My Christmas Makeover
OK, it’s official. I’m FINALLY in the holiday spirit. Woo-hoo. Last night I went to sleep as Auntie Scroogie and woke up as Lady Claus. I’m diggin’ my nighttime makeover.
Not sure what took me so long…I mean just because Safeway started playing Christmas carols two months ago does NOT mean I should be spreading holiday cheer to all. That’s not my job…that’s the Salvation Army bell ringer’s job, right?
So why my sudden transformation?
- Maybe it’s my new condo…
- Maybe it’s the thought of 2012…and all the future blessings yet to be discovered…
- Maybe it’s because I get to see my crazy relatives in just one more day…
- Maybe it’s because I only have one more gift to buy…hence, one more annoying line to stand in…
- Maybe it’s because I went to church last Sunday…
- Maybe it’s the guy who’s 5 years younger who asked me out…
- Maybe it’s my new neighbor who dropped off homemade cookies…
- Maybe it’s knowing my broken heart is on the mend…
- Maybe it’s the impromptu snowstorm that hit Denver this afternoon…
- Maybe it’s the xanax…or the gi-normous bottle of Crown Royal I scored at my friend’s gift exchange party…
Whatever it is…I’m welcoming it with open arms.
On Friday, I head to Texas to visit family, loaded down with my big suitcase and jam-packed schedule. I only have about 1.2 million people to catch up with over 120 hours. Five days of non-stop hugs, conversations, adult libations, laughs, and hopefully…no tears. Yes, it will be a whirlwind…but I’d rather be stuck in that storm than sitting home alone staring at my dog and cat. It’s kinda nice being pulled in a multitude of directions. I’ll take that as a compliment.
My newfound holiday joy was INDEED tested earlier today. A few days ago, I mailed a cute, dainty necklace to my BFF…Brendy…courtesy of the U.S Postal service. I wrapped it in tissue paper, tucked it discreetly inside a card…and sent it on its merry way to Kansas City. This afternoon, when Brendy received the card, she noticed a small hole in the envelope…and low and behold…gasp…someone had STOLEN the necklace. Argh!
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Dear Disgruntled Postal Employee…
I hope you or someone you know needed that necklace more than my friend. Someone like a homeless person…a person with a terminal illness…a person who just lost his job. If not though…that stolen necklace will bring you nothing but bad karma. And I hope your neck turns green…because…sorry to inform you…it’s not REAL gold.
Sincerely,
Your Secret Santa
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Sorry…thief…despite your unruly ways, you did NOT ruin my holiday cheer. I’m better than that. Yes, material items matter to an extent. But the bigger joy of the holiday season is simply spending time with loved ones, giving thanks for the ups AND downs of the past year, and accepting that life is unscripted. It’s also about embracing the new year…and all the potential experiences that come in that shiny package. For me, that could be…a new television show to produce or write, a new love interest, a new travel adventure…and tons of time to remodel my home. 2012 I’m ready!
Speaking of home…did I mention it’s snowing outside? And that my new neighborhood rocks? Earlier tonight, while happily walking back to my pad after visiting a local bar, I realized it finally felt like the holidays. Under the spell of falling snowflakes, my little neighborhood looks like a scene from a snow globe.
I almost hear Christmas carols.
Birthday Smirk-Day
Yep, it’s my birthday this week – or as most women in their 30s call this glorious day…”Holy heck…one year closer to 40.”
Not that I’m afraid of 40. I mean 40 is like the new 21….or so say all those celebrities, fashion designers, and Real Hoochey-mama Housewives. Right? Except the fact you have wrinkles, a mortgage payment, a ticking clock (even the GYNO agrees), a year’s supply glucosamine in your medicine cabinet, and every time you look at a photo of yourself you think…”I look like my mother!” Chances are — if you haven’t splurged on Botox, you’ve at least spent HOURS looking at “before and after” photos online until your eyes glaze over. And suddenly exercise is not something you do JUST for the endorphins… it’s something you do to “keep up with all those trashy 20 year-olds who are stealing your men!”
