How You Know It's Time to Get an STD Test
Although honestly ... that's kinda hot.
Although honestly ... that's kinda hot.
Shelasky, in addition to having an incredibly un-sexy last name (uh, Alyssa, that's what pen names are for ... ), is now Glamour's new "dating blogger," a job which requires her to abide by reader polls on what she should do. It's like having to listen to your mom, except your mom probably has better advice.
(Full disclosure - I exchanged a few emails with the person hiring for this position, but that was when The Boyfriend was still a very solid presence in my life. And quite honestly, detailing how many times you went to bed before midnight in a given week does not a scintillating dating blog make.)
Anyway, it seems that Ms. 'Lasky has actually been engaged before - and naively allowed a newspaper known for making young lovebirds look profoundly idiotic to write about it.
I highly recommend clicking on the full Gawker story (at top), but if you're feeling too lazy, here are some choice excerpts:
It's like shooting fish in a barrel.
"Countdown to Bliss," NY Observer, Dec. 1, 2003
Alyssa Shelasky, a part-time public-relations manager at ABC Carpet and Home, is marrying Greg Mendelson, a green-eyed investment-banking analyst at CIBC World Markets who also has a talent for spin. "People are always telling us that we're the most amazing couple and they wish they had what we have," he said. "I think I'm pretty charismatic and sociable, and she's exactly the same way."
"We're two good eggs," said Ms. Shelasky, a svelte Columbia grad who also writes freelance "lifestyle" articles for places like the New York Post and is planning a laid-back ceremony at Loft Eleven. "It's a major deal that I found 'the one,' and that's the great part to me," she said. "The hors d'oeuvres and flowers are only going to be around for four hours of my life."
Both 26, they met during her birthday party at the Potion Lounge on the Upper West Side . At the time, she was dating a pretty rotten egg. "A fancy-schmancy lawyer -- this total prick, New York City prep-school kid. I was kind of wooed by that stuff," she said. "But then I saw Greg, and his eyes were so pretty, and he was so handsome and so tan!"
On Date No. 2, she brought him to the bar Vermouth and introduced him to the pleasures of a good martini ( hic!). "We were young," she said. "I thought it was so cute. I was like, 'Your first martini? There goes all your credibility in the banking world!' I told him that in four or five years, he'd be having them every night. But you know what? He's really not like that." Just wait till you're married, kiddo ...
Earlier this year, they moved into a Flatiron one-bedroom rental filled with a melange of trash finds and ABC Carpet items at deep discount.
Mr. Mendelson proposed on Nantucket while on a trip with the family.
The ring, a platinum band with three round diamonds totaling over two carats, came from her pals at ABC's estate-jewelry department. And that will be the third and final time we suckers plug that store.
But what happened to the platinum band with three round diamonds totaling over two carats???
Maybe, in honor of her new job, we should do a poll:
a) The "green-eyed," Nantucket-vacationing, Martini-virgin kept it ... obviously - what, like he's going to tap into his bonus for the next fiancée?? As if!
b) The "lifestyle" freelancer successfully negotiated it into her severance agreement. "I may only be a svelte Columbia grad, but I know how to keep my over-two-carat engagement rings if I suddenly decide that ole Good-Egg-Pretty-Eyes isn't The One anymore," she said. "Also, I'm the one that got the good deal from ABC Carpet."
c) "Her pals" at ABC Carpet demanded it back, despite the trifecta of plugs. "Indian Givers," she screamed at them. "I'll show you!! I'll write a dating blog for Glamour and NEVER MENTION YOUR STUPID STORE, NOT EVEN ONCE!!!"
My money's on "c" ...
HIM: "I just told her she wasn't my type."
HIM: "Well, I couldn't say she was PSYCHO!"
Except I'm not talking about the movie.
Yeah ... I'm talking about my own breakup, circa last Wednesday.
I love The Boyfriend more than anything, but I couldn't stop wondering, "Am I complete without him?" ... "Have I experienced enough to settle down?" That I've dated him for the entirety of my formative years directly after college graduation exacerbates these questions in my mind.
And so, last week I made the difficult decision of breaking off a wonderful relationship; I needed to try out life on my own. Below, today's AM New York column on the subject, which - to be honest - makes me a little bit nauseous. I can't decide if I'm a raving idiot or a ballsy risk-taker. Probably a little of both ...
