had glasses, braces and burgeoning boobs, but I was fairly confident. The world hadn't yet told me about rejection and I thought that if I liked a boy, he'd like me back. Oh how wrong I was...

His name was Andrew and he was in every class with me. He was super cute, seemed nice and was in EVERY CLASS WITH ME. I mean, I saw him constantly and he seemed nice and so I developed my first major crush. I smiled extra long at him, helped him with any class work because I was smarter than him and was elated when he asked me to dance at the Middle School Social. So, I thought I would take our relationship to the next level and write him a note.

I labored over the note for at least four hours. I think the final script read something like, "Hey Andrew. I like you. Do you want to go out with me? Check Yes or No."

His only reply, a big fat "X" in the "No" box. I had been rejected. I had encountered my first blow off. As stupid as it sounds, I don't think I had the cojones to ask another dude out until I was well into my adult life. Thanks a lot, middle school.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

the arts BLOW OFF

Jake and I were becoming good friends but we both knew there was a good chance it would turn into at least a hook up. So one night I headed over to his place and we were hanging out when he brought up the subject of us possibly making out. BIG MISTAKE. Never ask dudes, always go for it. We can push you away if necessary.

Well, after about an hour of discussing I decided – what the hell. So we made out, fooled around, rounded some bases etc. - somewhat pleasurable, mostly awkward. Anyway, the next morning he asked when he could see me again. I was happy he wanted more, but I told him the truth which was that I was in tech for a play and would be really busy for the next week. I thought he got it. And he came to the play which was very nice.

But, when the play ended, and I actually had time to see him, he didn’t seem so enthused anymore. I left him a message saying I was free and would love to get together. But when he called me back, he left a message saying “uh I’m really busy, sorry.” Sure you were busy. I think you were actually offended and took the immature route. Needless to say the hook up is over and so is the friendship. So much for supporting the arts!

For this story

Read: The Heidi Chronicles (a play) by Wendy Wasserstein

Listen to: “Give a Little Love” The Bay City Rollers

Monday, April 26, 2010

Glossary of a BLOW OFF: Blowtini

Part of speech: Noun

Definition: A wild, implausible excuse for blowing someone off that implies a lack of fault due to intoxication.

Example: “Nope, he never called last night. Somebody must have slipped him a Blowtini.”

Origins: My favorite alkie, once explained a weekend long absence from plans we made together with this bold faced lie: “I was gonna call you but somebody must have slipped some blow in my drink. The last thing I remember is passing out on the party bus.” My friends and I made the following assertions that led to the creating of the term Blowtini. First of all, cocaine’s a stimulant. I don’t know anybody who snorts a line before bed. Its not a cousin of Rohypnol or anything. Second, coke is expensive. It’s not the sort of thing people waste by dumping it in someone else’s drink for kicks. Most importantly, my favorite alkie was never one to make moral judgments about intoxicants. He welcomed one and all. The most likely truth is that he was snorting lines with his buddies and knew it wasn’t my bag so he didn’t bother to call or to give it to me straight when he got around to apologizing. Forever after, any flake out or complete failure at life has been blamed on one of those wily, lurking Blowtini’s. Watch out, they’ll sneak up on you.

Eat, Pray, BLOW OFF

I'm one of the few females that wasn't totally won over by Elizabeth Gilbert's book Eat, Pray, Love.   I kind of find her writing self indulgent and super whiny.   All I could think about was all the women out there who can't blow off their lives post divorce and don't have a small fortune to travel through Italy, India, and Indonesia for a year.  I wish one of them would write a memoir about the D word.  That said, it's nice that a book about a woman's soul searching was such a huge success, and I wouldn't mind a year of eating and loving (I could skip the praying).   

Then when I heard they were making a movie of the book with Julia Roberts, I had to roll my eyes even more.   I can't remember when I started to find JR annoying, but pretty much everything she's done since My Best Friend's Wedding has been crappy.   After awhile, the smile, the laugh, the "I'm so down to earth" charm felt like a big giant facade.   This movie's only saving grace was the fact that Ryan Murphy (glee, Nip/Tuck) was directing it.  

But I'm a sucker for a good trailer and when I saw this one, I kind of loved it.  Even Julia didn't annoy me.  And Billy Crudup, James Franco, and Javier Bardem offer plenty of eye candy.   My favorite moment is where "elizabeth's" friends tell her a la dog owners, she tends to look like all of her boyfriends.   I know so many girls like that! 

Thursday, April 22, 2010


Last night, due to a certain BLOW OFF writer's 30th bday party, I found myself hanging out at Gold Club-- a "gentle men's" club in San Francisco.  At first, my bf and I were gonna skip it, but then I got into the spirit of my two vodka gimlets and time spent with old friends.  Next thing I knew, I was paying a $20 cover to get in.  According to the door man, girls used to get in free, but they decided that was discrimination (this is what equal rights has gotten us, ladies).  I told him I thought not having  naked boys was discrimination, but whatevs.

