Friday, March 31, 2006

Ex-Why-Zee Period

Can this town get any smaller? It's official. I have dated anybody I am ever going to date here. Until the new boys move in town. Case in point. The two guys I am tossing around these days (translation: seeing) both just moved to DC in the last 4 months. And, yet, only one of them is southern. Although the other one has been in Austin for the past several years. I am giving him a pass. I like southern boys. Maybe that is what I am doing wrong. Maybe I need a good midwest boy. [Let's reel her back in because this post is getting very regionalist and she's not like that really --say the voices in my head]

And so when you have gone out with all the guys you are going to for now, you run into the old ones. I have no problem running into them per se. Unless I am in my yoga pants and no makeup and ratty ponytail in line at the CVS buying a pound of chocolate and In Touch magazine and batteries. Or, worse: UNLESS THEY ARE WITH A GIRL. Um, it's all about me, don't you know? They are supposed to be pining away for me. Certainly they shouldn't have lost 15 pounds. And they shouldn't be, like, president of their firm now. And not buying $1 million houses. And they shouldn't be mauling a tacky bottled-blonde. And they shouldn't come up in my online matches. And they MOST CERTAINLY shouldn't be getting married.

I have secretly wished them all to gain 50 pounds, lose their jobs, move in with mom and dad, and date their hand - or forever stay in the closet. Gay as some may be.

But apparently this isn't the case as I learned from recent brushes with death - er, the past.

Run-in #1: Let's start with this guy. Who was also this guy. And then ended up as this guy.

Brief history: Met in June '04. Dated casually for three months. He is extremely successful. Very metro-sexual. Climbs mountains. Very knowledgeable with indie music and 80's college radio. We could talk for hours trying to stump each other with "bet you never heard of [this band]." We stopped seeing each other because I-don't-know but it had something to do with me still being hung up on The Yukkell (see below). I couldn't let him go so I let the guy go. Fast forward to a year ago, April '05 when things were FINALLY over for good (as in 100% out-of-my-life) with The Yukkell, I called him back up. We met up and just never geled this time. I made the mistake of telling him about The Yukkell. Perhaps he didn't like being second best. So we fizzled a month later when he canceled on going to a wedding with me a week before it was to happen on account of a date with a tailor in NY. Or, more apt, a case of just-not-that-into-me.

Close encounter of the I'm-A-Loser-He's-The-Gloater Kind: Wednesday night show at 9:30. A venue we last saw Gang of Four play back in May. But Wednesday night, it was Stellastarr - a band I know he isn't a big fan of. "They're rip-offs," so says the critics. Whatever. And the Editors (great band! but don't they sound a lot like Interpol so I would argue all music is converging as it usually does - so-called-indie music is saturation overload and 80's derivative anyway, but I digress as usual) - so the Editors - a band I knew he would be into these days.

So, of course, there was a possibility he would be there. I went up to the spot that he taught me as being the best spot to stand - upstairs center stage. If he was there, I was prepared for him to be with a buddy or alone. I wasn't prepared that he would be with another girl. I mean, we all thought he was gay. And not just because he would be late to pick me up because he couldn't break from "What Not To Wear." And not because he flew to London to have his clothes made. And not because he loved to watch golf on tv only to see the "ensembles." And not because it took him 7 dates to kiss me. But here he was with a girl and they were very close. Touching. Intimate. They threw off the we've-been-in-bed-all-day-threw-on-clothes-because-oh-my-god-look-at-the-time-we-have-tickets-let's-not-make-the-bed vibe. It was the baseball caps and t-shirts that gave it away. What I saw: Him: happy. Me: alone. My posse wasn't yet there. Our eyes locked. I brushed past him alone. He held my stare and then I did my whole freaking out looking away and running away thing. Nothing to do anyway. I don't owe him a thing. Then I put my glasses on and stood over in the corner cowering behind some guy so he wouldn't see me. Alone. And who cares anyway? But I hope I looked hot.

Afterthought: I kind of missed him. Something about him. I was really sad over the night and all day until something (to come below) snapped me out of it. But he looked really good. He clearly lost 15 pounds and he was dressed so casual. No tailor made that windbreaker for him. And sneakers! He looked relaxed. Something I never got to see. And he was with a girl wearing a baseball cap and t-shirt. It was so not the guy I knew. With me, he was always over-the-top with his pocket squares, drinking his Makers. Did he put on airs with me then? He's the one living in a million dollar house.

