dramazon

Behold: The Nabes

2011-12-20T11:42:00.000-08:00

There are some new boys in my life. They are adorable and fun and have good taste in music and like to surf and wear costumes and tell me when I look pretty and they will even cook for me sometimes! And they have an adorable dog that’s besties with my ~~roommate's~~ dog. They are the Nabes! Neighbor + Babe = Nabe (It’s okay, I think they like being objectified.) One has a super cute accent and really long eyelashes and the other has an unruly mop of blonde curls and enjoys fixing lots of manly stuff. And one of their friends likes Wilco and the other one likes Dinosaur Jr. Did I mention they like to wear costumes?

Call Animal Control

And their dog is so cute! He is lazy and non-committal and hogs the bed because he is a boy, but he is a top-notch cuddler. Although he's no longer allowed in our house because he ate my roommate's 10 freshly baked pumpkin muffins from off the counter. And the day before, he ate the package of chocolates that her boyfriend had sent to her from the Bahamas. But he can’t help it if he gets the munchies. (I had some time off from work for Thanksgiving, so like any normal person, I spent it taking pics and videos of two dogs that aren’t mine. I will post the video later so that you will have something awesome to look forward to.)

What else? Ummmm. We went night surfing one time. And another day we made mudslides and drank them in the sunny front yard. And back before it got dark at 4:30, we would always take the dogs up to the little park at the end of our street so they could pee on each other. (Seriously.) Sometimes they grill and build little bonfires in our fire pit. Every now and then they let me tag along on Peter Pans’ Night Out (PPNO), so I am really learning a lot about “dating” in CA. And they offer advice on how to deal with jerkfaces like GPG. Who is coming over tonight. Who I might have hung out with two weeks ago? And maybe the week before that? Whatever! The holidays are tough and I’m going to get through them in my own way. (GPG also kind of paused and stopped talking when he saw the flowers that a nabe got me for my bday. He was very jelsorama, thanks to my nabe.)

Speaking of holidays, my bff told me to get through them by embracing the few things about them that I love. Like peppermint chocolate flavored anything. I am having lots of that. I have also applied this way of thinking to dealing with the cold out in CA. I love boots, but I could only wear them in Florida, like, maybe 15 times a year. Now I can wear them every GD day. In other acclimation news, I sucked it up and bought a warm wetsuit and a space heater. I am down to only two blankets on my bed and I try not to turn the space heater past the second level. Sometimes I wear shorts when it’s cold because I know deep down inside me, there is that little idiot who used to wear her daisy dukes and a tank top every time the temp got above 50 during Ohio winters. I am confident that I can get back to that sort of asinine behavior in another year.

View at the end of my street

As far as this past year goes, it sucked and was super stressful. But now I am settling in at my job and am even starting to enjoy it since I got a promotion. I live in the best house in the best part of town. I can walk to Swami’s and crawl home from the Saloon. I have the best nabes ever. Vegas Model Judger is right up the road. My Fun Couple who moved to Brooklyn will be back for the holidays. And of course I have Sea Pony and her upcoming wedding to plan outfits for. I just need to find a date for that. I have five months to do so…

Making out With GPG's Boss

2011-11-12T21:10:00.000-08:00

So my first night back in my old house started out with a bang, but didn't end with one. After throwing all of my clothes and books in my room (but taking time to arrange my high heels), I decided to grab some dinner at my favorite restaurant. Once we sit down, I notice a guy who looks exactly like Buster from Arrested Development, so I kept staring at him all night. He took this as a sign that I liked him, and invited me to come sit and chat with him. He was super weird and I was instantly turned off and looking for an excuse to excuse myself. Luckily, he mentioned that he was in the same line of work as Granny Panties Guy, so I was like, "Oh, too bad--I don't like guys in your line of work. Sorry." He asked why and I told him that a jerkface had messed with me and hurt my feelings and that I wasn't interested in anyone in sales. He asked me what company the guy worked for and I wouldn't tell him, b/c with my luck, they were bffs. He continued to grill me so I told him and he was like, "Well, my friend over there is the VP of that company." Of course.

His friend, who epitomized tall dark and handsome, walks over. I instantly regret saying anything about GPG, because Buster informs TD&H that one of his employees was a total scoundrel. TD&H wants to play Guess the Douchebag and rattles off several names before he gets to GPG. I tell him that maybe he shouldn't work with so many dirtbags, and let him know that it was GPG. He looks at me oddly and tells me he'd already met me once when I was out with GPG. Of course.

About a year ago, on our first date, GPG took me to a little spot that has its dumb bathroom out in the alley. As I was walking out to the alley, a tall, dark and handsome man was walking in. He looked me up and down twice and gave me a cocky smile. I rolled my eyes and continued out to the annoying bathroom. I got back to the table and GPG wanted to leave because his new boss had just walked in. He points him out and TD&H walks over and introduces himself. I pointedly ignore him and he finally walks away; GPG and I decide to go elsewhere. We end up making out on the way home and then on my front porch swing for an hour.

Back to the present: TD&H is back on the scene. He makes Buster leave and TD&H and I get to know each other. TD&H turns out to be pretty interesting: We are both from Ohio and both went to college in central Florida. We both have the same jogging route. We both like to make out. And you know I have to make out with him. For blogging fodder only. My first night back in my old place and I'm pretty happy to already be making out with someone on the walk home. We get to my porch and he tries to sit on the swing, but I told him that would be too weird, so we opt for our bench instead. We talk and make out for two hours, but I'm good and don't invite him in. We end up texting all week and make plans to grab dinner that week. We both end up getting sick and reschedule dinner for the following Thursday.

And then GPG calls on Wednesday night. I hadn't been in contact with him for about a month, as I'd gotten upset when he waited for days to tell me that he couldn't go to a concert with me and I'd replied: "yes, I know you're so busy being an ahole 24/7 that it's hard to fit in anything else." Sure it was immature, but it was too good of a burn to pass up. Anyway, GPG is sooo charming and funny and really wants to see me. On Thursday. Which just happens to be on the night I'm supposed to see his boss. I instantly think TD&H bragged to GPG about going out with me. (Which was kind of the point of making out with him.) But then I wonder if I'm being paranoid. Regardless, I tell GPG that there is no way I am going out with him. He asks if I can go out with him the following week. I refuse. He asks if I will make out with him. I say no. Then he gets pouty and says that I shot him down too many times and he doesn't want to talk to me anymore. I roll my eyes and delete his number for the bazillionth time.

Bye!

I call TD&H and tell him I'm still not feeling well enough to go out. We end up having a pretty heavy conversation that was a bit much for me. I hang up and text him that I felt weird about things. He acknowledges that he got weird and I say I will call him later. He doesn't answer. He texts me that he was on the other line and that he will talk to me the next day. And that was the last I heard from TD&H. I'm guessing GPG bragged to him that I was also talking and texting to him, and he lost interest. And now I am back to having neither GPG nor TD&H to make out with on my porch swing. Of course.

