I Always Had a Thing for the Funny Guys

Hi Mary! This video is hilarious! Now if only I could find a funny Jew ...

A Mary Gone ... Crazy

Hi Mary! I recently went on a faux date with a guy who is in a relationship. I know, I know ... it's terrible. But, don't worry! I'm smart enough to know those things never end well, and honestly, I don't even know if he just saw it as platonic. We had a great day, and he never once mentioned "her", but I found out later that there was indeed a her. So I'm putting that one on the shelf.

This leads me to this devestatingly hilarious video that one of my Marys sent to me. Apparently, the woman in the clip has put together several videos for the man she loves. They are broken up now, and he is (and apparently has been) with his wife for sometime now.

She clearly put a lot of time into this video, and it's a little "I'll boil your bunny", and exactly why men think women are crazy.

Check out how she reenacts famous movie scenes.

Cultural Litmus Test for Daters

The intermittent comments along the way are crucial, but so are the quiet moments you each take in.

Hi Mary! I recently went to a museum on a faux date, and realized that you can learn a lot about someone while perusing art. It's sort of like a dance. The two of you move in tandem -- excusing one another, you move forward to read about the piece, as he steps back focusing on the art itself. The intermittent comments along the way are crucial, but so are the quiet moments you each take in.
It's pretty intimate if I do say so myself -- and a true litmus test to his cultural awareness.
Following it up afterwards with a great conversation over beers is even better. Why, you ask? It means he's both sophisticated and down to earth. What girl doesn't like that?
Now if only my faux date was a real date.

Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry - They Don't Call Them That for Nothing

Apparently the Mary - Larry combo has been around for awhile, so long that one might call it vintage!

Top 10 Worst Cars to Date .. and the Men who Drive Them

Hi Mary! Have you ever heard that saying that you have to kiss your fair share of toads before you find your prince? Well, apparently in Los Angeles, you have to ride in you fair share of tacky cars, before you find your man.

And let me put a disclaimer out there, that I am no snob when it comes to cars. I'm just assuming he drives a normal car, as do I. And while the car they drive is telling, I'm equally impressed if they actually open the door for me.

A man who drives a "normal" car and doesn't let keyless entry get in the way of being chivalrous = a keeper for sure!

You need to be on the lookout for deal breakers, and the cars below qualify. If you come across any of these while dating, don't be fooled, by his nice guy act. There's a few skeletons in his closet -- can you say C-H-E-E-S-Y?

1. Rumble Bee

2. Mitsubishi Eclipse Convertible

3. Mazda Miata

4. Hummer

5. Camaro Z-28 T-Top

6. Mini-van

7. Dirtees Car (Anything with duck tape holding it together)

8. Pimped-out Escort = The Freshcort

9. VW Convertible Bug--- isn't bad on its own, but with Batman floormats it is!

10. PT Cruiser -- Electric Blue (this one goes out to British Mary)

Sending Some Love To My Matzah Mary

A couple of my Marys are having a rough day today, so here's a little laugh I know they'll both love!

The quality is crappy, but you'll get the laugh.

Couples shop at Trader Joes, Singles Shop at ...

MARY OLSON (episode 1): "Girl's Night Out" - watch more funny videos

MANIFESTING

One of my Marys believes in manifesting. I'm starting to think there's something to it!

The BBC

He was cute, smart, charming --- and had an accent. If only that would have been enough!

As you know I'm fond of nicknames, so I named my latest British import appropriately -- the BBC. Not only was he everything I listed above, but he also was a hunter, and I happily surrendered to be his prey.

I first saw him from far away at a huge work event. I was with my Tita Mary, when I spotted him across a sea of married men and Larrys. I quickly asked"Who is THAT guy?" Her response , "Ehhh...that guy's a dick."

Pretending not to hear, and quite frankly trying to forget that comment, I told myself to be open. What did she really know?

In less than one week, he showed up at my cube, in his adorable accent, introducing himself.

Now, I've been in LA for 6 1/2 years and I have to say that has NEVER happened to me. Okay, maybe once in a bar with some cheeseball, but not a legitimate guy who seems to have it all together. I mean this guy was pursuing me, and I couldn't have been more thrilled to let him know exactly who I was.