Postscript: Several months ago - about the time I started seeing Peter Pan - I was having drinks in "his bar." I asked the bartender about him with just this, "Has Carson been in here lately?" And the bartender immediately recognized me and said, "Oh, you're the girl - the wedding - wait - I can't say any more. He just gave me a bunch of Hugo Boss suits." So he stopped talking. I always wonder what that was about.

Run-in #2: The infamous Yukkell (the guy who drove me to blogging)

Brief history: God, where do you start with this one? All I can say is we were best friends, moreso than boyfriend/girlfriend, for 5+ years. We were in each other's life practically every day over that period. We shared a lot. Our intimacy was mostly on an emotional level. We both went through a lot together. When my dad died, he was there. When his mom died a year later, he turned to me. When he lost his job, he took it out on me. He was emasculated and so that is when the emotional abuse started, or was it alwasy there? (water under a bridge now) He confided a lot of pain in his life and only I know some of the depths he has sunk to, things he has endured. I understood him better than people could understand why I stayed with him. Sure, I probably gave more than he gave.

OK? So how did it end? Well, his ex-girlfriend (college girlfriend) called him after 10 years for "legal advice." See, her husband just died and left her with four little girls and she needed "help." She pulled out all the stops (without getting into specifics because it really is none of my business and obviously very personal business). He never treated her very nice in their relationship so his guilt got the better of him. I think he wanted to be needed afterall. His friends, family - everyone - told him he was making a huge mistake in helping her. YET, I was the one person who supported him and told him to explore their relationship again. I "let" him go.

So, this is why I don't understand this coming from him...

Run-in of the Not-Exactly-A-Run-In Kind: Because, um, he runs from me. Literally. A month or so ago I was at a bar (go figure) one Saturday afternoon. A couple hours later he and his whole posse of friends entered bar. The majority of the guys came over to sit at my table to chat. He went to their "regular" table with others in his crowd and then when he saw me on the other end of the bar he hightailed it out of there. Seriously. And the past few weekends he has avoided our mutual friends gatherings to watch the LSU games. His beloved home state. He has told his friends he doesn't want to see me.

Afterthought: Why is he avoiding me? The last time I saw him was a little over a year ago and I look fondly on that weekend. It was very intimate (not sexually in the least or at all). He was trying to get me to beg him to choose me. Conversation was interesting. Between us. I miss him solely as a friend. And that is it. For my own reasons, I will always have this huge part in my heart for him. Yet, he avoids me. I see only a couple reasons why: 1) he thinks I am going to cry cry sob and beg for him back (as he is moving to houston in a few weeks and marrying the girl and being daddy) - in which case he would be so wrong - I've got enough men in my life these days - and I will ALWAYS wish him the best; 2) he doesn't want to see me as the girl who has moved on because as long as he has known me I have been faithful supporter to him putting him on a pedestal and maybe he wants his last memory of me to be a sweet one - like our last weekend; or 3) he can't control himself around me (he never could) he was just as fixated on me as I was with him. But really, I know him, he makes a decision and never looks back.

I really mourned him like a death. I will never see him again...

Run-in #3: Peter Pan who is now the Johnny Jerkface.

Brief history: Is that necessary really? Because aren't you sick of it? I am, but the progression went something like this. And this. And this. And this. And this. And this. And then sputtered here. To here. Crashing here.

Run-in of the Trolling Kind: He is online now! I am waiting for him to show up in my matches like he did before. So I guess things didn't work out with the bimbo I saw him hanging on when we were on a "break." But I stumbled across his little profile on a fluke. I have been periodially typing his username in not really expecting to see it because I thought that perhaps his disappearing act was attributable to another girl. But when I typed it in the other day his ugly mug popped up on my screen and my reaction was a yelp, I slammed my laptop shut and jumped out of my seat. Knee-jerk reaction, I know. Over-reaction, I know. I mean, he can't really see me, right? Wrong. I probably just showed up in his "who's viewed you" log. Lovely.

