Karma Bitches

I’ve spent my whole life thinking that if I could somehow manage to rack up enough good karma points, I would be set for life. Well, I’ve been doing good deeds for some time now and have nothing to show for it. Does it not count that I helped an old lady cross the street in the rain like, 6 months ago? Do the karma gods actually not care that I picked up the $20 and train ticket that some kid dropped in Penn Station and waddle-chased him down in high heels to give it back to him? Did it make no impression on them that I actually gave away my free Mike Piazza bobble head that I got at a Mets game to a woman with five children and only four dolls who offered me $10 for mine telling her to “keep her money and enjoy!?”

Clearly not.

Obviously these so-called “karma points” are just some elaborate hoax created by some punk somewhere who hates all of humanity. He’s probably sitting in his mother’s basement surrounded by pizza boxes, in an old ripped pair of boxers, watching Wayne Brady being devilishly handsome and charming on Let’s Make a Deal, laughing to himself about how he got all these citizens of the world to believe that doing good things will help them get farther in life.

Here’s the real truth about karma points: they don’t exist. While that piece of information sounds like the worst thing in the history of all bad things ever happening in the world since the beginning of time, it isn’t actually. Good deeds should happen organically and should come out of a genuine want of helping someone without wanting anything in return. I don’t need karma points to justify my helping someone in need. 

And even if they did exist, karma points won’t get me a boyfriend. They won’t help me lose weight, or organize my messy sock drawer, or help me figure out how I’m going to pay off my school loans, or make me stop obsessively talking about Boardwalk Empire and Homeland. No, karma points are like the Tooth Fairy. A magical, mythical thing that sounds great – but isn’t actually. You can’t just do what I did as a child and pull out all of your “sort of loose teeth that aren’t actually ready to come out but will come out when you yank them hard enough” just so that you can get the 75 cents the Tooth Fairy will leave you. Just like you can’t go around doing nice things for the sole purpose of maybe possibly getting some shiny new karma points in return.  And yeah that fact sucks, and it also sucks that I’m not losing teeth anymore and can’t wake up to find money under my pillow left by a small elf/fairy lady, but that’s what being an adult is about. Doing nice things for people because you want to and getting an adult job by crying to a temp agency.

Lessons in Life and Love

Once Upon a Time when I was younger and less wise, I thought I wanted a boyfriend to hold hands with, go to museums with, watch movies with, and basically just make everyone around me miserable with. My wonderful friend from school also had the same stupid thoughts. I mean, we were both hilarious, gorgeous creatures and yet there were no guys to date. Literally we would float down the street spreading joy to all those around us. Even homeless men would stop dead in their tracks (literally dead. mostly likely from alcohol poisoning though) and dogs wouldn’t be able to keep their tongues in their mouths (sure they’re dogs but like, whatever.) And STILL not a single good looking twenty-something male would beg to date us. All of our friends were dating each other, and everyone else in theater school was gay, so our Junior year of college we did the only thing we could do; something that would provide us happiness (stress) and an abundance of pleasure (hahahah, no) for a few months of our lives: we decided to try out a little dating website, which for anonymity’s sake we can call OkLoveCherub.

We had only the highest of hopes. In my mind I was going to meet my tall, bearded, lumberjack PhD student who was kind and gentle, yet extremely masculine and adventurous, but also extremely funny and personable. It turned out though, that OkLoveCherub was less of a place to meet cool normal people and was more like a breeding ground for guys who you went to high school with and thought you would never have to see again but who sent you messages anyway. Also, dudes with fetishes.