So, here's the thing.  I so want to be the type of girl that's totally cool with strip clubs.  I want to be the girl that can hang with the dudes and flash around my dolla-dolla bills.  But I'm not and I can't.   When I was a senior in high school, I gave my boyfriend a stack of ones when he turned eighteen and his friends took him to the Pink Poodle in San Jose.  All the boys thought I was the coolest girlfriend for doing that.  But in hindsight, that was my master plan.  I think a lot of times us ladies BLOW OFF how things might really make us feel, so that we can earn the title of Cool Girlfriend.  And that not being the cool girlfriend = insecure with trust issues.  well...fuck that. 

The thing is, I don't really like the idea of my bf looking at other live tit-ays or spending money on other women.  Also, the expression on dude's faces at strip clubs kind of makes me want to throw up on myself (white man's overbite left and right).  Plus, I'm not really sure why it's generally accepted for guys in committed relationships to get lap dances.   Would it be okay for me to heavily pet a boy in a bar as long as i give him $50 after ($100 at Gold Club, btw)?  Yes, I can appreciate the female body just as much as the next person and some of these girls were pretty cute (some of you were totally phoning it in).  Despite that, instead of giving them money what I really wanted to do was cover them with a trench coat and smuggle them out of the club like Jennifer Beals does with her bff in Flashdance.   So, if that means i'm not as cool as Diablo Cody or that i'm a sexually un-liberated prude, so be it.  I don't like strip clubs.  They're gross.  And I have to believe there are some (straight) men and some un-cool girlfriends that agree with me.  

All of that said, I do love songs about strippers.

Wyclef Jean - Perfect Gentleman (Official Music Video) - Watch more top selected videos about: Wyclef_Jean

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

the accidental BLOW OFF

Another great (or not so great) BLOW OFF story from one of our readers:

Admittedly since my teens, I have had many men. Some I can remember well; others remain a blur. When you are dealing with high numbers, there are bound to be blow-offs in the midst. Without sounding arrogant, it was usually I who was doing the blowing off. You see, I am not the girl you blow off; I am the girl you string along. Anyway, that’s another story. No matter how many times I decided to stop dead in my tracks and run the other way, I have to say it never felt good. And the blow-offs that hurt the most were the accidental ones. There were two and I often wonder if life would have played out differently had they not happened; or maybe they would have resulted in intentional blow-offs in the end, who knows. The first one happened during my freshman year of college and was my sister’s fault, but I will skip that one and go to the second, more painful one: post college during a severe dating dry spell and to this day a mystery – did he say Friday and mean Saturday or did he say Saturday and I heard Friday? We’ll never know.

Three years after university, I was living in San Francisco and having coffee with a guy who had been stringing me along on and off since junior year; I didn’t mind much as he was too cute not to let him and too dull to worry about getting hurt. Anyway, we were enjoying lattes and macaroons and chatting about not much when two guys came and sat down at the table next to us. One of them had long hair, a great smile and a backpack full of charisma. I tried to concentrate on my friend’s dull dissertation on dry wall (he was doing construction at the time) but found my attention gravitating to the next table. When my friend got up to go to the bathroom, I couldn’t help but make eye contact with the sexy long haired guy. He struck up a conversation and mentioned something about my ‘boyfriend’. I told him he wasn’t my boyfriend and we both smiled. My friend returned and I sunk down a bit in my chair, hoping that my face didn’t look as flushed as it felt. I spent the rest of the time wondering if this was one of those moments where you either act and win or don’t and lose. What if he was my Mr. Right and I was too scared to do anything because I was with Mr. Wrong? Anyway, as my friend went to pay, I found myself writing down my phone number on the back of a receipt and slipping it to Mr. charisma as we left. My stomach was full of jitters and my mind already wandering through our first date. Who knows, I thought, I could be madly in love by next week!

The next evening I got a call from coffee house guy and we talked for a long time. He was funny, smart, from a San Francisco family and quite eccentric. Anyway, we made dinner plans for that weekend and he told me that he’d swing by my place to pick me up.

Friday night came and my roommate asked me if I wanted to walk down the street for sushi with her and her boyfriend. Seeing as they were my usual weekend partners when I did not have plans, I accepted. We strolled down to our local sushi place, enjoyed a casual dinner and some beers and walked home. We checked our messages as we usually did when walking in, and we had three. I pressed play. Shockingly, they were all from coffee house guy and he sounded increasingly frustrated. Message one: Hi, it’s *** I’m down the street from your place at the bus stop pay phone… I rang your doorbell but you didn’t answer. I’ll try again. Message two: Hey, I’m at the pay phone again. Some drunk guy looks angry I took his spot. Not sure if you gave me the right address. Message three: You know, if you didn’t want to go out with me, all you had to do is say so! Enjoy your weekend (implied Bitch at the end of that one)!

I began to sweat, my heart began to race … Friday? He said Saturday! I know he did! Shit, I don’t know his number… I don’t even know his last name! I haven’t had a real date in months! Without even thinking, I threw my coat back on and ran out the door to the bus stop on the corner. I don’t know if I expected him to be sitting there at a candle lit table for two or if I just had to try and save the evening, but all I found was a tired looking woman with her even more tired looking son and a homeless man circling the phone booth and muttering to himself. I stopped myself from desperately questioning the both of them and wandered back home muttering my own regrets.