NOT YET READY FOR MR. RIGHT
AM NEW YORK – “THE DATING LIFE”
AUGUST 14, 2006
BY JULIA ALLISON
“It’s not you, it’s me,” almost always means “It’s DEFINITELY you.” But when I broke up with The Boyfriend last week – in a Jamba Juice, no less (I know, I know. A little tacky. Oops?) – it really did mean “It’s me.”
The truth is (note to my editor: please don’t fire me for this), I’ve never been single in New York. In fact, I haven’t been single, save a few weeks abutting three consecutive serious relationships, for the past four years.
I met The Boyfriend in April of 2004, when I was a senior in college. Because I had a different boyfriend at the time (actually, I was engaged, but that’s another column) – we didn’t start dating until I moved to New York later that year. Still, I neglected to give myself even a minor breather in between relationships – no time to look around, access the scene, find out what it’s like to date post-college. I just jumped.
Lucky for me, I jumped into something amazing. The Boyfriend happened to be the most incredible man I’d ever met – mind-bogglingly generous, achingly gorgeous, blisteringly creative. I could adverb positive adjectives about him for days, but he’s more than the sum of his abundant positive qualities. He fits me perfectly. He is, in fact, my best friend, my (cheese alert) “soulmate,” the elusive Mr. Right.
The problem is, I’m not ready for Mr. Right.
I’ve always believed that no matter how equitable and compromise-loving your relationship is (and mine was both), you’re not 100% yourself when you have a significant other. Of course, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. After all, without The Boyfriend, I’d be perpetually late and virtually incapable of going to bed at a “reasonable” hour. I’d also still wear ribbons in my hair and live in an apartment decorated completely in pink and white furniture from IKEA.
Then again, maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d wear only black business suits and inhabit a sleek Soho loft devoid of color. Probably not – but therein lies the problem. I can never be sure of who I would be without a boyfriend, unless I try actually not having one.
Explaining why I ended the perfect relationship, I find myself repeating this mantra: “I don’t believe that when you meet Mr. Right, you suddenly become complete. If I were 30, with a variety of life experiences under my belt, I’d marry The Boyfriend in a heartbeat. But I’m not! I need to make my own mistakes, to date Mr. Wrongs, to see what else life has to offer. A decade from now, I don’t want to wonder, ‘Can I really stand on my own two feet – without him?’ I want to know I can.”
This isn’t about finding a better man. It’s about finding a better me.
SPEAKING OF FINDING THINGS, JULIA NOW NEEDS TO FIND A NEW APARTMENT.
A testament to the Wonders of Airbrushing (as if we needed another) ...
In other words: The Faker the Better, Baby.
Now that I think about it, that should be some cosmetic company's logo ... I'd buy whatever they were selling. ;)
("Barely Legal Asian Lesbian COEDs"?? You're so busted.)
In another Big-Brother-Does-the-Internet moment, The NY Times published a rather disquieting article ("A Face is Exposed for AOL Searcher No. 4417749") yesterday about recording and publishing people's search strings on AOL "anonymously." Apparently the data isn't quite as anonymous as one would hope, given that a collection of searches have a tendency to reveal a lot about the searcher (Especially if you type in your own name repeatedly. Uh ... Not that I would ever do that.)
Thank god I use Google - otherwise, instead of the Times writing about Innocuous Old Lady Inquiries (Mrs. 4417749's: "numb fingers," "dog that urinates on everything," "thyroid," and "women's underwear"), they'd have material like "Super XXX college sluts," "Republican Drug Dealers" and "Naked Photos of Jon Stewart."
Okay, okay. I didn't search for any of those (although "Naked Photos of Jon Stewart" is tempting) ... but I was scared enough to take a look at my searches from the past three months (my web browser keeps them all). What conclusions would people draw if they were to take a random sampling?
Here are a few real, not-at-all-made-up-or-altered (seriously) search strings I actually entered (along with a helpful guide - in itals - as to what, exactly, I was thinking. If I was, in fact, thinking. Which I try to avoid.)
Ann Coulter demon-spawn (Self-explanatory.)
Ann Coulter devil (See above.)
Ann Coulter evil (See above, again.)
Divorce stats bible belt (I just love divorce. And hypocrites. But especially hypocrites who get divorced.)