I admit I’m not in my mid-flirty30s anymore….I’m in my late-flirty30s…I turn 38…GULP… tomorrow. But I guess the important thing is – I don’t feel late 30s. (And I don’t think I look it.) I feel….maybe ….Hmmm….27.
Still – despite my youthful feeling…You know you’re a few years away from 40 when:
- You’re overdosing on sunscreen, even during a tsunami.
- You’re obsessed with eating healthy and only buy foods that are dark green or bright purple (Although this does not apply to late-night Taco Bell or gas station doughnuts).
- You’ve accepted the fact you can’t wear high heels every day and have been caught sneaking into the Crocs store at Cherry Creek mall.
- You’ve already investigated fertility acupuncture even though you have: A. No husband B. No boyfriend C. No upcoming dates
- You’ve fibbed about your age at least once…or at least…you’ve been “very vague” and kept some guy guessing who was probably younger than your younger brother!
But there is comfort in all of this. My grandmother told me years ago…”You know Lisa, your mind doesn’t age…only your body does.” I wasn’t sure what she met by this until five years ago. What she means is that our emotions don’t disappear along with the progression of the calendar. We still experience the “ah-hah” moment of newfound love, the angst of a job change, the sadness when we are betrayed, and the “jumping up and down” joy when we reach a goal. (Ask my co-workers – I jumped up and down between cubicles when I found out the seller accepted my offer on my new condo.)
It’s AS IF we are still 17 or 27…somewhere in our psyche. And I find this extremely comforting as I age gracefully.
Since my birthday always falls around Thanksgiving…I’d like to reflect on my blessings – or in reality — what I survived this last year… because honestly…it was a doozey.
- Finding “one of the loves” of my life…throwing my heart into it…then realizing it was time to let go…(wretched heartache)
- Politely demanding a raise, not receiving the raise initially, playing tough (so very awkward for Lisa), then coming to an agreement in my favor (Who knew Lisa had balls?!)
- Managing three family weddings – and thankfully no funerals (My own personal episode of “Relatives Gone Wild”)
- Surviving a Denver winter with only a mini-cooper to my name (those miniature snow tires rock!)
- Tackling the beautiful Colorado ski slopes for 13 sporadic ski days – without injuring myself, innocent children, old people, or punk snowboarders
- Traveling to Europe – and encountering delayed flights, bus schedules I never undersood, a bitchy, jealous ex-boyfriend’s mother (so so painful), yet thankfully — stunning scenery, amazing food, and loving company
- Camping with four other girls outside Aspen for a long weekend and somehow not killing each other…because after all…hot coals, bears, and two gallons of red wine don’t mix.
- Buying a condo…if I ever have to hunt down that many paycheck stubs, W-2 forms, or tax forms again…I may move to Canada and live in a tent.
- Surviving the holidays…
- Oh wait…they’re not over yet?? Damn.
This big list makes me wonder…. What will I survive next year? Who will I meet? Where will my job take me? What blessings are just around the corner?
I only know one thing….my emotional and wish-list bags are packed…ready to hop onboard this thing called life.
No, I’m not wearing “mom jeans” (maybe one day) ….but I’m comfortable in my designer jeans…marketed to women not a day over 40.
One of my achievements - becoming a homeowner.... Home Depot here I come!
Pre-Birthday Celebration with the Girls
A Single Gal’s Gusto…to Rent or to Buy?
Decisions…decisions…especially in the wake of a breakup. I mean…what’s a girl to do when she’s desperate to “move on” in more than one area of her life?
OK…here’s the skinny: I currently rent a duplex in Denver’s “nose-in-the-air” neighborhood, Cherry Creek North. When I first moved to the mile-high city, it was the perfect find because my dad knew the “ghetto” was far, far away…and the criminals – even further. And I admit…this set-up HAS been convenient. I safely stroll to trendy restaurants, shops, and bars. My dog sniffs butts with Denver’s finest pooches. In this utopia, everyone has automatic sprinklers, a lawn boy, and not one…but TWO Land Rovers.
The problem is…I live in the token “dump” on the block. You know…the big eyesore — the one where the neighbors pray the elderly landlords will die quickly…so their money-hungry kids can kick me out, bulldoze the lot, then sell it to someone who will erect yet another McMansion. (Think Stepford Wives ambiance.)
