Tag Archives: Carlie

Adventures in Charleston: The scenic and the scary

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Sometimes (lots of times) I ask myself, “Why do I live in St. Louis?” I guess the answer is that Will makes more money than I do and has a really good job there. So here I am.

Usually I ask myself that question after returning from a vacation to somewhere really cool. Last Wednesday I got back from a trip to Charleston, SC. I left the beach, the palmettos, the cobblestone streets, the beautiful houses and the history and came back to…the Mississppi River. And the Arch. Eh.

I went with my mom, my sister, and MK and Vicki, two longtime family friends. We were visiting MK’s daughter Becca, also a lifelong friend.

Sidebar: I can’t begin to explain the grief Becca caused the 13-year-old me when I was trying to direct my very first music video (to Mariah Carey’s “Dreamlover”) and she wanted to quit because she was hungry. I don’t think it had anything to do with the idiotic dance moves I was forcing her to perform. She told me last week that she is actually hyperglycemic. A sorry excuse that has very likely cost me a career as an Oscar-winning director. But we’ve moved on from that.

Here are some highlights from the trip:

We went to brunch the first day we got there. Here Bec and I are with our unlimited mimosas. And my love affair with Charleston begins…

 

Next up was a carriage ride. Pretty cool way to see the city.

 

Probably not so cool for the locals who got stuck behind us. But they get to live in houses like this by the ocean, so suck it, locals.

 

Here we are at Magnolia Plantation where we saw flowers, alligators, and lots of Spanish Moss. Good times all around.

 

We toured several cool old houses like these:

 

And we got really tired of posing for my mom’s pictures. Here I am protesting. She got the shot anyway.

 

My sister, mom and MK all went on a late night tour of a haunted, creepy jail. I was too scared to go. My wussy-ness is epic and possibly a topic for another blog post. I hate being scared. But here’s a pic of the jail anyway. Apparently the camera lens is a little dusty. Or are those orbs…?? Crap I’m scared now. Deep breaths.

 

The last night we were there, we went on a tour of the”dark side” of Charleston. Prostitution, slavery, and murder galore!

Fun fact: the prostitutes in Charleston used to put a lemon wedge in their “cooch” to keep from getting pregnant. Sorry if that language offends you, but that is exactly what the tour guide said – I’m trying to give you an authentic experience here. At least I think that’s what he said. He had the thickest Southern accent I’ve ever heard and overused the dramatic pause when telling his stories. MK thought he was having a stroke one time. No worries – he’s ok.

The lemon birth control method proved to be somewhat ineffective (surprise!), as our guide informed us that the parking lot we were standing in used to be full of dead babies. That were aborted using knitting needles. Does anyone have a bag I can hyperventilate and /or puke in?

Here I am with my sister at the end of the tour in a dark, scary, old graveyard that I couldn’t leave fast enough, but of course my mom wanted a picture. I think this was after I soiled myself. Umm…are those orbs again??

Hey everyone! Come read about what a good person I am!

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You’re probably wondering where I’ve been all week.

Oh, you’re not? It didn’t occur to you that my last post was almost a week ago? You didn’t miss me? You weren’t sick with worry that maybe something bad happened to me, like my hands were severed in an unfortunate band saw accident, thus rendering me unable to type and provide my unmatched wit and humor to the world?

Ok, then.

Moving on…

I’ve actually been on vacation in Charleston, SC since Saturday, but I’ll tell you more about that later. For today’s post, I’d like to focus on how I’ve been spending my Thursday nights for the past five months leading a book club for people with developmental disabilities. I know, I’m a really good person, aren’t I? So caring, selfless, wanting to give back to the community…

That last part? Not true at all. I’m usually pretty self-absorbed and unaware when it comes to community issues and volunteering my time. It just doesn’t always occur to me that I can make a difference and really help people. Fortunately, it did occur to Will and he convinced me to volunteer at St. Louis Arc with him and lead a book club.

At first, I was not thrilled at the idea. The book club meets every Thursday night. Thursday is a really good TV night. End of discussion.

Will interpreted “end of discussion” to mean “sign me up anyway” and thus I found myself heading to Borders with him a few weeks later.