The Return of Bathroom Bandit?

2011-09-26T22:16:00.000-07:00

Lots of stuff happening! A few weeks ago I was packing up my bike, boards, and bikinis so I could spend the weekend up in N. County since downtown is not very fun during the daytime. Right before I left, I got an email from my old roomie begging for me to come back (they always want me back). At first I was like hayl naw, and then the more I thought about it, the more I decided I missed My Dog and my little picket fence and my favorite surf spots. Oh, and the chocolate chip bread pudding and the on the way home makeout sessions. And friends like Sea Pony, Miss Wholesome, and Vegas Model Judger. So. I am heading back to N. County! (Give me a call if you want to help me move! I'm sure my phone will be ringing off the hook with offers to help, so just leave a voicemail and I'll get back to you in the order in which the call was received.)

Don't get me wrong, I love where I live now. It's just that downtown is full of people that I don't really get. Maybe I didn't spend enough time meeting people, but everyone down here just seems to be really into nose candy, being sedentary, and bragging about how much money they have. So if I had to choose, I guess I'll take the pseudo-spiritual, I don't own a television, let's talk about my compost bin peeps of N. County over the downtown peeps.

In the meantime, my new girl crush and I have been trying to milk downtown for all it's worth. I will call my new girl crush Queen B b/c she is a total B and does not care, and she's hot enough to get away with saying whatever she wants. And Queen B is so fun b/c she's tall, likes to wear heels and cocktail dresses, and is a total left-brained smarty pants! She is also really high maintenance and is very focused on finding a quality husband. This is good, b/c it reminds me to ask if guys have jobs. And operable cars. Win/win.

Speaking of boys, they suck. But I did pull a trifecta of 3 dates in 24 hours. Not that I meant to. (Lawless actually pointed this feat out. And because he is Lawless, he also had to mention that maybe I wasn't giving these guys enough of a chance if I was going through them this quickly. Lawless is annoying/wise like that.) The first date was with a guy that was a smack talker and was pretty hot. The other two dates were with nice guys that I had a lot in common with but zero chemistry. Smack Talker was totes adorbs on our second date, but was a total wackjob by the third date. Don't worry, there was no making out with any of them. Just some awkward quick goodnight pecks. But the third bad date with Smack Talker gave me the sads, so I called Vegas Model Judger to meet me for chicken nachos. Oh, and Bathroom Bandit came along with him because he just happened to be in town.

Bathroom Bandit was on his best worst behavior and actually kind of cracked me up the whole time. When Vegas Model Judger said that he'd literally flaked on a girl, and I was like: oh did you have dandruff?, Bathroom Bandit was like: figuratively. (I know that was bad punctuation but I don't care!) BB sees life as a Frat Pack comedy and he is Vince Vauhgn. Which was endearing after a few drinks. He pointed out several times that I really needed to let my guard down a little bit. So I did. And we made out (totes should have made out more with him last year!). But he was just pretending to be a nice guy. Don't worry, no sexy times, but it still hurt my feelings. I had the sads again, so I coped by blacking out with Queen B at my fave restaurant downtown. And then I met him.

6'4"
ectomorph
naturally hairless chest
curly blonde hair
blue eyes
distinct nose
surfer
loves to cook
only watches football during playoffs
dog lover
hip flexors to die for
outdoorsy
educated
no substance abuse/addiction issues

Perfect, right? We made out for hours but he didn't try for sexy times. And he asked me about my favorite books! (He loved John Steinbeck but I was willing to overlook that.) And he liked Ray LaMontagne! And he was manly without trying to be manly! So I was totally smitten. And I was really relieved because I had started to get scared that guys either fell into the Nice Guy category where I felt comfortable around them but didn't want to have sexy times, or the Player category where I wanted to have sexy times but felt really uncomfortable around them because I knew they were up to no good. So I was so excited that I found someone that I felt comfortable around that I totes wanted to bang! (I've calculated that this happens once every five years.)

Unfortunately, he (not worthy of a code name) didn't return my last text and things never went anywhere. (What, were you expecting a happy ending?) Pffffft. But, at least I have figured out that it won't work with someone that I don't have chemistry with, and it won't work with someone that makes me suspicious. Progress?!

And then I fell in love. He is big and black and has the most amazing hair!! He is Dutch and has some trust issues, but I feel like we can work well together once he accepts that I am the boss and he has to do what I tell him to. Duh, pervs, I am talking about my new horse! Well, I don't have $15K right now, so I have to lease him, but he is all mine one day a week! His name rhymes with penis, though. Of course. He is still awesome! This isn't him, but it's what he looks like:

But You Know It's a Lonely Ride

2011-08-14T23:35:00.000-07:00

How are things on the West Coast?

I hear you're movin' real fine

You wear those shoes like a dove

Now strut those shoes

We'll go roaming in the night

Well how are things on the West Coast?

You keep it movin' to your soul's delight

Now I've tried the brakes
I've tried but you know it's a lonely ride
How are things on the West Coast?
Oh and move heaven behind those eyes…

I have so many things swimming around in my head, so I’m not sure what to write about since nothing that exciting’s happening. Just a lot of angst and existential dilemmas. The usual. This past week was cloudy and cold so it gave me the sads. But today was sunny, so I’m canceling the move to Oahu. For now.

Let’s see, I went on some dates with some boring stable guys and also on some fun dates with bad boys who I suspect were looking for more than the peck on the cheek they got. Over it. My friend told me I was trying too hard to find someone. Well of course I am. I figured Peter Pan Diego would be way better for my career. But I also assumed that it’d be easier to find a cool boyfriend here because San Diego has a pretty large concentration of guys who love the ocean, and are active, and are probably semi-smart because they have to have a decent job if they can afford to live here. So since I put a lot of effort into making my life awesome, I thought maybe I should put some effort into finding an awesome guy.

After a year, I can say that I have no idea what makes me happy when it comes to dating. My parents were complete opposites, and their marriage sucked, so I have no desire to date my opposite. (If you still don’t believe that opposites are bad, see all GPG entries.) But someone who’s just like me would be soooo annoying. There can only be one person doing the over-analyzing, and that is me. I am tempted to scrap the dates I have scheduled for this week and just go back to filling up all my spare time with stuff that makes me happy. Oh and I can see you all being like “Yes, Dramazon. Do what makes you happy. You will find him when you least expect it."

Don’t make me puke. I am sooo sick of hearing how everyone found someone when they least expected it. Oh really? Were you walking around with zero makeup on, wearing sweatpants, eating a gallon of ice cream, and wiping the grease from your hair when you met your dreamboat? Because if you really weren’t looking, that’s what you would have been doing!!! I am doing what makes me happy. In fact, I’m a g.d. expert at it. It’s what I do best! And while I was becoming an expert at not waiting around for a guy, I never picked up the skills that you need in order to make a relationship work. So thanks for the great advice, everyone!