My friend tried to console me. Her boyfriend thought it was hilarious and told me it served me right, as he was a friend of Mr. String-along. I went to bed hoping he’d try calling me the following week.

He didn’t. I don’t blame him - It was too early to care that much and he had his pride to protect as I remember it had been a while since he’d dated anyone either. And me, well I continued on with Mr. String-along until he decided to go back to his high school girlfriend and I eventually met someone else. I am pretty sure that coffee house guy and I would not have dated long, but to this day I just wish I could find him and tell him that in my mind, it was Saturday night and I was looking so forward to it.

suck it up or BLOW OFF

I have been contemplating blowing off my "career" for quite some time. It sort of feels like that relationship you've been in for way too long where all signs point to break up, but that little voice inside your head says "is waking up with someone mediocre better than not waking up with anyone at all?"

I've been in the online tech industry for 7+ years and at one time worked for one of the most revolutionary companies (sounds like Poogle). I've enjoyed some of the greatest perks (money) and made some of my best friends, but I've close to hated the "job" from Day 1.  I don't know if I just hate working in general or if I've just fallen into an industry that leaves me passion-less (i.e. that yucky feeling you get after really bad sex).  I mean seriously who cares about optimizing and monetizing video views and ads, increasing traffic, driving coverage and click-through rates, over-deliver and under-delivery. I'm clearly not saving lives or making the world a better place. I'm making the online world cluttered with more ads so my damn company can make a buck or two before it sinks for good or gets bought out by some company that thinks we're worth more than we actually are.  It's like standing on the sidelines at a wedding and forever holding your peace even though you know someone's getting the raw end of the deal.

The good news is in the last year I've found
my one true love, a small business that I've started with a friend, that involves all the fun and creativity my "career" has sucked out of me. The bad news is this venture won't be making career-like money for a long time, maybe never and for now it's my "cost center".

So now I'm trying to stay focused on taking steps towards blowing off my career for good,
but here is where I get stuck:

#1 No "affordable" insurance paid by my company. This is the year of "actively" starting a family* with the husband who is self-employed and can't put me on his insurance without mucho additional $$$$. *"actively" starting a family deserves an entire post of its own.

Like many Americans, re-financing has become part of our everyday vernacular, but good luck trying to make it happen post job blow off. In today's economic times, the bank won't even look at you if you're unemployed.

I wish someone would have told me the American Dream = doing something that makes you miserable just so you can own property and go to the doctor.


Monday, April 19, 2010

the do Ask, do tell BLOW OFF

A missing person's report hot off the presses from one of our loyal readers in the military:

"Missing: a guy who built me handmade shelves with an inscription saying, 'Anything for you, sweetheart,'written on the back.  I think he may have been distracted when another male offered him the 'best 47 seconds of his deployment'-- not including the 'drooling and panting.'  I guess that was more inviting than a sweet, single heterosexual blonde with a 26" waist and 34D boobs."

Oh, no he didn't!

Have your own BLOW OFF story you want to send us?  Just email us at

Larry King's Boys Night Out: the blow off cure

Last night, I went to LA's iconic italian eatery Dan Tana's with my boyfriend and his parents (who are in town from the east coast) and lo and behold, in the booth next to us sat Larry King and a bunch of his buddies.   I guess when you're going through a messy public divorce, boys night out is not just a tradition, but a necessity.   I wanted to so badly to scoot into the booth right next to Larry (who was wearing a Dodger's hat instead of his signature suspenders), give him a BLOW OFF business card, and ask him if the rumors about him and his wife's sister were really true.    

I couldn't hear everything Larry and his buddies were saying, but I'm guessing it went something like "chicks, man.  they're all bitches."  My boyfriend's mom said he was still wearing his wedding ring (according to TMZ, the divorce may be on hold) and that his friends warned him against ever getting married again.  It has got to be a little frustrating to not be able to make a relationship work at seventy-six years old.    

I guess the good news is, whether we're married or divorced, young or old, there's nothing like a night out with long-time friends, good booze, and fatty foods, to make us feel like a blow off is just a temporary set back and that in the words of Gloria Gaynor, we will survive.  

Friday, April 16, 2010

the "fun" friend who is actually crazy BLOW OFF

Around five years ago, a "fun girl" befriended me. Let's call her Fiona because that sounds like a fun girl's name. Anyway, Fiona pursued me like a tweener pursues Justin Bieber. We met in an improv class and immediately she wanted to be my bestie. She called me, texted me, emailed me and wanted to hang out with me all the time. Although I was a little weirded out by the slightly stalker-like behavior of Fiona, we became friends. Why? Because she was a "fun girl." She was the girlfriend you go dancing with, stay out way too late with and generally have a crazy time with. She was that girl who said things you weren't supposed to say, wore ridiculous things like wigs out to restaurants, and seemed to have a ton of energy.

