monday is the new thursday

And pink is not the new blog....I really don't like that site. In fact, I don't even read it anymore. These days I'm really about spending my time on things that matter--dlisted, well crafted shoes and monday being the new thursday.

I had a feeling something like this was going to happen. In the last year I've booked a few dates on Monday and attended a few Monday night shin digs. So if monday is the new thursday, thursday becomes the new saturday and to sum up this meaningless and somewhat teenage equation, saturday is now extint. Well saturday is no longer the night the night to party it up (balls to the walls...blah). It's when you relax.

Having said all that, I went on my third (maybe 4th) monday night date this year. His name--gasp--I have yet to name him. He's cute (captivating green eyes, the most darling curls and great eyebrows), sweet/sincere, an active listener, great conversationalist, food snob and into the idea of "make out monday." I'm getting a bit weird with this labeling days thing, but it's fun. This was one of those dates where you can end up talking all night.

We had dinner, he picked, I met him there. At first conversation was a little awkward--which (i've decided to use his name, he's too nice for one of my retarded nicknames) Nick, so honestly pointed out; but it grew and I think we had a really great time together. It's rare that I have a date where I don't want the guy to just shut the hell up so I can finish my food. In fact, I didn't give a crap about my food, I was very into our converstation. I ate slowly....I never eat slowly. We got on the subject of champagne and being the gentleman that he was, Nick escorted me to his dwelling where we enjoyed champs. We talked more. And yes for all of you nosey people the talking finally ceased and we did make-out. I'm starting to think this guy isn't real--he keeps a girl engaged, picks a good resty and makes out very nicely. Maybe I'm finally out of that habit of falling for douche bags and perhaps "the Monday" isn't as bad as it once was?

BUI (blogging under the influence)

I never blog after I'm fresh off of an evening of drinking. Things change, right? Well I had an eventful evening --so far i've made abou 10 mistakes, but managed to correct them all0--drunk blogging is not good.

I'm a little annoyed with our beloved Hottender...oh that reoccuring character (who has , I'm sure, somehow found a ink to my blog and now knows what i say and this could be the reasion for the demise of our date number two...whateves). He has successfully frustrated me as usual. This is no secret. I will have to touch on it tomorrow. I'm too sleepy. But you will all be glad to know that I have bangs again! yay.

Happy Friday

worthy investment (banker)...

I'm on a roll. And this could be in conjunction with the fact that I will (as of Friday) be unemployed and I have to do something to pass the time. So blog number three today. It's all about a new "character." His name, "the Banker*." He's new on the scene. Actually that's a lie (I'm good at telling those). I met him back in February during a night of self-procured cocktails (red bull vodka)...ouch.

So we've had four date nights. Some friends have been candid about letting me know that the Banker and I are "dating." I say we've been on dates. This is not to say that I am opposed to dating, I just don't think we are officially dating yet because we haven't done either of the following:

a) had a Friday or Saturday night sleepover which turns into Saturday or Sunday morning paper/Vogue/coffee outing
b) run an errand together, i.e. grocery shop together, car wash, pick-up dry cleaning

Basically when we get coffee together we're an item. HA! I should be careful about what I say in the event that he either, someday reads this (because we fall madly in love and I divulge my guilty passion for blogging) or does a background search and finds that I have a meaningless blog that entertains those who don't talk to me about my life's craziness everyday.

So all that to say this...he seems interested...very interested. And I'm really beginning to take to it. I called him last night...HE HAS YET TO RETURN MY CALL. I fear the usual, he's lost interest (or he's on a business trip).

*I'm obsessed with the fact that he's an investment banker as I've been dying to date one since I was 18.

choice language of champions

I'm convinced that a short month robs bloggers of the will to post---makes them lose motivation. That drive, that deep burning desire to blog is somehow lost...or bloggers are too busy boozing and bitching verbally to scribe all of those fascinating things going on in their lives, non?

