Posts Tagged ‘dating’
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?
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
Celebrating My Anniversary, NOT the Marriage Kind
Tick, tock…tick, tick, tick….
Native I’ll never be…but a Colorado transplant I’m happy to be. And a lucky one at that.
It was ONE YEAR AGO this month when I packed up my mini-cooper in Dallas, blazed a fierce trail to Denver, and started my life OVER. (well not really, but close enough) Yep, that’s what a cross country move does – it encompasses more than just a new chapter – it’s a different book entirely.
I had a love affair with Colorado from 1997 to 1999 when I attended CU-Boulder for graduate school. After living in the dreamworld of the Rockies, I found myself moving to a small Texas tv market to start my journalism career and “pay my dues” (aka starve to death and cover boring-ass city council meetings). In the back of my mind though, I always thought, “Colorado….I’ll be back!”
Over the next 10 years, my personal zip code and television career landed me in Little Rock, Kansas City, and Dallas. Sure the people were nice (news flash: people are nice everywhere), and I made some amazing friends, but the weather SUCKED! And the scenery – no comparison to Colorado. One day…my heart told me it was about time I did something for myself. So I opened the vault, found my dream, landed a job with a solid tv production company in Denver – and MOVED.
When you’re a newbie in town, time DOES fly. And to mark my big anniversary, I’m posting the top 10 things I have learned about “starting over.”
1. Learn to be alone – in public.
Bottom line – you must “go at it” alone at first – to have a handful of good girlfriends for the future. The only way to meet people – is to force yourself to be social through groups, outings, meet-up events, work happy hours, etc. Throw yourself to the masses and focus on other “newbies.” It’s a numbers game. Some people will stick, others won’t. It’s kind of like dating – minus the free dinners.
2. Don’t worry about buying a lot of new clothes.
New co-workers and friends will think your clothes from two years ago are brand-new since they’ve never seen them before! It’s quite liberating. That “old shirt” suddenly looks “new” again. Chances are – one of your new girlfriends will want to borrow it!
3. Pets are like family…usually better than family.
Furry friends help you survive the lonely weekend nights before you know ANYONE to rock the town with on a regular basis. Also, they don’t argue over which DVD to rent. Even my cat, Waylon, helps me feel safe at night despite having no claws.
4. In your 30s, it’s a small dating world after all.
Even though it’s a new city and you’re starting “fresh”….it only takes about five months until you see guys you’ve already dated before at a local bar. (Asshole Andy and Belgium Boy just to name a few) Every now and then, suck it up and go on a date with a dude in the burbs.
5. Facebook will get you through the hard times.
Of course you can keep track of girlfriends, secretly stalk old flames, and check in on your siblings. Better yet, you can post pictures of yourself in your fabulous new town, experiencing all its fabulous new adventures….hence making everyone else jealous.
6. If you’re forced to downsize, you won’t miss the extra space.
Trust me, even though it’s more expensive than “your old town,” you’ll be just as happy with less square footage in your “new town.” I’m more giddy on a daily basis because I have one less bathroom to clean. Less IS more. And I never miss my old, scary Freddy Kruger basement.
7. It’s fun playing tourist in your new hometown.
Chances are…you’re seeing more in the city than most people born in that particular town. I’m always amazed when I meet people raised in Colorado who have NEVER tried snow skiing. That’s like living in New York and NEVER shopping.
8. Much of your future success and happiness comes from people you do not know yet!
Weird to think about this, but very true. People walk in your life when you least expect it – they can impact your personal and professional life in more ways imaginable. So be nice to everyone (well, at first anyways). That bee-atch who at first seemed cold, could actually help you get a job promotion someday.
9. Good friends will come and visit – and it’s easy to pick up right where you left off.
Usually the “picking up” involves wine, sangria, outdoor patios, giggles, shrieks, laughs, then hangovers…in no particular order. Once the word spreads you live in a “cool” place, expect more visitors. Stock up on tour guide materials. Before you know it, friends and family expect you to plan their vacations.