Yes, my 1940s place does have historic charm, but it also has the original single-pane windows, a Pepto-Bismol pink toilet and sink, and I’m convinced – NO INSULATION. At night, I feel the breeze…through the CLOSED window. If I run my hairdryer, portable dishwasher, and microwave at the same time…I find myself in the dark, groping for the electrical panel. And every night I pray carbon monoxide doesn’t kill me — as my decrepit furnace coughs and sputters.
A few months ago I realized — the time had come to slink into a 30-year relationship with a random mortgage company and give the old “heave-ho” to my money-squandering landlord. I considered the “good” of condo ownership (a place to call my “own” and all that sentimental crap), the “bad,” (nosy neighbors who never leave), and the “ugly.” (the toilet that clogs up on Christmas Eve and I have to pay someone’s ass to come fix it) I also gulped at the reality I would venture into this alone…minus “Mr. Right.” Yes, while I felt empowered …there was small pity party brewing — knowing my name would be the only name on the deed.
So alas, my search began. I knew my budget wasn’t huge….but I knew it wasn’t spare change either!
I started my quest with the enthusiasm of a college-bound girl shopping for dorm room accessories. Quickly though, I felt I was perusing at the Goodwill. Every condo I looked at was either A) dumpy and depressing B) full of creepy middle aged men –OR- C) full of old people carting oxygen tanks on shoulder straps (I kid you not). The duplexes weren’t much better. They all sported damp “Freddie Cougar” basements, cubicle sized kitchens, and “sketchy” neighbors. I did fall in love with one condo, but as I evaluated the closets, I spotted two cats sleeping on a pile of sweaters…then my eyes rested on a picture of the SINGLE, 45-year old female seller. I sprinted out of that place in 2.5 seconds….almost in tears, vowing I would never turn into “that woman.” I took a moment in my car and thought, “Is this really all my money is worth? Have my hard earned savings come down to living in a building with twice as many cats as people??”
I freaked out. I THEN decided to stick with renting. I mean…I’m a free sprit…I didn’t want to be tied down!
Over the next month I looked at over a dozen “expensive yet bland” rentals listed on craigslist and apartments.com. I couldn’t believe $1150 wouldn’t even get you a covered parking spot much less a dishwasher! Nothing was the right fit. All the leasing agents acted annoyed that I owned a dog. I mean, this is Denver…the dog capitol of the United States! I was so confused and discouraged…I didn’t know what to do. All I knew…was that I COULDN’T spend another winter freezing my ass off in my current rental.
So switched my mind AGAIN…and returned to looking at properties for sale. Taking a friend’s advice, I also wrote down a description of my “perfect place”…then tucked the piece of paper in a safe place. (Hey, if you write things down, you’ll make it happen.) I also made the best business decision ever and “broke up” with my realtor. He was a friend of a friend…and honestly…he was unorganized from the beginning. I didn’t need his dead weight…or his blank stares when I asked him simple financing questions. It was time to play tough…and he was clearly too wimpy to stay in my game.
Around that same time, my co-worker paired me with an awesome realtor ironically named Lisa. We hit it off from the beginning. I confided in her as if she was my therapist. I told her, “I just went through a painful breakup (the ex-boyfriend, not the realtor) and I’m on the fence about renting or buying. I want to make sure if I buy a property, I will love it now…but also I need to be able to rent it in the future…even in a few years. I’m actively trying to meet someone special at this stage in my life, and I don’t want a property that ties me down.”
Lisa digested this information…and then got to work quicker than a McDonalds drive-thru. Within one week, I started looking at properties with REAL potential. Our next meeting, we looked at five units…both condos and townhouses. I fell in love with the first property – a sunny 2 bedroom/1 bath condo located in the hip historic Baker neighborhood — one block from the funky shops, restaurants and bars of South Broadway. For the first time in over two and half months, a REAL smile appeared on my face. In the aftermath of my breakup, I had become the master of the “fake smile”…this one, however, was genuine and heartfelt. I called my dad with the news.
