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

A Diggity Dog Weekend in Colorado for Pups

As everyone knows (I’ve heard your giggles), I’ve been carrying around a stuffed dog named Pups the Traveling Labrador the past week.  Pups “mom” found my blog, then sent Pups for a Colorado visit. For the last four years, he has traveled the globe…posing in front of random, beautiful, breathtaking, and humorous locations.  I’m proud to add Vail to Pups’ list of favorite destinations…

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Let me introduce you to the traveling labrador dawg named Pups…
Who said a lot more than “woof” and “ruff-ruff.”

Visiting his new friend, Leaza, Pups headed west…
And gave Denver (along with Leaza’s kids Waylon and Lilly) his doggie-do best….

First to the Colorado State Capitol to check out the sights…
Next to High Noon Entertainment to his doggie delight.

He wrote a script in Leaza’s TV producer cube…
Then worked in the editing bay with his quick creative moves…

Finally before leaving…Pups made a new friend…
Emma, a therapy dog, who had a helping paw to lend.

Early that evening, Pups cruised west on I-70…
Heading to Vail, he knew fun and craziness would be a-plenty…

The night began in Vail Village via a shuttle bus…
He and the crew met many people – including a granola guy named Gus.

A quick stop at Vendetta’s yielded some awesome pizza as a kicker…
Pups finally cut loose and ordered his own pitcher!

Next – dancing at “The Club” – making friends with the ladies…
Pups thought he had died and gone to heaven…and barked, “Oh baby.”

Pups found his way onstage – hanging with the band.
Posing as a backup singer – he felt this was his “life-doggie plan.”

The night ended (in the morning) with Pups snoring in bed….
With visions of snowboarding and Vail blue skies dancing in his head.

Day one of snowboarding started with a bang.
Pups rode up the lift from Lionshead with Leaza and her gang.

Pups picked up pointers from other boarders who offered assistance…
Soon he was riding on his own – this dawg growled persistence!

Before long, Pups was boarding where no dog “had gone before…”
Also –  meeting new friends – eternally partying from his inner core…

He bumped into his Scooby Do, his favorite compadre and hero…
Then conquered some more mogul turns…before his energy dropped to zero…

Day two of skiing and boarding…Pups arose tired and feeling a wee sick.
A cup of strong coffee, some advil, and H2O quickly did the trick!

The last day of Vail Closing Weekend began on a lift heading up…
Leaza and her “dressed-up” gang brought along Pups as he considered himself one “lucky duck…”

Adorned with shades, Pups caught some rays atop Blue Sky Basin…
Hanging with fellow dudes, picnicking, and enjoying periods of just lazin’…

Putting his snowboard aside, he ponied up to some beverages on ice….
Checking out crazy costumes…he howled with laughter and thought, “Dude, this is nice!”

Later that night, Pups recorded all his memories in his pawesome personal book…
He thought to himself…”After a long weekend in sunny Colorado, I’m hooked!”

“Dear Leaza” he wrote…”You are a loyal ‘dog’s best friend.’
In lieu of more laughter, mountain views, and partying….Please let me know when I can visit again.”

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 3^rd 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…..

He’s Cute, But Not TOO Cute

Imagine my excitement when I strolled into my much anticipated ”latest” and sometimes “not-so-greatest” eHarmony date…saw my date “in the flesh” for the first time…and gleefully exclaimed to myself, “Yeah!…he’s cute, but not TOO cute.”

Let me set the scene:  Running a fashionable seven minutes late (standard for Leaza)…dressed in my fave jeans…I waltzed into a Cherry Creek bar having NO expectations.  (That’s a hard and fast rule in online dating..have NO expectations.  That way if the guy is a dud…you can avoid devastation in advance.)

Anywho…..As I sauntered into the english pub and spotted “the guy” sitting at the bar, I delightfully discovered that while he was indeed “attractive,” Matthew McConaughey – he wasn’t.  And THIS just made him more appealing.  He was “cute,” but not TOO cute.  In fact, while I thought he was cute, some of my friends would probably turn their cheeks.  And I was OK with that.

