Moving forward, high school is dead.

So I suck at posting lately, but in my defense I've had so much going on at work that I've barely had time to come up for air. Moving forward, (this is one of those classic lines you fine integrated into your 24 year old lexicon that you couldn't have paid your 18 year old mouth to say) I am going to try to be better at posting and not let other things affect the amount of time I dedicate to said blog.

That being said, and I'm going to hell if she ever finds this blog, but last night I went to dinner with one of my high school friends. This friend I grabbed food with, was one of my best friends from high school that I literally used to be inseparable from and I've known since I was in 8th grade. Now whether you have a 60 year old perspective while reading this blog or a 16 year old, everyone knows that one of the basic tenets of being a human is that people change. That is the best way to explain the dinner dynamic I had to endure last night.

My friend from high school, let's call her Red, has been been mad at me for the past year or so because I "haven't dedicated enough of my time to our friendship." She's one of those classic needy friends, everyone has them, that takes every little move you make as a personal accost to her humanity and can't really understand that you are busy living your life and drinking beer in your basement as a 16 year old doesn't hold any sort of precedent in your life anymore.

Regardless, she took the time to send me a really sweet card for my birthday and in the card was like, "I just want to wish you a happy birthday and I would love to take you out to dinner or drinks for your birthday sometime, let me know when you are available." As nice as the gesture was, she didn't come to my birthday party so I kinda thought it was just one of those reaching out sort of things people do without any follow through.

But sure enough, come Monday, I sign onto gchat and she IMs me saying, "Hey have you gotten my card yet, would love to take you to dinner if you can?" Since she was really trying to reach out I felt bad pulling away anymore than I already had so I agreed to go to dinner last night.

Even though this was supposed to be my "birthday dinner," she insisted on me picking the place and telling me how poor she was. Due to these disclosures, I tried to pick a local, cheap spot that I knew had specials on Tuesdays.

She called me to let me know that she had gotten to dinner 45 minutes early and since the bar was more in my neighborhood I offered to have her come to my house while I finished getting ready. She refused and little did I know until I showed up at the bar that instead of coming to my house a mere four blocks away, she sat in her car.

When we went into the restaurant, there was a half hour wait. While we waited it was butt-clench central. It couldn't be more apparent that we had just drifted apart, through no fault of either one of us, we just weren't the same people anymore. There was nothing left for us to connect upon and we had grown and changed from the 16 year olds, excited to have our licenses, to 24 year olds who had nothing to talk about.

We spent the next hour and a half at dinner, re-hashing high school drama that I could care less about before going our separate ways. Finally, when the bill came, after she had ordered the majority of the check, she asked if we wanted to split it. In my head, I'm thinking, okay you've managed to harass me into a dinner that I didn't want to attend and into paying for food that I didn't want to consume with you, but please, can we split the bill! Either way, I ended up accepting my debit card fate and throwing it down.

Moving forward, it just goes to show you that no matter how many tears you've spilled in sweaty garages over emo talks while guzzling Mike's Hard Lemonades as a teen, there comes a day when there's just nothing left to talk about.

No one's getting out alive,
heels

Bill-do the Weirdo: The Final Farewell

Well fellow bloggers, we have reached a point where we must say farewell to our dear friend "Bill-do the Weirdo." As many of you must have assumed, after last post, BW was on his way out the door after his spazztastic email confessing his love (or whatever the F that was) to me. After circulating the email around my office, since material that good can't be kept to oneself, I really couldn't figure out the best way to respond to him. I was torn because part of me did genuinely feel bad for this kid, but the other part of me was legitimately freaked out by him. So I enlisted the help of S&S, one of my fellow colleagues, who helped me write the most excellent response that I pasted below...

Hi Bill,

Thanks for the email. I appreciate the kind words, but I struggle with what to say as I really don't want to lead you in the wrong direction. While Friday night was quite the experience, I don't see this relationship or friendship (whatever you make of it) going any further.

