Back When MySpace Was #1 – A Guide to Surviving Without Your Cell Phone

 The first time I started a blog was during my senior year of college when I was procrastinating on writing some paper or another.  I’ve been blogging (very sporadically) ever since across multiple different Blogger and Word Press sites, but without any sort of consistency.

One day, when I apparently had WAY too much free time, I basically went through all of them, deleted them, and put my favorite posts into yet ANOTHER blog, which I was going through earlier to find things to use for the book.

So, I am re-posting one of my favorites, with permission from myself.

How to survive without a cell phone for ONE WEEK (originally posted Dec. 30, 2006)

Before I even got to the San Diego airport on Dec. 22, I realized I had left my cell phone at home and would have to survive a whole week without it. I hope none of you ever suffer the same ordeal, but if you do, I have come up with a little guide on how to survive, should you ever find yourself in such a horrifying position.

1) Upon arriving at destination without cell phone, get to nearest computer. Immediately post My Space bulletin (ed note: Facebook status) and/or send mass e-mail alerting all friends of predicament. Be sure to use whichever method will hit the most people, specifically the people you want to see the most.

2) When one specific person who you are hoping to see but are trying to play it cool with does not respond to bulletin and/or e-mail, send My Space message (ed note: Facebook message) with any and all numbers where they can reach you.

3) Spend holiday/quality time with family and hope person calls/My Spaces/E-mails (ed note: Facebooks) you.

4) Go out with mutual acquaintance in hope of running in to aforementioned person. Get extremely drunk to dull the pain of getting blown off (again again again).

5) Spend entire next day hungover, miserable, traveling to Boston/Providence with your mom’s cell phone that you have taken for the week, receiving few to no phone calls, nothing from aforementioned person.

6) Check My Space (ed note: FACEBOOK, MY GOD, FACEBOOK NOT MY SPACE).  Oh wait, this was back in 2006 when MySpace was still relevant.  Carry on.), e-mail incessantly. Continue to not hear from person “x,” refuse to accept reality of situation by drinking lots of wine.

7) Sign on to AIM and talk to a different mutual friend — mention you have not heard from aforementioned person. Wait for friend to suggest plans. Continue to wait until you realize, “boy I need to get a life.”

8) Resign yourself to the fact that you will not see this person. Go out to the same bar your last night in town, run in to the same people, keep looking at the door, realize you are a loser.

9) On return flight, run into yet another mutual acquaintance who saw person you wanted to see but didn’t see. This confirms they are alive and able to make/keep plans with other people besides you. Remind yourself you need to re-read, “He’s Just Not That Into You.”

10) Spend three plane rides and two layovers reading/sulking. Call best friend with prepaid phone card to bitch.

11) As you are writing this list, person IM’s you to ask if you are still in town and makes up lie about looking for you in bar. Want to throw yourself off bridge.


Ahh, memories.  The person I was trying to meet up with, we’ll call him Michael Myers, was a friend from high school, who is now engaged to a person from high school that is not me.

Michael Myers was a pro at feeding me bullshit – he even had the audacity to come to Chicago a few years ago and NOT CALL ME but CLAIM he had call me.  Um, WTF, dude.  Just don’t even bother telling me you’re here so that I rearrange my entire schedule for three days only to end up sitting by myself on my couch watching the Golden Girls (okay maybe I’d be doing that anyway…but still).

He definitely mastered the I-am-dying-to-see-you-I’m-scheduling-a-trip-to-see-you-when-you’re-home-I’m-spending-all-my-time-with-you act.  And for the record, I have not seen him since…2000.  Maybe 2001.  And that was when I ran into him at the grocery store when he was with his then-girlfriend’s mother (if ever I had an arch-nemesis, that hoe bag was it…the girlfriend, not the mom).

As Katy Perry says so nicely, “shut up and put your money where your mouth is.”




One of the more tedious (yet hilarious) parts of this project is digging through old emails and Google chats so I can round out all my stories, include specific details, and make sure I’m not forgetting anything.  As I was doing that this morning, I came across the following email:

Dan told me that Lindsay told him that Ben told her that at my going away happy hour I told Ben’s friend’s girlfriend that him and Lindsay were dating.

This is like a game of Telephone gone wrong (but with vodka).

First of all – who CARES?  I mean, is this really something I was stressing over?  Erasing the fact that again, WHO CARES, I can’t believe I wasted any time at all worrying about something so asinine.

Even if I did or did not (and I am pretty sure I did not) out Dan & Lindsay’s relationship, they had no reason to keep it a secret.  No one cared.  The real cause of my stress was not wanting either Dan or Lindsay to be pissed at me, which is what I spent the rest of the e-mail stressing over.

This was back when I still wanted everyone to like me no matter what – now realizing that is not possible, I am rereading the email in disbelief.

Things I worried about back then were meaningless.  I try to only let the truly important things stress me out now – for example, emailing Tad Hamilton after I’d had time to process what he did and to say everything I should have said on the phone, but didn’t (because I was sitting in my therapist’s office when I took the call and was also too upset to say ANYTHING).