So anyhoo (mmm), I'm back, in full force pulsating with positive (ha) energy. As you, my dear readers, know I am absolutely taken by the opposite sex. I love the manipulate my situations with men, laugh about them, cry about them, analyze them, and go on about how things "could've happened." And as most of you know I like to give most of the men in my life pseudonyms---It makes things more interesting. Real names are boring and I hate boring.

That said, real chitter chatter with men is on the edge of boring. Thanks to carefully studying the language of guys I have decided to adopt that language and begin talking to them they way they talk to me (or us if you've ever experienced this). A few choice phrases include (but are not limited to):

a) You're so yummy (smile)
b) Get your sexy lil' ass over here (with a somewhat disgusted look on your face--as though you're annoyed)
c) You don't even know what you're doing to me right now, it's fuckin' crazy
d) I'm just so into it (said while biting lip)
e) Ugh. I just love your face
f) Yeah I bet (to follow a statement that he's made...make him seem really special and be sure to cut your eyes at him when saying this)
g) Let me look at you
h) --silence-- (it's so very male and so very golden)

*feel free at any time to add "right now." this makes everything so in the moment and they will love it.

I imagine that most men will be put off by this language and will, in turn feel challenged (which I guess is ok). But just think of how much fun it will be to watch a man react to this shit? I mean they want us to swoon (Clueless speak) over this sort of thing, so are we ladies wrong for wanting the same thing? I'll report back and tell you how my "sexylil' ass" is doing with this new "venture."


*do you think this kind of behavior explains why i'm still single? i vote yes...hahaha

return the 'tender (not chicken)

Last night was one of those evenings where upon leaving work I had no plans, but to go home, enjoy a pizza, drink my sorrows (and hatred) away, and enjoy an evening with the cast of Grey's. It didn't happen that way; however not to my dismay.

I got a text from "Hotender"...yeah, that's what I said. I haven't spoken with him since October (well I saw him about 2 weeks ago at a bar in the Mission). He informed me all the days he was working and concluded by saying, I should come by and say hi. Kim and I had some time to spare before Grey's and since The Ambassador is a new spot, we couldn't say no.

I think The Ambassador is my new favorite bar. Hanging from a black ceiling were about 20 crystal chandiliers in various sizes. A very sexy place to sip old school cocktails. I'll certainly be returning. So, I made my way up to the bar where he was working, to his surprise and proceeded to be coy, but sweet. I think he liked my outfit which was nice because so many people said weird things about it that day. Kim left, but I hung around for another drinkie--a madras (not fancy, but free). We chatted for a bit, managed to catch up, he complimented my physique, then he told me I should return the next night . Again I took on my calm and cool persona (so not me, huh?) and responded by saying I didn't know, I was planning for a mellow weekend. He thanked me for coming, I thanked him for the invite, he gave me kisses, and I said I would call him. To this he responded, "yeah, do that," with a smile, no less. Finally I turned my back on to hear him say again, "thanks for coming Candace." I didn't turn around I continued to walk. I'm such a movie star.

So, all that to say this...I think I'll be hanging out with Hotender again soon. But, this time I know he will not be my boyfriend.

bye bye broken heart

Last we "spoke" I was going on about how I learn new things about myself everyday. Perhaps this is my week of self-actualization. A veil has been lifted from mine eye and I'm pleased to announce that I have the male species pinned! Ok, I'm exaggerating a bit, but whatever the case I've gained clarity on my relationships/interactions with men.

I think all girls have a general idea of who's who when it comes to men, but it takes years (if you ask me) to accept and embrace this intuition. You know if a guy is good or bad for you within 24 hours. However, you'll justify him in every possible way you can to make him seem "right." You'll kind of mold him--make light of those things that you know are going to burn you in the end, just so you can envision him being "the one."