I’ve learned the hard way that, yes, even in your mid-30s, hot players still exist.  And embarrassingly enough, I’ve shed a few tears over certain assholes…in private and in public.  You would think men would eventually outgrow the “playa syndrome,” but poll my single girlfriends and they’ll proclaim in unison the epidemic still lives.  Typically the men carrying the strongest strain of this virus – are the ones EASY on the eyes…and HARD on the heart.  They LURE you in with their handsome looks, and somehow you think, “Maybe he’s different?”  But….he’s not.  The lesson doesn’t seem to stick.

Sure, sure sure….appearance counts in the dating world.  I mean who doesn’t want a hot guy to drool over?  (Especially one who still takes center stage wearing a ratty shirt with a 5 o’clock shadow…)  But my strategy is changing.  Today, I’m focusing on overall health and physique.  I call it the “gut check.”  Is this guy going to have a large gut when he’s 40, 50, or 60?  If the answer is yes, yes, and yes…usually my response to “wanna go out again?”…is No, NO, and NEVER.  Not that I’m really opposed to certain guts….instead I’m more opposed to the “end result” of big guts:  heart attacks, couch potatoes, an endless supply of Cheetos, and acquiring a large gut myself (since I’ll clearly be living an unhealthy lifestyle if I end up with this “type.”)

Also, in Denver…dudes have NO reason NOT to be in shape.  You can ski, hike, or cycle almost any day of the year.  If I’m out busting my ass to look good, why can’t these single guys bust theirs?  Of course I’m not expecting my “Mr. Right” to mimic Lance Armstrong or David Beckham…but please don’t turn into Archie Bunker.

So in simple terms…I’m an “anti-gut” kind of girl.  I don’t “do guts.”  That’s my dating deal breaker for 2010.

By the way, I’m “cute”…but definitely not too cute………..this guy however, NOT SO CUTE!!

NO GUTS ALLOWED!!!!!

Profile Pic Pitfalls…What NEVER to Post Online!

Often times, we only have one shot to make a good impression. Whether it’s in person – OR in the virtual world of online dating.  It’s human nature to quickly judge based on appearance.  We can’t fight it…nor can we hide it.

And truth be told, I am BEFUDDLED after perusing the pictures some Denver men choose for their online dating profiles.  It’s as if their buddies secretly logged in to their eharmony and match.com accounts and played a cruel joke…posting a plethora of the WORST, most dorky, unflattering mug shots…borderline…blackmail material.

Some of my favorite RECENT “jaw-on-floor” findings include:

10.  guy riding a donkey wearing a white “wife beater” circa 1992 (I felt sorry for the donkey and almost called PETA.)

9.  smiling dude sitting in monster truck with gun rack mounted right behind his head (I bet you voted for Obama, right?)

8.  anything that looks like it came from “Glamour Shots” in the mall! (Does that place even exist anymore?)

7.  guy surrounded by his nieces and nephews to illustrate he “likes kids” (No, really you just look creepy.)

6.  man dancing at a wedding with his poor date’s eyes “blacked out” (As if that conceals your ex-girlfriend’s or ex-wife’s identity)

5.  guy wearing an earring of any sort!  (Soooo Kirk Cameron and “Charles in Charge!”)

4.  shirtless man covered in face and body paint standing outside Invesco Field displaying Bronco pride (You need to head to the gym after the game.  And that wig isn’t helping either.)

3.  dude dressed up as woman for “Halloween” (Which team are you batting on here?)

2.  guy wearing spandex (ONLY acceptable if you’re on a bike!)

And the BEST/WORST of all:

1.  man dressed in camouflage proudly holding up the deer he just shot and killed with his buddies (This isn’t the NRA website mister.)

It’s scary to think these photos represent the “best” these men have to offer.  If these are the “good pictures,” what about the “bad ones?”