And yet,

Afterthought: Smug retribution because he is back to square one too and apparently still in the closet.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Kids, Stay Out Of The Sun Or You Just Might Get An X-Rated Post

I grew up in Florida never using sunscreen and living very near a beach. So I have spent a lot of time in the sun. Sure, my mom slathered sunscreen on me when I was younger but as I got older it was probably my responsility to attend to my own sun blockage and, well, that went by the way-side. In fact, I would use the tan accelerator. Caribe made a good one or a bottle of canola oil would work just as well.

I'm not proud to admit that I still use very little (translation: none) sunscreen. Last summer at the beachhouse? Never used sunscreen. And I do know better. I read Natural Health and Self and they are telling me, "Sun badddd!" I know it. The wrinkles and the cancer risk. I know it. Yet it just goes with my live-for-the-moment thinking that disallows me to look anywhere in my future for an impact of what today may have on it. Therefore, sun tanning only equals olive complexion. That is as far as I can see it. For the most part. Because it does weigh on me slightly. So I do my part and get my moles checked every couple years and that hard lump 0n my arm too. I am told all my moles and freckles are no concern right now so that is good news but I always have the most interesting visits to the dermatologist.

My first visit a couple years ago - I ended up being a medical case study. A class project. Folks, I was a lab rat.

It started with the usual walk back to a little room with the nurse informing me of protocol. "Put the robe on, opening in the back. Strip down to your underwear."

Then a young female doctor in a white coat entered the room followed by two very young-looking gentlemen sans coats with clipboards. Female Doctor let me in on the jig, "Would you mind if these Georgetown medical students observe?" And what do you say to that? At that point another doctor - the older, wiser, gray-haired one who was actually doing the mole check entered the room.

And he got down to business.

"Drop your gown."

So there I am in just my girly britches (thong, of course) with four people looking on. Yes, those interns had clipboards and were intently following the doctor along on his probe of my body. Because there is the Gray-Haired Doctor on all fours (literally!) starting at the bottom, circling me on all fours working up my legs with a blue pen circling suspect and/or of-student-interest marks. He continues to work his way up my body, pausing to inform the students of the varying sun marks. He's teaching a class, y'all and I'm the blackboard apparently. And for that dark black one right smack in between my boobs? The Old Doctor asked the interns to take a "closer look."

There I am in all my nakedness girly britches, pocked with blue circles, and eight eyeballs scanning my body. And all I can think about are my own self-image issues. Are they seeing what I am seeing?

It was horrifying. For that reason, I will never agree to interns sitting in on any kind of doctor appointment in the future.

Today's visit was not as horrifying but had its own brand of awkwardness.

First of all, the doctor looked like he had a bad sunburn and some red splotches on his face. I thought, "This is my dermatologist?" And then I thought that was good because I knew he was not going to chastise me about all my freckled sun damage. And he didn't.

Oddly, he wore this miner helmet with a headlight to scan my body. ["Are you looking for the mother lode?" --Pixies] And he had me lay down. He started at the top, ruffling through my hair and as he worked his way down my body he tore away my gown, shining th eheadlight as he went. Ripping a little here and there. So there is that and then there is the conversation to go with that. He chooses to talk about "what I do." He is very curious about librarians and librarians in law firms and are they using books anymore, etc. So while I am justifying my career I also feel I need to justify suspicious moles (i.e., my reason for being here).

So while I am trying to be cordial and talk "shop" I am really pointing out all the moles I wonder about and subsequently bringing his attention back to me and my naked body with a light scanning it. On second thought, let's talk about libraries, Doc! In the end, he thought everything on me was peachy. There were no blue circles this time.

So, if nothing is suspect, I began to question why I go to the dermatologist. Why I continually put myself through these horrifying experiences. Why I choose not to use sunscreen. Is it really worth it? Because I am practically getting felt up by my dermatologist.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Against All Odds

Tuesday night I met up with Jon Jon and all I could think about during the whole date was, "How did I end up on a date with my uncle?"

Wednesday night I met up with M and all I could think about during the whole date was, "How did I end up on a date with (a younger) Phil Collins?

Thursday night I met up with The Flirt (and Mav) and all I could think about during the whole date was, "How did I end up on a date with Jack Tripper? Three is company."