What do you think all of the solo vacations, solo concerts, solo road trips, solo surf sessions, solo real estate purchases, solo multiple cross-country moves, grad school, and the riding lessons were all about? I’ve never been one to follow what everyone else is doing (marry, have kids, divorce, marry), but I’m kind of starting to suspect that my independence is a crutch of sorts. I’m assuming your 20s are all about doing what you think adults are supposed to do. And your 30s are all about realizing how doing that is dumb. Or maybe no one is really all that happy, so they have another kid, or have an affair, or turn into swingers in the hopes of finding something fulfilling? That is sad. I am sad. You are sad?

Okay, enough Debbie Downer rambling. Let’s get back to what makes this blog so amazing: pics of me in dresses! I went to Opening Day at Del Mar. I was really excited because I like to wear fancy stuff and I also look really good in hats. I spent a lot of time planning my outfit. The guy I was going to go with, who I had already been out on two dates with, sent me a friend request on fb. I thought that was odd, but figured it was a sign that he liked me. Well. He stood me up for Opening Day! So I had to scramble to go with a friend who is fun because he has an accent and is actually into doing fun things like wearing hats. Here is my outfit:

I wear those shoes like a dove?

Unfortunately, Opening Day wasn’t very fun or fancy. There were a lot of stripper heels and people passed out in the bushes. Lots of great people watching, but I was kind of over after about 10 minutes. But hey, at least I got to check it out. And my horse won its race! But I’d already left and going back to claim my winnings is giving me major anxiety.

Another thing I wanted to do was go on a non-work trip to Vegas. So my friend said he had a suite with plenty of room and I should definitely spend the weekend there. I hopped in my car and made it there in 4 hours. (I was pretty excited about my time.) Obviously, Vegas is super cheesy. However, it is a place where all-night dance parties and high heels are highly encouraged. Sign me up.

Strippers don't wear Alice + Olivia thank you very much!

I am probably the only person in the history of Vegas to not have a fling. My friend acted weird, pouted the whole time, refused to dance or go to any fun pools, and told me that my dress looked stripperish. At one point he told me to get my stuff out of his room because a celebrity doctor had noticed that no one was paying attention to me and decided to chat me up/dry hump my leg. (No it was not Dr. 90210. But he was kinda close.) I am no longer friends with my friend. And when Not Dr. 90210 invited me to his pool on Sunday, I was tempted to go, but I figured it would be more fun to spend the next 7 hours sitting in traffic on the awful drive back to San Diego. Dr. Not 90210 kept texting me to turn around, but I said no, b/c I’m pretty sure I’ll never wake up one day when I’m old and regret not having had more flings with cheesy fake doctors in Vegas. I hope.

Okay, I've gotta go ~~text Granny Panties Guy~~ to bed.

Enough Pearls of Wisdom for You to Make a Necklace!

2011-07-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I can take my level of self-absorption to the twitter level, but I will try.

Dramazon's twitter

And for those of you who don't know what a romper looks like:

It's not a look that everyone can pull off. . .

I love them, but my torso is too long and I end up with c.t. which isn't really a good look for anyone.

Summer Summations

2011-07-25T23:19:00.000-07:00

I have been putting off reflecting on the past year that I've spent in San Diego. You know, because it just seems a little too boring and predictable. But allow me to be indulge myself (for once) and reflect a bit. . .

(Motown/Coral Lipstick/Shiny Dresses = You're Welcome)

For the first time ever, I have an awesome commute. I literally take the scenic route to and from work everyday. If my timing is right, I hit all the lights on my way home and feel like I'm in Starsky and Hutch as I floor it down really steep hills toward the sparkly bay. No more drawbridges to keep me from my house when I really, really have to pee b/c I have a hard time peeing in public restrooms and I've been holding it all day. No more wasting 2-3 hours of my day stuck on the Deadliest Stretch of Road in America trying to get to Boca for class or work. No more leaving for work when it's still dark out and you're sweating because it's already 85 degrees at 6:15 a.m.
I am okay with being a renter again. And having a roommate. Didn't really expect that to happen to me in my 30s, but I have realized that I need a heated pool and a water view in order for me to be happy. And I get to see fireworks every night. And you know how I feel about sparkly glittery stuff! And it is fun to talk shoes and get opinions on my date outfits from my roomie.
My ego/brain demands that I have a job where I need an access card to get to the office. I have paid my debt to society and I am okay w/ being a corporate d!ckhead once again. I feel very fortunate to have gotten away from high schoolers. And a little guilty for abandoning the altruism that allowed me to make some pretty interesting decisions over the years.
No More Project Guys. I will only date guys with jobs who don't need me to provide anything for them. Regardless of how hot and fun they are. And lean. And chiseled. With fantasgreat cheekbones. And soft blonde curls. I am okay with being vocal about not wanting to date anymore losers. This doesn't make me a bad person or a gold digger?
My friends are pretty much cooler and better and more amazing than anyone else's. I feel sooooo fortunate to have friends who love me no matter how redonk I am - I don't know how anyone goes through life without people they can trust and lean on when things get sucky.
I haven't been surfing that much. I figure I lived in a small beach town for the last 8 years and didn't have anything to do other than surf. So I think it's okay if I do other things right now. Like go to Vegas...

Black and Blue

2011-06-28T22:52:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I started taking horseback riding lessons again. It's been more than 15 years since I've been on a horse. And oh, how it shows. I've been going over tiny jumps and have been trying to build up leg muscles that are playing hard to get. But I'm glad to be doing something I love again, albeit in a decidedly graceless way. I think I always loved horseback riding because, duh, horses are awesome, and it’s one of the few sports that rewards subtlety and a light touch.

Don't give me that look!

So I fell off last week. I came out of a tiny jump and the turn was really tight and my horse wanted to go one way and I wanted him to go another. I let him win the first time, but on the second time around, I was determined to have my way. So he fought me and we were going pretty fast and also straight. I let him win at the last second and had too much momentum to hold on. (I always try my best not to bail from a 2000-lb. animal. Too many variables that you can’t control.) So the arena fence broke my fall. Nothing too major, just landed on the arm that is already gimpy from the last car accident. My horse was very apologetic. I climbed back on for another attempt and we both went the right way this time. I ride again tomorrow. Here is my bruise so that you can feel sorry for me.

I need your pity! It gives me the strength to continue posting crap like this.

So enough of my regressions back to my teen years. Keeping with the theme, I need to know which dress looks better: black or blue? They were both on sale. (If you are looking for cute, short, girly dresses that won’t break the bank, hunt around for the brands Parker and Foley + Corinna. Both labels have tons of dresses - on sale - that are loose enough so your boobs will fit in them, but not so boxy that you look like a house.)

Shoulder covered?

Or bare?

And if you have a flat butt and are looking for super soft jeans that won’t stretch out and make you look like you pooped yourself, you should check out Mother denim's skinny flare at Nordstrom. Yes, they’re expensive. I think they are made with cashemere steeped in goat's milk and caviar. You will get your money’s worth. Trust. Make sure you get the dark rinse with the seam down the middle.