Even though I’ve had experience working with special needs kids in the past, I was a little nervous about interacting with adults with developmental disabilities. I didn’t know what to expect as far as their capabilities and personalities. Turns out, they’re a lot of fun.

There are five people in the book club, not including us, and each one of them seems genuinely happy to be there. They greet us with smiles and enthusiasm, ask us how our week was, and sometimes just exclaim “This is fun!” It’s really refreshing to be around people who can be so unabashedly appreciative of the moment. I think I might try to make a point to say “This is fun!” out loud more often.

Over the past five months, after reading everything from Curious George to Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, I’ve developed a fondness for Thursday nights (despite the fact that they no longer include The Office or Real Housewives) and for all of our book clubbers.

Tonight is our last book club, at least until the next session begins in the fall. I have to admit, it will be nice to have our Thursday nights back, but I’ll miss seeing our five new friends every week.

Moral of the story: Volunteering my time to help others was actually rewarding and an all around good time. I should do it more often. Next Thursday, when I’m at home laughing at 30 Rock, I’m going to try to remember to yell “This is fun!” I don’t care if my dog thinks I’m crazy.

Life lessons from E!

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I’m a little bit ashamed to say that I can relate to Kendra Wilkinson. It’s just that we have so much in common – the celebrity lifestyle, pro-athlete husband, Playboy bunny sex appeal, 85-year-old ex-boyfriend…

Ok, I actually have none of that.

But even though Kendra and I are in fact nothing alike, I still had an I feel you girl moment while watching her show (the aptly named Kendra) on E! the other night.

In case you don’t watch (what, you have better things to do?), Kendra’s story is as follows: She met Hugh Hefner while naked at a Playboy mansion event (in my book, body paint does not clothing make), started dating him, moved into the mansion, starred in The Girls Next Door with fellow Hefner girlfriends Holly and Bridget, got famous, met pro football player Hank Baskett, moved out of the mansion, married Hank, got pregnant and had a baby. All before her 25th birthday, no less.

In last Sunday’s episode of Kendra, we find our heroine feeling a little depressed. She has traded in her Hollywood glamour girl Playboy princess persona for that of a stay-at-home mom living in Indianapolis. And that makes her unhappy? Imagine that.

Yeesh, I feel depressed for her.

Kendra loves her life with Hank and Hank Jr., and while coming up with appropriate and original names for their offspring is not a strength for this couple (an infant named Hank? Really?), they are very happy.

That is, until three hot chicks show up and make Kendra feel ugly.

This is the part where I really started to feel for this girl.

After spending day and night caring for little Hanky Jr. (I like that name better – more infanty, less overweight truck driver-y), Kendra is in desperate need of some girl time, so she invites her three Playboy bunny friends Brittany, Tiffany, and another girl whose name was probably something like Crystal, to come and hang with her in Indy.

Poor Kendra. After being away from them for so long, it seems she forgot how ridiculously hot her friends are. As a recently pregnant woman who has not yet gotten back to her pre-baby Playboy body (and perhaps never will), she starts to feel super insecure, self-conscious, and all-around unsexy.

I can’t say I blame her. I’m sure I would feel that way too. Getting pregnant is like murdering your figure. And to make myself sound super-shallow – I’m not yet totally convinced it’s worth the sacrifice.

Right now, I work out and try not to eat too much crap so that I can look and feel good. I’m in shape and very happy with my body and I don’t know how I’ll deal with losing that.

If someone like Kendra, who looked amazing before she got pregnant, still has to deal with body issues and feeling unattractive post-pregnancy, then I’m pretty sure that I will too. I’m not one of those people who can say “Yeah, I lost my figure, got some stretch marks, and saggy boobs, but that’s ok. It was worth it.” I’m just not. It’s going to be depressing.

Based on the previews for future episodes, it does appear that Kendra gets a personal trainer and her old body back, or pretty close to it. So I guess there’s hope. It’s just scary for lazy people like me to think that most moms have to work really hard to get their stretched-out, abused bodies back into shape and there’s the distinct possibility that your old body may be gone forever.