The last line of his response back to me is like a dagger:  You are fantastic Reva, and if you never talk to me again, my life is worse without you in it.

On the one hand – aww.  But on the other, MUCH BIGGER hand, if that were true, would he really have gotten back together with his ex?  I shouldn’t stress too much about this either — it’s done and over with.  But being less than two weeks removed, I’m still sad, baffled, and upset.

As for Dan and Lindsay?  Well, they never made it as a couple.  They’ve both moved on.  It’s my turn to do the same.

Really? No, REALLY?

So, I asked my mom to send me some stuff that was still lying around in my childhood bedroom.   Mostly, I was hoping she would find and send me old emails I had printed out from college, because this was before the days of GMAIL and archiving and I basically saved NOTHING from college so those four years will wind up being one paragraph in my book because I can’t remember that many random stories.  (Also, I promise I will try to stay away from too many run on sentences like that one).

Digressing for a minute – this lovely picture you see to the left was taken in December 1996 or January 1997 when my dad took us to the British Virgin Islands.

I was 15, Miriam was 18 and Josh was 10.  Can we talk about my eyebrows?  This was before I discovered waxing.

Anyway – so bless my mom’s heart, I came home from my CA baseball trip a couple of weeks ago and had a box waiting for me.  Unfortunately, it was mostly old papers from college.   However – there was a hidden gem among all the crap.  When I turned 18, my best friend Lisa printed out one of those old surveys everyone used to take about themselves back in the day when AOL was still king and they’d forward on to mass amounts of people who would then fill it out and forward and really no one gave a crap.

Lisa printed out a survey that she and I both took in 1998.  I turned 18 in 1999.  She wrote on my survey:  “oh my, how things change.”  In a year?  Really?  I mean, I took the survey when I was still 16, but reading through it I can tell you that I am fairly certain NOTHING changed between February 1998 and May 1999.

Let’s have a looksie, shall we? (I chose my favorites not wanting to bore you by regurgitating the entire survey)

Coolest experience in life:  In 1998, I wrote: Doing plays at Concord High School.  Right, because that was during my acting phase and I apparently thought being in the chorus without a speaking part in Fiddler on the Roof was cooler than both my trips to Europe and the aforementioned trip to the BVI.  Can we say moron?  I can’t imagine what I would have changed that to in 1999.  And I don’t even know what I’d say now, because I have a lot of life left in me, and that answer is always going to change.

Little Known Talent You Possess:  So I put being stubborn and sarcastic – that was not “little known” nor is it an actual talent.  Perhaps I needed some help with reading comprehension back then.  I should have written stalking.  No, really.  I feel so bad for BDHO because I figured out his class schedule and would just happen to be at the nearest water fountain when he was getting out of class.  And I cannot tell you how many times I skipped Spanish to hang out with him in the student center.  Oops – perhaps this is why no hablo espanol.

Songs that couldn’t be improved upon:  I wrote:  Ecstasy, Nothing Else Matters, A lot by Metallica.  Okay, FIRST of all, I had to GOOGLE “ecstasy song” (because I didn’t want to get taken to a porn site) because I have no idea what the hell I was talking about.  It was the Rusted Root song, because all the cool kids in my high school liked them (no really) and I had a crush on at least three different guys who were obsessed with Metallica.  It’s nice to know I had a mind of my own.  The obvious answer to this question is “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (who loves me)” by Whitney Houston.

Future Goals:  Win an Academy Award or help people (also marrying Leo would be nice too).  I want to go back to 1998 and punch myself in the face, because that is how painful this answer is.  And that answer did not change a year later because I wrote the Academy Award nonsense in my senior yearbook blurb.

I listed all my favorite books as Mary Higgins Clark (garbage).  I listed my favorite subject as Psychology, which is ironic because I almost failed AP Psych because I didn’t give two shits about it – and then listed my future job as Psychologist.  My favorite movie was Titanic, my favorite TV show was South Park – how well-rounded I was!!

Things you collect:  Pictures of hot celebs.  OH MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU 16-YEAR OLD REVA?  I have literally given myself a headache reading this survey.

Ah, my high school self was so shallow and idiotic.  As much as I’ve been having issues choking out that I’m 31 now, I’m glad I’m no longer that stupid.

It’s Not the End of the World!

Something has been on my mind recently (something I am guilty of).   But I am fascinated/baffled by how worked up people get over sports.  Again – I AM JUST AS GUILTY OF THIS, IF NOT MORE SO, SO PLEASE DO NOT SEND ME HATE MAIL.  We’ve taken simple concepts and turned them into an eleventy billion dollar industry.  Concepts like – hit the ball and run.  Put the ball in the basket more times than the other person.  Throw the ball to a receiver who will run.  You get my point.

But apparently, all these games have strategy.  A 3-4 zone.  A cover 2 zone defense.  A suicide squeeze.  I don’t know what ANY of these things are.  A small forward.  A nickelback (not just a band!).  A slider.  Yup, not a clue.

It’s all very confusing to me.  Every time I watch a White Sox game and Hawk Harrelson talks about “good fundamental baseball,”  I want to scream – “HAWK, what the FUCK are you talking about?”  Alas, I do not, because I do not want my neighbors calling the cops on me again (sorry, that story goes in the book).