I am starting to feel that tug towards The Flirt but it is not strong enough to make me all doe-eyed schmoopie. I've got the big girl goggles on. We have a lot of fun together, moreso than any guy I have probably ever dated. And the more time I spend with him, the sexier I find him. Peter Pan and I had some fun but with him it was Grand Gesture Dating. Formal. Staid. I was courted. But to be perfectly honest, I like the ease and banter I have with The Flirt. It's No Pressure Dating. No games. I can text him at any point just to say "hi." And he will do the same. But the deeper I fall, the more I might miss romance. So perhaps he is not what I am looking for? But he does his own Pixies concerts for me and I get to do Kim's vocals. That is fun.

On Wednesday night, I was proposed to by M within 45 minutes of the date. I think it went something like this, "Your beautiful. You have the sexy librarian thing. You drink High Life. You have impeccable music taste. Now if you tell me you like sports I will have to ask you to marry me."

"Well get down on bended knee, darlin, because I do like sports. I called LSU over Duke. Who said it couldn't be done?"

And so he proposed and all I could think was, "Phil Collins just asked me to marry him."

That night, The Flirt texted me to tell me goodnight.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Tables Turned

Guy and girl hang out.
Guy cooks girl dinner.
Guy burns her many CDs of music she will like.
Guy serenades.
Guy emails thoughtful links throughout the day.
Guy drives her all around.
Guy always comes her way.
Guy would like to see her more.

Girl is kind of indifferent to guy.
Girl thinks guy is funny.
Girl has fun with guy.
Girl doesn't think she is attracted to him.
Girl thinks she only likes him as friends.
Girl and guy continue to hang out.

Then something happens.
Girl sees guy in a new light.
Or is it the effects of March Madness and alcohol?
Girl might see something in guy.
Girl finally asks guy to stay the night with her.
Guy turns her down.
"Not like this."

Now girl might like guy "like that."

Friday, March 17, 2006

I've Always Liked The Piano

I haven't been talking about my dates as of late. Trying to be church mouse about it. It has been steady. There have been some dates - none, horrific, and none, rocking my socks off. I have said it before - it is my lackadaisical approach. It is not a choice. It can't be helped.

But I will venture out now - because I got a big mouth? - no, just because one "date" is party to the following story.

Remember the guy I call The Flirt? Well it is interesting. He is actually more shy than his emailing and texting forwardness would have me believe. He calls me, emails me, or texts me everyday. Yet, I am just not that into him. I see him more as a friend. A friend that I kiss so I am possibly sending him mixed messages. Or maybe he will grow on me? Nonetheless I have gone out with him a few times. Most recently, Wednesday night.

The night is best summed up as follows:

Bon Jovi As Lounge Act

The Flirt emailed me late afternoon Wednesday to see if I would like to get together. Now, I'm not big on going out during the week, especially when I had been out Monday night and had plans for a late night on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. But because of recent stress I wanted to get out. And male attention is not a bad thing.

I agreed to a drink. Two martinis later I agreed to dinner. So off we went to a little Vietnamese restaurant. Saki was sipped. And then I found myself agreeing to having a beer. So off we went to the little piano bar across the street.

At the piano bar, there is a.....Piano Man! A guy with a piano with a schtick because Piano Man was doing his best gruff Tom Waits voice. Some may find that annoying but I kind of like a guy who doesn't actually "sing." Like The Flirt was doing (and does on most of our dates). I always get these "creative types" who hold professional jobs by day so they let out the creative spirit tenfold. For some reason, I hate guys singing from front to end, i.e., the whole song! That's fine - sing along softly, sing the chorus, sing a line in my ear. Just don't do your own performance. We've got Piano Man for that! I think The Flirt was doing his own little lounge act.

Before you ask, yes, Piano Man did play....Piano Man. Cliché police arrest that man - or me. At this point The Flirt leans into me and says something about singing this song related to something about when he played his guitar for me last week. (I was serenaded! Still, only a teensy bit of me minded the singing. Because it was accompanied by the guitar afterall. It was no a capella car-singing gig. And there is little sexier than a guy with a guitar.) Anyway, because I can't hear EVER, much less in a crowded bar I said, “Oh, is this a song you played for me?” Because there were many songs he serenaded me with. He took requests. See? It was a gig.