Please don't think this had anything to do with me just wanting to hang out with my friends on Friday (I live with them and see them daily), it is more a function of who I am and who you are. I just don't see us as a fit. Sorry if this is blunt, but I don't want this to carry on any further.

I wish you the best.
Heels

So I guess to all you guys out there who read this blog there are a few lessons to walk away from this with:

1) Berating females with multiple mediums of communication without any sort of reciprocation tyyyypically indicates that, "She's just not that into you."
2) Disclosing personal family emails does not endear women to you, it creeps them out and makes them go out to Home Depot and buy extra locks to install on their windows.
3) Writing a persuasive style email to a love interest enlisting the "reasons" you two should be together based off the ONE conversation you two have had is UNACCEPTABLE. period.

As I close the Bill-do the Weirdo chapter on my life, I'm starting to think that maybe I should start weeding out some of these guys and start focusing on the ones I actually like? Ahhh, I don't care what flats says, 23 or not, quarter life crises are hard to figure out! I guess only time will tell, maybe I have another 15 Bill-do the Weirdos headed my way?! On the bright side, I'll have new material for the next 3 years, on the down side my butt might become perma-clenched in an effort to stomach dates like these.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

Bill-do the Weirdo: Round Deux

Well, well, well, we all thought we had heard the last from Bill-do the Weirdo, but oh no fellow blog readers, do not fear! We have not heard the last from this fine fellow.

One would think the repeated embarassment of un-returned text messages, phone calls, emails, could possibly result in the termination of communication with said party that refuses to return any form of communication you throw at her, but OH NO!, Bill-do PTI's (powers through it - yea Carls) like the complete freakshow that he is. Let me entertain you all with the email that assaulted my eyes Monday morning....

So I come into work to an army of emails as I usally do on Monday mornings. Although, this Monday was particularly brutal as I had back to back meetings, to dos, requests and was barely getting the chance to catch up. It wasn't until 5:30 pm did I discover this little gem that had alluded me in my inbox all day. This email is so absurd it is truly beyond words, hence why I am just going to share it with you all....

Hey Heels,
I can’t stop thinking about how I mishandled Friday night. I really wish I did so many things different the simplest of which would have been to just let you go out with your friends by yourself after what was a nice dinner. You can’t blame me for wanting to be with you though. I think you are a beautiful, wonderful, caring girl that values her friends and family just as much as I do. When you were describing your friendships, you commented that you were “fiercely close.” It struck a chord with me as just 2 days earlier my father had described me with the same adjective in a note. Look…

(STAY WITH ME --- this is heels. Below is the email that he PASTED into the email he sent me that originially HIS FATHER had sent to him, I told you, I can't make this shit up, continue reading...)

----- Forwarded Message ----
From:Bill-do the Weirdo's Dad
To:Bill-do the Weirdo
Sent: Tuesday, January 20, 2009 10:00:38 PM
Subject: 27

Dear Bill-
Happy Birthday. 27. Wow! I am very proud of you, Bill. You are a great example to our family of commitment and courage.I know that you are very thoughtful and that you keep a lot to yourself. I know that you are resolute in your convictions and fiercely loyal.Those are all good things.We are a stronger family because of you and your devoted love of your Mother. Pray to her, Bill that she guide you and petition for you. She knows what we all need. She is there.S he will never leave you. I am proud of you. I am thankful for you and I love you with all my heart.
Love,
Dad

(OH NO this email tragedy is not over, don't leave me yet, he CONTINUES with his email below commenting on the dad email HE pasted ABOVE into HIS email that he sent to ME, please continue reading...)

I get that and I respect that. I think we are very similar in nature and have a lot in common and I want to know you better. But you’re right I wasn’t on your page and I would like to better understand what you are looking for at this point in your life. I know you might read this and maybe think I am really nuts and should just walk away but it’s worth the risk of you thinking that for me to express this to you. I think you are just too special to just walk away without really trying, apologizing and having you know how I feel. Please think about it. Have fun at the FBR this week, I hope you have an awesome time and change your mind about golf and change your mind about me too. J Let me know if you do.