If you want your legs to look amazing, regardless of your body type, you should also invest in a pair of 7 For All Mankind's “The Skinny” leggings. The sales girl swore by them, but as she was a size 0 and also 10 years my junior, I was skeptical. They are definitely tight, but they will make your legs look a mile long. Mine are about an inch too short, so I just cuff them when I wear heels. My butt still looks flattish, but other than that I wear them almost every time I go out.

Find the 7 leggings here!

Oh William, IT Was Really Nothing

2011-06-27T22:58:00.000-07:00

First, the British Banker story for my Favorite Devious Gay. I met British Banker when I was blacked out. I started talking to him because he was tall with wavy blonde hair. And then I noticed he had an accent! I was out celebrating my roomie’s birthday with Chris Cornhell Fan, and after talking to British Banker for awhile, I decided I was too drunk to be out in public. Or maybe my roommate decided this? It’s all a little blurry, to be quite honest. (See, “quite” is sooooo British! I’m like Madonna or something!)

I decided the smartest idea would be to bring British Banker back to my place. So that I could use him, not have sexy times, not touch IT, and then send him on his way without walking him out. (I was quite fatigued.) I was surprised when he called the following day and asked me for a “proper date.” I agreed, but told him it could be weird since I didn’t remember what he looked like. Or really anything about him, for that matter. He wanted to go to a cool restaurant, so I agreed because at least he knew how to read. We talked on the phone for an hour, things were going along rather smashingly. He picked me up and he was cute. But he looked a little gay. Or. British? I just mean that he had very styled, sideswept hair and had put a lot of effort into is outfit. The waiter at the restaurant was all over him.

Conversation was good. Meal at Indigo looked like a 5 year old had thrown a bunch of crap on our plates. Food was decent, but there was so much going on that the meal seemed really disjointed. I decided to not get too drunk. He was from Manchester and if I squinted I could pretend I was hanging out with Stephen Morrissey. (Is it Sir Morrissey yet? Why isn’t he knighted??) We went back to his place (a nice loft that his company put him up in), and I kind of start to worry that he might be an alcoholic. (Yes, I know I met him when I was blacked out. BUT I only do that when I’m dieting or for special occasions. Or on Saturdays. My point is that I don’t get drunk every day. I’m sure it’s cultural, but he had way too many red flags for me to be interested.) He had empty beer cans all in his sink and cracked one open as soon as we walked in. Gross.

I still wasn’t sure if he was straight, so I decided it was best to make out and still not touch IT. And also kept with the same pattern the next morning. He didn’t seem to mind. I thought it was fitting since it was the Royal Wedding Weekend, and he should probably celebrate like Prince William with a serious case of blue balls and a hangover. And since I was wearing a cocktail dress and felt slutty walking home at 930 on Saturday morning, I made him take a cab back to my place and walk me to my door, JUST so the doormen wouldn’t think I was a trollop. I invited him in for a minute. He wanted to lock up another date. I have no idea why? I wasn’t that surprised when he canceled the day before our date. But he was also facing deportation, so maybe that’s why I haven’t heard from him?

Putting the Ass In Ambassador

2011-06-15T21:40:00.000-07:00

Sorry. I was stuck in DC for work for a month and couldn't blog from my work laptop for security reasons. I guess I now have even more to catch you up on. But let's get real, it's not like anything is different. Things didn't work out with Volleyball Partner so I still am without a Sensible Boyfriend. (Volleyball Partner was actually boring and lazy when it came to pursuing me.) GPG called last week and randomly tries to sext me every Monday morning. I did go on a diet for a month and that was good for meeting guys b/c I would go to happy hour and be blacked out after two drinks and I talked to everyone and gave my number out to British Banker and Los Abdelish. And someone else who I don't remember meeting. (But then I lived in a hotel for a month so the diet was for naught.) Swedish Kickboxer is back in the running after he gave in to my demands of coming over and bringing a pizza with him.

For awhile I was dating three foreign guys (no sexy times -- not even close!), but I believe British Banker was deported, Volleyball Partner was a dud, and Swedish Kickboxer has an ironic mustache and wears hightops fer crissakes. So my ambassador phase is over. Oh, except for the British pilot that I met while in DC. Who I guess was smart enough to put his international number in my phone, but dumb enough to let me type his name in after I'd had 5 white Russians (the drink, people).

So now I'm going to ask you which story you'd like me to tell:
1. GPG (it involves a tree)
2. Vball Partner (immature!)
3. Swedish Kickboxer (shaved his mustache)
4. British Banker (Morrissey Jr.)
5. British Pilot (nice bone structure)
6. I forgot

2011-06-06T15:14:00.001-07:00

There needs to be an app to decipher drunken entries in your phone's contact list. Any idea what name "Rdoeg" could be?

I've Entered a New Stage of Dating

2011-04-19T22:13:00.000-07:00

It's called the Just Hurry the Eff Up Already Because I Can't Do This Much Longer stage. This stage occurs when the slightest thing that's out-of-sync with your Life Plan that a guy says or does causes you to just throw in the towel. (And not the one that you save for post-handsy clean-ups.) My new roommate is in this stage. She is almost 37 and wants to skip the honeymoon/courting phase and get right to the nitty gritty to see if her new boyfriend is going to match up with what she wants FOR LIFE. No romance, no sugarcoating. All in. All at once. All at the beginning. But I kind of like romance. Except that I'm beginning to feel that romance is really nothing more than an act that's easy for guys to pull off until you do it with them.

I am playing volleyball with Volleyball Partner tomorrow. We went to dinner last night. It was fine except that when we left and held hands on the way to my car, he said that he didn't like that my hand was higher than his (because I was wearing heels that made me an inch taller than he is). I wanted to end things right there, because you either love that my hand is higher than yours or you don't. Things are just that black and white when it comes to liking dramazon. And inviting gray areas into dating is really just letting in darkness. Holy crap, I need to have sexy times. Or a vacation. In a climate with an air temp that goes above 63 degrees.

What I'm not really getting at is how much of a role dealbreakers should play in the initial stages of dating. I tend to get into trouble when I ignore signs of incompatibility because I think that things will smooth out once the pressure of feeling comfortable around someone new wears off. You know, the whole Love Conquers All crap. Apparently, this approach isn't working. And I can tell Volleyball Partner wants a girlfriend. And he also wants kids. And he'd love to find a girl who loves golf and going TO THE MOUNTAINS. So I decided not to sugarcoat things and told him I hated children, cooking, and snow. I did agree to going to the driving range, though. So we are obviously not compatible FOR LIFE. So end things now? Or enjoy the company of someone who is emotionally mature and very sweet?

I will let you know how things go. In the meantime, I just signed up for Twitter since I definitely can't do anything Dramazon related at work. I don't really like or understand Twitter, but I will work to make it vaguely amusing for you guys. And speaking of bluebirds...

I Want

2011-04-19T21:33:00.000-07:00

This is the Flo bed from mobital. I want it. Badly.

