When Ranting On Your Blog Doesn’t Turn You Into the Next Mark Zuckerberg

On March 3, 2012 By KathleenIn Bio Pics, Breakups, Dating, insights/observations4 Comments

Blogging is dangerous business. Originally, They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband was supposed to be anonymous. For a long time, even after I had given the “About” section a named authoress and a face, googling me wouldn’t get you to my blog. Somewhere along the way, probably thanks to Facebook, that changed. Now, anyone doing background on me will find TTM2FaRH front and center on the first page of search results.

Is this a problem?

Up until today, the answer would have been “no.” There’s nothing I’ve written that I would be ashamed to have a boss or family member read. A few boys doing their pre-date due-diligence have stumbled on this page — what they uncovered had never amounted to a strike against. Quite the contrary.

And that’s largely because I had adhered to a few simple rules: never be mean, never complain.

Boys behave badly, boys break your heart, but never make your blog about them. Keep it about you. Because sometimes, you behave badly. That’s more or less been my motto.

But I broke my rules. In a moment of frustration, I riddled off and published a post I shouldn’t have. For the first time, I made it solely about them. And it was mean-spirited. Thanks to google, it was found. I was rightly put in my place.

“One cannot be always laughing at a man without now and then stumbling upon something witty” — so wrote Jane Austen in Pride & Prejudice. Stumbling upon something witty is what TTM2FaRH hopes to do. Yet in the same book, her best loved hero, Mr. Darcy confesses: “I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself…My good opinion once lost is lost forever.”

The keyboard is mightier than the sword, and used recklessly, offers the Mr. Darcy’s of the world reasons enough to loose their good opinions.

There are enough blogs out there that ridicule men — Fail Males, for example.They Told Me to Find a Rich Husband will not be one of them.

If You were a Hamburger…

On February 22, 2012 By KathleenIn Bio Pics, fashion, insights/observations2 Comments

The Lin Burger that sounds absolutely delicious

“If you were a hamburger, you’d be something independent and classy,” my co-worker Lisa said to me after reading about the new Lin Burger New York restaurants are cooking up.

The Knicks’ newest sensation is apparently characterized in patty form as a pork burger with 5-spice seasoning and an Asian slaw. Yum.

I didn’t know what it meant to be an “independent” burger, so I asked for some clarification.

“No fills. A burger that’s meaty enough to stand on its own.”

I was flattered — I always wanted to be perceived as an independent and classy piece of meat.

“If you were a hamburger, you would be…” was an interesting exercise for someone who hasn’t eaten an all-beef patty since November 2009.

The last time I had a burger, it was here and the scene looked just like this

I remember the date well — it was the first time I’d eaten red meat since 2007, the summer I drove cross country more than once and spent large amounts of driving time alongside cattle drive trucks. It was a late night and I had just exited a rather disappointing MoMA event with a ravenous friend in tow. He suggested the Prime Meridian’s Burger Joint. I agreed.

I ate the burger.

It was delicious.

When I got home, I threw up.

He doesn’t know about that last bit — all he knows is that my doctor encouraged me to return to eating red meat because I’d turned anemic. I’ll let my friend continue to think he did good by my health…

Anyway, back to the KathleenBurger…

When I think of a classy burger, I think of one with truffles. I’ve never thought this seems right — I mean, truffle is a powerful taste. With mac & cheese, okay. But on a good burger? No. Too. Much.

What about a Kobe burger? No fuss, just salt and pepper in the mix. That’s pretty independent. Grilled to a medium… juices dripping.

For a girl that doesn't eat red meat, she's sure getting a craving.

Yes.

Now we’re on to something.

Add some thinly, thinly sliced red onion.

No cheese.

No ketchup.

A soft, not too thick whole wheat bun.

Some chutney, with a mild kick.

With a pickle on the side. Gotta have my pickle.

Yea, that’s my kind of burger.

Okay, now I’m hungry. There’s an Energy Burger across the street from my gallery. I think I’m going to go order me a veggie burger… that tastes just like Kobe beef.

Lessons I probably should have Learned in College but Didn’t Because I was Too Busy Doing Calculus Homework

On February 7, 2012 By KathleenIn Bio Pics, Career, insights/observationsLeave a comment

micro1 — Microwaves have been around for decades, and yet I've never been able to make one work.

Microwaves don’t work

In an attempt to be both healthful and economical, sometimes I bring leftover homemade soup to work. Like most offices, we have a kitchenette with a fridge, a dishwasher, and a microwave. The microwave has a variety of settings, none of which anyone in the office knows how to make work. I put my soup in the microwave and set the clock. 3 minutes later, I take my soup out and burn my hands. The bowl is untouchable, but the soup? Still refrigerated. Expediency fail.

Fun tack doesn’t come off walls.