Things rolled into place after that. I saw the property on a Sunday, made my offer on Tuesday….and “low and behold” the seller accepted my final offer late Thursday afternoon. Within a span of 60 hours, I went from the heartbroken evil American ex-girlfriend (EAG) to the hot, available, single homeowner.
I am lovin’ this new title change!
In just a few short weeks, I move in. I feel positive, invigorated, and most importantly — at peace. This little condo is perfect for my “present”…and provides a solid investment for my “future.”
Who knew a girl could get so excited over double pane windows, a WHITE toilet, and a furnace covered by a warranty?
Dear Jealous Mother of any Man I Have Ever Dated…
Yes, I’m dating your son. But not at gunpoint. He’s a willing participant who signed up for something called “lots of hot sex in a committed, loving relationship that will hopefully god-willing lead to marriage.” So quit making me feel like I’m a criminal.
My big question to you is…why are you so overzealous and jealous? How has your motherly charm turned so utterly smotherly sour? I am silently begging (well really cursing) you to STOP.
No, I’m not on drugs (only the legal kind), I don’t chain smoke. I feed your son on a regular basis…albeit cheese, crackers, olives, dry cereal, and beer. I have a real job…in fact a master’s degree from an accredited university…not one of those mail-order places. My dad doesn’t pay my rent OR my text overages. I know how to clean real silver…and how to make a real Jell-O mold. I adore your son…and I’m not mooching off him. I promise he loves good booze, wine, and entertainment as much as me. I brush my teeth three times a day…which is two more times than him! I only fart when I’m home alone…whereas your son farts consistently home alone with me. Also, his new shirts and his new trendy eyeglasses you oooogle over…those were my ideas…not his! And that bracelet he gave you…I picked it out…in fact I reminded him it was Mother’s Day! So, in NO way shape or form do you oooh and aaah…then give him all the credit. Yes, you raised him right…but he still needs mucho training.
Insecure Mother….Please do not say the following things to ME (otherwise known as the evil American girlfriend, EAG):
1. “You know…you don’t know him like I know him.” (Lady…when was the last time you saw him naked? Exactly.)
2. “One of these days I’m going to tie him to a chair in my house so he can’t leave me.” (I don’t make this crap up.)
3. “He and his brother are just so so so close…it’s shame they don’t live closer.” (Thanks for the “double shot of guilt trip over ice.”)
4. “You know, traveling to America makes me very nervous. In fact…I get hives when I have to leave him behind.” (Yeah, life sucks in this deserted “Day-after-Tomorrow” country called the U.S. of A. How can the rest of us stand living here?)
5. “Hair salons are SUCH a waste of money. You know, I cut his hair until he was 18.” (Eer…not a tradition I’m going to continue…sorry.)
6. “You know, I just can’t believe you (EAG) don’t like lamb and goat cheese…those are my son’s two FAVORITE foods.” (Yes, the world must be coming to an end.)
Insecure Mother….Please do not say the following things to HIM:
1. Within 45 minutes of meeting me…”When are you moving back to England? And WHY aren’t you moving back to England?” (Wow, that must be called classy hospitality.)
2. While trying to establish yourself as the alpha female in the room… “Honey, what was your favorite themed birthday cake I made from scratch for you growing up?” (P.S. I have cake pans…may only use them for dog bowls, but who cares?)
3. While clutching your son with tears in the doorway…“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” when we were simply running errands for an extra 30 minutes while visiting you.
4. After witnessing your son split an appetizer and entrée with me at a restaurant…”That’s NOT enough food for you! Honey, you need more?” (Don’t worry….he’s not starving…we do this all the time when you’re not around and the world NOR his bowel movements are coming to an end.)
5. At the family dinner table…”Honey, you’re not living in America, you’re just visiting.” (Whose apartment is he sleeping in then??)
6. “Now that you’ve met her (EAG), I worry you’re never coming back.” (Honestly, this hurts so much I can’t even write a joke.)
In closing, don’t criticize my religion, my beliefs, numerous other topics that shall remain nameless, the foods I eat, or how much I eat. Don’t attempt to force feed me lamb, liver, fruitcake, or anything covered in gross sauces. (There’s a reason I look this good.) Yeah, sorry I don’t cook like a Paula Dean obsessed-southern woman…but the reality is…I’m trying to avoid heart disease and diabetes.