I don't need to say anything, do I?

I'm Back--Taller Than Ever!

2011-04-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

That is because your fave blogger decided it was only fitting that the tallest, bestest bitch in San Diego should move into the tallest, bestest building in San Diego. Stay tuned for pool party stories once (if) the weather warms up.

As you may or may not care, I have been saving every last drop of creative energy for my new job. So I hope you understand why I haven't written in a while. And because Karma hates me, my boss is a Marine. I actually have a Marine poster hanging over my desk at my new job that I can stare at whenever I am trying to ignore the rantings of my crazy co-worker (of course!) who makes work even more miserable. But hey, I got a job! So that is good. Because I was scared I was going to have to go back to Florida as a total failure. But I swear I am contemplating joining GPG and going into sales because I am so sick of working all the time and not being able to buy the stuff I want to buy.

Oh, you didn't think I was done with GPG, did you? And I guess I left off with Quirky Turkey, so I will have to fill you in on that. And you know how I was going on and on about how I always run into people I know under the strangest circumstances? Well, guess who got into the elevator with me today as I left the office? SO SO NICE GUY! Because of course, out of all the places in San Diego that he could work, HE HAS TO WORK WHERE I WORK. And I guess I should tell you about how I gave up men because I was so sick of hunting: job hunting, apartment hunting, roommate hunting, furniture hunting--boyfriend hunting just became too much. So I swore off men. For four days until I met a Swedish kickboxer who had nice muscles and a cool accent. But I am already over him because even though everyone refers to San Diego as Man Diego, I really think Peter Pan Diego (I am pretty sure I invented that phrase) is more appropriate. Enough with the hoodies and sneakers on first dates!! Oh, and I really need to stop making out with my volleyball partners. Even if we are sitting on the beach watching the sun set and he sees that I am cold and tucks my hood around my hair and kisses me and it is super adorable.

From sparklepony's blogspot.

So yes, I will bring you guys up to speed within the next few days or so. Please let me know how much you missed me so I will be compelled to write something.

Awkward Pregnancy Photos

2010-12-15T08:47:00.000-08:00

Brought to you by BITCH...

Like awkward family photos, but way worse.

It's Not Like I Go Looking for Trouble

2010-12-14T22:21:00.000-08:00

I bet you thought I was being paranoid about the whole thing where I have a running into people super power. It's a blessing (seeing BFF in Jamaica) and a curse (this weekend). And yes, I ran into someone I was hoping to avoid. Let me catch you up on my week.

A lot of good that stupid lasso does me now.

Quirky Turkey did not call me on Tuesday, so I decided to follow the advice of all of the dating articles that said to live a full life and date more than one person, so I went ahead and accepted a second date with The Marine. I know that reading dating articles is lame, but doing things my way (sitting around waiting for GPG to notice how funny/awesome/hot I am so that he starts planning vacations and dinners around me) hadn't exactly been all that effective. But then Quirky Turkey (QT because he is such a cutie and doesn't even know how cute he is which makes him that much cuter) called while I was getting ready on Wednesday, which made me want to cancel with The Marine. But you have to make guys hunt you. Gross. But this is what the experts advise. I figure if I'm not having sexy times with anyone, and keep things PG with the other guy, then this should be okay. Because we all know how well things go for me once I start to get excited about anything. With this new approach, I keep my heart off my sleeve and can spread my obsessing out over a few guys instead of concentrating it on one person.

The Marine tries to get me to drive over to his place. I tell him no. I make him come pick me up. He is wearing a long sleeved t-shirt, flip flops, and CARPENTER JEANS.

Guys, if you own a pair of these, throw them away immediately. Along with any pleated-front khakis.

I'm not even going to discuss his outfit further. Or the date. It wasn't that good or bad. I was just on-edge the whole time, thinking he was going to suplex me if he saw me roll my eyes about his musical tastes (which are heinous, btw). He playfully pulls my hair at one point and I freak the eff out. So I decide not to see him again. And to confirm that I made the right decision, I stalk him online. Not really, I just found his fb which had a public wall. Which had a link to shirtless pics that were for a fitness magazine. I decide to maybe give The Marine another shot. Because I'm a patriot.

Ball Buster and I went to play beach volleyball on Saturday with some of her friends. I love playing volleyball, there are always tall girls there and I feel like I'm amongst my people. As we're walking down the sidewalk to check out a tournament, I swear The Marine walks past me. I tell myself I'm just being paranoid. We play for a few hours and then head to get a beer afterward. Our group grabs a table and sits down. And guess what? The Marine is sitting at the table next to us!!! We both pretend not to see each other and Ball Buster says he keeps looking over at me. After 20 minutes, I lose the game of who is cooler and go over to say hi. He tries to act like he didn't see me walk in. When you're 6'0" and have boobs, guys notice when you walk into a room. He is with his vball partner and apparently I am at his favorite bar. We hang out for a bit and have fun. But he is cocky, so I enjoy talking to his buddy more than I enjoy talking to him.

"Don't worry, this volleyball scene won't be the pinnacle of your acting career."

His buddy says that we should all play volleyball on Monday and then go grab sushi. I get excited when he mentions the name of the restaurant, and chime in that I'd been there and really enjoyed it, forgetting that it was The Marine who took me there. The Marine points this out, I try to play it off, but he is a little miffed. I head out to go home and get ready to go to dinner with QT. The Marine sends me several texts but I ignore him. I'm not going to talk about the date with QT except to say that as a control freak, I felt very out of control the whole time. And it was because QT unknowingly took me to GPG's part of town, and to two of GPG's hangouts. I freaked out every time someone walked through the door at each place. I mean, it is only a matter of time until our paths cross. And I hope you no longer think I'm being paranoid about it.

The Marine texts me a bunch on Sunday and I respond once. Then he asks me out for Sunday night. Uh, no. I don't care how hot he looks in his shirtless pics, I hope I will not be seeing him anytime soon.

Lecherous Learnings

2010-12-10T13:30:00.000-08:00

So I went back to my old place to grab my boards and see my dog. And you know that youtube video of the lion being reunited with the guys who had rescued it from a life of captivity? It was kind of like that. But maybe more emotional? I'm not saying she purposely dug through all of her toys to bring out the ones I'd bought for her just to show they mean more to her than her other toys and she will never forget me. And I'm not saying she loves me because I actually take the time to think about her needs while playing fetch, instead of sitting on the couch and throwing the ball a whole five feet like someone usually does. That's no fun. You have to mix it up for them. My dog likes when I throw grounders, and sometimes she likes to run and chase the ball down, but her favorite is to show off and jump and catch it when I bounce the tennis ball really high. Sometimes she miscalculates and the ball bounces off her snout and over the fence and then she can watch me fetch for her.

Please save me from a life spent surrounded by garish, clashing patterns! I can show you how to disable my microchip.