You might be shaking your head and wondering what the heck I was thinking. I wake up every morning and wonder the same thing. But the fact of the matter remains that though miserable at times, OkLoveCherub was an extremely valuable learning experience. Sure, some of the guys I met were more bizarre than I could ever even imagine. Not to mention some of the dates were less than stellar and I’ll never be able to look at a cinnamon bun the same way again. (I’m more upset about that than anything else.) But they still taught me a lot. Here are some of the things I learned just from a few of my favorite fellas:

1. You have to put yourself out there. I’m an extremely private person, but if you want to get to know someone you have to be willing to be vulnerable: “hey so to be honest im not in the best of places right now. and i could use a new friend to take my mind off all the stress im under…”

2. I don’t know anyone who isn’t into funny people. Bad jokes are funny. Therefore, you can never tell too many bad jokes: “Q. Why does a seagull fly over the sea? A. Because if it flew over the bay it would be called a bagel! If you laugh, send a LOL my way :D”

3. Sometimes it’s okay not to know exactly what you want and change your mind mid-sentence: “after a brief overview of your profile, I wanted to let you know that I have decided to marry and divorce you inside my mind. thanks for all the wonderful imaginary memories. you will always have a special place in my heart. 

your imaginary ex-hubby, 

p.s. I get to keep our beach house and the leftover pie; you can have the overweight cat.”

4. It’s important to let people know what you like to do right off the bat, that way they can decide whether or not you’d have things in common: “Hi. I think we’d get along. Just got back from a nice, relaxing vacation in the Caribbean where I spent a lot of time working on trapeze moves.”

5. Being specific is everything. No one likes vague people: “I’ll bet you 50 cents that you’ve gotten 72 emails so far from married men wanting to be your sugar daddy.”

6. And finally, it’s important to tell people stories about your past. It helps them relate to you and understand why you are the way you are: “Once, my dog jumped out the window and we all spent 4 weeks looking for him. My 8 year old self cried myself to sleep for those long, excruciating 4 weeks. So one day my dad says “Johan, we’re gonna get you a new dog” to much my dismay: I did not want a new dog, I wanted MY DOG. But after 9 minutes, a couple of Xanax and some beatings later, we made our way to the pound. I saw 900 dogs, but none I wanted, til I laid eyes on this bad ass german shepard who kept biting the trainers and licking his balls. My square pops said no, so I settled for this Dalmatian who was cool. We got home and guess who was sitting on the couch, looking at Playboy channel? Aquaman (my dog)! He ran to me, but when he saw the new dog, he stopped dead in his tracks. He took out a switchblade and cut my new dogs face ear to ear.” 


Sometimes I like to ponder things. Occasionally it’s something related to history or the past. Often it’s about karma. Most of the time it’s about puppies and/or otters.

But what I’ve been wondering about recently is why we are attracted to the things we are attracted to. For instance, why does Ewan McGregor make me want to do inappropriate things? And, why does this photo of Marlon Brando suddenly make me want to go to grad school for physics so that I can build a time machine and snuggle with him on that couch? Why are we enticed by certain aspects of a person but not others? Sure, sure, pheromones and hormones play a big part, but there has to be something more. 

Upon further research, I’ve discovered that a lot of what we find attractive can be traced back to our furry cavemen and women ancestors. Women often find strong men attractive because back in the Pleistocene period, they needed to find a mate who could protect them. The same goes for typically good looking men because it meant they had good genes and would therefore breed strong offspring.

The caveman theory can be used to justify a lot of the things I find myself attracted to in guys. Facial hair could mean that they have more testosterone and therefore can protect me. Ditto intelligence. Generosity means that he isn’t afraid to share the meat and fruits he has hunted and gathered, and therefore will be able to provide for me (and our cavechildren and the other members of our tribe.) Also, it shows that he is kind, which is always a plus.

But I still can’t figure out the reasoning behind the number one thing that I, as well as nearly every woman I know, find most attractive in a potential mate. What is it about a sense of humor that can make a man so damn attractive? I’ve met some pretty average looking guys who suddenly become irresistable due to their ability to make me laugh. Similarly, guys with a striking resemblance to Cillian Murphy, mixed with a pre-douchey James Franco, mixed with a young Paul Newman have turned me off due to their lackluster jokes and all-around boring demeanor. 