Yep, the old saying goes, “a picture is worth a thousand words.”  In this case, though, I’m downright speechless.  Mum’s the word.

What’s with the Foreign Accent? Because, I Really Want to Hear More.

I’m a sucker for foreign accents.  Especially if the accent is coming from the lips of an attractive male, relatively close to my age, and clearly single.  Ooo-la-la.  Throw in proof of dual citizenship, a Denver address, plus a full head of hair…and this american kitten is smitten!

I admit I have dated a handful of foreign men.  “Nic” was my first foreign love – an adorable German fighter pilot who I met early in my journalism career.  Distance ended the relationship, but I felt lucky living up my own version of “Top Gun.”

No…I don’t go for the “dark and handsome” latin-lover look.  (I’m tooo pasty white for those sun-worshipping types!)  Instead, I prefer the slender European man, outfitted with refined stature, and topped off with “oh-so-sexy” high cheekbones.  Yes, we would make beautiful children.  The kind who end up in the J.Crew catalogue.  Happy sigh.  Or plastered on a Target billboard.  Double sigh.

So imagine my delight when I bumped into a “certain someone” last week at sultry Second Home (lounge bar), in Denver.  I had JUST put my coat on…about to exit the dark premises…when I caught a fixed sexy glance from a tall, classy looking guy.  Instead of looking away like a schoolgirl, I stared right back, waited a few seconds, then sauntered over with purpose.  I would either float – or sink- and I was willing to take my chances.  After all, when you’re searching for Mr. Right, who cares if you get blown off by multiple Mr. Wrongs?  (Having two strong cocktails certainly didn’t hurt either.)

He saw me coming and smiled.  I then busted into his mini circle of men, and bravely said, “Heeeelllo…”  Noticing my coat, he teased, “You’re not leaving already, are you?”  I stopped in my tracks as his words floated out of his mouth, MESMERIZED by his “I’m clearly not from the U.S.A.” accent.  Aahhh…my international man of leisure…right here in good ole Denver.

It only took me about .3 of a second to whip OFF my jacket and come face to face with Mr. International Man.  Conversation ensued and he divulged in his syrupy accent, “I’m originally from Belgium, but I’ve lived in the states for 19 years.  I live and work in Denver.”

Yes ladies, I love Belgian beer, and crave Belgian chocolates.  But hands down, I could easily adore and get addicted to a Belgian boyfriend!

As we continued chatting, I became oblivious to his work colleagues – he became oblivious to my girlfriends.  I was giggling – he was laughing…when out of the blue he asked, “So when do you want to go snow skiing?”

Those words, my friends – MUSIC TO MY EARS.  Not just the accent part, but the “skiing” part.

He grabbed his phone, plugged in my digits, and it was a painless “done deal.”  Looking over my shoulder, I noticed my galfriends…aka…loyal wingwomen…sprawled on a couch, bundled in their jackets, clearly ready to leave the bar since it was almost midnight on a school night.  Miranda jumped up, walked over to Belgian Boy, then put him on the spot, “So, did you get her phone number?” He looked somewhat started by her directness, then answered, “Yes.”  She looked at me and stated, “Good to know.  Now Leaza, it’s time to go.”

As I followed Celeste and Miranda to our car, I smiled…replaying THAT sexy accent over and over in my blond brain.  Maybe he thought my somewhat southern accent was hot in return?  Hmmmm….Doubtful…but hopeful.

Later that night, I wondered….What if Belgian Boy was NOT from Belgium?  What if he was from Chicago?  Or hailed from someplace like Des Moines?  Would I like him as MUCH “sans” the accent?  Would I still be intrigued?  Did his accent provide an advantage over american men??

Truth be told….I probably wouldn’t be AS smitten.

I look at it this way – a foreign accent is kind of like bubbles in a bubble bath. (Dudes, quit reading now.)  Sure, you love a hot soak when you’re feeling tired or depressed….but add some bubbles, and suddenly things turn tastefully more fun.