That being said, it was sort of refreshing to see that even beautiful celebrities have issues like this. Hopefully if I ever go through this experience, I’ll have friends who are in the same boat and not running around looking all hot and posing for Playboy.

And there you have it: a life lesson learned from E! (or at least a relatable moment). I’m actually considering turning this into a little blog series. I’m not ashamed to admit (ok, yes I am) that I have gleaned a few very small bits of wisdom from shows like The Kardashians and Giuliana & Bill. Ok fine, they’re by no means PBS, but every now and then a random poignant moment appears like a diamond in the rough. A needle in a haystack, if you will.

And did you see Kourtney Kardashian giving birth to her son and basically pulling him out of herself…herself?!?!? Good God, I could write a whole blog post on that, but I’ll abstain – for your sake.

Baby timeshare – Brilliant!

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A few weeks ago, we were hanging out with our friends Erin and Brent who are getting married in April. In the Dominican Republic. And we’re going. Woohoo!

Anyway, we were at dinner (using a Groupon I might add! If you haven’t checked out that site yet, you should – great deals. I promise they’re not paying me to say that) and we came up with a plan that is, dare I say, BRILLIANT.

Erin and Brent are in the same boat as us: The USS We Want a Family But Having a Baby Scares Us Right Now.

And, like us, they are testing the parental waters with their pseudo children Chauncey, Hayes, Louie, and one other cat whose name I can’t remember (but who is very sweet when she’s not peeing in their house plants).

Their dog Chauncey is actually quite adorable.

Almost as cute as Gatsby, The Cutest Dog in the World.

But back to the BRILLIANT plan. The four of us were discussing our reservations about the child rearing process – you know, creating this being who we will forever be tied to and feel responsible for and who we will worry about and pretty much obsess over for the rest of our lives – when we came up with the perfect way to have the best of both worlds: a genetically engineered baby made up of equal parts DNA from all four of us.

Yes, that’s right – one baby, two sets of parents – a baby timeshare! Both couples take turns raising the child – perhaps some sort of two-week rotation. While they have the kid for two weeks, we can be childless and free, but the following two weeks we can also experience the joys of parenting, which I imagine are especially joyful if you know that you have a two-week break coming up.

Totally brillz, right? (Or should I say “totes” to be extra annoying?)

Of course there are some logistics to work out. Namely, the science to create a four-parent baby is not yet a possibility as far as I know. Do me a favor and tell all your scientist friends to get working on that. Once they have it worked out so that the child won’t have any freakish genetic mutations (having a three-legged kid might be a bit of an inconvenience), let me know.

I guess in the meantime, we’ll have to plan on going the more traditional route. At least our BRILLIANT plan made for some good dinner conversation, if nothing else.

Random thought of the day: Why is it that some people, when discussing their favorite sports teams, use “we” instead of “they?”

As in: “Yeah man, now that we have <insert athlete’s name here>, we’re going to be really good. It might be our year. We just can’t have too many injuries. Dude.”

Last time I checked, fans were not actual members of professional sports teams. It’s just semantically incorrect. But hey, if it makes them happy to use the collective “we” and perpetuate the delusion that they are somehow involved with the team (motivational vibe sender, maybe?), so be it.

Happy green beer day!

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I LOVE St. Patrick’s Day. I love parades, drinking green beer and going out to Irish pubs. I even love Guinness. I am slightly Irish, after all (not sure exactly how much).

As I sit here writing this quick post AT WORK (not a fun bar or a parade, mind you), I have to say I’m a little depressed.

So to cheer myself up a little, I’d like to present an homage in pictures of St. Patrick’s Day celebrations of yore!

2006

Duffy's, Chicago. I'm the crazed reveler in the middle.

2007

Mystic Celt, Chicago. Forget Irish eyes. I've got your CRAZY eyes right here. And Will has the drunk eyes down.

2008

Old Town Pub (or OTP), Chicago. With Megan and Emily, St. Paddy's Day regulars. You can tell we're getting older by the fact that we look sober.

2009

Costa Rica. Ok, I wasn't exactly celebrating St. Patrick's Day, but this is where I was at this time last year. Still better than a cubicle.