And then, as quickly as we had become friends - poof! She disappeared. I tried to call her a few times and she never returned my calls and I actually felt sad. It was like she was breaking up with me. Where had she gone? Was she mad at me? What did I do?

Then I found out, I didn't do anything... well, except befriend an unstable nut job. It turns out Fiona had moved in with a guy she just met and was planning to get married (I later learned that this ended a couple of weeks later.) I also learned that Fiona went through friends like Heidi Montag goes through plastic surgeries. I wasn't the only one. She also went in and out of rehab, started career paths she never finished, and was constantly searching for something new. New look, new friends, new Fiona.

So my advice? Be wary of the "fun girl." "Fun" can also be code for "bat shit crazy." It's great for awhile but like our brief friendship, it's unsustainable.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

the environmental BLOW OFF #1: The Sun

Remember when you were a kid and you'd frolic in the sun, reveling in its rays? When a day at the pool was a blast and freckles were cute? When a suntan meant you were healthy and ready to rock that Jessica McClintock prom dress? That day no longer exists.

Thanks "science" for proving that the sun hates me. Thanks for proving that both UVA and UVB rays are bad for me and that the only real way to reduce my risk for sun exposure is to stay locked deep inside my home and only emerge nocturnally like a wan Twilight character. Thanks a ton for making the sun, a necessity for all life on Earth, my mortal, ever-taunting enemy.

Both my parents have had, at one point or another, skin cancer removed from their pale, wrinkled faces, my husband's back is littered with more moles than a Disney witch's face, and I am roughly the color of a sickly ghost. I pity my future sun-spurned spawn. We are hated by the sun and it's not fair! I love swimming in waves, reading on the beach and taking long walks in the middle of the day. I love that feeling of euphoria that only prolonged sun exposure can bring. I love me some natural Vitamin D.

I want to go back to the days when I didn't care about getting some color. It meant that I was enjoying life and I had ruddy cheeks to prove it. I want to go back... but I am too vain and well-informed. Damn science! Of course I don't want skin cancer so for now I will try to enjoy my fifteen minutes of well-protected, sunblock slathered sun. I will also take Vitamin D supplements because no sun makes me grumpy.

Pop Culture BLOW OFF of the day: Hope it Gives You Hell

Wouldn't it be nice if we could all break out into song in response to a BLOW OFF?  That's what Rachel did on last night's spring premiere of Glee right after Phinn ended their short lived relationship (Note to readers: don't make your new squeeze a calendar filled with all of your future dates).    I'm not a big fan of the All-American Rejects, but the kids on Glee could maybe even make me love that super annoying song by Ke$ha.  Maybe.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

the Big City BLOW OFF?

Hot off the presses from The Huffington Post.  Apparently, for those of us who live in big cities like NY, LA, SF, etc.  it's mathematically proven that it's harder for us to meet someone.   Small town America finally has a silver lining! 

So, why is this the case?   Apparently, The bigger the dating pool, the more people we feel we need to BLOW OFF, before we find someone we want to settle down with.   According to the below video, when it comes to dating or even hiring someone for a job, the best mathematical strategy is to automatically reject the first 37% of the candidates REGARDLESS.   Hmm, so maybe the book He's Just Not That Into You should have been called You Were in the 37th Percentile.  

Having lived in NY and LA, I think NY was the harder city to meet people in. Bar hopping is so easy and you have till 4am to hit up as many bars as you want. Sure, you might meet someone you think is cute at Blue and Gold, but maybe there's someone even cuter at 7B. You know what it took for me to embark on a serious relationship with a guy in NY? Moving to LA.

Glossary of a BLOW OFF: Area Code

This one comes courtesy of my boyfriend. He's not allowed to read my blogs, but I still have to give credit where credit is due.

Part of speech
: Noun

Definition: A 3 digit rating system to determine a person's hotness/desirability. The 1st digit is a ranking of subject's face on a scale of 1-9; the 3rd digit is the ranking of subject's body on a scale of 1-9; and the 2nd digit is either a 0 or a 1, with 0=you wouldn't have sex with subject, and 1=you would. 

Example: "That guy is a 909! Ridiculously hot, but such a douche I can't stand to be around him." OR "He's a 616. Average looking, but so smart and funny I think I'm falling in love!"  

And if someone is so molten-lava hot and awesome you can't quantify it, their area code is "unlisted".

Monday, April 12, 2010

Baseball & the BLOW OFF

My 21 year old brother strikes again.  This time, he taught me some baseball dating analogies that can help you figure out who to blow off and who to make MVP.

The team: the group of girls you're dating.

The Leadoff hitter: the girl that can always get on base.  Hence, she's always available when you need her.

The 3rd hitter & the Clean Up hitter: your two best "players".  The ones you value the most and can't live without.   You don't have much of a team without them.

New Short Term Contract: when you're adding a new girl to the team, but aren't committed to keeping her.

Long Term Contract:  the girl worth putting everyone on the team aside for.  The one you plan to stick with for awhile. 

Trading block: when you want someone off your team, you put them on the trading block or "cut them" from the team.

The Disabled List: the girl you're not ready to cut from the team just yet, but need to bench for awhile.