Body Shop, anyone??  And don’t forget the Chimay.

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In case you’re wondering….Belgian Boy did call.  And he’s a darn good skier….

I'll take a Belgian Man over a Belgian Beer!

Blessed with BFFs…not the Boy Kind

Last night, my date of the night exclaimed, “Wow, you have a lot of single friends.”

Yep, I do…and I covet every single one of them…the ones who live close, the ladies who I’ve left behind, and the ones I haven’t met – YET.

Before you criticize me for using a childish acronym to describe my divas in crime…consider this…My BFFs give me the courage to survive my PMS, my mom’s incurable MS, my stepmom’s OCD, my dad’s BADH (beating a dead horse), my younger brothers’ BS, and any and all dudes MIA or AWOL.

Where would I be without my girlfriends, AKA, surrogate sisters?  Hmm…probably with a double muffin top, borderline insane, and watching infomercials on Saturday night.  Lovely.

Finding all these lovely gals WASN”T easy. Making new SINGLE girlfriends in your 30s is similar to dating.  You catapult yourself into a million activities, pimp yourself out in stylish clothes, make fun conversation – and pray you stick to someone else – or that she finds you completely hysterical and begs for your number.

In your 30s, it’s tough.  Women are exhausted with their careers, family commitments, appearances at one-year old birthday parties (SNORE), work-out schedules (UGH), and  oh yeah – DATING.  And just like dating, sometimes you click – and sometimes you don’t.  And there doesn’t seem to be a formula for either.

Last summer, when I moved to Denver, I found myself on the prowl for single galfriends.  Like many Denver newbies, I joined meetup.com and bravely sauntered into several hiking, social, and outdoor groups.  BINGO!  When I showed up to my first event, I met about a dozen women just like me — lasses who dreamed of living and working in Colorado – and who followed their dream out west.  Within a month, I met my “long term lady matches” – Miranda and Celeste.  We often laugh that a last minute Friday night happy hour at Lola’s – turned into “our first official date.”

For some random reason, the three of us just mesh.  We’re NOT the same, we’re actually somewhat different.  As the “Triple Trifecta Act.” we work the bars with ease and prowess.  I’m the tall, all-american blonde…Miranda is the demure, outdoorsy, and cute brunette…and Celeste is the petite, flirtatious Filipino.  Truth be told, I’m not usually attracted to stylish, designer-obsessed men from California, but for some reason Celeste melts my heart with her diva demands and hysterical sentiments.  And though I’m determined to find a “man” who snow skis like moi, I’m perfectly content Miranda prefers snowshoeing and is currently counting down the days til summer activities.

It boils down to this…Celeste, Miranda, and I share a similar social spirit.  Just like the moon, we can wax and wane, and tremendously whine to each other in between.  Kinda like comfort food…minus the calories.

The Trifecta!

As MUCH as we single ladies complain (hem and haw) about NOT having a man…I prefer to look at it this way….what a wonderful window in our lives!  I don’t want it to shut…god forbid…anytime soon.  While many married people consider their spouses “their best friends,” I have the privilege of calling several women in my life – my best friends.  Some I talk to every day, some only every few months, some not enough at all.  But, ladies, you know who you are – and I’m guarding your tall tales til the final hurrah.

Someday when I’m a granny, my mind will flash back to my (as we call it in TV) “sizzle reel.”  I’ll remember searching for the elusive “black taco” for two hours straight, the pub crawls where we crawled nowhere but home, living it up on sorority homeowners’ row, partying on a country band’s tour bus, dancing on stages, the occasional cat fight and ubiquitous bitch sessions, wearing each other’s clothes, and laughing and crying within the same five minute span.

I’ll sit in my rocker….LMAO and think OMG…what a ride.  Pour me another cranberry and vodka.  And don’t H2O it down.

An Oldie...but Goodie...

If you like this post, share it with someone special… (And to my married friends…your post is coming soon.)

