It’s crazy how nice guys are to you after you call them handsome on your blog. It doesn’t even have to be a popular blog. Of the 6 billion people on this planet, there are a total of 5 people who read my ramblings ( I’m counting you twice, Judy). As long as you somehow get these handsome gentlemen to stumble upon your words, you’re set. If you’re unfamiliar with how to persuade men, I have the following tips/suggestions:
- Mail them anonymous love letters. Sure, it’s pretty creepy, but most people (myself included) are too egotistical to ignore the attention.
- Hire a hypnotist. Yes, I’ve been watching the Mentalist.
- Utilize Skinner’s behavioral reinforcements. I hope you’ve seen the opening segment of the Office in which Jim trains Dwight to salivate every time his computer chimes. If you haven’t, feel free to click out of this page. We’re probably not going to be anything more than awkward subway acquaintances in real life– you know, the people you commute with daily that have become recognizable but you’re still hesitant to talk to out of fear that they’ll have bad breath and you’ll be stuck with that Pandora’s box for the next 20 stops (or worse, when you introduce yourself, they’ll smile and say “I already know who you are” and then proceed to open the heart shaped locket hanging from their neck to reveal a picture of you from 30 feet away).
- Roofies– they’re not just for bringing girls home from the club anymore … Obviously, I’m kidding … But Ambien, or a strong dose of Benadryl, will do the trick.
How did I bamboozle this modern Prince Charming into reading my blog, you ask? Simple. I nudged the girl sitting next to me in class who gchatted her friend who texted her cousin who Skyped her boyfriend who went to go play basketball with his roommate who had dinner with his mom who went out for drinks with her colleague who called his brother-in-law in Argentina who farmed grapes with his high school sweetheart who sent a postcard to her American best friend who dogsat for her neighbor who sold Girl Scout cookies to Mr Handsome himself. Like I said… simple. You just have to be committed.
Anyways, once he figured out that I’m “that girl” that everyone at Touro keeps lining up to be friends with, he immediately added himself to the waitlist set up for people who want to embark on El Tour de Napa a la Alexha.
Eventually, the top of the list reads “Tezus.”
The morning of our trip arrives and he knocks on our door with this fiesty firecracker that referred to herself as Lindsay. My roommate Judy rushes downstairs with a magnificent platter of assorted cheeses and swings open the door.
DO YOU GUYS LIKE CHEESE?!
They scuttle upstairs for a quick and cheesy dance battle as we await our donuts delivery from The Donut Princess, aka Christina Ly. No one leaves our house without gaining 5 lbs first.
One extensive car-aoke (karaoke in the car, DUH.) session and two disposable-camera-photos later, we make it to Peju Province Winery. I flash my VIP badge (aka sweet-ass smile) and we’re set up for a tasting with the most hilarious man on this side of the North Pole. Richard was his name. He cleverly inebriates the group and then starts insulting women in the most adorable and flattering way possible.
You ladies don’t even know what you do to men. You’re like wild, heat-seeking missiles, and we’re just the poor targets. You pretend to be zebras like us, but really you’re a pack of lionesses, ready to pounce at any given moment.
Why, thank you sir. That’s pretty much what I’ve always wanted to hear. Seriously. Nala was a badass.
The room ebbs with laughter from the lionesses and as the zebras are lulled into a false sense of security.
Richard continues to charm us with his Rodney Dangerfield-esque ways…
…and soon, we’re roaring from Pride Rock.
SUCK IT, UNCLE SCAR.
Outside, a flock of old flamingos are quacking about, posing this and that way around the watering hole. (Is it just me or have there been a lot of Lion King analogies lately? Sorry, this was entirely unintentional. I’ll switch soon, I promise.) We brush by them like we’re the shit, because let’s be honest, they’re a bunch of floppy awkward pink birds (you know who I feel about birds) and we’re pretty much Lindsay Lohan in her prime.
(Please excuse the horrendous quality. I couldn’t find a good clip of them just walking down the hallway. BUT YOU GET THE POINT.)
So we slow-mo walk to our car and zip on over the glorious palace that is Beaulieu Vineyards. It is there that dementors appear. With a swish and a flick, I wingardium leviosa off Lindsay’s bra, and with this newfound comfort, she finds the inner happiness necessary to conjure her llama of a patronus. Too bad the llama is too busy eating Judy’s hair to actually protect us. Before anyone has noticed, Christina disappears, but soon this girl dressed in a Sailor Moon outfit appears… except she smells like donuts? And WTF, she’s sitting down eating a donut?! DONUTS ARE NOT TO DEMENTORS AS GARLIC IS TO VAMPIRES, FYI. Inches from the dementor’s kiss, Tezus let’s out a
IT’S MORPHIN’ TIME!
And we all follow suit.
A Megazord fight sequence later and Beaulieu Vineyards is rescued. The winery workers spill out of the nooks and crannies like bears coming out of hibernation in the spring time and graciously thank us over and over. Before we know it, we’ve received the the highest honor any Power Ranger could receive: THE GOLIATH BOTTLE OF GEORGES DE LATOUR PRIVATE RESERVE.
The Justice League doesn’t even have it in their trophy case. You jelly, Superman?
Let me take a break from this adventure while you take a breath. I know this is titillating and all, but don’t get a heart attack or anything.
The Romulins defeat the Empire.
There, I’ve said it. Now you can relax.
Anyways, I’m glad I’ve ruined the ending for you because, to be honest, the story gets a little hazy from here on out. There was a lot of wine to be had, okay?
All I know is, the day started out looking like this:
Classy, right? I know. That’s just the kind of girl I am.
(sidenote: I do not apologize one bit for the shameless BV plugs. BV was the very first place I ever went winetasting– when I was exactly 21 years and 4 days old– and the very first place to employ me after I graduated college. I owe them everything. Well, not everything. I owe them a whole lot of wine.)
The day progressed, as days naturally do, and eventually, it turned into this:
Obviously, I’ve been working out. If you can’t tell, then visit this website here.
Soon after this photo was taken, we were kindly asked to evacuate Napa county on account of being an embarrassment to the human race. We swiftly braided Lindsay’s mane of hair so that it wouldn’t get tangled with the saddle and watched her gallop away into the sunset.
The moral of this story is that you shouldn’t feed the animals.
And that there is no shame in drawing all over your only white top with permanent gold marker.
And that you should never leave your house without your wand (example, mine is 10¾” vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core).
But most importantly, greet your guests with cheese.
Happy hunting, fellow lionesses <3
*it is also important to remember to avoid that person on the subway who’s always staring at you and making out with their locket necklace.