I've become a bit of a cynic in my old age and more so, I believe I've become hardened to the behaviors of men. Sometimes I get sad about this, because I feel as though an endearing part of me is gone. But on the other hand I thank jebus that those days are behind me. Ugh. No more crying, stressing, waiting, wondering, wishing, hoping. I've learned to take a man at face value. If his demeanor is off when I meet him, or if I'm lead to question more than one thing that came out of his mouth, he's probably just a one-night stand. He could be one of those guys who hangs around for a few months, takes me out, makes me laugh, gives me a reason to get pretty on a Tuesday night, gives me hot sweet love, and says nice things, but I know he's nothing more than that. I like this. I am really enjoying accepting an asshole for what he is. I feel in control and a lot less vulnerable than in days past. I mean did I really think that "Hotender" could be my boyfriend? And what about "Southern Hottie?" Oh and let's not forget "NBF..." All of these experiences were fulfilling in someway and I can now accept that and not want more or go home and cry about that shit.

I'm also beginning to question the idea of "the one." I'm sure he exists and most women can attest to this. But there is a part of me that is content with knowing he'll never show up and I'll just have my two retarded best friends to last me for the rest of my life (I know most of you are cringing at thought of my immaturity never really "dying"). This is not to say that I don't believe in love...I do. Many of my friends have found it and I'm happy for them. My day will come, but I'm in no hurry (I’m so fickle). Some day my "prince" will come. But I wouldn't be surprised if he were a skinny hot gay who really wanted to watch The Hills with ONLY ME for all of eternity...

ok to be lazy

It's 8:30pm on a Sunday evening and I have nothing to show for the day. That's because I spent the entire day watching television (and I indulged in some Rocky Road ice cream). I'm ok with having done nothing productive, because I deserved my lazy day. I spent my Saturday with five margaritas, Kim & Robin (I love how they keep me giggling), lots of boys, and college football. I was drunk by 5:30...my fingers were numb, my eyelids heavy, and my laughter was genuine. Everything about yesterday was genuine, espeically the way I passed out by 7:45.


(i'm not going to post anything about drinking for 5 days y'all...i'm sobering up)

monday rambling

As you regulars know, Monday usually consists of a weekend recap...
My last post recounted my new discoveries, so in keeping with the theme I'm going to add a few more:

1) Spending a Saturday morning (which turned into afternoon, turned early evening) drinking
2) Breakfast at The Elite Cafe
3) Well-done, cheap cashmere at Marc Jacobs
4) Watching Robin yell "c'mon nerd" in coffee shops that could very well be libraries

I'm going to avoid detail this go round. But I will say that I haven't laughed so hard during brunch in a long time! The food at Elite was splendid, Robin & Kim were total crack ups (one story had me in tears from laughing), and bloodly mary's go down well after a night of beer. Also, I met a new boy. We have dubbed him, "new boyfriend." Granted he's not my boyfriend, but he was very candid in telling me that he should be. I like that--the honesty. He took me out for dinner last night and DVR'ed Desperate Housewives for me. Survery says, keeper. And he's really cute when he wears his glasses.

Needless to say, I enjoyed my weekend. I even got up and went running, bought new booties, a knit hat, and scored a $200 blouse for $20. Yes, be jealous.

It rained today and I would have loved to stay home and play dress up in all of my new things---I know I'm not the only person who does that, right? The dress up gods weren't in my favor, because I didn't stay home and play, rather I wore the ugliest thing ever and went to work. Can I go back to Friday and start over?

black babies are the new birkin

If this is true than I can get rich pretty easily. Black babies seem to be a hot comodity in Hollywood. So, if I pop out a few does that mean that I'll reap the monetary benefits of well tanned offspring? Probably not, because at the rate I'm going my children won't be pure breed, since I don't date very many black men. They'll be muts, so I won't get as much money for them...damn.

This brings me to my next topic of discussion. I've been dating more. I've been going out more. Which means, I've been drinking more (my liver runs marathons). But back to the first point. I've been dating more. Now I had a date back in August and the follow (or lack thereof) was wretched. However, I met a gem--Southern Hottie--and we reconnected last weekend. Exquisite, I tell you. I also managed to sneak in a dinner date on a school night with "Apple." Apple is cute and, despite Nicholas's contempt for Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Apple resembles him (J.R.M, not Nicholas). Any who, while I have had no shame in expressing my wish for a boyfriend, I like dating right now, it's fun.