~Bill-do the Weirdo (and YES, he did use the "~" to sign off his email, which should immediately disqualify him as a heterosexual)

PEOPLE...I have literally known this kid for a hot 6 HOURS, if that. I mean, COME ON, in math terms that's 360 minutes, 21,600 seconds, basically a red headed slut compared to a shot of Jame-o, means. absolutely. nothing.

To be honest though, beneath this cold, bitter, bitchy exterior lies a softer heels who actually finished reading the email and was overwhelmed by just feeling plain bad for this kid. I mean this type of obsession/psychotic-ness/fixation, couldn't make me run faster, but this kid is obviously so out of touch with reality that I feel like I'm dealing with Andy Dick in his post Newsradio days when everything was just downhill and if he wasn't peeing on someone at a bar he was found passed out in a gay strip club with two pesos and a shot of cognac glued to his face.

So I'm going to turn the question to all of you, what would you have done if you received an email like this?

I'll let you know what I chose to do (besides immediately filing for a restraining order) in the next post, so stay tuned.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

Bill-do the Weirdo.

So in my last post I talked about the "promising prospect" I was going on a first date with on Friday and I don't know if my guy-dar is off or wintertime in Chicago brings the freaks out of their igloos, but this was one for the books, let me tell you. After experiences like Friday night, most people would want to hang up their dating hats, buy a cat named Sprinkles, take up knitting and call it a day. I, on the other hand, not only love these awkward.com dates, but they provide me with enough fabulous, butt-clenching material for weeks to come. So blogosphere, let me introduce you to the nightmare known as "Bill-do the Weirdo."

I met Bill-do last Sunday at Stanley's when my roomies and I were having a Sunday Funday. My room mates were at the bar grabbing drinks and I was hanging back, awkwardly people watching because I didn't really feel like chatting up the bartender, when said "first date nightmare" entered my life.

He seemed nice enough and confidently strode up to me and struck up a conversation, so I thought to myself, I'm willing to give this guy 5 minutes of my time. It ended up that we had a bunch of stuff in common, both Irish Catholic, both have two siblings, both went abroad to Spain, you get the picture, and I actually started to tune in and give this guy a legitimate chance. We ended up chatting for a while and as I was about to call it a night, I found myself hoping he would ask for my number. As we headed towards the door, he blundered through his amateur attempt to score my digits. To prevent myself from further suffering from his symphony of stutters, I quickly spouted off my number and hopped in a cab, success, or so I thought.

Knowing that hindsight is 20/20, there were definitely signs that this guy was going to be a head case, but since I am trying to "get back out there" and give dating a real chance, I thought that I would just roll with it and hope for the best. (life lesson #1,093,657: Never just "roll with it," This guy was a grade A freakshow and I should have listened to my gut)

Since I would like to prevent others from suffering through such disasterdom, I thought I could bullet out some precursors that hinted towards the verbal diarrhea Bill-tack he eventually sprung on me...

Bill-do the Weirdo Warning Signs:

• After I gave him my number, he texted me not :37 seconds later, "You're awesome -- billy." You're awesome? Did I meet Ted from Hey Dude by a mistake? Get real brotha' man.
• The next day he texted me, "Doing some reading before class, but all I can do is think about you." Reet, reet, reet, PSYCHO! Like are you for reals? You met me a hot 8 hours ago and all you can do is think of me? You need to get a hobby, or a friend, or both.
• Apparently said advice was not taken, he neither got a friend nor hobby, because he had plenty of time to begin badgering me with emails. Apparently, texting wasn't enough but we had to bring our relationship into Outlook. AND these emails were not just any kind of email mind you, they were emails riddled with :) AND this ;) and more exclamations than my eyes ever wanted to see. The subject of his very first email was ":)." I mean, come on, I couldn't make this shit up. I couldn't believe it, I felt like god was playing a cruel trick on me because we all know how I feel about textual smiley faces and that feeling is not good.