I’m not sure what it says about my youth, but I never hung a poster on my wall with that blue, sticky putty stuff called “fun tack.”Even my teenage pin-ups of JTT went in frames and were placed on my walls using picture hooks. The long term benefit of this? When it comes to installing an exhibition, I’m probably the fastest hammer in the tri-State. But for my last exhibition, I ran out of Velcro for my wall labels and had to resort to that blue, sticky putty. The blue, sticky putty is still stuck on my gallery walls. There’s nothing fun about Fun Tack.

I just don't have the stamina for all-nighter after all-nighter any more.

Sleep isn’t overrated and life begins before 10:15AM.

Between the ages of 18 and 23, I was built for pulling all-nighters. If I accumulated 12 hours of sleep over 3 days, I figured I was ahead of the game. Plus, if I was clever enough, I didn’t have to be in class before 10AM. And if I moved across campus quickly enough, I could easily grab an hour nap before my afternoon lecture. But in the real world, there’s no nap time to catch up on your zzzz’s. And what about pulling those all nighters? Well, I just don’t have the stamina anymore. Give me 8 hours or I’m a totally unproductive, man-eating zombie.

When a boy asks you to “hang-out,” he doesn’t mean “let’s make grilled cheese sandwiches and sit on the couch platonically to watch the Yankees game.”

couple-talking-on-couch — In college, this sort of thing was platonic. But apparently, not so much in the real world.

In college, all my friends were guys. We’d play poker or guitar hero, order in BBQ or head out to the Gin Mill for beer and pool, talk politics or sling mud at Jane Austen heroes. In short, when a guy in college asked me to “hang-out” I always assumed it was in the platonic sense, because 9 times out of 10, it was. But as soon as I was outside the bubble of study groups and communal living, I realized “hanging out” is just another vague term for everything from “date” to “hook-up.”

the-hangover-part-ii-original — hangovers hurt. I missed that memo.

Hangovers hurt.

I didn’t really drink in college — blame it on equal parts fear of getting caught, fear of freshman 15, and fear of anything that wasn’t top-shelf. I’m not exactly making up for it now, but I do have a cocktail more frequently than I did in my student years. Sometimes, I have a cocktail too many and wake up with a headache to prove it.

Push-Up Bras are false advertising

…and can, therefore, be a real letdown when they come off.

In the Playoff Games of Love, I’m totally Billy Cundiff

On January 30, 2012January 30, 2012 By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, Love1 Comment

Ravens-K-Billy-Cundiff — It was a 32 yard field goal for love and I missed.

Sometimes, I feel like an a-hole. Like a few weeks ago on that first date. Enter seasonal sports analogy: Team Kathleen was in the playoff game for love and I was the team’s equivalent of Billy Cundiff. That’s right, I was the kicker who only had 32 yards to a game-winning field goal but MISSED. Yea, this was the date that was going to put me in the SuperLoveBowl and I had just kicked wide and had to go home without getting to play for the “championship” ring.

There’s nothing more disappointing than sitting across from someone you think could be “it” and feeling like you’re just not on your A-game. It turns into an almost outer-body experience where you get to watch yourself plummet faster and faster, but can’t seem to come to your own rescue. My heart kept bouncing back and forth between my stomach and my throat – had it been only a flutter, I might have been able to get it under control and build myself a life raft. Instead, I found myself head under water, drowning in flatly-told stories and saying “all-the-wrong-things.”

Somewhere between the sandwich and the dessert menu, I sighed with the thought that “this just isn’t going to amount to anything.”

The walk to my next destination might as well have been a walk along the green mile.

The farewell walk might as well have been a walk along the green mile. He had been thoughtful enough to accompany me to my next destination, but I almost wished he had shown less chivalry. Mediocrity is exhausting, and I was plum worn out from three hours being a mediocre date. I needed to walk briskly, add a few extra blocks to my trek and let the winter air numb an already aching heart.

The good-bye was awkward enough that, if I tried really hard, I could find a glimmer of hope that not all was lost. But I knew better. As I made my way home later that evening, I resigned to what would become the reality – he would evaporate as quickly as he had appeared.

Love really is a game. Luckily, I’ve been an athlete my whole life, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned on the sports field that’s also applicable to the quest for love it’s this: there’s always another season to be played, which means there’s always another chance for victory… that is, as long as you’re not too quick to throw in the towel.

When You’re Having a Bad Dating Week Just Don’t Read “He’s Just Not that into You”

On January 25, 2012 By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, Love, New York City, relationships2 Comments

I’ll never forget the first time I saw that episode of Sex & the City where Jack Berger (incidentally, my favorite of Carrie’s emotionally inadequate boyfriends) bursts Miranda’s bubble with the simple phrase “He’s just not that into you.” The scene struck a chord as I had recently tired to tell a good girlfriend exactly the same thing:

“Listen, Jess, he took the evil red-headed stick figure actress to his office party. And the book signing. And dinner. He’s not dating you. He just d0esn’t, ya know, like you.”