Finding “7 Minutes of Heaven” in “8 Minutes of Speed Dating”

In an effort to sniff out Mr. Right…I decided to travel where I’d probably meet a lot of Mr. Wrongs…at least initially.  So this past week, armed with a sense of humor and a vodka-induced fearless attitude, I walked into an 8 Minute Speed Dating Event.  (By the way, they are NOT paying me to write this.  If so, they’d demand a big-honkin’ refund.)

As I signed in as a first-timer at “Sushi Hai” (posh joint in the Highlands neighborhood) I felt as if I stepped back in time – TO JUNIOR HIGH.  The ladies were clustered in a corner, talking up a storm as “chatty-cathys,” while the dudes lined up against the back wall, only saying max-three-word sentences while scoping out possible ladies-of-the-night.  (Think 16 Candles.) Both groups clutched their alcoholic beverage with purpose and charm.

To share the love, I bullied my attractive 42-year-old neighbor, Paul, into escorting me.  While he had his eyes peeled for 25 yr olds who looked hot, my eyes were open for 37 yr olds who appeared stable.

To those of you – A. living under a rock – or – B. the lucky few who have been married for DECADES – speed dating works like this:  I show up and have a random lady slap a name tag on my shirt.  I am then graced with a card containing 8 table numbers.  I find my first table and wait for one “lucky” guy to strut toward me.  Feeling like a muppet, I then make giddy-yet-highly-intelligent conversation for 8 minutes until I hear a bell.  (In most cases – should have been a gong.)  Then – this adult musical chair extravaganza recycles with another lad.  In between dates, I secretly take notes on each candidate, so I can enter my matches online later that night.

Soooo….how was it?  Let me introduce the contenders:

First guy was most likely a lumberjack in his previous life – based on his wardrobe that somehow traveled though time.

Second lad wore a long, black, thick Matrix-like jacket.  He told me he JUST moved to Denver from Phoenix so he was “entitled” to be cold.  I felt I was “entitled” to get my 8 minutes back.  He never asked me ONE personal question – instead he kept insisting I go “clubbing” with him.

Third dude I spotted wearing cowboy boots.  I assumed he was from Texas.  He wasn’t.  Instead – he lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming – and traveled two hours to Denver for 8 Minute Speed Dating!  When I pulled my jaw up off the floor, I noticed his name was Axle.  Sweet Child of Mine, you drove all this way?

The rest of the guys were honestly – ho-hum.  However, during intermission I spotted two men (in the other group) who appeared yum-yum.  I could have stood back and waited, but realizing I only had moments to make my move, I walked up and said “hi” in my sassy southern accent.  Conversation ensued, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I finally felt some sparks.

Overall – in hindsight, I made a mistake.  When I signed up, I asked the organizer what group to choose – ages 25 though 35 – OR – ages 36 through 49?  Being right on the “cusp,” she told me to go younger.  But I realized throughout the night, the men “my age” -  were in the older group.  I would rather filter through a few dud 45 yr olds – in hopes of crossing paths with available 36 yr olds.  Aahhh…lessons learned.

Would I do 8 Minute Speed Dating again?  You bet!  After all, I like roulette.  The game produced two matches, so I feel like a winner.

And for those of you who question the concept…think about it this way — We often give a “bad date” 60 painful minutes – why not play the odds and give a POSSIBLE good one 8?

FYI: My neighbor Paul did not find the 25 yr old woman of his dreams…but he did leave with the bartender’s number.  I think that counts.

It’s a Small Match.com World After All

Watch out where you meet your Match.com dates in Denver! Recently, I found myself in quite a pickle at the Wash Park Tavern. Thursday nights, this place is crawling with match.com-ers. Heck, next time this girl’s gonna demand an online daters’ drink special…
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Girl rushes into a crowded bar…running seven minutes late. Looks for 6’5” match.com “never-met-this-dude” date of the night.