Open Try Outs: when you're testing out new girls to add to the team.  

Also, good to know:  if you have more than nine girls on your team, you're really playing with fire.  And after awhile, you should always sell the team and start from scratch--- players get older, they get tired, they're not hitting it out of the park anymore.   

And all this time I thought baseball was so boring.  How could I have been so wrong?  Here's to always being the clean up hitter with a long term contract.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

the Real Housewives BLOW OFF: REVISITED

Okay, so in last week's post regarding the friendship BLOW OFF between Bethenny and Jill, I said I was team Jill.  But then I saw another episode of RHofNY and now I'm totally team Bethenny.   Here's what happened:

Bethenny started feeling like the falling out with Jill was blown way out of proportion (right after she didn't get invited to Jill's luncheon at Saks 5th Avenue.)  She called Jill, because she wanted to hash it out with her.  So, Jill answered the phone, but put Bethenny on speaker phone (um, bitchy) so that the Countess (and the Bravo viewing audience) could hear their entire conversation.  Jill basically told Bethenny that their friendship was over and that she doesn't even want to talk to her.   I'm a big believer that most blow offs are worth discussing, but Jill wasn't having it.  Bethenny was left to wipe away her tears, while sadly leaning against her sleek black town car.  

I was so confused.  I thought Jill was right, but now I feel bad for Bethenny.   Then I remembered I know people who used to work at Bravo, so I went to them for the answers.  My "source" told me that he hasn't been following the show this season, but that whatever is going on, Bethenny is right.  Apparently, she's the only one that has a clue about why she's on a reality show.  The same source also said that Jill's only redeeming quality is that she sometimes refers to herself by her first and last name.  Snap!

I can't wait to watch tonight to see what happens when Ramona invites Bethenny over to her place without telling Jill.  It's gonna be AWE-some.  

PS does anyone care about this other than me?  
PPS I'm gonna keep blogging about it anyway.  

the BLOW OFF song of the day: Untouchable Face by Ani Difranco

Senior year of high school my friends and I didn't go anywhere without listening to the song Untouchable Face in our cars at least once.  The tune made an appearance on many a mix tape and even though I grew out of my Ani Difranco phase a long time ago, I'm guessing she's still all the rage at liberal art schools around the country.  Plus, bizatch writes some great break up songs.

"Fuck you and your untouchable face.  And fuck you for existing in the first place."
-Ani Difranco, 1996

The Pre-Dump BLOW OFF

I had a yoga acquaintance who we’ll call The Australian. I would see him in class from time to time, and we’d always exchange pleasantries, nothing more. As my yoga practice progressed, I started taking a more advanced class than the one in which I’d normally see The Australian. One morning he appears in the advanced class, and upon seeing me says “Oh! This is where you’ve been hiding.” And we chat and we partner for handstands and that’s that.

The next day, The Australian is back in class. This is right around Christmas time, and he asks if he can take me out for a “Christmas lunch.” He’s nice enough, and I’ve known him casually for a long time, so I agree. We go out to lunch, we have a good time. Then he asks me to dinner, to a screening, to go for a hike, and on and on. Pretty soon I realize I’m dating The Australian.

Now, I am not terribly romatically interested in this guy at first. But he grows on me. He's funny and smart, really attentive and thoughtful in planning our dates. And so I assume he’s interested in me, and not just looking for a hangout buddy, but I’m not sure. Somewhere around our second or third date I ask him if he has a girlfriend, and he says no. And then he kisses me. So, OK, I’m guessing he likes me!

He goes back to Australia for a few weeks, and we email back and forth while he’s gone. He comes back and we hang out and all seems well. For his birthday I cook him dinner, he's happy and grateful, we make out, all is progressing. Then a few days later he calls me and asks me to meet him out for a drink, which I do.  At drinks, he announces how much he likes me and tells me he would “totally date you if I were single.” If you were single? Would date me? He then proceeds to tell me that he has a girlfriend in Australia, and while the situation isn’t perfect, they are together and he wanted to be straight with me. I ask him how telling me he didn’t have a girlfriend when I asked him weeks earlier was being straight with me, but he doesn't answer the question.

Befuddled, I realize I’m being blown off. We aren’t yet together, but we are certainly dating. He apparently disagrees, telling me we’re not. So I say to him: “OK, then you’re pre-dumping me?” And he gets all defensive – “What? No. I’m not dumping you. I just wanted to tell you I wish I could date you but I can’t.” I try to explain to him that he was dating me until 5 minutes ago, but he feigns ignorance. I try to suppress my frustration at being made to feel like a crazy person. He’s the one who started this whole mess! But I'm getting nowhere, so I give up, finish my drink, and leave. That’s the last I ever saw of The Australian.

He never showed up at yoga again, and I only heard from him via mass email containing the trailer to his newest film (he’s a movie producer). I actually felt badly that he might have felt blowing me off meant he now had to blow off his yoga practice, and so I benevolently sent him an email telling him I hoped he wasn’t avoiding class on my account.   I told him I was perfectly fine to see him, and it was true. He had been winning me over, but the pre-dump stopped that dead in its tracks. He never responded to my email.