“No, silly, this is a piano song.”

“Big deal. That might be kind of cool to play on the guitar. Irony? Tori Amos did it with Nirvana songs. Therefore, I think you should learn it.”

I don't think he thought it possible. But I know there is a whole world of possibilities with which to reconstruct music. Take it outside its normal boundaries. I know, because I witnessed the following that night. I quite possibly saw it coming because he had just played The Band - on piano. This guy was on a roll with re-contextualizing songs. Into lounge form.

Piano Man informed the drunk sing-alongers that he was going to leave for a 10 minute break. But before he broke, he gave the crowd a teaser, “When I come back I will play something from New Jersey!”

Just like that. So the guessing began. The Flirt says that is has to be Bruce. I pipe in with the “but what about bon jovi” idea. The Flirt considered this but thought that Bruce was the more appropriate artist. His music being more translateable to a piano.

After the 10 minute break, Piano Man takes his position as Wednesday Night Lounge Act in Georgetown. Singing for dollars and pleasing crowds. Fame and glory or dashed dreams. Anyway, he started that little diddy "...from Jersey."

My friends, it was, in fact, “Living on a Prayer.” The piano version. As only a lounge act with a schtick knows how to play.

Of course, this was sung out loud. By the whole bar.


Monday, March 13, 2006

Photo Leary

I am working on this theory.

In posting an online profile, girls will comb through every photo they have EVER taken and get everybody's opinion - biased and unbiased, known and unknown. A girl believes dating success is hanging on that one photo.

In fact, you might have a "photo shoot" just to get the right picture. You might plan it around a visit to the hair dresser. Because how on earth are you ever going to get your hair as smooth as Chris - er, the hairdresser - does? Perhaps you will visit the makeup counter at Nordstrom's that day. But only because you needed new blush anyway and while you're there you may as well get the works! You will even get a manicure and pedicure. You are at your most prettiest now, girl! And you will most definitely wear your favorite underwear that makes you feel sexy. And always go with the black top. That is always flattering. After all this, you will get the right picture. But only after several takes, of course. Then you will post only those that came out "post worthy." That one with the double chin? Trash. That one from your "bad side." Trash. The one where you were trying to look sexy and ended up looking like you were just really drunk? Well, that goes on the refrigerator.

It goes without saying, that girls will post only pix where they are looking mighty hot. Because you are selling yourself, isn't that so? To girls, pretty packaging is a necessity. That is why girls have the makeup and the hair tools and the walk-in closet. Wait. Is that because WE like the pretty packaging? Or is it the guys who do? Hmm. Well, I don't know about you but I brush my hair for me. So the pretty picture? Well, if the best you have is that picture you took 10 years ago - when you weighed 105 - post it! A girl will do this. (Unless you are me, who can't take a good picture to save her life. So the above does not apply to me. Of course!)

Girls put a lot of thought and consideration in their photo posting. Because of this, they set the bar really high.

Now guys are a whole different breed. As a whole, guys don't care (or don't know any better) what picture they post. They don't put half as much thought into the lighting or the angle of the picture and whether it is a "flattering" picture or not. And they most certainly do not poll the guys: "Do you think this picture makes my nose look big?" "Should I go with full body shot or not?"How should I wear my hair?" "Should I smile or look serious?" "Should I wax?" "Would you date me?"

They most certainly do not do a photo shoot. As such, they set the bar at an even height.

One assumes that guys guys don't put any thought into the picture they post. If it is recent and they are in posession of it, they post it. They don't ask all their friends to send any and all pix they may have residing on their own digital camera. Nope, in the interest of machismo and modesty they will post any picture. It doesn't matter if they have food on their chin or if it was taken at such a close-up angle that their nose juts 3-dimensionally. These guys are rare though.

Is this really naive photo posting by the guys? Because I actually think guys do put thought into their photos - they just go about it differently than girls. Which makes them much more methodical and creative with the shots. While girls will have the pretty face shot, and maybe the one showing off their figure if they have it to flaunt, and maybe an action shot to appeal to the Sporty Spice crowd, and always the one where you are all made up in your bridesmaid dress. "Always a bridesmaid never a bride. Not woe is me. Drunk is me. Don't I clean up pretty?" There is a formula for the gal's photo posting.