The next week he stopped by again, and soon he was following up his daily visits with clever emails. I felt like I was in my very own version of Bridget Jones. Now was he Daniel Clever, or Mark Darcy? Of course, I immediately sent all communication to my Mary coworkers, confirming that he was in fact flirting.

One thing led to another, and I found myself having a date with the cute, single British guy. We met for a drink before going to a movie, and I dropped him off afterwards. It was all great. We even shared the same love for vodka, and he was was a self-admitted lover of red heads. He didn't even try to kiss me that night - what a gentleman, right?

Well, we soon lined up another date and I took him to my favorite sushi place. And I'm not quite sure what it is with me, guys, and cars, but once again I found myself in shock. I really promise that I'm not a superficial girl when it comes to cars, but what is it with these tacky ones? Hot, sweet, charming appropriately predatorial British boy drives a MITSUBISHI ECLIPSE ... CONVERTIBLE!

So I thought to myself (AGAIN) "Mary don't be so judgemental." Well that would have even been okay, if it weren't for the fact that he kept referencing "how cool his cahhh is." I'm not even exaggerating when I say that he worked it into any conversation. "I don't mind driving , because I have such a COOL CAHHH." "This sushi is really great. It'd be better in my cahh." (Okay, he didn't say the last part, but you get what I mean, right?)

The next day I was in my Tita Mary's cube rehashing the date, and when I got to the "cool cahh" part of the evening, my fears were confirmed. She gave me the side tilt "ehhh, not the best we were looking for" face.

Well being the determed girl that I am, I agreed to go out with him again. I mean, so what if he was in love with his cheesy car. He's British. We went to a movie and again had a nice time, but then were iming at work and he said "I'm listening to Gloria Estefan's 'Anything for You.' When I was younger I used to cry whenever I heard this song."

You might not know this about me, but I have a huge distaste for Gloria Estefan, and all her music. I know the woman's been through a lot, but "Come on baby do that conga," is never appropriate. It's just not something I could deal with -- a true non-negotiable, deal breaker. I immediately ran to my Maryleine's cube, then to my Larry's cube, unsure of how I would break this to them. Because, honestly, admitting it to them, meant not only that he has bad taste in music, but I'm judgemental. I was oddly freaked and they both felt I was overreacting. But I just couldn't help myself. I am open-minded and can deal with a lot, but not a cheeseball. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so good at reading people, that I wasn't so specific in what I want.

I also forgot to mention that he lived at a Holiday Inn for 7 months and would hang out at Marie Callendar's on the weekend. With all of that combined, I just couldn't do it. No matter how cute he was, it just wasn't going to happen.

There would be no more rides in his cool cahh.

Got Date Shirt?

Every girl knows that meticulously piecing together the right outfit is essential in setting the tone for an upcoming date. If it's a first date, that means you need even more time to present the perfect you.

I was recently (recently being approximately 11 months ago) on the search for the perfect Saturday night "Date Shirt" with my Tita Mary. We met after our weekly therapy sessions and settled down to business. First off, it was our ritual meal of chilaquiles, where upon we discussed the needs of the shirt -- stylish, sexy, and soft to the touch - without looking like you tried too hard. Let's face it, guys can hardly remember the color, let alone the outfit, but it's not really for them, is it? A Date Shirt makes us feel sexy, confident, and that my friends is very important when putting your best you forward!

After a breakdown of the upcoming evening and armed with full bellies, we stumbled out into the sunlight, ready to conquer. First off - Anthropologie. This is probably one of my top ten places to shop. Their clothes are feminine, elegant, yet approachable. The only bad part is that their prices aren't. After several trips around the store, my arms were piled with possibility. My Tita Mary was the perfect accomplice -- she waited patiently while I tried on cream shirts, black shirts, cream shirts with rouching, silky blouses, fitted tees, and the oddball potential date dress. She was even there for the mini-freakout, talking me down from the ledge with "Are you kidding? You look beautiful! You're amazing, etc." We all know that is just part of Girl Code. It's what a Mary does - when it gets ugly, compliment, compliment, compliment! A few minutes later I was calmed down enough to look at my thighs in the mirror without cringing. This was perfect timing as I spyed another co-worker of mine, who was also trying on her slew of Date Shirts. Clearly, Anthropologie is the drug of choice.