To this day, The Australian remains the only guy who has ever taken the time to dump me when he (allegedly) didn’t even consider us to be dating. More considerate than disappearing into the ether, I suppose. But just as perplexing.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

RIP: Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy

Who's tweet was better when it came to announcing the BLOW OFF?  

From Jim: "Jenny and I have just ended our 5yr relationship. I'm grateful 4 the many blessings we've shared and I wish her the very best! S'okay! ?;^>"

From Jenny: "Im so grateful for the years Jim and I had together. I will stay committed to Jane and will always keep Jim as a leading man in my heart."

Venn diagram: the reason for BLOW OFFS?

I came upon this cartoon in the last issue of The New Yorker.  Initially, it made me laugh---no wonder blow offs are more common than lasting relationships...but then I thought maybe it doesn't give guys enough credit.   I just don't believe what all men think about is sex--- isn't that just something dad's tell their daughters so that they won't get pregnant out of wedlock?  Plus, I still think there's this myth that women aren't sex-obsessed at all.  I would venture we think about it and talk about it a lot more than society thinks we do. (Although maybe not to the point where he have to masturbate at work to be able to concentrate).

What do you think readers?   When it comes to the venn diagram, is sex the only thing that connects us?

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

BLOWN OFF by my first Republican

Senior year of college I was done with guys and looking for a man. And I found him at a friend’s party – tall, red hair (love the red hair), and far more mature than the other guys there. We started talking. To accompany his good looks, he was smart, funny, and best of all into me. In fact, as the party wound down, he even said to me, “Wow, you’re a woman.” I was pleased to find out he was also done with girls and looking for someone beyond her years like me.

We were off to a great start – until I learned on our first date – he was a Republican. The only thing I really can’t stand about Republicans is the pro-life stance. Otherwise, I can take it. He was pro-life, but as I said, he was also a man. So I gave him a chance.

We had a great time hanging out on the beach, seeing plays, and even mundanely watching sports on TV. I was pretty sure this Republican was becoming my boyfriend. And despite his politics, I was hoping he would be. His birthday was coming up and I thought I’d bake him my grandmother’s cheesecake to show him what a marvelous girlfriend I could be. The cheesecake is always a hit, and though it takes a few hours, I thought he might be worth it. I bought all the ingredients, but before I made it, I went to his house that night and had a feeling this would be our first big make-out night – maybe the last time we fooled around before we had sex. And to tell you the truth, I think those big make-out nights you have with someone for the first time can be more fun than once you start having sex. Maybe it makes me feel like a teenager again.

But it wasn’t as fun as I hoped. We were fooling around on his bed and I thought we were having a good time, but it turned out it wasn’t good enough for Mr. Republican – he wanted to have sex right then. Ironic since if I got pregnant he would also have to take care of the baby, because he doesn’t think anyone should have an abortion. So, when I tried to slow things down he just got pissy. I went home and hoped for a nice call the next day. But nothing. I waivered on whether I should start the cheesecake, but his birthday passed and still no call. I returned the cheesecake ingredients and to this day feel proud I didn’t waste my grandmother’s cheesecake recipe on someone who wasn’t man enough for it. Perhaps another red-haired Republican will come along to right his wrongs…

For this story:

Read: Heartburn by Nora Ephron

Listen to: Is You Is Or Is You Ain’t My Baby? (Dinah Washington, Rae and Christian remix)

Bake: Philadelphia Cream Cheese Cheesecake Recipe (on the box) and add Raspberries.

Monday, April 5, 2010

"Relax.": Don't Do It

Fights are healthy. Especially when you're at a point in a relationship where one argument doesn't = blow off. (Although, I do know of a couple arguments that inadvertently evolved into break ups, but that's another post all together...) You'd think the more committed and in love you are with someone, the less severe the fights, but I think the opposite is true. A sense of security combined with feeling totally at ease means we're also more likely to show our darker sides in those uneasy moments. The good news is, usually we forgive each other a lot faster.

That said, fights are still uncomfortable and we'd still rather avoid them no matter how great the make up sex is. And in hindsight, we're bound to feel like there were things we shouldn't have said or that maybe we overreacted. I'll admit, I may be a little too good at fighting. I've got a bit of a knack for coming up with mean things to say on the fly (if anyone knows how i can make a career out of that, please tell me). So, for all the guys out there who may have girlfriends like me who are known to have an outburst or two, here's a tip to make your next fight a little easier. There's one word in the English language you should never, ever, ever utter in a fight. The word of the day is: "relax."

This tends to be a guy's favorite go to in an argument and I'd love to hear if any of you dudes actually got your sig other to calm down after saying it. Whether or not our reasons for being angry are A. completely and totally warranted or B. completely and totally unwarranted, the word "relax" will pretty much always make us fly off the handle even more. It doesn't work, it only makes things worse, stop saying it.