The guys are all over the place. Because sometimes I just can't tell which category some of the guy's pictures fall under. The I-Don't-Care-And-Don't-Know-Which-Is-A-Good-Picture-Of-Me guy or the I-Did-A-Photo-Shoot guy? Let's look at some of these conundrums.

Like a cellphone! What is this person trying to convey by posting a picture with a phone to the ear? Does someone really think when they are posting their profile, "You know, I'm going to use that picture of me talking on the phone - you remember the one - I'm holding the phone up to my ear?" If thought went into the photo-posting, this poster might be going for - I'm technologically-savvy (but of course), I have friends (who like to talk to me), and I'm a listener (because, see, I'm listening in the picture). Or, this might simply be a case of that-was-the-only-and-most-recent-picture-I-had. And what friend is snapping photos of phone conversations?

Animal Posing
Guys seriously like to show off the little doggie. Some seem to say, "I will give you one picture of me and four of Fido. There's Fido playing catch. There's Fido eating. There's Fido biting at my leg. And there is me laying on Fido. He really is man's best friend!" When really the girls just want to see YOU. We get it, you like your dog. Conversely, you will never catch a girl posting a picture of their cat. Or maybe you do. But those girls aren't getting dates.

Action Shots
Because guys are sporty! The action shots don't bother me so much. The guy with his full-blown scuba gear? Well it certainly says, "I'm sporty." You can't see his face and just about everybody looks good in a wet suit. These guys are definitely thinking about their photo placements. They want to convey a sport they are passionate about. OR they want to show you their hot little body without saying, "I have a hot body." Or post a gratuitious shirtless photo. They mean to tell you, "I'm a swimmer. Oops, hope you don't mind speedos. And, yes, it's natural! wink." This guy shows rather than tells. Words are meaningless.

Hot Girls
Guys seem to think that a hot girl by their side makes them more attractive. I personally know guys who like to have "hot friends that are girls" because, girls, don't you flock to the one guy in the bar who is WITH a girl. I actually do not understand what the guys are seriously thinking by posting pictures with girls. But there is a lot of them.

These guys want to show you that they have been somewhere other than the Washington Monument. They have left the District and they travel! "I just went to Italy so here are 4 pix for your viewing pleasure of a place you have never been. Oh yeah, I'm not in any of them. I'm taking the photo, silly!" So you have no idea what the poster looks like, but you get to see some pretty countryside. You don't contact the boy, you contact your travel agent!

Sunglasses and Far away shots
This is iffy girls. It can go either way. I recently went out with one of those guys who either had pictures of him with sunglasses on, far away shots, and scenery. There were no close-ups, yet he was so gosh darn cool and that shot of him with the sunglasses was particular hot so I met him, all along fretting whether he was going to have a lazy eye or worse because his photos - I felt - were purposely hiding something. I went out on the Mystery Date Of The Guy With The Eyes. I had to text my friend on that date to verify his eye status. He had two working ones. He was hot in person. I think his was a case of this-is-the-most-recent-photos-I-have. Take it or leave it.

Red carpet poses
This is classic comedy for me. Seriously, I have seen quite a few photos of GUYS with the back to the camera looking back over the left shoulder. It's always the left shoulder. I can't figure out the motive on this one. Were they walking away from their friends and friend #1 shouted out, "Hey Joe!" and he turned at that moment? Candid camera indeed then.

There is not a category for the guy with the napkin tied on his head.

More picture scouring and analyzing to continue, I'm sure.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

The 'It's All About Me' Edition

It's something like my bloggiversary. So happy birthday to virtual me. I decided to mark this special occassion with a little self-absorbed navel-gazing like a 100+ list of random things about me! Yeah! The birthday is all about the birthed anyway.