No, I don’t expect you to be my shopping buddy, my BFF on facebook, or even to remember my birthday. What I do expect is kindness, respect, and gratitude that I have adored your son. And something called “support.” Which unfortunately, I’ll never receive, despite politely bending over backwards to gain your approval. (I’ve shed more tears over this than a gay man at Les Mis.)
If you continue acting this way…I suggest your watch Dr. Phil…followed by Dr. Oz to gain some real perspective on this smotherly psychological condition….which I hope (for your son’s case) is NOT hereditary for any of his offspring.
And the next time I visit (if ever)…I may just ask you…”Hey, do you need a xanax?”
“Cuz I got one upstairs.”
Signed, the woman you ran off
Dating yet Dateless on New Year’s Eve – Ah the Irony!
Oh…the bubbly joy of New Year’s Eve….the counting down of numbers while staring into your lover’s eyes…the tradition of singing Auld Lang Syne at midnight…the hangover that lasts til 5 pm…
Can you tell I’m oozing with sarcasm right now?
As 2011 knocks on my duplex doorstep…I find myself happily standing in a different place than a year ago. Yes, it’s a new year…Yep, I’ve got 365 new days to covet — and the biggest newsflash of late 2010/early 2011 – I’m sporting a new man.
Not your typical American male…Not your outdoor-obsessed Denverite. See, this dude speaks with a bloody accent. And while the accent is hot, his heart is hotter. He calls a sweater a “jumper”…appetizers…”nibbles”… and an elevator…a “lift.” I call him (along with my wild friends and dysfunctional relatives) “the Brit.” He regularly calls me “lovely.”
So far, things are golden in that “puppy dog love/lust” sort of way. We’ve only had one argument – and it centered around a food product – or as I call it – a “waste product.” The Brit loves Marmite. I despise it. And I’ll never EVER eat it. Good thing that’s not a deal breaker in his eyes.
The Brit’s engineering career brought him to the states. (No worries dad, he’s not an illegal immigrant….he possesses an authentic VISA.) But this Christmas – he headed home for a bit of England cheer…despite the country’s dismal weather. His original flight back to Denver was December 30th. But due to snowstorms, lost baggage, only three snowplows in the entirety of England, and a postponed embassy appointment – the Brit is MIA for another week and a half! (Bloody bastard!)
Which means…
I’ll be alone on New Year’s Eve – or rather “dateless.” Sigh…
Of course I’m still “hittin’ the town” with my Sex and the City entourage. I’ll be ok – my usual “peppy” and talkative self. After all, I‘m an independent woman who can shovel her own snow, wash her own car, and pay her own bills. I don’t need a man on a major holiday! That’s rubbish! But truth be told – I find it ironic that when I finally have “someone special” to spend New Year’s Eve with – that “someone special” is 4,672 miles away (yes, I looked it up).
So, I admit with an open heart – that I will terribly miss the Brit this New Year’s Eve…and New Year’s day…and for the next several days until he returns. Yes, we’ve been staying in touch via emails, texts, phone calls, and skype. However, 80% of communication is non-verbal – which means our relationship is running about 20% of actual capacity.
Our separation makes me ponder the question….”Does distance make the heart grow fonder?” And as I have learned over the last several days, indeed, it does. I’m probably throwing myself under a truck (or as the Brit would say a “lorry”) for admitting this — but if this blog is about being real….then I must spill the beans accordingly.
Happy New Year to everyone reading my blog for the first, 17th, or last time! I’m off to hit the shower – then later the bars. I’m confident the four martinis I’ll consume later tonight will happily heal my heartbreak…at least temporarily.
If you’re looking for me at midnight, look no further than the ladies room…otherwise known as the “loo.”
Why am I Working Out…if Currently No One is Seeing My Birthday Suit?
Let me be frank. I exercise. I sweat. I eat right. My body fat percentage falls around 20%. But since I’m single, no one is “currently” seeing me naked on a regular basis. (My nosy dog and curious cat don’t count.)