Here's another tip. If you really want us to relax: draw us a bath and give us a massage (preferably with a happy ending). I promise, we will not respond with angry expletives.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

the BLOW OFF song of the day: Set Adrift on Memory Bliss by PM Dawn

For those of you that just can't get your mind off of a certain BLOW OFF:

"I can remember when I caught up
with a pastime intimate friend.
She said, "Bet you're probably gonna say I look lovely,
but you probably don't think nothin' of me."
She was right, though, I can't lie.
She's just one of those corners in my mind,
and I just put her right back with the rest.
That's the way it goes, I guess."
-PM Dawn, 1991

Friday, April 2, 2010

the ageist BLOWOFF

Ageism, such an ugly word, but when it’s the reason behind a blow-off or breakup, dare I say it, sometimes it just makes sense. Despite the old adage, one can definitely be too thin, too rich (not a bad burden however) and too damn young – or old for that matter. When it comes to the relationship, there is a fine balance.

Let’s take dating the younger man, being a cougar these days is all the rage. I’ve done it– in fact am still doing it - (and highly recommend it). And part of me loves the fact that finally, women are getting their due as viable objects of desire even when they are, gasp, past 40. Men have been doing it since they got off their knuckles – and in much more of an embarrassing fashion – so hell, why can’t we. The trick is to do it right. Of course you want to find someone desirable, hot even, energetic and youthful. But what you don’t want is to end up with him at some club surrounded by 18 year olds wearing neon and leg warmers wondering how long before you can sneak out and tuck your old weary bones in bed. As I said before, balance is the key. You have to have enough in common so that age is not glaring at you in the face like a florescent bulb. Cause this will quickly lead to him leaving you curbside, or you quickly tiring out and trading him in for a Twilight DVD and a cup of hot chocolate (hey, just cause you’re feeling old, does not mean you can’t be tapped into the zeitgeist).

On the flipside there is the older man to consider, and of course be wary of. My friend was married to a man 17 years her senior. The man took a nap every day. Every single day. And if he didn’t, he’d become so cranky he needed a bottle. This she soon realized was NOT a good sign, and it quickly led to the demise of their relationship. I’m not saying it cannot be done. In many circumstances, going older means finding someone who just may be your equivalent in maturity. And there are of course things to be learned, taught, and experienced that only someone of a different generation can show us. But keep in mind the following, if he needs your hand to cross the street, or takes anything off his body or from his mouth to sleep at night, I’d fire up the DVD player and seriously reconsider the union.

Kim and Reggie: The I'm taking my ball and going home BLOW OFF

So it's official. As E! Online reports, Kim Kardashian is officially moving out of the condo she shared with Reggie Bush. While some celebrity breakups are heartbreaking, I was never really a fan of this relationship in the first place. Also, Kim has made no secret that she wants a rock and has been pushing Reggie pretty hard. Now, Reggie is 25. Most 25 year old guys have no desire to get married. Add in a Super Bowl Championship, a Heisman Trophy, gobs of money, hip fashion sense and ridiculously good looks and that desire drops faster than a thirteen year old boy caught masturbating by his mother. I have to say, good for Kim for moving out, but it may have been a little much to expect a guy at the top of his "I can bang any chick in the world" game to settle down. Best to let him go, knowing that in time he will grow tired of that superficial party lifestyle and come back wanting to commit body, heart and soul to one woman. That's how it works, right guys? Right?

Oh, and btw - the fact that I have two degrees from USC and am a rabid USC football fan has had no impact on my feelings on the Reggie/Kim relationship. None whatsoever. I am clearly looking at this from a disinterested clinical point of view. Seriously.

the media BLOW OFF

The hurt. The betrayal. The utter disappointment in something you came to depend on, only to realize your feelings were never truly considered. Yes, I’m talking about being utterly betrayed by your favorite tv show, author, or musician...You laugh, perhaps even scoff, but you know it has happened to you. You devoutly follow a program, buy a singer's albums for years, or become so obsessed with a book you realize you haven't showered in days (okay, so I may be the only one on this) and then suddenly, you are punched in the gut by your old foe: disappointment.

For starters, take your favorite TV program. Everything is moving along so well, you're buying what they're selling, the characters are engaging to that believable degree, and then suddenly, WHAM, your favorite show jumps the shark (thank you Fonzi) in such a way that to stay and watch would reinforce that you are fine with your IQ taking a serious nosedive. '24' springs to mind. With this season half way thru, I have come to realize that I am the battered tv wife. Another arab villain (how unique), more impossible schematics sent to Jack's PDA, and oh, shocker, another mole within CTU. Seriously does this place vet agents while they’re still in prison? And yet, it's taken me until episode ten to contemplate stepping away from the glowing poison box and saying, enough! Some blow offs take time. In this case, almost 8 years.

When it comes to books, I find the disappointment even richer, simply due to the obsessive allure of the fictional world. I remember reading The Alienist, followed by Angel of Darkness. I was utterly hooked, riveted, blown backwards by the in depth portrayal of quirky characters created... I simply could not get enough. And when I finished, I waited patiently for the follow-up. I checked with the book stores like a junky, eagerly anticipating his next novel. And then what did the author do? He put out a sci-fi book, and not a palatable star wars-esque Hans Solo love triangle piece of mind porn, but hardcore sci-fi with alien invasions and robots. Supposedly it was his true inner calling. Put the pen down L. Ron. If I wanted to hear about aliens taking over the earth I'd hit the center. In this case, I feel like it was I, the reader, that was seriously blown off. Thanks for that Mr. Carr.