1. I have a facial scar running parallel with my bottom lip.
2. The funny thing is, I am usually pretty self-conscious as a whole but it doesn't even bother me and it never really did even when it was in its bright red stages - that coincided with my teenager years.
3. Not even when I point it out to someone and they say, "Oh yeah, I can see it now."
4. It's jagged.
5. I hate perfect looks.
6. I find the unusual sexy.
7. That is why I have a major thing for Willem Defoe.
8. I was born with a crooked foot because it was wrapped around the umbilical chord.
9. I had to wear a corrective shoe for this as a baby - while other babies were sporting "stylish" booties.
10. I'm sure I thought this.
11. Perhaps that is why I have a huge fetish for shoes to this day.
12. I also had a huge ear infection when I was a baby that scarred my inner ear.
13. I had to wear a big bandage for this.
14. What I'm saying is: I was one sad looking baby.
15. People probably thought I was retarded.
16. Especially because I never smiled as a baby.
17. And I would only follow my mom around and carry a blanket wherever I went.
18. What I am saying is: I was a dork.
19. My sister fed me jelly beans when I was 2 days old.
20. I sucked the sweetness out of them and never swallowed.
21. What I'm saying is: I didn't die.
22. I only blame her for my sweet tooth.
23. I would "save" my gum and stick it on my bedpost.
24. Apparently it was good to go the next morning.
25. What I'm saying is: I was gross.
26. I have very small boobs.
27. And I like them.
28. Because I don't like wearing bras in the summer.
29. Mostly because I like wearing barely-there tank tops.
30. What I'm saying is: I'm a bit of an exhibitionist.
31. When seriously I love "style."
32. Not to be confused with "I love clothes."
33. I often rue that I didn't try to go to NY and the Fashion Institute and make a go at a career in "style."
34. I own something like 100 pair of shoes.
35. I own stock in DSW Shoe Warehouse.
36. Not really.
37. I do own over 50 scarves.
38. And I have a lot of my grandma's costume jewelry that I still wear.
39. What I'm saying is: I'm an accessory hound.
40. Hence, my nickname, Boa.
41. I am a magazine junkie - subscribing to about 10.
42. Yes, Us Weekly is one of them.
43. I only read it for the pictures.
44. I think I am an old soul.
45. I love old people.
46. I used to write my grandma everyday when I was little.
47. To this day, I have a soft spot for old people.
48. I never talk to people on an airplane.
49. Except for old people.
50. They have the best stories to tell.
51. I whole-heartedly believe that with age comes wisdom.
52. I enjoy hanging out with my 92-old aunt.
53. That woman has style and grace.
54. We antique together.
55. I knit, cross-stitch replica samplers, and quilt.
56. What I'm saying is: I'm a Golden Girl at heart.
57. My maternal grandma's name was Gigi.
58. I love that name to this day.
59. Of course it is a nickname.
60. I never got to know her because she died when I was an infant.
61. My mom's family says I have her "spirit."
62. I struggle with "life after death", the concept of heaven, and souls.
63. What I'm saying is: I'm skeptical but not necessarily a non-believer.
64. That is a sad topic for me.
65. My first boyfriend's name was Kyle Lewis.
66. He had pretty white blond hair.
67. He used to steal his older sister's stuffed animals and give them to me.
68. I never gave them back.
69. What I'm saying is: I like when boys buy me stuff.
70. Not really.
71. I feel guilty.
72. I feel guilt on a daily basis.
73. I ponder on how I did this, who said this, how it was perceived, etc.
74. What I'm saying is: I'm a ruer.
75. I have some moles I should probably get checked out.
76. So I am going to in two weeks.
77. I think George Bush Sr. - as a father - should take his son out back and give him a spanking.
78. But I don't believe in physical brands of punishment.
79. So maybe just send him to his room with no dinner.
80. I hate all politicians - democrats and republicans.
81. Perhaps I am an anarchist.
82. Not really.
83. But I do know all the words to Anarchy in the U.K.
84. I think Nader is on to something with starting a new party - as a concept.
85. Democrats are losing their self-identity.
86. That makes me sad.
87. I am a bit of an OCD.
88. I partake in some repetitive habits.
89. I'll leave it at that.
90. It hasn't gotten in the way of my everyday life.
91. OK. I'll give you one thing.
92. Sometimes I have to walk on certain tiles in my kitchen.
93. I don't know what I will do when I get a new place and possibly don't have tiles.
94. Seriously.
95. But maybe I will be cured.
96. I do alphabetize my music collection.
97. My closet is color coordinated.
98. My underwear drawer is a mess.
99. My cat is really old right now.
100. I even call her "granny" now.
101. She has worn bandages, lost most of her teeth, and doesn't walk in a straight line.
102. She has her own brand of OCD.
103. She doesn't have a boyfriend.
104. She loves to sleep in shoes.
105: What I'm saying is: Sound vaguely familiar?!?
106. Except I have all my teeth.
107. Well, except the one that has a crown in the back.
108. I go to the dentist twice a year.
109. I floss regularly.
110. And I have opposable thumbs.
111. But I do like to purrr.