2010

No comment.

To those of you who were lucky enough to take the day off for the parade or even celebrate last weekend – Slainte! I wish I was you.

I will be consuming a Guinness AND a Shamrock Shake tonight. So there.

Our place

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Do you have a local restaurant or bar that you like to think of as “your place?”

I haven’t exactly been bowled over by the vast array of unique and affordable eating and drinking establishments in St. Louis since I’ve moved here. It’s not that there aren’t any. Let’s just say I can’t throw a stone out my apartment door and hit two Irish pubs, a wine bar and a cute little Italian place, as was the case when I lived in Chicago.

I can, however, walk for 25 minutes (or drive for 5) and get to Sasha’s. This is “my place.” Actually, I’m pretty much always with Will when I go there, so I like to think of it as “our place.”

Sasha’s is a cute little wine bar in a cute little neighborhood next to a cute little park. It has charm and character, good wine, and a great outdoor seating area. It also has Sofia sparkling wine that comes in a cute little can with a cute little straw. What’s not to love?

Niebaum-Coppola Winery

Apparently being cute and little will get you far with me. Take my dog, for example.

But back to Sasha’s. Will and I have been regulars ever since I became an official St. Louis resident. We’ve made some great (albeit fuzzy) memories there.

There was the unusually warm November night when we were sitting outside and got caught in a thunderstorm. (This was more fun than it sounds. We didn’t get that wet. And we were drunk.) There was the sunny summer day we decided to walk over with Gatsby and I ate my salad with him sitting in my lap. Then there was the time that we went for an early dinner and promised each other we would only get two drinks, but we ran into Will’s aunt, cousin and grandma and ended up staying and drinking with them until the wee hours of the night. I think we probably quadrupled our self-imposed drink limit for that night.

The thing about Sasha’s, and the reason we always make a pact not to drink too much when we go there, is that we end up enjoying ourselves so much that we don’t want to leave. So we stay. And we drink. And we get sloshed. And until the hangover sets in the following day, we have a really, really great time.

We love the place so much that we actually have a sketch of it hanging in our dining room. The picture was a thoughtful wedding gift from Sarah, one of my bridesmaids, and if we ever move from St. Louis, at least we’ll have a cool-looking piece of art to always remind us of “our place.”

One early summer evening, we were sitting outside at Sasha’s when another young couple sat down next to us. With a baby.

Now, we were also accompanied by our pseudo-child Gatsby, but bringing a real human child to a wine bar is a different story. However, after recoiling a little at the site of the tiny stroller troll at “my place” (my very adult place), I took another sip of wine and pretty much forgot that he/she/it was there. A little while later, I glanced over, and the couple was enjoying their wine just as much as we were, with their baby happily and silently looking on. Heck, with Gatsby nearly choking himself after winding his leash around a table leg, having a dog was almost more trouble than having an infant in this case!

So, I don’t know. Maybe babies don’t cramp your style quite as much as I think. Not that I want to find out any time soon…

Here’s the part where I shamelessly promote myself.

I was inspired by my love for Sasha’s (and my desire for a free trip to San Francisco) to enter a writing contest on trazzler.com. I whipped up a cheesy little blurb about the wine bar, and if I get enough votes, I can win a trip to San Fran (my second favorite American city after Chicago)!

If you want to check it out, click here:

http://www.trazzler.com/trips/sasha-s-wine-bar-in-clayton-mo#

If you feel like voting, you just have to sign up for Trazzler (they don’t send any annoying emails, I promise), go to my trip and hit “save.”

I don’t think I’m going to win at this point, but you never know! And if I do get to go to San Francisco…I will think of you all fondly while I’m there. And maybe take a few pictures and post them on this blog. Exciting, right?!?!?

Random question of the day

Ok, how many of you girls out there (or guys, I don’t judge) had this awesomely nineties pastel radio/cassette player when you were growing up?

I had it in purple and my best friend Debbie had it in pink. And I feel like every other girl my age had it too. I’m just curious if I’m right. I heard Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” on the radio at lunch today and the image of my old girly boom box immediately popped into my head. I made some purely magical mix tapes by recording songs off the radio with this bad boy.