Even though I had found a true front runner (cream shirt w/ rouching that cleverly disguised pooch), I still wasn't sold on the $60 price. So, we headed back out. Maybe it was low blood sugar, maybe it was just a mistaken case of identity, but we ended up walking into Abercrombie & Fitch. I know, I know. I quickly realized my blunder as I am greeted at the door by a 1/2 naked 16 year old model boy. I think to myself "Where are the flannel shirts and khakis? This is clearly not like my college years. I don't know this place at all!"

After entering the dark lair of prepubescent teens (does that make them tweens?) Tita Mary and I deadlock, staring into each other's eyes, not because the naked man child wannabe has turned us on, but because there is no possible way to communicate with techno music BLASTING from every angle. It feels like I've been teleported into a nightmare and if my potential date smells anything like the dirtee cologne oozing from this place, I am in for a rough evening. Disgusted and on the verge of a panic attack, we ran out, forever scarred.

A few minutes later I was checking out at Anthropologie, delighted to pay the $60.

** And I must say that the Date Shirt was well-received. It got me a call the very next day, but then again, maybe that had more to do with me!

Apparently Date Shirts are important for men, too. Check out this clip from Friends. You can see how disastrous the wrong choice can be!

The Genesis of Mary

Just like Larry, Mary also came from "Pecker." And it's pretty clear from this scene that the two were meant to be.

Many might think of Mary as a gay term, but Mee Maw Maw sets them straight.

I was hooked after hearing Martha Plimpton's line: "Oh Mary, I'm a model!"

Click below and see:

My Little Larry

So in case any of you don't know, I have an affectionate term for all the gay men in my life -- Larrys. Any Mary will tell you that a Larry is the best friend you could ask for, after all he's just like a Mary!

Many people ask me just how Larry came to be. My answer? Probably not what you're expecting, but I've always had a knack for nicknames.

My Sister Mary and I spent most of our childhood bonding over the stupidest, silliest movies, with "Who's Harry Crumb?" being high on the list. So when she rented "Pecker" we fell in love with many of its characters: Mee Maw Maw, Little Chrissy, MARY, and of course Larry the Tea Bagger!

A Larry Gone Bad

"I'm so fucking pissed! I can't believe they think they can tell me who I can and can not see. I'm so pissed that I'm going to give you the best fucking haircut of you life! Come on sweetie."
These were the venomous-filled words that flew out of his mouth and hit me square across the face right before he led me into the chair. This short, strange, flamingly gay, tattooed man was now going to cut my hair. Yes, that's right I'm going to let this little freak put a sharp instrument next to my head and radically modify my hair. My hair that needed to be somewhat conservative, as it was less than a month away from my Mary's wedding, where I would be standing at the altar in a sangria-colored bridesmaid dress. Little did I know then that the next 30 minutes would involve a therapy session with a drug-addicted child porn star, complete with visual images and newspaper clippings.

I knew I shouldn't have gone to "Bob's." Its edginess makes me feel so conservative, and I'm not even that boring of a person. I only go because the $26 haircut is the best deal in this city. Since my usual hair dresser was away on leave, one of my classmates recommended me to this guy, assuring me that he would give me an amazing cut. She mentioned he might scare me, but failed to tell me that this guy was certifiably insane.

So there I am, sitting in this cold, ripped barbershop chair listening as he rants about how the woman next to him is trying to ruin his day because she is such a "fucking crack whore". Seeing that I'm harmless (and clearly someone trapped for the next 30 minutes) he continues to tell me that he has had a "horrible fucking two years." His grandfather died, his boyfriend died, his best friend died, but he is one year off meth and that is something to celebrate.

"I ran away when I was 14, sweetie. I was a gay child porn star. On the streets for years addicted to all sorts of shit. Then I was fucking partying with Courtney Love. I've slept with married men, Hasidic Jews – I've done it all. All men are pigs."