Albeit, my phrasing was perhaps a big meaner. But frankly, we had consumed so many bottles of sake that she didn’t pay much attention to my solo shake-up in a chorus of “He’s totally waiting for the right moment to tell you he loves you.”

Gag me with a spoon.

Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy claims: “A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.” I’ve never been one of those girls. But that doesn’t mean that once in a rare, rare while, I haven’t found myself face-to-face with a man who ignites daydreams of the possible. Once in a rare, rare while, this pragmatic romantic loses the pragmatic and becomes a full-fledged romantic.

he's just not that into you — I think the post-it notes say it all...

And it was one of these rare, rare moments that sent me running to the book that came out of that Sex & the City episode, that book “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I had bought it to give to my aforementioned friend. I kept it instead. She clearly had no intentions to read it anyway.

The writers confirmed my intuitions — his lack of follow-up to our enjoyable early dates were sign that he wasn’t interested enough. The reasons were irrelevant, all that mattered was he didn’t like me as much as I had liked him. Ouch.

The book may have been right on some points, but it was wrong to tell me not to chase a little. Years later, when he was on to someone else, he confessed:

“I didn’t think you were that interested. If you had called, I absolutely would have seen you again.”

barracuda-2 — Some women are barracudas -- flashy fighters worthy of a trophy mount

New York is a man’s world when it comes to dating — this was a conclusion a male friend and I came to not so long ago over coffee. In NYC, an accomplished man with taste and half-way decent looks is the fisherman that doesn’t have to drop a line into the water to catch a fish. The fish just jump into the boat.

In a sea full of well-educated, well-dressed, good-looking fish, a man has options. Some of those women are barracuda — flashy fighters worthy of a wall mount. Which means sometimes, if you don’t want to lose out on a happily ever after, you have to get in the game and hop into that boat.

This Year, I Resolve to Become a Giant’s Fan

On January 16, 2012 By KathleenIn Dating, insights/observations, New York City6 Comments

The Giants made the playoffs. And then they beat the Green Bay Packers. As a New York sports fan generally speaking, I know this was excellent news.

“The Gaints? That’s the team Eli Manning plays for, right? The ones in blue?” I shyly asked my friend Sarah, a diehard G-Men fan (apparently, diehard Giants fans call the Giants “G-Men”… a nickname that, if you ask me, sounds a lot like a bad Vegas boybandesque act…regardless, this was one of many things I’ve learned about football this weekend.)

“That’s a shame,” I replied. “Tom Brady is so dreamy.”

Tom Brady makes me want to be a football fan. Oh! If only he was one of the "G-Men"

I’ve never been a football fan. As the daughter of a former international rugby player, I grew-up believing real men don’t wear helmets and that real games are organic, ever-moving team endeavors. However, in 2012, I resolve to become a football fan… and here’s why:

Men dig girls who dig sports. And being a one-season sports fan is limiting…

“You follow baseball!?!”

The guy standing across from me on the Metro-North train couldn’t believe the suburban-bound girl in the red heels and low-cut blouse was a die-hard Yankees fan. I couldn’t believe the handsome youngish-looking guy lived in suburbgatory.

“Common, man! I have the MLB app!”

I quickly whipped-out my phone to prove it. The background picture of Jorge, my traveling Yankee garden gnome, only confirmed that I was legit.

We chattered back and forth for a few stops. He had just come from Yankee stadium and had watched our team loose a tragic game to the Rays, 1-5. I had just come from dinner in the West Village. He was slightly drunk and eager to convince me to skip my stop.

“It’s getting close to Fantasy Football time,” he eventually said. “I’ve just updated my NFL app.”

As he moved to pull out his iPhone, I sighed.

“Sorry. I don’t follow football.”

“You were a 10. I’ve just downgraded you to an 8.”

To me, an 8 rating was still pretty flattering, fantastic even, if not a bit inflated. I shrugged. It was my stop, and so, to much protestation, I bid him good night.

This is, like, totally gonna be me come next football season.

The baseball season is a long way off, the Rugby World Cup has come and gone and I’m now forced to take my pom-poms and move on to another season.

I’ve never cared for basketball. It’s just not one of those sports I can get behind with any sort of enthusiasm, feigned or genuine. I grew up the daughter of a Canadian, so hockey seems the most natural winter sport fit. The problem is I root for the Vancouver Canucks.

Luckily, I have a week to go shopping and start researching. If I’m going to watch the Giants take on the San Fransisco 49ers at a sports bar next weekend, I’d better have my number 10 jersey broken in, my NFL app loaded, my football lingo ready on the tip of my tongue, and my player stats uploaded to the little grey cells. Because this rookie QB is throwing for a touchdown…