My mother thinks this is obsurd and I should, "wait on God" and that SF is filled with weirdos. I came back at her by stating that people in Riverhell do the same thing, only they meet at TGI Friday's. To be honest, I don't really care if she thinks dating is crazy. Someday, my date will become my claim to fame. Because he will assist me in producing an impure blood line and we'll get rich off of it. While black babies are the new birkin, half black babies well become the new vintage chanel.

16 drinks, 2 port-a-potties & 1 naked leatherfest later

It's Monday. I've begun many-an-entry such as that, but mostly out of detest. Today it's out of exhaustion. I filled my weekend with goodies--the kind that come in bottles, glasses, flutes, and cans.

Errrgg I'm really tired today....

So on Friday Ralph came up, which is always fun, but unlike past visits where we spent our days rifling through the racks of H&M, movie going, or skipping through Union Square until we have shopping headaches, we took in the weekend's festivities and drank ourselves silly. Friday was dinner at Medjool with Arty followed by a round of shots and about 5 additional drinks (per person) at Elbo Room. I'm really glad I've stopped drinking fru fru drinks (for the most part anyway), it's so much easier to order Campari--everyone has it and you can't screw it up! We had such fun. I was even asked if I wanted to go motorcycle riding sometime this week. The guy--cute, but he was about 5'2 and that doesn't work with me. Then he confessed to be an "LD" (yeah I didn't know what that meant either). Well it means "learning disabled" and when I offered up my number, I also I had to task of entering my name into his phone. I never have a dull moment at Elbo Room. So for three crazy kids who didn't want the evening to end, last call was more upsetting than usual, so back to Arty's for champs--the result? Vomitfest '06. I'm such a hard parting rock star (hee hee).

Saturday came and after waking up in Arty's flat at 2:00pm we decided to make the day happen , but take it easy. Shopping was the plan. Little did Ralph know, shopping on Saturday in Union Square is severely frustrating. We caught the first bus available and met a "friend" of mine at Civic Center for the Love Parade. It was my first time hanging out with this guy (the friend) and my first Love Parade--what fun it was. After 4 beers, 8 techno beat buses, a hash brownie, and ganja cake I couldn't stop feelin the party. We met up with the the friend (who is now dubbed "Southern Hottie") after dinner (more beer please) and partied until 3am. I managed to make out with Southern Hottie on the corner of Pacific and Van Ness--this one's a keeper...

Sunday was nothing but bare butts at Folsom. I didn't want to go but Ralph made me. Luckily I ran into one of my favorite groups of people--Jenny, Aaron and Tim (i just love them). This made Folsom a lot easier to ingest (in addition to those two really good margaritas). It felt unsanitary and I know someone caught ringworm. I saw enough penis to last me a lifetime (who am I kidding), enough ugly boobs to realize that maybe plastic surgery isn't as bad as I thought, and enough hairy butts, backs and balls to consider stock in Nads home waxing kit.

All in all I had a great weekend. I'm tired now, but I partied, I boozed, I had a few nice meals, I finally met Southern Hottie and made-out with him, and I used two port-a-potties in one weekend. Happy Autumn!!!

a little discouragement goes a long way

The first year was hard. Actually those first few months of single life were daunting. The only thing enjoyable was getting down to a zero---ahh "breakuprexia!" After a few months of it (about six to be exact), I settled in nicely and began appreciating the new me.

The second year of single girlhood was wild, adventurous, sexy, even envious. I had my pick of guys. I exuded with confidence, while maintaining that girlish charm that males love so much. With no real commitments I relished in this devious behavior. It was refreshing and down right liberating after spending my days and nights with soy ice cream, my vegan buddy, and reruns of Everybody Love Raymond.