Yes, I know she has a fur coat. But maybe she also needed a blanket? It's not like she can tell me she's cold. It's called consideration, and it's a trait sorely lacking in most people these days. Compassion and empathy and mutual respect also seem to be in short supply. Can you tell I'm fed up with dating right now? I just don't think I'm cut out to date people who have killed other people because it's all I can think about and it makes me jumpy when I hang out with them. Luckily I have a single girlfriend (Ball Buster) to do dinner and dancing and other fun stuff with until the hypothetical Mr. Heart of Gold makes a dishonest woman of me.  Ball Buster and I are going out tonight, so hopefully we will have better luck than we had last Friday.

Last Friday wasn't bad or anything. We went to a new hotspot that was pretty fun and entertaining. She met a guy who showed promise, but then he thought it was okay to bring up having sexy times with her after one date. Next! And I met an old guy. Now, I have a friend who is a big fan of the Sexy Older Man (SOM), and her SOM is hot and nice and fun and amazing in many ways. And older men are stable and have nice furniture and hopefully know not to wear a hoodie on the first date. Or the second date. Is this a CA thing?  I don't know, but it has happened twice now, and I've reached my breaking point with black hoodies and jeans for beginner dates. I mean, how would you feel if I showed up in baggy sweatpants with greasy hair and no lip gloss on? That is basically what you're doing when you can't put forth any effort with your outfit. You would be appalled if girls did this. And while I don't like guys who are super metro and obsessed with fashion, it wouldn't hurt to take off your flip flops or sneakers to take me out.

But I digress - back to the older man. I have been toying with this older man idea; I just can't seem to get excited about it. But with this economy, I think many girls are finding the older man's stability and refined tastes to be more attractive than they used to be.   So when an older guy came up to us and immediately started talking about the property in Baja that he owned, and then showed us pics of it, I tried to figure out what was going on in his mind. We were obviously annoyed by him. But he still sat down next to me and kept talking to me. Great. Honestly, he was pretty fun to talk to. He likes to free dive, so we talked about that for a while. And he had a substantial wine collection, so that was fun to discuss.

It wasn't long before I was lecturing him on how lame it was to show girls pics of property that he owned. Obviously, he can only get a youngish(?) lady(?) if he makes up for the fact that he's old by trying to buy her. (Not true with every older guy, but I need to generalize to make my point.) I warned him that he would only attract golddiggers this way, and quality ladies really wouldn't care about his property. He complained that his last girlfriend used him for his money, and then he promptly set about trying to buy my affections. I get it, he can't talk to me without first demonstrating why someone almost 20 years my senior is worth my time, but then he sets himself up to be used for his money since he can't compete in the looks department with men who are closer to my age. And his wisdom and stability are probably turn-ons for many ladies; I just happen to like the Peter Pans.

"Let's go surfing this weekend, Dramazon! And do lots of fun, goofy, cute stuff! I will change my outfit for you, too!"

He also got drunk and tried to kiss me. In public. What is this all about? Is this some marking of territory stuff they learned in Maxim? Ball Buster amused herself by taking bets on whether or not I would let him kiss me as the night wore on. But she knew that was not going to happen, so hopefully she made some money off of this guy's lecherous leanings. I did give him my number, as it's easier for me to send calls to voicemail than it is to reject someone to their face. He called the next day to ask me to dinner. I ignored.

This whole dating thing has been pretty eye-opening. I am (obviously) not good at dating. I'm not trying to act like I'm perfect and all men are aholes. I realize I unnecessarily complicate things. And my best friends all married right out of college - while I pursued, well, I'm not sure what I pursued - so it's not like I can get dating advice from the people who know me the best. But I have been researching and asking certain people certain questions about what is wrong with my approach. (Which would be perceiving everything through the eyes of a fifteen-year-old princess. From the Victorian era.) So I will work on being less sensitive and idealistic. HA! Impossible. And I will also work on being more trusting. Which is hard because I tried that with Granny Panties Guy and it will take me awhile to get over that crushing failure. The next time someone tells me that I'm a sweetheart,I will run away as fast as I can because that is how jerkfaces talk. And I will also work to show more interest in guys that I like. And if I put this in writing, it means I will have to do it. And it also means you can watch and laugh at me as I do the exact opposite and then you can say you told me so. Win/win.

The Realists were such talented artists.

Whigging Out

2010-12-06T14:12:00.000-08:00

So I know you're probably wondering what happened with the Marine. Because you figure that at some point things have to go well for me in the romance department. I mean, I'm a pretty good person, don't I deserve it?? Well, nothing happened with the Marine because I canceled our date on Friday and then on Saturday I told him I was staying in. So now he's not calling anymore. I know you're probably wondering why I did this, and there's a good explanation, I'm just not sure I'm willing to share it at this point. You see, I'm having some issues with my blog world colliding with my real world.

When I first started this blog, I kept it a secret. But then I got bored and told friends about it. And now I won't shut up about it to anyone that will listen. And that's mostly because it means I don't have to keep telling the same disappointing stories over and over again when my friends call me. I can just have them read my blog and salvage what's left of my self-esteem. And then GPG happened. And our interactions were entertaining enough that I started posting personal stuff. And the more honest I got, the more my friends enjoyed it. Then I realized that moving has put me very close to GPG (I swear I didn't know his exit was right after mine - anyone who knows how retarded I am with directions will believe me), and I suspect that we may have some mutual friends. And I do not want my friends to put two and two together and embarrass me. And I was able to avoid having that happen this past weekend, but I'm not sure how long my luck will hold.

I guess I have a rule not to blog about anyone who knows my friends. But then Quirky Turkey came along on Thanksgiving. And by not telling you about Quirky Turkey, you are missing out on some hilarious material. Like when I had one of the most awkward foot-in-mouth moments that was so bad I considered grabbing my keys and running out of his house and never talking to him again. What I said was THAT bad. But it shouldn't have been. It just was bad when placed in the context of how I know Quirky Turkey.

And if I don't blog about my dates, then you will totally miss out on how fun it was when Quirky Turkey took me out for chocolate chip bread pudding at the restaurant across the street from where I used to live, and someone else was also there on a date. Guess who? None other than Tooly McToolerson!!! What the eff? He lives 30 minutes away and he had to be on a date at MY place? And did he really have to be seated near me? These sorts of things always happen to me, so don't even act like I'm being paranoid about the imminent GPG embarrassment extravaganza lurking right around the corner. But this stuff is too funny not to share, right? Brooding Intense Tall Canadian Hero suggested I start a new, invite-only blog called Karmazon. See, isn't he the best?

Speaking of BITCH, I annoyed him all day Saturday with my new mission. On Saturday, I nagged not one, not two, but three separate individuals about how they simply must go out and purchase the entire Afghan Whigs' back catalogue. Now I know what you're thinking, they only seem really good because all bands from one's youth seem super important to you and no one else. But the Afghan Whigs are different. Not because they seemed destined for alt-rock 90s greatness and never achieved much commercial fame, but because I have yet to meet ONE PERSON who mentions them when talking about underrated bands.