Spring fever!!

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They say when the weather gets warmer, all the crazies come out. Yesterday, it was 72 degrees and sunny in St. Louis, and I’m now convinced that this theory may hold some water.

Apparently three months of below-normal winter temps and general bleakness have turned us all into depressed, gray, withering Smigel/Gollum-like creatures who crawl out of the woodwork at the hint of a warm breeze or ray of sunshine.

Everyone and their mom (including myself) was in a good mood yesterday and looking for an excuse to get outside. Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with this, but come on people, let’s get a hold of ourselves! You can lay out in a bikini top in Forest Park all you want, but you are NOT going to get a tan at 5:00 pm on March 10 in St. Louis. It’s just nature.

Yes, spring fever season is upon us. Those of us who aren’t lucky enough to get a vaccination (aka, escape for a week to somewhere tropical during the winter months to temper the warm weather craving) are extremely susceptible to oftentimes irrational behavior. The fresh air makes us high as a kite.

If you experience any of the following symptoms, fear not – you will be instantly cured when the temperatures inevitably plunge and the icy hand of cruel winter bitch slaps you across the face. It’s March. Let’s face it, snow is still not out of the question.

10 Signs You Have Spring Fever

1. You decide to go running. You don’t normally exercise. You make it half way down the block.

2. You break out the flip flops. Forget that you don’t have a pedicure and your feet are the color and texture of drywall – these toes need to breathe!

3. You are that girl who I actually saw in Forest Park in a bikini top yesterday. She had apparently contracted a very acute case of spring fever, and I’m not sure there’s any hope for her. Ever. In life.

4. You take your dog for an extra long walk. If you don’t have a dog, you try it with the cat. If you don’t have any pets, you borrow a neighbor’s animal so you can take it for a walk. That’s just what people do in warm weather.

5. You make a special trip to the grocery store to get ground beef, hamburger buns and charcoal so you can bust out the grill. Sadly, many of those hamburger buns will succumb to mold before it’s warm enough to use them again.

6. You drive with the windows down, even on the highway. Warm air is so worth the harsh wind and hair in your mouth and eyes and the jarring sound of speeding semi-trucks.

7. You go to Dairy Queen. Nothing screams ice cream like 68 degrees. If this was July, you’d be drinking hot chocolate.

8. You go out for lunch just so you can get out of the office to enjoy the nice weather. Warm days like this don’t come around too often! Wait – yes they do. It’s called summer, and it lasts three months.

9. You go to happy hour at any bar you can find with an open outdoor patio. At least the alcohol will help keep you warm when the sun goes down and it’s 55 degrees and you’re outside in short sleeves.

10. The 5-day forecast on the 10:00 news sends you spiraling into a deep depression. A high of 45 degrees tomorrow???

Adventures in Chi-town

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Even though it’s been almost five years since I moved from Chicago to St. Louis, I still feel like I sort of half live there. My family and a vast majority of my friends are still there, so between weddings, holidays, family events, and big parties that we just don’t want to miss, Will and I probably make the 4.5 hour trek up I-55 at least every other month. I could probably drive that route in my sleep at this point, and come to think of it, I think I literally have – I do it so much I even dream about it.

Last weekend was our latest Chi-town adventure. Normally when we go up there, we try to pack as many people and events as we can into a 48-hour period, and this weekend was no exception. Below is the play-by-play for your reading pleasure.

FRIDAY

8:30 am – 4:30 pm: Work. Blah.

4:30 pm: Pick up Gatsby at home. He immediately jumps into his crate when I tell him we are going to go see Riley, my parents’ dog and his homosexual love interest. More on this later.

5 pm: Arrive in downtown STL to pick Will up from work. Start texting him incessantly when he still hasn’t come down after 20 minutes of me waiting at the curb. Give him my best You Have Displeased Me look when he finally gets to the car.

5:20 pm – 10 pm: Drive. Drive. Drive. Cornfield mirage of something resembling civilization. Blink. Drive more.