10. And finally….one of my favorite quotes (author unknown)…to sum up starting over:
“If you resist change, or hold on to the past, you postpone all future blessings awaiting you on the next level.”
In lieu of anniversary gifts, I am asking that you comment on my blog. Or pass it on to someone who wants to make a change, but cannot find the courage.
The day I moved...
and the state I moved to...
Some Things THANKFULLY Never Change
Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know the drill…the ole familiar mantra. Life is about change, right? Change is inevitable. Change forces you to grow. Blah blah blah. (Damn those motivational speakers!)
Don’t get me wrong. I do relish some change…in certain situations. I enjoy changing my hairstyle, my toenail polish, my sheets (oo-lah-lah), underwear, and of course my address (when I moved to Denver). On the flip side, I HATE changing my own flat tire.
But some things…I just want to stay “the same.” For comfort reasons.
On top of my “no-changes-allowed” list…tried and true friendships. You know….the ones you can count on one perfectly manicured hand.
Thankfully, the bond I have with certain girlfriends has never changed (sounds cliche but true). I don’t have “blood” sisters, so my girlfriends are my “true” sisters. Yes, our lives have transformed over the years…but our emotional connections haven’t. True BFFs survive a typhoon of marriages, divorces, hangovers, cross country moves, breakups, breakdowns, newborns, new jobs, bad jobs, no jobs, 50 cases of PMS, and about 1.2 million bad and good dates. And I haven’t even mentioned the mini-makeovers, pounds lost, pounds gained, and all those damn exercise hours in between.
This comforting reality hit me last week when one of my BFFs (aka Brendy) visited moi from Kansas City. (I used to live there a few years back.) As any good hostess, I showed her all the beautiful “mile-high” city highlights. We sauntered down Larimer Square, rubbed elbows with the cougars at Elway’s, burned some laps at Wash Park, and even conquered Rocky Mountain National Park.
More importantly, though, we just cut to the chase and fell into our old BFF routine….the one that never changed. Same friendship…just a different location. Our fears…plus our dreams….all rolled into one conversation. Minutes in, Brendy and I were “in the zone”…best described as a combination of hot gossip, emotional details, genuine reactions….coupled with spurts of laughter, “oh-my-gods,” bedroom details, and various bitch sessions.
Bottom line…who cares about salutations and fluff…when you can get to the heart of the matter efficiently? Throw in some red sangria and watch the conversation run rampant.
A few days in to Brendy’s visit…..I realized something. Spending time with her…made me miss her EVEN more! Of course I had missed her the last few years….but as her departure loomed ahead…and the clock seemed to speed up….we realized the scope. It was huge…and special. Something I hope every woman experiences.
Brendy and I boo-hood like teenagers leaving summer horseback riding camp the night before her flight back to Kansas City. We hugged on the couch and felt pretty darn “Hallmark-card” pathetic. Heck, I’m surprised we didn’t buy cheesy friendship pins…or carve our initials into some poor tree.
After she left, I was seriously depressed all day…secretly sniffling to myself while editing video at work…trying to write an episode. Brendy texted me from the plane equally as bummed. Sigh……our big adventure was officially over. When I got home…I scarfed down potato chips, crawled under a blanket, and watched a chick “Sundance film festival” movie…attempting to think about something OTHER than my best friend’s absence.
Later that night, “Eye Guy” came over to attempt to cheer me up. Like any man, he wanted to “fix” the problem…then “make out. :) And like most women mourning the departure of someone special, I told him I needed my space (aka “get lost”) and to call me the next day. My pity party was my own and no one else’s…and would certainly not be ruined by some dude.
When the alarm rang the next morning, I made a conscious effort to find my “big girl panties.” I pulled my mood out of the gutter. And suddenly….all was “right” again in the world. Driving to work,….my acoustic satellite music channel acting as a sappy soundtrack…I pondered my blessings
As women…we need each other. It doesn’t matter what stage of life we’re currently “in”…or moving “into”…or “leaving.”