I’m sure you’re wondering what my point is.  And it’s this:  If the combination sacrifice bunt, 2-3 zone, hook/hitch doesn’t work and your/my team loses – it’s not the end of the world.  We’ve turned this into a very complicated world (hello 400-page document outlining NFL rules and regulations).  I’m going to TRY (and probably fail) at just enjoying being a fan and not worry about trying to understand things that I don’t understand.

Lying Liars Who Lie

In the wake of the Tad Hamilton fiasco, I am baffled by how many times I have fallen for some sort of asshattery that has made me believe a guy liked me when really all they wanted to do was play with my lady business.  For example, once Mr. Titspervert called me at work after I told him (via text) that I was having a horrible day (but he didn’t want to date me).

Or, the first night I met JigSaw he made all these comments about us going out to dinner and hanging out on his deck, etc (but he is devoid of all human emotion).

Pervy McPerverson claimed he would get me hooked on Survivor (or some similar inane reality show) before we even went on a date (but the date never happened due to his actions at my housewarming party).

Dr. Evil swore up and down that I was amazing but wanted nothing to do with me after a while.  Wait, no, I’m sorry – he wanted to be my rebound but nothing more, and then when it became more, he ran screaming as fast as he could in the other direction.

My point?  I deal with a lot of lying liars who lie, and cannot possibly tell the difference between genuine feelings and dudes just vomiting bullshit at you.  It’s frustrating.

Tad Hamilton was talking about next times – the next time I visit this and that’s, was planning a trip here in September, etc.  How foolish of me to think he liked me!

In the wake of this most recent disaster,  I feel like giving up – for the eleventy billionth time.

You DON’T Want to Be in the Book

Trust me – if you’re a guy, you do NOT want to be in my book (unless I use your real name, in which case you are not a guilty party).

Someone who I was SURE was not going to be in the book just made it in.  We’ll call him Tad Hamilton (for now – book name is subject to change if/when I feel like it).

Of course because it’s my life, and I have to do everything the hard way, I met TH at a work conference in Palm Springs and he of course lives in a completely different city than I do.

Now, since he’s going in the book, I’m not getting into the nitty gritty (you can buy it in 2013, I hope, which means I need to get cracking!!), but suffice it to say that bailing on me less than 48 hours before you’re supposed to fly into town to take me to a wedding is not the way to get on my good side.  And all my friends that wanted to meet Tad Hamilton?  Yeah, they hate him now.  Also, my sister was not impressed when she met him (not that she’s EASY to impress, but she is at the top of the list of someone whose good side you would NEED to be on).

Aside from being blindsided and completely hurt, I am PISSED.  Mostly because he went AWOL about a week ago so I knew something was up, but he waited until the 11th hour to tell me.

It is quite obvious looking back that the reason he never sent me his flight confirmation is that he never actually booked his flight.

Seriously – WHO DOES THAT?  I will tell you who:  jackholes that are going to end up in my book.

Listen, I know I’m not perfect.  No one is.  But there are ways to treat people and this is an example of what not to do.

Thank goodness I kept my lady business on lock down, otherwise I’d be crying at my desk right now instead of working on very important revenue reports.

I was joking with my friends that I felt like Carrie in the episode of Sex and the City where Berger breaks up with her on a post-it note.

(Also, why does Carrie walk EVERYWHERE in heels?  Heels hurt like a mo-fo.  I walk everywhere in flip-flops.  Anyway.)

Fine, okay, at least he CALLED me, but it was to tell me he was still in love with his ex and not coming to Chicago (again, with less than 48 HOURS NOTICE, ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME DUDE???).  And even though he’d been AWOL, I still felt blindsided, because it wasn’t like there were other hints that would have tipped me off (though, I suppose asking him for his flight info 97 times and not getting it was a pretty big hint).

He works with his ex – her official name moving forward is Skanky McHoebag.  I know that the distance was going to be a challenge for us regardless and he works with McHoebag, so on top of them being in the same city, they see each other daily.  I can’t compete with that.

But really, I don’t want to compete with ANYONE.

And you?  Well YOU do not want to be in my book.

Where to Begin

I don’t know exactly when the idea for this book came about, but after enough crazy dating stories and enough people telling me I should write a book, I decided to start writing this dating memoir.

The purpose of this blog is to really track my progress and document other crazy stories if and when they happen.  Though I’m trying to make better decisions so that they DON’T (example:  I recently turned 25 again and the night of the celebration EVERYONE behaved themselves).

Then again, good decisions can still lead to crazy stories (right?  RIGHT)?

I’m not going to reveal much of the book material, but I CAN tell you that I’m giving all the guys famous movie character/villain names such as:

— Jigsaw (SAW movies)

— Mr. Titspervert (Bridget Jones’ Diary)

— Dr. Evil (Austin Powers)

Well, you get the idea.

I’m writing this from the lobby of a Holiday Inn by the San Diego airport – stranded on my way home from our California baseball adventure.  I started it before I left, but, well, it’s been a whirlwind.