Dear Bride: Shove your spray tan where the sun don't shine

After reading this NYT story, I consider myself lucky enough to 1) have never been a bridesmaid in a wedding with a bridezilla; and 2) not have any friends that would even THINK about asking me to get a boob job just so I can look like the fembot-in-tulle that she wants to flank her at her wedding.

I've been/will be a bridesmaid in five weddings, and the duties, to my understanding, are to 1) throw the shower/bachelorette; 2) act as the emotional support to the bride, especially on the day of, when she's nervous about her perfect day; 3) keep the party going at the reception; 4) and happily rock a dress you'll say you'll wear again but know you never will. I do concede you must do your best to look cute at the altar, but not at the cost of silicon implants or injections to my face. Seriously people, if what you want is a gaggle of barbies with same cup size and shade of spray-tan, get a row of blow-up dolls. Sheesh.

Starting a Bronx tale

I’ve lived in my current apartment for three years, which in New York years, is really like 10. With my roommate getting hitched, and our lease up in the fall, it’s time to move on. I love my neighborhood, but I’m ready for a change. And since I don’t have the energy, patience, or courage to start a new life in another city, moving to another borough is sort of the next closest thing. And I’m moving to the Bronx at that, which really will seem like another world.

I lucked out this move because I’m moving in with someone I know who happens to have a great apartment at a dirt-cheap price. (It’s not Manhattan, but hey, I’ll get my own bathroom!) But I also lucked out because I’m avoiding the whole NYC apartment search ordeal, where you have to fight tooth-and-nail to get a cardboard box with no closet space and a shower in the kitchen. The ordeal also involves avoiding shady brokers, emptying your savings account to hand over first and last month’s rent (plus a security deposit), and running to all ends of the city to see apartments during open houses. I’ve also realized, just through a very preliminary search on craigslist, that people use the desperation of apartment seekers to their perverted advantage. I’ve seen apartment postings for free rent in exchange for a “friends with benefits” arrangement (but I would get to pick the day of the week — gee, thanks guy!) or reduced rent in exchange for household chores that include “cleaning, cooking, answering phones, massage, etc.” The sad thing is that the apartment hunt here is such a pain in the ass that I actually thought for a New York minute, “I wonder if he means therapeutic?”

Thankfully, I avoided all the shady craziness. I don’t think my virtue is worth an onsite washer-dryer or walk-in closet. I just dread the physical move now, but hopefully I’ll be able to hire some men with a van (probably hipsters from an emo band who use their equipment van to make money on the side) for relatively cheap. Watch out Yankees, here I come.