The lesson here….good friends really don’t change…instead…they help you roll, conquer, and survive all of your own life changes. And distance…well, it’s just a small detour.
If you like this post, send it to one of your BFFs.
Two Roads Diverged in a Wood…and I Took the Dating Road Less Traveled By
In high school, I remember reading Robert Frost’s infamous poem, “The Road Not Taken.” Little did I know then, how that poem would become a reality for me as a dating adult.
Let me refresh your memory with its famous three lines of prose:
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
In those pubescent, poodle perm days, my immature brain couldn’t relate to Frost’s vision of taking the road less traveled. Heck, the only road I envisioned consisted of the driver’s ed course which ultimately led to my four-wheelin’ freedom.
But over the years, through my personal ups and down, I have found myself standing at a multitude of crossroads…recollecting on Frost’s sentiment that trekking the unfamiliar path – ultimately leads to a big positive difference.
Don’t worry…I’m not going to bore you with a bunch of stories centered around drama-filled life decisions like career moves, marriage, divorce, and which lipstick I buy at Sephora….blah blah blah.
Let’s simplify it or as I call it …“juice-ify” it.
In dating…we “chicks” often stumble upon “Two Roads Diverged in Wood.” Women in their 30s find themselves staring down two different paths – when it comes to ONE guy. Let me paint the picture. When you meet a potential person of interest out on the town (a.k.a. some dude you think is somewhat hot who actually has a decent job)…you IMMEDIATELY make a choice. A. You put him in the friend zone….or B….You chase after the romantic relationship with the BIG chance of losing the friendship all together. (NOTE: B is most always the road less traveled.)
As a woman in this age bracket, this dilemma has smacked me in the face numerous times. After sleeping on it (and drinking heavily while discussing this topic with gfs) I think I have an answer about why we struggle about which path to choose. Mostly, it’s about the RISK. Do we go after something which ultimately MAY turn out wonderful, yet end quickly? Or do we save face, take the safe route, and put the guy in the “you’ll never hurt me” zone. After all, he’ll be around forever then. Ugh.
The problem is…women in their 30s have built a wall around themselves that’s impermeable. We’ve becomes “aces” at protecting ourselves. Just like we’re pros at balancing our own checkbooks, buying our own houses, and organizing our own vacations. Why open up a potential can of worms filled with tears and rejection when you can avoid all that crap all together? Hmmmm…. In the long run, it’s simply the no-brainer to play it safe.
To those of you married, this conundrum may sound odd. You probably think it’s easy when meeting a guy to immediately know “what to do”…what decision to make…and if the guy gets a “thumbs up or down.” Welllllll………..its not. It’s a vat of confusion mixed with self pride and peppered with teenage anxiety.
Recently…two roads DID divulge in my personal dating world. It all started when I met a cute guy randomly at a wine tasting. He’s an optomestrist…so for the blog’s sake, I’ll call him “Eye Guy.” Like me, Eye Guy is a “Denver transplant.” I couldn’t quite determine whether he was interested in ME – or just interested in just networking with my friends – expanding his social circle. But I decided to hang in the weeds, rather than choosing my path, biding myself some time.
A few weeks in…after many shared conversations with Eye Guy…I found myself at that fork in the road…
So…after following my gut…
I threw on my hiking boots and took the path less traveled by…
So far….it IS making ALL the difference…not just in my life…but I hope his.
To the rest of you…I say go for it. You need the change of scenery.
So I Told My Mom About My Blog
Inevitably, secrets rise to the surface. This past week, I took a leap of faith (or craziness) and informed my mother about my somewhat anonymous blog. The time had come to share with her I had transformed from a geeky, straight A elementary school student into a 30-something year old serial Denver dater on the eternal prowl. (OK…this is a stretch, but you get the point.)
I knew if I didn’t tell her…the news would leak. Already, my “twin girl-power cousins” were “in-the-know.” Plus, it was only a matter of time before some random family member got tipsy (aka drunkola) at one of my Irish Catholic family reunions and spilled the bloggy beans. So…I sent my mother (who lives in Texas) a simple email, came clean about my life in the virtual world…and waited.