I’m sure back in the old days my fellow cavegirl homegirls would not have picked a cavedude who could tell knock knock jokes over one who could knock out a predator. It couldn’t possibly be that we’re attracted to funny guys because they make us happy, right? Isn’t that too simple? The only conclusion I can come to is that men who are funny also tend to be creative. And creativity must be an attractive trait because it also requires intelligence, which we already know is attractive to females.

So, that’s just what I’ve been thinking about lately. I’m still waiting to find my funny caveman, but until then I’ll just have to settle with spending my time doing this.

Now Hiring

Now that I’m a real person in the real world, I find myself in need of a job. I have spent four magical years in college studying acting and history; two of the best subjects to study if you’re looking to make yourself a better person. (But not if you’re looking to make money.)

So just like real people in the real world do, I am now reworking my resume to make myself seem like a highly qualified individual, ready to take on any task. 

In order to set myself apart from the rest of my competitors, I’ve complied a list of my special skills:

- Ability to type 101 words per minute due to far too many hours spent on Facebook and Tumblr.

- Fluent in gibberish.

- Highly proficient in Microsoft Word, PowerPoint, and dealing with homeless people.

- Self taught juggler.

- Hyper-extension (in shoulder blades.)

- Ability to turn into a tomato and be rendered speechless in under five seconds when talking to a cute guy.

- Extensive knowledge in reality television shows and World War II.


Great! So now all I need to do is find a job that utilizes all of these skills and I’m golden. Anyone know of any job openings?

Hell Hath No Fury…

One of my favorite things to do is sit in a Barnes and Noble cafe reading magazines and not buying anything. What can I say, I’m just a rebel with a very exciting life. In many of the magazines I’ve read for women, the articles promise to tell you all sorts of ways to “get the guy.” With the help of a few catchy phrases, and some damn good looking male models, women are “taught” how to dress a certain way, talk about certain things, and perform certain sexual maneuvers in order to make any man fall in love with them.

Who knows if that stuff even works, but it sounds simple enough. Now, what about for guys? These men’s magazines exist, (I think) but not to the extent that they do for women. So in order to help a brother out, and fill in for the types of articles the male magazines are missing, I’ve decided to write down my number one rule for the first step to getting a woman to like you: “DO NOT STAND UP THE GIRL YOU LIKE.”

Yes folks, it is that simple. Sure, wearing a flannel shirt, having just the right amount of facial scruff, and wearing a hint of old spice will definitely increase your chances of getting the girl (or…this girl.) And of course performing certain sexual maneuvers, being chivalrous, and having awesome hobbies/goals will also increase your chances of getting with the girl of your dreams (or…this girl of your dreams.) But even if you decide you’re not really into the latest lumberjack look, or you don’t care about opening doors for women, you will at least have a chance with her if you DO NOT STAND HER UP.

Makes sense, right? Well apparently not, because if my own experience and that of many of my girlfriends is any indication, guys in New York City don’t understand this simple rule.

So fellas, pay attention because I’m about to drop some serious knowledge on you. You know how you’re always saying girls confuse you? Well, its because we’re confused ourselves. We know that there is some reason we like this guy, (perhaps its his charm, personality, or close resemblance to Ryan Gosling) but we’re confused because at the same time, he’s acting like a complete idiot. So as angry as we are, we let it slide. So if you like the girl, be straight with her. Don’t text her while she’s waiting at the movie theater (for a movie YOU constantly talked to her about and then asked her out to) telling her that you forgot your friends are in town for the weekend, and are going to have to reschedule. Because she might not ever let you know how much you hurt her feelings and even give you a second chance. She might just, oh I don’t know, write a little blog entry about it, and move right on to the next person. But someday, it will come back to you.

So please, don’t stand girls up. Because as we all know, Hell Hath No Fury like a Woman (with a blog) Scorned.

Urban Jungle

I’m not entirely sure what it was in my suburban upbringing that has recently made me think I’m an adventurous jungle explorer who mistakenly found herself living in New York City, but I’ve had a couple of instances recently that seriously make me wonder.