At this point, my dad is probably falling out of his rocker (he really does have a rocker) as he reads these words. But the reality is – my situation is completely relatable to single women (and perhaps men) in their 30s. Many of us are in “amazing, athletic, physical shape.” We’re “financially secure.” Heck, our families refer to us as “successful.” But sadly, our birthday suits ONLY come out at rare occasions. It’s part of the world known as “Singledom.” Personally, I could wear my birthday suit much, much more often…but I’m picky. And I know this. Only a select few make it that far into my wardrobe. (My dad just slipped out of his rocker again.)
My routine goes like this — Three times a week, I snap into auto-pilot and cart my exhausted self to “dance step-aerobics” class…otherwise known as Jazzercise. (Yes, you idiots, Jazzercise still exists. We don’t wear Olivia Newton neon headbands…or Jane Fonda fuzzy legwarmers either. Jazzercise consists of aerobics, dance, Pilates, and kickboxing…minus the “jazz hands.” It thankfully kicks my ass every time.)
After arriving, I’m locked in a room with 20 other women (and maybe a few gay dudes) – where we begin a love/hate relationship with a rectangular step placed in front of us. For the next hour, a “mean but peppy” cheerleader-type instructor barks orders at us while we huff and exuberantly puff. For some reason, she has the ability to happily “yak” about her dating life, family dramas, and recent trip to Maui – while the rest of us just pray to keep breathing and/or standing. Uttering a sentence is not an option.
I admit, there are days when I want to just give up – and play hooky with a bag of Salt and Vinegar potato chips chased with peanut butter straight out of the jar. After all, when you’re single, no one really notices if you gain a few pounds. And no one cares if you wear mismatched pajamas at night. So, why even step foot into the gym? Right?
WRONG!
Fifteen minutes into the workout, I feel empowered. The step has somehow transformed into my friend. I’m kicking the aging process in the face with each knee lift and squat! Along with the release of sweat, comes the mini explosion of endorphins. Suddenly, anxious thoughts about work, bad dates, endless errands, and loneliness disappear. I’m elated as I keep up with the 25 year old in front of me. I also realize I’m doing this workout for MYSELF – not for the next guy who gets a sneak peek at my birthday suit.
I do believe – that one day I’ll meet Mr. Right — and ironically the timing will be “right” for both of us simultaneously. No more of the typical jargon…”I just got divorced two months ago…” OR “I’m getting over a bad break-up with my psycho ex…” OR “The lust of my life just moved back to town…”
In the meantime…my gym bag is packed…loaded in the car.
And my birthday suit – it’s spending some quality time at the dry cleaners.
Break-Up Etiquette 101
Wham, bam…see you later ma’am. Ughhhhhh…the drama of a dreaded breakup.
We’ve all been there. You’re either the “dumper” or the “dumpee.” Both happen to be two of the toughest spots in the history of mankind. Your heart hurts, your shoulders shudder, and your eyes glaze over with tears…then rage. How could this ever happen???
You may think this post is catty, but I’m here to spout out, “This is real!” After donning the hat of dumper AND dumpee for so many years…it’s time for a post about “Break-up Etiquette.” You can agree, or disagree…but bottom line…my girlfriends and guyfriends chimed in on this universal topic. After all, who hasn’t been dumped?? As depressing as this sounds, it’s a universal theme for all to miserably share!
The Top 5 Break-Up Rules
1. NEVER EVER use the line, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Ugh…newsflash: Yes, it is ME…or you wouldn’t be breaking up with me! (After all, no one breaks up with himself!) Quit trying to be all “self-righteous.” I get it…you’re not “into me anymore.” So own up to it, tell us the truth…then move on quickly…to hopefully a psycho and unstable chick without a job. Then see how you feel four months down the road.
2. Yes, it’s really OK (and highly appropriate) to kick the ex off Facebook. Better yet, have a delightful time doing it. Perform a countdown and then click on the infamous X icon. Follow it up with a cold beer and you’re golden. After all, do you really need to see pictures of your ex drooling over his weird, new girlfriend? Not unless you’re a masochist. And even if she IS ugly and wearing clothes 10 times too tight — and sporting 10 times too much makeup…and dripping with 10 times too much bad silver jewelry…you don’t need to waste 10 seconds of your life gloating over it. Save the gluttonous glee and go do something productive in your life. Like calling up all your girlfriends and telling them about it.