I've just passed the three year mark of single life. I know the exact date, but I'd feel foolish revealing it...eventhough I just told you that I know it. So now, at the ripe and ready age of 23, I'm ready to delve into the world of exclusivity. But sadly dating now seems to be much more difficult than it was 4 years ago. I have standards now and won't settle for any piece of shit off the street. I'm not into chubby guys (sick), guys who love Vegas (I'd rather go home and kill myself), mama's boys (not my style), anyone over 32(done that), vegetarians (not into relationships sans Ruth's Chris), divorcees (fug baggage), guys who just want to hook-up or play date (so over it), people from high school (losers), people from college (educated losers), guys with kids and/or wives (ugh done that one too) anyone who thinks not wearing sneakers is dressing up (lame and immature), someone who considers $35 too much money for a meal (cheap ass), men who hate gays (if you don't love my "gays" then you can't love me) and the list goes on. I don't think that's picky. I just know what I want and I'm vocal about it.

I'm discouraged this week. Let's cross our fingers that something good happens. Because I'm starting to believe that my ex did voo doo on me and didn't tell me. As usual, I'm starting to discredit my own abilities in selecting men...Do you think it's me or them?

bringing sexy back....

in the form of dessert.

So in the past month or so, I realized why my love life isn't flourishing--I don't care enough about it. I'm busy right now learning French, mastering my tennis game, liking my work, drinking Campari, wearing skinny jeans, and figuring out how life will materalize once Amanda is gone (sniff sniff). I'm only interested in giving hot guys my number, prentending they'll call, and then being completely over it 2 hours later. Also, I've realized that if a girl really wants to bring sexy back, she's needs to find her solace in the spoonful.

Now, I'm not condoning over eating or over indulging, that is so 2001 (when metabolisms were slower and lipo/personal trainers were cheaper). But what am in condoning is falling in love with your dessert. Here are a few reasons why creme brulee, chocolate mousse, & even jello pudding will bring your sexy back much better and quicker than a shirtless, hairy-chest guy ever could:

1. dessert doesn't judge
2. dessert is loyal, faithful, honest, and true
3. dessert listens
4. dessert will love you when no one else does

So with dessert in moderation, a drawer full of lacy panties, Johnny Depp movies, and a box of q-tips (Amanda and I have decided there is a sex organ in the ear) you'll get your sexy back so quick you won't be able to find your sexy front (translation fake sexy).

*eww that was so bad that I'm cringing
**inspiration from this blog hails from Amanda's genuis during an gmail chat conversation. The list of reasons why dessert is better than a man come from her.

It's a Monday. I feel those three words speak volumes to my mood this morning. It seems not amount of coffee is working, I'm not stimulated by the gossip, and I'm having incessant thoughts of crawling into my bed--and staying there until tomorrow. If anyone could see my face right now, they would notice me suffering for a case of "wonky eye." Sad, but true. I'm exhausted.

The following would probably help my cause:

a) an amusing phone call
b) an eight hour break
c) another day off
d) disco
e) le pod
f) Lindsay Lohan walking through the door
g) an all expense paid trip to Paris
h) someone calling and telling me that I had to move to la la land right now
i) a new haircut
j) Amanda telling me she's not going to move out
k) if it were pre-fourth of july weekend again
l) a call from that HAUTE bartender I met on friday
m) 5:00pm
n) being a work in my jammies


OMG, ok I"m being ridiculous. I need to get to work. If you have any ideas on how I can wake up please post. Happy Monday!

je m'appelle est bon vendredi

Yeah, Yeah, so my name isn't good Friday, but that's what it's turning out to be. I had no earthquake to wake me, but I did have the soothing taste of Peets to permeate on mine palate, I was a little early to work, the gossip was good and the Senior VP came up to me personally to thank me for doing such a great job. He says he's only heard good things. Which is great to know because I was afraid my ass was grass from all of my blog reading.

My French class is spectacular. I love saying the number 15, it sounds like Caaaaannnnzzz. Now I see why the French feel superior to Americans, their langue (language) is much more sexy as are their dishes, their designers, their history, their landmarks, their coffee, but not their men. French men still creep me out. They're comical but so not sexy. I still haven't decided which men I love best--oh wait I did really like that French Candian, but they aren't REALLY French.