It all started a few weeks ago when I was walking down 6th avenue and all of a sudden my black scarf blew out in front of me as I was crossing the street. Being the wild woman that I am, of course the first place my mind went was that I was being mauled by a raccoon and I literally grabbed the arm of the pedestrian innocently crossing next to me. I realized what had happened, apologized profusely, and went on my way, a little shaken, but mostly okay.

Then a few days later, I was walking on 13th street and saw something shiny and green lying on the ground. Since I’m such a nature person and all, obviously I ran up to it as quickly as I could. I thought it was a helpless little lizard who accidentally found its way onto the street and needed to be saved. It wasn’t. Just a lonely trail mix granola bar wrapper.

Finally, the other night while I was walking home from work, I heard a rustle in the piles of black trash bags on the street. My heart dropped out of my butt and I left it lying there while I quietly slinked as far across the sidewalk as I could. I feared that hiding beneath the trash was not a homeless man or psychotic jail escapee, but a lion (or other smaller relative of the pouncing cat variety), waiting to eat me.

I can’t find any reasonable explanation for my hallucinations other than the fact that Amazon Trail and The Wild Thornberrys must have had a greater effect on my life than I anticipated. That, or, the sleep deprivation has finally caught up to me. Either way, keep your eyes open for me Nature Enthusiast and All Around Animal Lover, swinging vine to vine across Union Square.

Spring Hath Sprung

Well, Spring has definitely arrived. If the recent heat wave and spontaneous rain storms were not evidence enough, it has certainly been made clear by the nearly dozen or so squirrels I’ve seen fornicating in parks these past few weeks. (Terrifying, by the way.)

Spring has always been seen as a time of new beginnings. Flowers are in bloom, happy and horny squirrels are finding their mates, and residents of New York City are in love. At least it seems this way from all of the smiling people walking down the street hand in hand. How nice.

I truly do believe that being in love can have a positive effect on your life. My only qualm with this whole “Springtime lovefest,” is the hand holding part. You see, I’m sleep deprived, stressed out, and graduating in two weeks with finals still to take. The only way I somewhat manage to function is to turn off half my brain. Doing so leaves me with only barely enough brain power to dodge small dogs and street meat carts. I’m not awake enough to deal with ambling, loitering, hand holding couples who take up the whole sidewalk and refuse to let go. Its like Jack and Rose all over again - except that even they knew when to LET GO. (Too soon?) In the past I would have smiled at them and maybe even lusted after what they have together. But things have changed.
I don’t have time to politely say, “excuse me” or “pardon me, can I just zip by you?” They don’t hear me (read: choose to ignore me) and just meander even more slowly down the street. So, I’ve developed a new tactic to deal with these zombie lovers. Instead of walking around them, I do this really adorable thing where I walk right through them holding hands. I’ve turned the whole city into my own personal game of Red Rover. (Of course I do this under the pretext that I’m not paying attention and its just an accident, as to avoid potential fisticuffs.)
Now, I’m fully aware that this may make me sound like a heartless and rude human being. (I’m not - I swear!) But honestly, why are they taking up so much room? They’re only two people! I think my behavior is completely justified. In fact, these couples should be thanking me for my services. They’re in such a daze from the love and warm sunshine that they’re not paying attention. What if they were walking down the street so enamored with each other that they don’t notice when some bicyclist gets run off the road, and begins pummeling down people on the sidewalk one by one? Or, what if a rabid raccoon is on the loose from the pound and starts attacking people? They wouldn’t see the crazy look in the raccoon’s eyes, or the foam coming out of his mouth, as he bounds down the street hungrily toward them.
They may not recognize it as I’m pushing my way through them, but in the long run what I’m doing is for the best. I’m sacrificing myself for their own good. They should see that instead of yelling at me and rolling their eyes. And as sad as it is that they can’t appreciate my good deed, I’ll keep doing it because I know they’ll thank me for it. Someday.