Upon reflection, I should have totally bailed. But even with all of these warning signs I forged ahead and planned to show up on Friday night. He picked a good restaurant, Hub 51, so I was excited for that. I realized now that no amount of food was worth the boredom of Bill-do.

First off, he ordered Bud in a can and me a Miller Light bottle. I'm not a snob, but we are at a nice restaurant in a city, we aren't going muddin' down on Blue Hole Road, order a beer, that comes in a glass, like a grown ass man.

He then proceeded to talk about himself for the entirety of the dinner, where he grew up, what his first job was, the names of his brothers and sisters, where he went to college, why he went to college there, I don't even think the guy knows my last name. I was literally counting the minutes till the date ended. When I thought I couldn't take the montage of stories anymore, I excused myself for the bathroom and sent S and M an emergency text that I needed some rescuing.

Once I returned to the table, we started trying to figure out what we were going to do for the rest of the night. I tried to ditch him like a bad habit, but he was impossible to shake. At that point, I knew I needed an intervention. So I told him that my roomies were at Zed 451 and we could go and meet them there. I knew that once I put him within S and M's talons, I would be able to ditch this dud and have a good night with my friends.

I didn't realize how easy this feat was going to be accomplished. We were at Zed for a mere 15 minutes when he pulls me aside and tells me that he "has to talk to me." I thought to myself, oh this should be good, what's wrong with him now? Does he want to tell me another enrapturing story about his upbringing?

He went on to tell me for a solid 5 minutes, how I wasn't paying enough attention to him, that he came here to spend time with me, I was only talking to my room mates, that was unfair and inconsiderate, blah, blah, blah. Newsflash BUDDY -- I don' t like you! I'm not talking to you because you are like talking to robot on crack who just keeps talking and talking and doesn't stop. Sorry but I think my ears are actually bleeding at this point, please leave me alone.

I didn't say any of this, because I didn't have the chance. After he got done lecturing me, he stormed out. I couldn't believe my eyes, it was perfect! I had unloaded this Bill-do thing and I didn't have to do anything!

I went back to our table and entertained my girlfriends with what just happened and after a few minutes of solid laughter, we decided to change scenes and headed over to English for a fabulous rest of the night.

I woke the next day with not one, not two, but three texts from Bill-do explaining how he is so sorry that he "unraveled" last night, that he is so "pissed at himself" and could we "talk?" Talk? Talk! Are you f-ing kidding me?! No I don't want to talk, you are Bill-do the weirdo to me now, there's nothing to talk about.

I didn't respond to his texts because there really wasn't anything I had to say to him. That was a mistake because then he upped the antee and started calling and leaving voicemails. I finally texted him back saying no worries about last night, just think we are on different pages, have a good rest of the weekend sort of thing. Instead of being like, wow, she was cool about me being a creepo, he sends back a spazztastic text of "Oh fine then. Let me know if I can ever be on your page. All the best." UGH. gross.

Well Bill-do the weirdo, thanks for the lovely sea bass covered in a delicious horseradish broth, it was scrumptious, really. Needless to say, you won't be hearing from me again.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

The wink is the equivalent to getting molested in the textosphere.

I want to pose a question, what in God's name makes a male in his twenties think that it is socially acceptable to text me with this :)? Or better yet, the wink ;)?!

Frankly, after I receive texts like this it makes me want to take a shower. I want to wash off the text creepiness faster than I can delete him out of my phone. Seriously though, I am contemplating drafting a texting rule book for chumps like this. Newsflash! -- it's LAME to text a girl with a wink, a smiley, too many exclamations, etc. I don't know who played a cruel trick on you and told you that it would make a girl giggle if she had a virtual "winkey" accost her eyes on her cell phone, but whoever it is doesn't love you or is just as dumb themselves.