Girl Underwear (Because I still think I'm 16 1/2 years old. Also, how else would I have found this?)
Glock (Just in case I have to, you know, bust a cap. or something.)
Hoodia (Only reason I can fit into size 4 clothing.)
Housing Works (You know, because I'm such a do-gooder. Sending books to poor people and shit.)
Jon Stewart's Real Name (It's "Leibowitzabaumrosenberg" ... okay, fine. Just "Leibowitz.")
J-Date (In case my current Jew doesn't work out.)
Julia Allison (Oh, c'mon - like you're surprised??!)
Playboy "college sex columnists" (I was doing an article on them! I swear!)
Population of Africa (Fodder for my debate on Fox News against a crazy woman claiming that Angelina Jolie was responsible for spreading AIDS in Africa. I just wanted to know how many people would die because of Brad Pitt's baby mamma. A lot, apparently.)
Proust (Yeah, I can't really explain this one.)
Push Up Bikinis (Hey - nothing wrong with a little help!)
Star Jones fights Barbara Walters (I would have added "in red jello" but that wasn't looking likely. A girl can dream...)
Supermodel Escorts (What? Like you haven't searched for them??)
Weater 60091 (Yeah, I meant "weather." Shut up.)
This is what one does "for fun" at Catholic schools like, uh, Georgetown ...
JOG FOR JESUS BABY!!!
Wait, who's that girl in the pink with the small white dog????
I take no responsibility for my ridiculous outfit. I was a senior in college and largely devoid of logic. Given, that was only two years ago ...
I really don't even know what to say about this, except ... seriously??
Um, DO NOT ENTER?
From the mailbag (er, blog comment-bag ) ...
"BTW, what happened to your book contest? Here's a terrific idea: Why don't you donate the books to poor libraries in the Queens and Brooklyn areas of New York? It will save on postage and on blabbering."
Um ... yeah. About that ... book contest thing. Well, it stunk. Apparently no one - not even YOU, desperate readers, wants pink self-help dating books (or if you do, you really, really don't want to email me). And I'm ashamed to admit that it DIDN'T OCCUR TO ME to donate them to the libraries. Probably because I am a bad human being and I hate poor people.
However, now that this lovely and altruistic reader has pointed out the grave error of my ways, I will be donating these books to more deserved people. Because, c'mon, I'm for anything that will curtail my blabbering.
Actually, the truth is, I usually donate all of my clothing & random unused shit to Housing Works, but lately I've been a little uninspired by their charity. Maybe it's just me, but I'd much rather support my pet causes, which happen to be small animals and battered women - or battered animals and small women. Depends on the day. However, Housing Works is three blocks from my house and ... well ... I'm lazy. And a bad person (see above).
So - People Who Didn't Want These Books, I'm talking to you. Anyone else have a suggestion on who deserves them most? You can paste in the comments, but make this easy on me - give me a specific title and/or address. And ... uh ... can you pick them up from my apartment, too?
KIDDING! A messenger's just fine.
More proof that The Boyfriend has both an amazing sense of humor and knows me a little too well - the card he gave me two weeks ago:
Would you like a little innuendo with your scientific study?
Please note photo accompanying the report (below):
(I may not be in 7th grade, but that doesn't stop me from acting like I am.)
Apparently there ARE other things to do in Vegas besides play poker and ogle the fake breasts of women who believe that Lucite "goes with everything" and can rattle off the operational hours of Beach Bum Tans by heart.
Namely ... celebrate your 2nd amendment freedoms by shooting the crap out of paper targets. I picked one that looked like a white rapist/mugger/grandmother-beater, but you had an option of various other villains as well (like Osama, Saddam ... uh ... basically, a bunch of turbaned dudes).
Anyway, it seemed like more fun than getting skin cancer and/or blinking back tears of boredom watching card games. That is, of course, until I actually had to shoot the damn thing. I've never been so freaked out in my life; every time the guy next to me would fire his (very live) gun, I'd jump about eight feet in the air. And when I shot my own, I teared up a little. Something about the power to actually annihilate animals/people/small children just does that to me.
Anyway, below see photographic evidence of my foray into Red-States-Win mode. I actually shot with a Glock, but I thought that posing with an ... whatever this enormous killing machine is called below ... would look much more Die Hard-esque.
And yeah, I was the only one in the store wearing a pink "Puppy Love" tee. Shocking, right?