Randomly spots attractive guy who looks vaguely familiar sitting at bar, alone, as if expecting someone. He makes eye contact, smiles, stands, and starts strutting toward her.

Girl suffers mini heart attack as she racks her blonde brain – questioning WHO she is supposed to meet this current evening. Guy A, Guy B…or Z?? Her high-heeled feet freeze.

In about a millisecond, she recognizes “random man approaching her” based on a computer screen photo. She struggles…

Starts hyperventilating as she realizes she has communicated with this guy virtually, but never in person, nor over the phone. Scans around..searching for her “real date of the night” because this guy is clearly SOMEONE ELSE’S first date of the night. Takes a deep breath.

Guy walks up and suavely says….”Hi Christy!” Girl smiles, in shock, then replies…”Noooooooo, I’m Leaza.” Dude’s face flip-flops, sensing his faux-pas. She then gives him a cat-like “knowing” look and murmurs, “But you DO know me.”

Guy quickly realizes this “damsel in distress” is one of his OTHER online blondies from his giant match.com virtual dating posse. But NOT his soiree for tonight. He flashes back to her profile pics, as they stare into each other’s eyes, knowing this could turn awkward QUICKLY for all four parties involved.

The duo does not speak, but somehow telepathically communicates the plan: Exit the scene graceful before anyone gets hurt – or humiliation takes over. More importantly – BEFORE THE “REAL DATES” CATCH ON.

Girl turns 90 degrees and spots her 6’5” “present date” approaching…looks back at “future date”…then laughs as if catching up with an old friend, “It was great seeing you. Let’s talk soon.”

Guy smiles and says, “Definitely. How about next week?” Girl spins on her heel, relishing in their Academy Award winning performances. She slyly greets 6’5’ Guy, but can’t keep her mind off Future Guy.  She knows he will email her later that night.

Seven minutes later a gal named Christy rushes in…

TO BE CONTINUED….

On Match.com...it's a SMALL world!!! (especially at the bars)

Big Decision for the New Gal in Town…

Being the brand spankin’ new kid in D-town (Denver), I’d thought I’d give online dating a shot.  So, on a whim, armed with my credit card digits – a plethora of recent party-girl pics – and multiple images of me conquering the great outdoors, I logged on to several of (what I call) the “me-bay” sites.  I felt perfectly fine to take ownership of my singledom and market myself to the millions of morons, mullets, macho-men, and Mr. Rights living in the Denver demographics in hopes of finding one decent dude or hot “dudley do-right.”   After all, I’m a hot commodity, so why not market to the masses and put U.S. capitalism to work, right?  I remembered the good ole’ lesson of supply and demand from 8th grade economics.  Limited supply of awesome, available women (i.e. ME) equates to high demand from rich, hot, down-to-earth bachelors (i.e. THEM).  Throw in a ski condo, some fine wine, a labrador mutt who adores hiking…and the deal becomes even better, sweeter, and BEYOND palatable…

Which online dating site would I choose?  Hmmmm..did I prefer the open “card catalog” approach of match.com…or the “secret ballot” style of e-harmony?  For one brief moment I was sold on eHolyHell.com (a.k.a. eharmony), but ultimately decided those commercials were too darn cheesy for moi to appear during future primetime TV lineups (if AND when I did meet Mr. Hot-Dudley-do-right).   Besides, I always wondered….where were the commercials portraying the “not-so-cute” people?  Those couples seemed to be missing from the airwaves, as if some rich white old/fat/bald guy in an eharmony sterile board room ironically instilled a “no fat/boring/ugly person rule.”   Being a dewey decimal girl at heart (and secretly thinking the card catalog approach would work in my favor), I flippantly decided on the match.com 90-day subscription, figuring that would equal more than enough minutes for all the fab singular D-town dudes to fawn at me virtually, in hopes of rubbing knees with me physically.  I was salivating at the anticipation of my first wink, that first email…before I even clicked on the “new user” icon.  This my friends….was gonna be fun.