Okay, so that part my have seemed bad enough, but it could never have prepared me for the Pandora's Box that was about to be opened. “Here look at me.” He placed a weathered, red vinyl book in my hands, forcing me to open it with his frenzied gestures. "Look how fucking hot I was." As he was holding my hair in mid-air snipping away with a razor, I had no choice, but to flip through the sticky plastic pages, trying not to focus on how badly I wanted a bottle of Purell. I had to open this book. The fate of my hair was at stake here. Depending on my move, I could walk out of here with a mullet or rock star hair - neither of which was what I was going for, but at this point rock star hair was the preferred option.

So I had no choice. I opened it. Here he was in 30 different pictures, standing half naked, dressed in drag. I tried to quickly peruse the book, but every few seconds, he'd say "No, go back to that one. That was in a magazine. Look at my ass – fucking solid!"

At this point, I wanted to run out of that place full throttle with my smock on. I had no idea what he was doing to my hair as he turned my back to the mirror, refusing to let me look. When I tried to tell him what I wanted, he only muttered "I know your fucking hair, sweetie!" Sure, right. I'm certain this egocentric, rageaholic who has not asked me one question about my hair, knows precisely how I want it cut.

So I was stuck. Here I sat for the next 15 minutes, listening to how gay men are addicted to crystal meth. This time he had an article to go along with that story. Of course, he was featured in the article, his face proudly posted front and center.
After several sprays of hair spray and the use of a 1 ½" curling iron, we were done. He was finished with his work, and I had finished my role of therapist. I quickly paid the now questionably worth it $26 and fled to my car. I didn't even want to look in the mirror, for I was afraid of what I would see. I frantically clawed through my car for an emergency cigarette and sat there, defeated.

Mary & Tita Mary's Skinny Love While Road Tripping

I recently took a road trip with my Tita Mary to Monterey. And it was everything a good girlie road trip should be: celebrity gossip, discussion of our family dynamics, deconstructing our mutual therapist, catching up on her recent beau, car game A to Z, analysis of my "maybe friend, maybe potential boy obsessee -but really hoping for him to be miracle boyfriend", and music swapping ("oh, who's this band? i really like them. Well, have you heard this one?")

Well, she played a song I absolutely loved called "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver. I immediatley downloaded it when I got home and i can't stop listening to it.

It's actually about love gone sour -- so it's great to have on your depressing playlist for "boy just out-of-the-blue stopped calling me" moments. But, I'm hoping I don't have any of those in 2009!

Check them out on Letterman here!




Anyone else have any good ones to recommend?

My Date in the Rumble Bee

So, this online dating thing. It was alright. I avoided the guys with their shirts off, any picture of a guy’s car, the shots of a cheeseball in some obnoxiously lame Halloween costume posing for the camera --- I don’t know if any of you have tried Match, but if you had you know that that brought my selection down to about 2 guys.
I emailed with this guy who was 26 -- a little too young for my taste, but he was cute. Strangely enough my girlfriend said she knew him. Her friend dated him. He was SO nice, SO sweet, SO cute, and drove this SO cool vintage truck. I’m not really a truck girl (or a car girl for that matter), but I figured why not?
I was really brave and decided to make the first date, a Saturday night date. He even came to pick me up. He was tall. He was cute. I checked out his outfit and he was wearing good jeans. I was pretty psyched, right?
You can imagine my surprise when I’m walking to his “vintage truck” and find myself staring at this gigantic bright yellow pick up truck….with an angry bee decal. And, oh, it gets better …. It has a name..it’s called the RUMBLE BEE! Yes, so here I am VERY confused as to how this is considered vintage. But, whatever. Later I learn that his SO cool vintage truck was totaled and he is now driving this bright yellow and black, HEMI engine, massive mobile through the streets of LA. Oh, I forgot to mention, he’s from Kansas.
I'm trying to stay positive thinking “Mary, you’re so picky. Get over yourself.” For a few brief seconds I'm thinking "So what. HE drives a massive taxi cab yellow truck. Who cares?" We get to the wine bar, it’s cool --- not crowded, good music, good lighting. We sit down in a booth with our bottle of wine and chocolate truffles. And I'm thinking "this is nice."
I'm enjoying my glass of wine when all of a sudden this song comes on. He looks at me all wide-eyed and says “How spontaneous are you?”
I quickly say “Not very. Why?”
He says “DANCE WITH ME.”
I look around, NO ONE is dancing here. It is barely full. I’m not drunk enough, he’s not cute enough, it’s just not happening.
So I respond coyly ”Umm…No….I don’t think so.”
And he come back full-throttle – “DANCE WITH ME!”
Again, I’m like “No…No…that’s okay.”
This time his eyes look like he’s going to explode and he says “COME ON! DANCE WITH ME!”
All of a sudden, I scream out “No! I can’t! I’m not the girl that dances in empty bars!”
He pauses. Looks at me, WINKING and says “That’s okay. Your loss.”
Seriously. This kid just winked at me. What do I do now?
Apparently nothing as he proceeds to self-proclaim “Well, I’m just a hopeless romantic. That’s what I do. I’m the guy who would show up at your house in a limo with roses and want to take you out to dinner.”
And, I’m thinking “Well, I think limos are kind of tacky and I’m not really a fan of roses.”
But, right now I’m just trying to make it through the night.