3. Don’t drop off the face of someone’s planet if you are “in a relationship.” If you want to call it off, look at that person face to face. Have the respect for each other to honestly talk and express feelings. Don’t avoid phone calls all together! Give each other an equal say. And if you’ve only been out on a few dates, AT LEAST text the person the “old fashioned way” and explain you’re done. Give someone the courtesy of knowing you’ve moved on…even if you’ve moved on to NO ONE…or some random person the night before. Remember, karma’s a bitch…and you don’t want that riding your tail the rest of your dating career.
4. Don’t steal your ex’s friends…or as one of my bffs says, “Go get your own damn friends!” People become extremely territorial in this situation. Envision a pack of wolves. Sure, if you have made friends with some of your ex-girlfriend’s friends, you can still hang out with them. But in doses! Not all the time! That’s rude to the gal who first had that group of friends. Yes, you can share. But BOTH people have to share, not just one. If you are the “ex,” have the courtesy to give the other person her space first and foremost. She was there first…NOT you. So quit trying to take ownership of the situation and mark the territory that was never really yours in the first place.
5. And finally…after breaking up with someone, don’t call or text asking to get some “late night booty.” You’re just leading that person on and messing with their emotions. While men look at it purely a “hook-up,” women tend to look at it as MUCH, MUCH more. So don’t play with someone’s mind. Leave the late night booty texts to people who mean NOTHING to you…people you never plan on taking out to dinner. If you “booty text” a former girlfriend, she will just assume you want to get back together. And if you genuinely want to get back together, call her in the morning when you’re sober and coherent.
Bottom line, I think it all boils down to character. Do you have the character to honestly call it off with someone? Or are you a coward and choose to take the easy way out…vanishing into thin air…leaving your AWOL calling card on the doorstep?
Thoughts?
Rekindling with Old “Non-Flames”
Everything comes full circle, right? Even in dating. Guys you thought were “Bye-Bye” are suddenly saying “Hi Hi”… a year later. In droves!!
Here’s the scenario… You meet someone date-worthy…make a connection…hit the town a few times…and he suddenly drops off the planet. No hurt feelings, because the sparks never ignited. Regardless, 12 months later, you find yourself answering an “unfamiliar number” only to hear a “somewhat familiar” voice on the other end. Yep, it’s one of “last year’s guys” trying to hop back onboard the spaceship and orbit in your galaxy. Or perhaps you run into an old “non-flame” innocently one night, and then realize, “Wow, maybe he is a cutie.”
There’s nothing WRONG with this… In fact, kudos to sincere guys who try to reconnect after a lengthy hiatus. Because, after all – timing is everything!
I found myself falling “lucky victim” to this scenario recently…
First: I ran into “Dakota Dude” in downtown Denver. Not sure why, but we just never clicked last year when we went out on the “traditional match date” consisting of two drinks, one appetizer, and 1.5 hours of staring at each other. (Come on, you’ve been there.) It WAS fun to see him after all those months…so good that he snuck in a late night kiss after one too-many-beers at the bar. Thankfully, I’ve kissed enough of my guy friends to know smooches can be strictly innocent in mucho beer-drinking situations.
Second: Scooter Guy surprised me one Sunday morning calling me at 10 AM sharp. I let the unfamiliar number go to voicemail, praying it wasn’t an emergency work call or the local firefighter’s union asking for cash. Turns out Scooter Guy had just broken up with his girlfriend of eight months and wanted to reconnect as friends, asking for a “non-date-date”…whatever the heck that is. Actually, I’m quite open to this, considering my sweet southern side loves making more friends. Plus, later, when we actually did meet up for the infamous non-date-date, I hopped aboard the scooter, hung on tightly, and enjoyed the breeze – feeling “oh-so-super” urban and chic as I cruised through Denver’s Platte Park neighborhood.