10 pm: Arrive at my parents’ house in Wheaton. Let Gatsby out of his crate so he can explode from the car like a solo piece of canine confetti.

10:05 pm: Watch Gatsby latch himself onto Riley’s rear end like he’s hugging a redwood tree. Vigorous humping ensues. Riley tries to escape, but Gatsby is a quick one, even on two legs. I feel like I’m watching a sick furry conga line.

10:30 pm: Chat with parents while trying to keep the humping to a minimum.

12 am: Bed.

SATURDAY

10:30 am: Go with my mom to meet my cute (and very pregnant) friend Stacey and her mom for breakfast at Egglectic. I try to fit in good breakfast food during all of my Chicago trips as I feel St. Louis is very lacking in that department for some reason.

12:30 pm: Return to my parents’ house to find Gatsby humping Riley. Give Riley an extra scratch behind the ears for being such a trooper and not biting my dog in half.

1 pm: My sister and MK and Vicki (two of my mom’s longtime friends) come over so we can plan our trip to Charleston, SC in a few weeks. We are going to visit MK’s daughter Becca, and I CANNOT WAIT. Palm trees? Yes, please.

3 pm: Head to the West Loop to meet up with a bunch of our college friends. Bar food and beer. Good times.

7pm: BULLS GAME!! I had not been to one of these since high school. Since we were such a big group (there were over 25 of us), we got a special shout out on the jumbo-tron (IWU 2004!) and free posters of some guy named Derrick Rose. Score!

7:30 pm: Take this picture. I am the only one who looks like an ass. Go figure.

8 pm: At this point, I am probably on my 4th beer. My memory of the rest of the night goes something like this: Luv-a-Bulls are wearing sequins and pleather. I find this amusing. Will is wearing his coat everywhere because he’s afraid someone will steal it. Also amusing. Emily puts her gum on the side of her cup while she’s drinking. This is so college. Guess what? I find it amusing. The game is over. I miss B.J. Armstrong. Hey, we’re at a bar! Pineapple hurricane $5 special? Don’t mind if I do! This bar stool is getting increasingly precarious. Time to leave. Stop at El Famous Burrito? Don’t mind if I do! Shouldn’t it be El Burrito Famoso? Huh. Chit chat with Megan and Amit about creepy rural Missouri meth addicts. Aaaaaaannnnnnd SLEEP.

SUNDAY

9 am: Wake up. Shockingly, with no hang-over. This is turning out to be a GREAT weekend.

10 am: My parents pick us up at Megan’s condo and we head to North Ave. Beach to watch my brother-in-law Mark dive into ice cold Lake Michigan wearing nothing but a swimsuit and Indian headdress. Mark is odd, but even this behavior is abnormal for him. It’s called the Polar Plunge and it’s for charity.

11:30 am: 3rd Coast for brunch. This is my very favorite hidden gem of a restaurant in the Gold Coast. I’m only sharing it with you because you are nice enough to read my blog, but don’t tell too many people about it. If I have to wait to be seated the next time I go there, I know who to blame…

2 pm: Stop back in Wheaton to pick up Gatsby. His romantic weekend with Riley is over. He looks depressed.

3 pm: Drive back to St. Louis for what seems like THE REST OF MY LIFE. These drives home are always the worst.

8 pm: Home! Oscars! Great end to a great weekend!

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Reason #1,235 that I am not ready to have babies

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I want to be able to go to a wine tasting class then drink margaritas and eat copious amounts of chips and salsa at a local Mexican restaurant where it just so happens to be karaoke night. All on a Wednesday after work. There’s no room for babies in that scenario. There’s barely room for a full grown toy fox terrier. (Gatsby was not happy that we left him alone for so long, as evidenced by the explosion of hyperactivity that met us at the door when we got home).

Let’s just say that if it’s wrong to find it hilarious that through some weird misunderstanding, my friend Erin accidentally led the host of karaoke night to believe that she was a scout from EMI talent agency, then I don’t want to be right. There’s something beautiful about the sparkle of hope in a small Asian man’s eyes when he believes that maybe his big break has finally come.