I've been texting back and forth with this guy and lately the texts have involved the aforementioned smileys, and variations of them. At first, I chalked it up to nervousness. Maybe he is trying to be endearing by throwing in the creepy little smile? (This was a stretch, but I was trying to be optimistic people.) But with each creepy little teen face that came through, my butt clenched a little bit tighter and I couldn't handle it anymore that I stopped texting with him. I mean I literally had. to. stop.

Side note -- the last text he sent me included a smiley, my decision was more than justified.

Anyone who feels the need to share their emotion via text needs a friend. I don't care if you are smiling when you text me and feel an overwhelming sensation to hit the : and ) buttons, but please, just don't. You will be doing yourself a favor by heeding my advice and ceasing that finger movement. I promise you that more girls will like you, respond to your texts, hell, respond to you as a human being, if you cut out the textual symbols that should only be used by those 4 years old and younger (to be honest, even then, I still feel awkward for them).

So all you smile sending freak shows out there, trust me and stop. You can thank me when you finally develop a successful textual relationship, I can guarantee that this advice contributed to it.

No one's getting out alive,

heels

You had me at hello.

After countless awkward Outlook meeting requests, lunch dates, emails, transcontinental talks and drunken musings we finally got our shit together and here we are on a Sunday night, hungover and dreading work tomorrow, launching our blog. So bienvenidos a heels VS. flats!

How did two girls who were about as close as havarti cheese and egg salad should be on a warm summer day become tighter than the notorious rap duo Salt and Pepa?

Like two recently minted coins, we graduated from college, shiny and stupid, ready to dive into the world of becoming legitimate human beings. We both attended Midwestern colleges (heels went to University of Wisconsin-Madison, flats went to Miami of Ohio), both majored in communications, drank our way through college and both had the intent to join the “fabulous and glamorous” world of PR. Little did we know long days, crazy clients and a sorority house full of 20-something girls waited for us on the other side.

Like two pimple faced teens holding their lunch trays the first day of high school, heels and flats started interning together at the same PR firm in Chicago. Flats had it a little more together than heels and heels, seeing an opportunity to befriend someone who knew her way around the joint, sought out flats friendship, much to her dismay.

See heels is what you would call a grade-A psycho. Not in every sense of the word but when it comes to work and making some dali lamas, she twitterpates more than Bobby Brown’s hand clutching a fresh hit of smack.

Our first encounter was not what you would call a joint effort. One blistering cold day last October, heels blew into flats’ tiny intern room like a tornado. I have trouble recalling the memory, as I've tried to block it out it was so traumatizing to my ears. I had never spoken a word to her and yet she came spinning into my room, decked to the nines, spewing verbal diarrhea about anything and everything. I had never heard someone talk so fast in my life. While she ranted and raved at an inhuman speed, I watched in amazement wondering if she had overdosed on caffeine or maybe pulled a Sarah Michelle-Gellar circa the late 90’s, horny teen phenomenon, “Cruel Intentions,” and blew lines secretly in the bathroom. Why was she talking to me, were we friends, did she think I wanted to get verbally assaulted? Had I blacked out at the intern lunch two weeks ago and invited this basket-case into my life?

Fast forward 14 months later and not only can I not shake this basket-case like that bad blind date you just want to forget, she’s somehow convinced me to start this damn blog with her.

Whatever, she can make me sound like a needy girlfriend all she wants, but she wanted this blog just as much as I did. This is a consensual blog relationship and no claims of blog rape will even be considered. We figured we’re funny and we want the world to know it.

We both ended up getting hired, flats always one step ahead of heels, and now a year and a half later, flatsvsheels was born. Flats refuses to wear heels and heels rocks the stiletto like it’s going out of style. If you know us, you can probs figure out who's who; so keep it to yourself, we want to keep our anonymity.

The whole world is about three drinks behind,

heels and flats