I don't want them to be popular, I just want people with good taste in music to know about them. Because I have many friends who have amazing taste in music, and they have all heard of Mudhoney, the Pixies, Dinosaur Jr., Pavement, and countless other bands who were better than Nirvana but never garnered much more than critical success, and yet these friends never know who the Afghan Whigs are when I bring them up. And this must stop. (Along with being unemployed because I am obviously getting dangerously close to going crazy because I have nothing to do except be alone with my thoughts.)

And to be honest, I didn't know about them until the end of the 90s, after they'd already broken up. I remember seeing frontman Greg Dulli featured on MTV in the early 90s because his band played at a laundromat that served beer in Cincinnati. I underestimated his genius (yes, genius) because I have learned the hard way that not much sexy stuff occurs in Ohio. But oh, I was wrong. The Afghan Whigs are dark, depraved, dirty d!cks. Most of their stuff is about behaving badly while using bad substances and women. So, it's not that I can relate on this level, but Dulli's swagger, pain, and flaws seem to resonate with anyone who really sits down and listens to them. You would probably recognize their song "Gentlemen" if you heard it. Here is the video:

The Afghan Whigs - Gentlemen
Uploaded by Warner-Music. - Explore more music videos.

This song is from the record of the same name, and it's one of the best breakup records I've ever heard. But it's not stuff you should listen to if you want to be in a good mood. Same with Black Love, which is the album that came out before Gentlemen. They are concept albums (imho), so don't waste your time trying to pick and choose tracks off of iTunes. Just buy the damn album and listen to it all the way through. And when you've listened to these albums and want to stave off a very seductive bout of self-destruction that seems to go hand-in-hand with listening to this band, put on 1965, their last album. It is my favorite thing to play when I'm getting ready to go out and have fun making poor decisions. It's very New Orleansy and raunchy. Good guitar, too. Very fun to get down to. Google "John the Baptist" if you don't believe me.

I've spent hours poring over old shows and interview to bring you my favorites. Please give them a chance. If not, you will be hearing about it. Trust.

This one kills me. Dulli doesn't sing, but wow. I found a version where he sings, but I don't know how much awesomeness you can handle at one time.

And just for fun, they also do amazing soul covers. Their version of TLC's "Creep" is also good. And here's the cover of Gentlemen. I remember a guy friend saying it was the most honest depiction of relationships he'd ever seen. Oh, and the Marine just texted me for a date. I guess he wants to spend some time getting to know my sparkling personality.

Dog Daze

2010-12-06T11:26:00.000-08:00

I am dealing with maybe a little bit of guilt about leaving my dog behind with my old roommate who can't even be bothered to walk her on a semi-regular basis. My roommate was gone for my last week at the old place, so I probably spent a little too much following my dog around with my camera phone. I gave her a break from her shock therapy collar, and guess who didn't even growl when the mail lady came through the gate?

Here are shots that I find to be incredibly cute and you can waste 30 seconds looking at them because it's not like I've ever made you look at my wedding album or sit through potty training slide shows of all four of my children. Behold, my dog's internal monologue...

A lady always crosses her legs. Even when passed out.

Why must daylight savings affect my eating schedule?

Indestructible frisbee my ass.

I have already tanned on the porch and napped in various locations. Now I will stare at you until you throw the ball for me or give me a treat. I'm cool with either.

Treats please? Please??

What is in that bowl? Is it for me?

Wait, what happened to all of the stuff in your room? Are you leaving me??

I don't know why I feel the need to keep my dog's name private, but I do. She doesn't need any stalkers.

One Grain at a Time

2010-11-24T21:42:00.000-08:00

Birthdays are always a good time for self-reflection. Or being crazy dramatical. I went with the latter and decided that wasting four months on some loser who wasn't even my type to begin with was a bad move. I am trying to forget how much of a dork I was over the whole thing. I decided to start dating other guys. Hot guys. Who live to please me. And don't suck at foreplay. But before I get into that, I should tell you how things ended with Granny Panties Guy (GPG/Jerkface).

He didn't call. The end.

No really, that's pretty much it. I talked to him last Sunday when he was telling me how much stuff he had to do. And then he called me on Tuesday night and I didn't feel like picking up. He's no dummy, he knew I had decided it was "time to start banging the erasers together" (as Brooding Intense Tall Canadian Hero advised me to do). GPG sent me a funny pic the next day. I sent a lukewarm response and then ignored. Texted him a few hours later. He ignored me. Was just about to delete the FOUR MONTHS of GPG texts I'd been lugging around in my phone (I would look at them when I needed a laugh), and he texted me just as I was about to press delete. Decided that was a sign that he liked me and I shouldn't act so rashly. Woke up the next morning, sent him a text, waited 15 minutes for him to respond, and when he didn't, I deleted all of them. Along with his phone number. It felt good. And humiliating. Especially knowing that I sent the last text and he didn't respond. I will have to tell myself I got the last word when I ignore him on his birthday which I know is coming up in the next week or two.

I also needed a new volleyball partner after getting rid of Sexty McSexterson turned Tooly McToolerson. So when a hot guy asked me to play, I decided to go for it. But that day ended up being freezing, so we canceled. He texted me to see what I'd like to do instead, but I was out and about without my phone. So he texted me two hours later to tell me I was a bad communicator. Now, this kind of controlling behavior would usually grate on my nerves, but that would make make me such a hypocrite after dealing with GPG's crap. So I decided to embrace the attention/possible red flag and agree to him taking me to dinner. I mean, he was tall, knew how to spell, and sent some funny texts - those are pretty much my only requirements these days.

He offered to come pick me up. I said that was fine. Then I started to panic and almost canceled because GPG had offered to come pick me up, only because he knew that he would end up back at my place, which would almost guarantee a makeout session. (Hey James H. - and other readers who think I'm banging the entire tri-county area - making out does not mean sex.) I couldn't handle another "player" like GPG. I tried to come up with a good excuse for canceling our date. But then I thought about how I needed a volleyball partner and I decided it would be okay.

I can't believe it, but google had no pics of mating caterpillars. I guess they have to wait until they become butterflies. That is sad. And beautiful.

He knocks on the door and my dog goes apesh*t. And then she's a little confused when the guy on the porch has normal looking eyebrows instead of something resembling two mating, furry caterpillars on steroids (burn!). My date is super hot. Nicely built. Cute beard. Smells okay, but not fantastic. We get in his car. He drives fast and plays good music. We drive past the campgrounds. I ask if he likes to go camping. Weird, awkward, prolonged silence. Oh sh*t. Oh sh*t. Did his parents die at the claws of a grizzly? Was he the subject of a Jon Krakauer book? It was worse than that. Waaaay, way worse. He was a MARINE! I almost started laughing, since of course he would have to be part of the organization that I'd spent the last week hating. Then I got scared he was an alcoholic, wifebeating, brainwashed sociopath. I knew he knew I was thinking this. I contemplate fake throwing up in my hand to get out of the date. (Whatever, I was under a lot of stress.) I wonder if I can jump from the moving car without rolling off the cliff into the Pacific.