Third: Early one morning, the “Aussie Therapist” shot me a nice email asking for a second chance. He even told me, “I don’t know why we never went on a second date, but now I’m regretting it.” I had to crank back the old memory log from a year ago and remember our brief time together…but it went something like this… We wined and dined…laughed all night…he walked me to my car…texted a bit afterward…then he disappeared after the first snowfall. I wasn’t really upset by his departure, as I had a few other guys in the batting cage ready to make their move. But I always wondered…”What if?” Now I’m wondering if the accent will still make him irresistible?
So why all these old “non-flames?” It’s actually fairly simple.
Think about it…dating forces you to be a player…you can’t deny it. Here’s why… In a typical dating season, you’re juggling roughly three people at once. You really like Guy #1….but you must experience three awesome dates before it gets serious. So even when you’re at the “second date” benchmark with Guy #1…you gotta go on a first date with Guy #2 just to keep the train rolling and your options open. (Because at any given moment, Guy #1 could drop the ball and leave your galaxy entirely.) Meanwhile Guy #3 enters the scene. Yes, he may be a GREAT guy, but if you make it all the way to date #3 with Guy #1…guys 2 and 3 are usually left in the dust. (Are you still with me?…or are you lost?)
Of course with this post, I’m not advocating you take back the asshole who cheated on you with the 21 year old hairdresser…
Or the real estate investor in Vail who dumped you for his ex-girlfriend…
Or the short Boulder guy who stood you up for the Red Rocks concert…
But maybe, you should give certain “non-flames” a “second chance.” You never know…you might make it to the third date with one of those lucky fellas.
I’ve Been a Bad, Bad, Bad Bloggy Girl
Let’s face it. We’re all bad sometimes.
My biggest sin – the absence from my blog the last few months. Heck, as a former catholic schoolgirl, I need to go to confession.
My sincerest apologies go out to all my readers who wandered away…I pray you come trickling back. In droves. And bring some new friends too.
Perhaps the group most affected by my bloggy absence – my poor family. They’ve had to actually resort to PICKING UP a cell phone and asking about my dates and tribulations the old fashioned way – through vocal prose. Gone were those days when they could simply surf to a public site and receive a free “Leaza” update, courtesy of my busy night-owl fingers. I had them spoiled. I’m surprised my mom survived without her weekly laughs and/or gasps.
I admit – I got in a rut…a big Tonka Truck one. It was mostly fueled by a domino effect of dating dilemnas, job stress, summer lovin’, and an endless stream of visitors. Every time I thought, “I need to blog”…something more important came up…like flossing. Or reading the Instyle autumn September issue. Or attending the largest microbrew tasting in the US – conveniently located only 5.3 miles away!
I guess the “best” part of being gone – is that you feel missed. I received numerous emails with the term, “Are you alive?” and “Please say you didn’t get married” in the subject line. Geez, I never knew so many people in Iowa were following my dating adventures! Hugs. I even had close friends offer to “take over the blog” while I got my act together. It’s as if I was driving a tanker with no hands and my bffs wanted to hop aboard and turn this baby into Operation Bloggy Rescue. That, my friends, is teamwork…or at least unconditional love.
So…just to briefly catch you up on the life of Leaza…here’s the scoop. First, I switched to a new HGTV show as a full-time writer. Let’s face it, I’ve been so busy documenting someone else’s story, I forgot to document my own. (Thankfully my life does not involve home remodeling.) Second, both of my grandmothers ended up in the hospital at the same time. This makes you the ponder the term, “Life is short” along with “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” I now refuse to let “that asshole” at work affect my mood…it’s not worth it! And third, I’m officially back on the dating market, eyes peeled and hair curled. Yep, I’ve already swooned on some great dates, secretly suffered through some others. But all in all, fall is off to a great start. It’s “hunting season.”
So dearest Blog,
Please forgive the neglect. It’s as if no time has passed, right? I swear I haven’t cheated on you with facebook.
Love, Leaza
P.S. If you’re new to my blog, consider checking out a few “oldies but goodies” –
Exhausted from Pimpin Myself Out
Finding 7 Minutes of Heaven in 8 Minutes of Speed Dating
Taking an E-Hiatus
But stay tuned…I’ll be back! Just give me a week or two to catch up on my beauty rest.