The situation is not getting any better, so what do I do? Oh, I make it worse by agreeing to go back to his place. I know, I can’t even justify it.
So, here we are, back at his place. He proceeds to show me THREE framed PROM photos. Yes, that’s right. He is a 26 year old man living alone….with photos from his prom on display. And, if that doesn’t make it worse, he had this sort of paper collage on his wall. I honestly tried to erase the images from my mind, but I do distinctly remember a BRIGHT PINK photocopy of two blondes wearing big black sunglasses saying “Good luck in LA!”
So at this point, I’m thinking. Alright. It can’t get any worse. Right? WRONG!
He’s like “Wanna watch my reel?”
Oh god! Just what every girl wants to watch at 1 am --- an acting reel full of student films, maybe low-budget commercials, direct to dvd shorts!
Resigned to the next 10 minutes of HELL, I say “sure.”
So, after sitting through this really cheesy commercial where he’s a dorky guy wearing some love cologne that makes him irresistible, having all the ladies desiring him, and then some “indie film”, I’m like “Okay, I can do this. A few more minutes and I’m out of here.”
Well, it gets worse. The next film is a short that was straight to DVD…where he is playing the role of a mime. That’s right. A mime. And he’s not just any mime, he’s tied up and being beaten by an angry clown with a mallet. But the kicker? He can’t scream, because HE’S A MIME. It’s just a nightmare for any woman, because deep down we all want to be dominated sexually….and here’s this guy playing a weak, mute, painted-face character!
So I sit through that, and believe me, it was BAD. It involved him finally killing the mime and then laughing. The best part about that is that he had the worst laugh ever, so while the credits are rolling it’s all I can hear.
So, it finishes. I wait a minute. He’s like “Do you want to spend the night?” I’m thinking “NO! I have to get the fuck out of here and I’m hoping one of my girlfriends is up right now because I am in need of some serious therapy!”
But, I politely yawn, telling him I need to get home. He’s like “You can sleep on the couch?”
“No. I have to go.”
“We can cuddle.”
“No, I have to go.”
It’s just like the damn dance. So, finally he walks me out. Kisses me goodbye --- yes, I felt that was the very least I could do.
A week later I emailed him telling him he was a GREAT guy, but I just don’t think I’m the girl for him. After all, he’s 26 and still wanting to go to the prom, and I’m the girl that’s not dancing.

Nina's Looking for Love

I found this video and couldn't help but partly feel sad for Nina (okay mainly), partly be proud of Nina for taking initiative, and honestly couldn't keep from laughing along the way.

She shares her "man list" -- one request -- honor each other by washing feet.

At least she's specific on her quest for love!

Check out the link:
Scroll in to start at about :24 sec. She sums it all up with "I'm 40 years old. Damn, when is it gonna happen? Shit!"

NINA'S QUEST TO FIND TRUE LOVE IN 2009!!!


If you want more Nina, you can see Parts 1 - 4 and learn how she was born into this world and then fell into the depths of drug addiction.