Witnessing a college frat boy methodically recite all of the lyrics to The Bloodhound Gang’s “Ain’t Nothing But Mammals” is the kind of experience I am not yet willing to give up. If anyone deserves to be discovered, it’s that guy – I was beyond impressed.

And then there was Don. Adorable, scruffy, Vietnam vet Don who sang several country songs about stars and stripes. And also Neil Sedaka’s Calendar Girl. His wife, when she wasn’t trying to get his attention by barking “God Damn it, Don!” could be found dancing in the back of the room with one of college frat boy’s friends.

God Bless America.

And birth control.

The Bachelor Chat

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I am writing this blog post mere hours before the much-anticipated season finale of The Bachelor: On the Wings of Love Edition. Or, as I like to call it, Cringing While Watching a Ken Doll Pilot with No Personality Agonize Over Which Nitwit Girl He Will Propose to and Dump Two Months Later. People, break out the popcorn – this is entertainment to the max.

I first got hooked on the Bachelor and Bachelorette shows back in the olden days when I lived in a dorm room, my bed doubled as a couch, and my viewing apparatus was a 14-inch box that included a built-in VCR. (Kids, VCRs were machines that played movies using strange rectangular devices called video tapes. Now go to your room for making me feel old.) Once I moved in with my sorority sisters, watching The Bachelor became a weekly event. It was a great way to relax, hang out, put off writing that paper for another hour, and make fun of people who were prettier and stupider than we were. Or at least appeared that way on TV.

After we graduated, watching this parade of slut-tastic ridiculousness just wasn’t the same. When I scoffed out loud about how that blonde chick had a bad boob job and was wearing a pageant dress or how Jesse the football player smashed girls’ faces when he kissed them, I was either greeted by silence or a polite chuckle from my roommate or boyfriend. Where were my girls when I needed them??

While watching an episode during Lorenzo “Prince Toolbox” Borghese’s season, I happened to be talking with a couple of them on AOL instant messenger. (Kids, instant messenger is an old fashioned online messaging service that – wait a second, who said you could come out of your room??) And that, my friends, was when a tradition was born: The Bachelor Chat!

For those of you who don’t use AIM anymore, there is a “chat” function that allows you to create chat rooms and have conversations online with a group of people. For those of you who still use AIM – why? Anyway, we invited all of our friends to join our chats during The Bachelor episodes and pretty soon it became a weekly event. I especially looked forward to it since I had moved to St. Louis and most of my college friends were still in Chicago – it was a fun way to keep in touch.

Sadly, it seems the days of the Bachelor Chat may be going by the wayside. Since we all started chatting, many of us have gotten married, started new demanding careers or moved out of the Central time zone. It also doesn’t help that the episodes are now 2 hours long. Two hours?? Really, ABC? Thankfully, this group of friends has not yet been struck by the baby boom, but I guess that’s just a matter of time as well. Who knows, once we all have kids we might not even have time for reality TV – oh, the horror!

One thing that makes me kind of sad about getting older is the fact that life increasingly tends to get in the way of recreational guilty pleasures such as the Bachelor Chat. So listen up, friends who don’t have babies yet: I have a plan! Let’s wait a couple years and then all have babies at exactly the same time! If we sync up our lives this way, our kids will all be best friends and they can play together while we hang out, and then our kids can all marry each other and we’ll never lose touch just like one big happy family! Or commune…whatever.

Well if that brilliant plan doesn’t pan out for some reason, I guess my only hope is that our lives may calm down by the time we all retire and maybe then we can actually resume the Bachelor Chat or The Price Is Right Chat, or whatever old people will be watching in 30 years.

Addendum: Ok, it’s the following morning and now we all know that Vienna has won Jake’s heart (which according to him is still “crying” for Tenley – over a balcony perhaps?). The two lovebirds actually danced on the After the Final Rose special while Jeffrey Osborne (who?) sang On the Wings of Love in the background. And let me tell you, my eyes could not roll far enough back in my head to express the way I felt about this. Reality TV, I love you.

Random tip of the day: Doing an ab workout that includes 130 leg drops and 3 minute planks when you have a cold is NOT a good idea because oh my God it hurts to sneeze the next day.