Dot – dot – dot….
A few days later, my mom called me and immediately launched into what I prayed would become a “positive lecture.”
She spouted off – right at the top – three main points…”I love the blog! You’re talented and your writing is humorous.” Then (after a pregnant pause)…“but every now and then I catch a whiff of bitterness. And I don’t want people to think you’re bitter. Because you’re not.”
You know what? She’s right. I’m not bitter. And I don’t want to come across as bitter. In fact, BITTER could become the new “4-letter word” in the world of 30-something year old dating. I do, however, want to come across as funny. I credit my writing style to my slightly sarcastic sense of humor coupled with uncanny ability to laugh at bad relationship snafus. For some reason, I find humor in situations when other women may shed tears – or break out in rage – or give up! Maybe I’ll just call it a chronic case of resiliency!
I do, however, see a lot of single women in their 30s who are bitter. And men too. But face it, men aren’t really reading my blog like women are – so why waste time talking about men? (My mom might say this is an example of my bitterness. Lol.)
My philosophy is simple – there’s a BIG difference between “having your guard up” – and acting “bitter.” And yes, while I’m constantly “on the prowl”…AND keeping my guard up while perusing for Mr. Right….I never want to be considered bitter. Bitter is bad. And if you’re bitter – men can sense it before they start talking to you at a bar….Or while they stand behind you at the Target check-out line. So wash away the bitterness…before it becomes your next cologne.
Yep, I’ve been heart broken, dumped, cheated on, lied to, dissed, stood up, even left stranded in a park…but somehow I keep pluggin’ along – knowing SOMEONE SPECIAL is out there – earmarked for moi. And if he senses I’m bitter – he’ll just jump ship to the next blond. I’d rather pour my heart into a possible relationship, take a chance, and face rejection once more again — than GOD forbid – act bitter.
So Mom, thank you for becoming my newest reader. Please remember – you may not like all my posts. In fact you may cringe at some of them. But I hope to offer you many laughs. I’m sure we’ll disagree at times….but ONE thing we do agree on – I’m NOT bitter.
Also, since you finally have DSL….how long will it take you to figure out I mentioned you in my blog? Bonus points for figuring out how to “comment” on this post.
Love, Me
XOXOXO
Like Mother, Like Daughter
To All the Guys I’ve Loved (Not Really) Before…..Surprise, You Have New Names
What’s in a Name? Judging by my long list…a heck of a lot. And I’m not talking about my own name…I’m referring to the laundry list of guys I’ve dated the last six months. You know…the list that comprises of “at-first” seemingly normal men – then turns into a roll call of “what was I thinking” men.
First and foremost…I must apologize for being AWOL on my own blog the last week and a half. Sometimes I do not control my life…instead my allergies, job demands, mediocre dates, snow skiing obsession, and grocery store visits run full throttle and take over. And secondly, I apologize for writing a blog post somewhat inspired by Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias
So….what’s in a name? Evidently A LOT if I look at the string of recent Denver dudes who have recently “tolerated,” or been “graced by my presence.” Some of my favorites….
Metrosexual Mark – Wore more designer clothes than George Michael and George Clooney combined.
Ivy League Cowboy – Harvard grad who worked on a dude ranch…I hope the horses appreciated his degree.
Gaydaddy.com – Had perfect hair…and a perfect son. Secretly wondered if he should move to San Fran. Too too feminine.
Transitional Man – Moving from Morrison to downtown Denver…quickly turned into “Sent me an email asking for a 3rd chance,” then “Stood me up” Man. LOSER!
Mr. Gold Chain – Sporting ugly, thick gold chain all night…Possible Jersey Shore wannabe.
Mr. NYU – Became snotty when I honesty admitted I did not know the NYU mascot. (Turns out it’s the Violet…HOW LAME!)
Scooter Guy – Showed up to my house on a scooter for our date. Then told me he stopped at REI on the way to buy a sweater because he was so cold.
Bipolar Boy – Found the meds in the medicine closet when I was snooping around for dental floss.