Then there is the musician. And trust me this one hurts the most. Cause you’ve most likely lived your life to a certain degree by some of your favorite artist's material. The memories far and deep put to a soundtrack: your first heartbreak song, the getting ready to go out song, the roadtrip song; hell, the I just feel like crying song, so I'm going to put you on and do just that. And you sing the lyrics time and time again, swearing that this person knows just how you feel, or knows at least how to make you feel better. And you find yourself believing their every emotion, feeling some sort of kinship ('this song speaks to me damn it!') Until that fateful day when you read an interview or blog site that exposes this singer/band for the true idiot(s) that they really are. And for some, it’s far past idiocy, it’s cringeworthy shallowness that defies all logic. In fact you wonder if they can string a sentence together at all, let alone write a poetic lyric. And you find yourself wondering how you ever listened to their songs in the first place. And so you put down the ipod, step away slowly, and vow never to do it again....and like any decent break up worth its salt, when you hear that song on the radio, its tainted. Now you hear the real idiot behind the lyrics. The one that spouts about their sex life, penis size, and racist tendencies (yes, JM I’m talking about you). Suddenly all that musical talent goes right out the window.

But creativity is like the dating world, there are many more fish in the sea. And you tell yourself there will be more to tempt you with and draw you in, more shows, books and artists that will make you fall in love all over again. And you foolishly look forward to the day when you'll do just that.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

The Bros Before Hos Blow Off

We were juniors when Jessica met Jake, a cute athlete who had been a big deal at our high school. He was in college now and while still cute, was the kind of guy who'd lost a bit of his golden boy luster after graduation and found an easy way to regain it was through the attention of someone who still saw him as the star he had been.

Every Friday Jessica and I would make plans. I would come over and while we were getting ready, Jake would call and she would agree to meet him at his parents' house. Then she would apologize half-heartedly about how she didn't know he was coming in to town and this would never happen again. Pretty soon, I was like "No, it won't. Because I'm making other plans." You'd think I'd slapped her.

She sputtered that this was not her fault. She thought he might come into town. She wasn't sure. She didn't want to be left with nothing to do and my God, didn't I know how much she liked him? I did. I also knew that a guy who called her over to make-out on his parents' couch and then sent her home while he made himself a sandwich, did not actually like her.

Even after I stopped agreeing to be her weekly back-up plan, I listened to her debate the pros and cons of being involved with someone who didn't acknowledge her existence in public. I took my car when she was worried about driving by his parents' house in her own. I participated in a lot of ridiculous high school girl shenanigans until the things that once bound us as friends dissolved and we were left having the same damn conversation about why Jake hadn't called. Spoiler Alert: It's because he didn't give a shit about her.

Unlike most friendships, Jessica and I actually broke up. One night she called, wondering what I was up to. I was with our friend Emily. We'd met through Jessica, and were now close friends (turned out I wasn't the only one over being ditched for Jake). Jessica wanted to meet up, but we were at a party Emily's older brother and his friends were throwing.

Jessica's Jake-dar started blinking and she asked if he was there. He was. She said she was coming over. We said maybe that wasn't such a good idea. He was with all his old friends. He hadn't told her he was in town. Why didn't we just meet her somewhere else? That's when her head exploded. There was yelling (her end) and eye rolling (ours) and when the dust settled, it was clear that it was over. With Jake and with us.

My Grandma's Scandalous BLOW OFF

Step into our little blow off time machine. We're taking you back to the 1930s, all the way to a country called Iran. It's my grandma's wedding day and she's about to get hitched to a guy she's never met or seen before. They say their "balehs" (the equivalent of I Do in farsi) and just like that she's officially married to a stranger.

Now, get back in the time machine. It's now the 1940's and roughly seven years later. My grandma is now a 28 year old mother of three. It's the summer her husband's 21 year old nephew comes to live with them. Oops, I forgot to mention, my grandmother was hot. Dark hair, gorgeous skin, bright green eyes. The nephew doesn't stand a chance. He falls head over heels in love with her. Stolen glances and sweet nothings turn into a full fledged emotional affair. But women in Iran, in the 1940s, with three kids, don't leave their husbands for a guy seven years younger than them. Unless of course you're as brave as my grandma.

All hell breaks loose. My grandma's family is appalled by her decision. Her husband is understandably hurt and betrayed. She realizes she could be making a huge and irreversible mistake that could cost her to lose her children. She goes back to her husband, but he won't take her back, and says he's already found someone else he wants to marry.

She's got no choice but to stand by the blow off.

My grandmother marries her husband's nephew (also known as my grandfather). They have five kids together, my mom being the youngest. One arranged marriage, one scandalous blow off, and sixty plus years later = 8 kids, 17 grandkids, and 10 great grandkids and counting. Wow. There's one blow off I'm thankful for.