Friday, March 03, 2006


I have been busy. Are you surprised? Because I'm not all crazy blabbing about it. I take two turns (usually) the I'm-in-love-y'all or the woe-is-me one. Guess what? I'm neither right now. I wasn't kidding when I said I was tired. I have now reached the point of cynical. I just don't care anymore and there is not one guy I am excited about anymore. I go on a date now and just shrug my shoulders.

Case in point: I went out (finally) with The Flirt the other night. No surprise we had one of those rock star dates that pretty much go all night. He was much more attractive in person than his pictures led me to believe. He really has everything going for him. He's cute, stylish, professional (and likes his job), into music, plays the guitar, great sense of humor, entertaining, and there is a New Orleans connection. Historical posts indicate that I should be all ga-ga. But, I'm not. Will we go out again? He wants to and we have had many email conversations since the date but I really don't care if it doesn't come to fruition. In fact, I am not even sure if I do want a second date to crystallize.

I can't place this feeling I have. Is it cynicism I have reached? Or is it a matter of "chemistry?"

Mav and I have had numerous discussions on it. She even blogged about it. Did I really have "chemistry" with Johnny Jerkface (FKA Peter Pan)? Because I was really attracted to him. My friends and family reading right now are cringing because they can't stomach him. He wasn't really cute (and his actions now make him on par with Elephant Man). Was I content on "settling" for him? Was that it really?

I thought that me and the Indie Rock Attorney (IRA) had "chemistry." But apparently he sees otherwise because we have exchanged three emails since that date and we planned on going out this week sometime (at least I thought that was what he meant when he asked, "Would you like to go out one night next week?") but, alas, he was never heard from again. Was I simply just "crushing?"

Now there is The (Smart) Flirt. He is intrigueing. He is also a Pisces - which, to him, the world is a sea of fish - why settle for one. a Pisces asks. I still let him sing Air Supply to me. Yet, I'm not clamoring to see him again. Maybe because I know that when I do, he will swim back into the sea. Our witty email banter is kind of entertaining. He is a smart flirt indeed. Gosh, and thinking back on our date, we had plenty of "me too" moments. He loves me.

Then I just don't care what I say anymore. For example: There is another date next week - a first date with the Ancient Mariner. He first suggested talking on the phone. I emailed him back and told him I'd meet for a drink but I'm not a phone person and would prefer not to. He could very well be thinking, "What kind of social moron is she that she can't carry on a phone conversation with a stranger?" Um, I would respond with, "Read this." But he is fine with that. I think he was just trying to be polite. Some girls apparently prefer to talk on the phone first. How dare they.

And then there is the other guy who looked mildly decent. He likes Paul Frank and, y'all, I love the Paul Frank. But then he had to go and ruin any mild interest on my part with, quite possibly, one of my Top Three Questions I Hate To Hear From Prospective Dates. In no particular order:

1. Why aren't you married yet?
2. What do you like to do for fun?
3. What are you most passionate about?

He asked number 3. How do you answer that? First of all, read my fucking profile, you will find all your answer there. I have many passions. And if it is a passion, you better believe it is gong to be mentioned. Second, I don't believe in having one mother-of-all passion. That makes you closed-minded and possibly one-dimensional. It is like people that are only passionate about sports and they run the Iron Man and every marathon within a 600 mile radius and drink Creatine shakes and pump iron and flex muscles and east, sleep, breath sweat. That's an example. My passions run rampant. Again, I will tell the guy, "Read my profile again, dude."

Am I just skeptical now? Because I am now meeting The Smart Flirt for happy hour. Luckily Mav is chaperoning and under no circumstances am I allowed to go home with him. Because I don't want to go down that path. He's not my next boyfriend and I won't be the latest notch in his bedpost. I think happy hour banter and flirting is all I can stomach right now.