Bipolar Boy #2 – What are the chances? Learned my lesson the first time…so BYE BYE!
Nutty Professor – Was actually writing a research paper on crazy baseball fans. Glad our tax dollars are hard at work.
Asshole Andy – Basically he stood me up on my birthday. Yes, this is his REAL name.
Overbite Boy – Need I say more?
Belgium Boy – Sexy accent, but ended up being OCD about money and investments. He literally asked me if he should buy another oil well or finally furnish his empty condo????
No Job Bob – Felt bad for the guy (we’ve all been there)…but probably not the best time to be searching for Mrs. Right.
Boulder Brent – Obsessed with Boulder in every shape or form…thought of it more as a utopia than just a bunch of rich people living in a bubble.
Barenaked Brian – Decided he would shed most of his clothes off in 3.2 seconds with no warning to moi – for a moment I thought I was in a Sex and the City episode.
At least this list – is long and distinguished. And it’s growing by the week. I wonder what they say about me? Hmmmmm…..
Exhausted from Pimpin’ Myself Out
You’ve heard the expression, “searching for a job…is like a full-time job.” Well, lately I‘ve been thinking, “searching for a man is like an overtime job with no benefits.” (free dinners don’t count)
I represent the NEW type of woman in this decade….the frazzled 30-year old single woman, able to single-handedly work full-time, drive home like a crazy woman dodging police officers, catch up on obligatory family phone calls, scarf down some food, walk the dog….then transform myself from working gal to “may get lucky” girl.
Oh, the agony. And the exhaustion. Truth be told, I’m tired of pimpin’ myself out in the name of dating! It’s time for someone else to wear high heels for a change.
First — the prep work. I “ain’t” no cover girl…but come on…this “beautification process” requires time and energy!….At least 30 dedicated minutes — of me juggling a flat iron, bronzer, hairspray, my latest and greatest makeup from Sephora…and I haven’t even opened my closet door YET. And let’s not forget about the times when I forget to re-apply deodorant…and find myself driving back home…wasting another precious seven minutes, then realizing I misplaced my earrings. I swear, if I could take all the hours I have “prepped” for dates, I could have conquered the Boston marathon by now.
Second — the date. For those of you NOT dating, imagine a never-ending sales call…with rotating characters. My friend Miranda decided to take a break from dating on the grounds of…“I can’t tell my life story AGAIN to anyone else!” I get it. It’s exhausting rehashing my past…again and again. I start repeating myself…as my eyes glaze over…losing track of WHAT I’ve said…and to WHO. There’s a popular expression, “everyone has a story.” Well, I’m pretty sick of sharing mine. Unlike a children’s book, I can’t keep reading my story over and over. If I have to “tell my story” one more time, I may just start making crap up and and call it a novella.
I’ve thought about making a flow chart – or a power point presentation – complete with the U.S. map and important decades. Perhaps a whopping big timeline to pass out to my dates? I can note “life stages” in green, “ex-boyfriends” in red, and “career highlights” in orange. Instead of looking at the menu, my date can just read my timeline. If he’s interested, he can stick around – if not – I won’t have to waste 1.5 hours making giddy yet intelligent small-talk.
And third — the goodbye. This is the MOST mentally exhausting part of the evening. I’m standing at a fork in the road. I either – A. Obsess about HOW to blow the guy off quickly and painlessly while running to my car – OR – B. Anxiously wonder if he will ask me out again – because he fulfills 9 out of my 10 requirements and I secretly dig him. Such pressure either way!
Then the cycle starts ALL OVER — as soon as the next evening. Ouch. It gets worse when you realize you only have 6 hours of shut-eye to prepare.
Yes, I know dating is a “numbers game.” But eventually, I’ll start billing my dates for overtime. All this “pimpin myself out” is costly and timely. And unfortunately, refunds don’t exist.
Well, gotta run and go plug in my curlers… only 45 minutes til my suitor arrives…and I still have to vacuum and floss.
After a night of "pimpin myself out"
