There are a lot of topics that I need to catch you up on.
Let’s start with a big one – Cosmopolitan Magazine.
Back in December, I got an email from a writer at Cosmopolitan. She asked if I would set aside a few minutes to be interviewed for an article she was writing on young divorce. After fist bumping the air, mass texting my friends, dancing around in circles, and probably peeing in my pants a little bit, I coolly replied that yes, I would be okay with that.
There were a few speed bumps along the road, and times when I wasn’t sure my quotes would appear in the article. But here they are, in the May issue, in all of their depressing, divorce-centric glory. Technically, I haven’t even had a glass of champagne to celebrate.
Funny tangential story – I posted this photo of the cover on my personal Facebook wall, letting my friends know that my interview was in this month’s issue. To my surprise, I saw a comment from an unexpected party.
This was a guy I went out with once and never heard from after that. Which would have been less bizarre if we hadn’t worked together and passed each other in the hallway six times a day.
Anyway, one day he cracked, and proceeded to ask me out seven times in a 24-hour period. I said no. No, no, no, no, no, no.
Point is that I have had plenty of interaction with this dude, and would not expect him to respond to the picture of this month’s issue as follows:
Yeah, definitely. You didn’t know that my name is actually Rachel Bilson, and I used to star in the OC, but I left to come work at Google and go on dates with YOU? I didn’t mention that?
Go home, Jeff. You’re drunk.
Next topic of discussion: Las Vegas, Nevada. Goddamn this place does not disappoint. Unfortunately, I don’t have any more stories of Vice Presidents and Russian Moguls whisking us off to expensive tables this time, because we learned our fucking lesson on that subject.
There are certain stories from this trip that are just too much for the blog to handle. But what I remember most is a singular moment in time where I was surrounded by my best girlfriends, dancing maniacally, waving around large orange styrofoam sticks which we literally used to beat of creepy men, singing along passionately to this song as confetti and balloons magically fell from the ceiling. It’s hard to beat that moment.
Finally, we have a completely unrelated story.
I was waiting for the subway one day. I was alone, and a little bit drunk. I tried to read a movie poster, but the words were blurring together, so I figured moving closer would help. Right as I am about to run into the poster head-first, a guy walks by. He is so good-looking the my head physically cannot help but follow him as he walks.
I lament my half-drunk hair frizz as he stands a safe distance away.
Unexpectedly, he turns and smiles. He says something to me. I say something back. We start to talk, and continue throughout the subway ride. The conversation flows easily.
He notes that I live near Shake Shack. I tell him I have never been. He leans in with an arrestingly charming smile.
“Let me take you there sometime,” he says.
It isn’t even a request. It is an order. And before I know it, I am putting my number in his phone.
He is smooth. Alarmingly smooth.
I briefly wonder whether this is real life. I note that this is probably not the first time he has picked up a girl on the subway – but resolve to give him the benefit of the doubt and see how his texting game is. If he seems too cocky, I’ll just forget about it.
The next day, this is what the text message conversation looks like:
That’s all we have for today, kids. Stay tuned this week for some exciting new recipes!