My hair stylist is an untapped resource

Every woman knows that finding the perfect hair stylist is just as difficult as finding the right man to date. And while I may not have been so lucky in love, my auburn locks are sittin' pretty after having found their perfect match.

A day at the salon for me averages to last about 3 hours, which could be brutal if it wasn't for the fact that I love nothing more than gossiping and philosophizing with my Larry. He's ever so stylish, listens to fabulous music (of which I usually have no idea who the artists are), possibly one of the kindest people I know, and HYSTERICAL.

The last time I was there, I realized that my Larry had more to offer than good hair -- he was an untapped resource. He has no interest in the straight, hot guys that walk in the salon AND, he knows all about them -- their jobs, their character, their neuroses. Not to mention that most of the guys who go to him are just the ones I'd like --- successful, mellow, stylish, and urban.

One of my Marys says I'm too picky and that requesting a stylish man is superficial. I strongly disagree as all the other qualities such as -- intelligence, kindness, sense of humor, amibition -- are a given. If I put effort into how I look, so should he.

Moving along ... I found myself 3/4 of the way through my color process, when my Larry tells me that the next client is going to be annoyed he's running late. Then, he quickly looks over at his client, looks back at me, moves in and whispers (as if he is a spy meeting me in a dark alley with information) "The guy over there is extremely successful. He just finished his first novel, he has a thriving career, he's funny and --- here's the kicker --- he's a Jew!"

I immediately squeaked "Baby, you know I love the Jews."

And he's like "Baby, that's why I told you!"

My fondness for Jewish men started early. I somehow managed to find the one Jewish guy in my small southern town, and ever since him, I've been hooked.

So, back to the story, he says to me "When you go up to pay, make sure to flirt with him."

I'm thinking "OKAY. I have not a lick of makeup on, my hair is ready for a party, but my clothes are screaming I just rolled out of bed... so, sure I'll flirt. Damn, damn, damn. Why didn't I think of wearing a cute outfit today?"

On my way to the counter I notice that cute boy is ending a phone call. There was such a small window to flirt, and I missed it.

Quick on his feet and determined to make this match, my Larry comes up and introduces me to cute boy. I quickly attempt to make a joke saying something like "Sorry I ran over into your time, but think of it this way: he feels really guilty now so you'll get a fantastic hair cut."

He smiles. I smile. A giant pause ... and then I pay and stumble outside onto the curb, smiling at just how life works.

I promptly email my Larry the next day asking for the scoop. He informs me that cute boy has been seeing someone, but he will keep me posted if they take a break. He ends with "Who knew I was such a Yenta?"

Single and Shopping

In following through with yet another New Years resolution (to actually cook at home), I spent some time in Trader Joe's today. I swear that every time I am in that store, I am reminded that I am buying for one -- and , dare I say it -- SINGLE.

I turn down the aisle on a quest for jasmine rice and I face them - a blissfully happy couple hugging after just grabbing the last box of porcini risotto. I get it that they found someone, but do they have to flaunt it right there next to the boxed soups? They're so excited about their find that they fail to step aside for the party of one rolling through. I get that now they need to buy that extra bag of arugula b/c he and his honey are having their couple friends over for dinner, but show some restraint.
I suppose it's the universe's way of letting me know that it is possible to find someone. I just haven't ... yet!

The Curious Case of ...

A few of my Marys weren't that keen on this movie, but it really spoke to me. It was such a beautiful love story, and a creative way to describe just how finite life is. This scene was so stunning. If I was capable of the leg extension that the superb Ms. Blanchett did (or her stunt double), I would have the seduction card in my back pocket.

ee cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

-ee cummings

Definition of a Mary

pronunciation [mair-ee]

1. a soul sister

2. friend you meet and instantly feel like you are home

3. co-worker you sip martinis with after a grueling day at work

4. speed dial #1 whom you phone to tell explicit details of fantastic first date

5. family you choose for yourself

6. therapist

7. girlfriend you can sit with and not need to say anything (because she knows what you're thinking)

8. girlfriend who accepts you as you are (even the ugly parts ladies)

9. she's guaranteed to laugh with you and at you