But then I decide that my boots are too cute to go out like that, and I hunker down for what I'm sure is going to be the worst date ever. We get to the sushi restaurant and I pick the seat that will give me the best view of the numerous hot male diners, just in case. He asks if I like sake. I don't want to tell him that warm sake reminds me of urine, so I say that cold sake is okay. He orders some special sake, since he lived in Japan forever, and it actually turns out to be super yumster. I had researched the restaurant and ordered the most talked about roll. It comes out first. It is gigantic. Like, uhm, larger than the circumference of a tube of cookie dough. (Not that I know what that looks like.) And it is cut in thick slices. I panic.

This is messed up. Even for me.

Now, I'm pretty proficient with chopsticks. Well, I'm not catching flies or anything, but I certainly am not self-conscious about using them. Except in front of people who have spent years living in Japan. Especially when it's to hoist a gigantic roll into a mouth that has absolutely no hope of accommodating it. Now, with a roll this heavy, you kind of just have to move quickly, dunk it in soy sauce, and get it in your mouth before gravity takes its toll. But this strategy was not going to work. And it's too thick to try to "cut" into two bites. He wolfs his down with the ease of someone who has a normal-sized mouth, and watches me intently. He thinks I don't know how to use chopsticks. I know if I mention that my mouth is too small to fit the sushi, he will instantly think of BJs. He is probably just thinking that anyway? But I don't want to add fuel to the fire.

Yep, image is to scale.

I decide to stall by moving the roll from the platter to my little plate.  Bad move, it starts to come apart. I try to stall more and talk about something else, but now he is looking at me like I'm a weirdo. I transfer the gianormous behemoth to the dish of soy sauce. I lose control of it. It disintegrates. Uh oh. Now I have no way to not look like a complete novice/jackass eating it. I start to eat the rice in my dish one grain at a time. I wonder what I'm going to do with the yards of seaweed that are creeping over the sides of the sauce dish like tentacles of impending doom.  He looks at me quizzically.

Finally I tell him that the pieces of sushi are too big to fit in my mouth and would he please not look at me while I'm trying to eat them. He stares at my mouth contemplatively. He gets a far-away look in his eyes. I use this time to grab another bite and try to shove it in my mouth before he notices because I had been the one to order the stupid thing and I would have to eat more than one piece. And then my windpipe closes off and I know I'm going to choke. But I don't have enough air or room in my trachea to choke. And I don't have enough room in my mouth to fit any sake to help wash it all down. And still, he stares.  I somehow manage not to die, and choke the sushi down without the need of any Heimlich maneuvers, and then tell him he can have the rest.

The conversation is good. He is hot. And polite. And well-spoken. And hot. He doesn't seem moronic or brainwashed.  He listens to my meathead Marines story with a patient but pained expression, as if he has heard many similar stories before. Kind of like when people have to tell me about their favorite teachers. And yes, I thank him for fighting for our country and all that good stuff. I mean, really, war is when one country makes people do bad things to another country, and both sides think the other side is evil and wrong. And then our government says "Thanks, now go live with PTSD for the rest of your life, bye." And this allows me the freedom to blog about lip gloss.

Then the bill comes. He is talking and doesn't pull out his credit card immediately. Hmmm. This is a test of some sort.  Over the next ten minutes, during our conversation, he moves the bill to the middle of the table. Okay, we're obviously going Dutch.  Whatever. I pull my card out. He doesn't acknowledge it. Or the bill.  Our waitress is also puzzled. He finally tells me to put my card back and hands his card to our server. She comes back and says it was declined. I am not fazed. The ex did this on a regular basis. I just figured most guys waited until the second date to pull this. Or Valentine's Day.  He shoos away my card again and gives her another card. Calls his bank and doesn't seemed too bothered. Okay, so he is either not fazed because his card is always declined, or he is not fazed because he knows he has more than enough money in the bank. The second card worked and we head out the door. He wants to go to a nearby bar to continue the date. Unfortunately, he also wants to play pool.

These are pool players.

Now I don't know about you, but I wasn't raised in a pool hall. In fact, I think my mom thought it was trashy for her daughter to learn how to play pool. So I have maybe played pool a total of 25 times in my life. And it shows. And I hate doing stuff I'm not good at in front of other people. I go buy us some drinks and get quarters for the table. I get enough for one game. On purpose. But I am sent back to get two more games' worth of quarters. This was going to be painful. Now don't get me wrong, it's definitely sexy to watch a guy play pool. But I feel like such a cheeseball when I am playing. You know, the whole phallic thing you're rapidly sliding back and forth through your fingers and whatnot. Not to mention, I'd worn leggings because I hadn't exactly planned on bending over a table in front of other people. Seven years later, we finish our games. I think he wants to kiss me. In front of other people? I can't go for that. No. No can do. He starts snapping his fingers and singing along to whatever song is playing. In public. Damn. And things had been going so well! We head out to the car and I don't want him coming back to my place now.

So I tell him we should go get - surprise - chocolate chip bread pudding! He isn't thrilled, but he agrees. We get in the car and he puts on a Jeff Buckley song and asks if I know who it is. Please. He informs me that some lounge lizard originally wrote the song. "Uhm, did you just call Leonard Cohen a lounge lizard?!" He is smitten because I know Jeff Buckley. He starts to sing along. He has a good voice, but I hate when people sing around me. Not sure why, it just makes me feel weird. (I can't watch more than 10 seconds of Glee.) He also informs me that he's been playing the guitar for 20 years. So that's cute. I'm over the finger snapping in public thing. We get to the dessert place. He tells me that he doesn't eat dessert because he enjoys having a nice body. I make him eat it when it comes to the table. He admits it's awesome. He points out that they have his favorite beer. I tell him that Chimay is also my favorite beer (hello, you get to drink it in a princess goblet), and he is in love with me.

Princess Goblets! Not my hand.

The bill comes and he pays with the formerly declined credit card without any having any issues. We walk back to my place. I ask him what cologne he is wearing. "Victoria's Secret Very Sexy" is his reply. I almost laugh before realizing he's serious. "It's for men." This is why I love non-metro straight guys. They are so clueless. He has no idea that there are places he can go with things that smell way better. I decide not to kiss him on the way home. We get back to my place and hang out and chat for a little bit. He takes it well when my dog slobbers all over his pants. Then we kiss for an hour. He is a good kisser. He is all about kissing my neck. And I am all about that. Too bad I was wearing a turtleneck sweater. So it wasn't as good as it could have been. But we have plans for Friday, so I will be sure to wear a v-neck then. I haven't given him a code name because I'm pretty sure if I do, it will jinx things and he will cancel our date.

Who would buy this? I mean, really.

A Fly in My Champagne

2010-11-16T14:52:00.000-08:00

So Ball Buster and I ride our bikes back to our cars. It is a long-ass ride and it's now in the 50s. And I'm in whore shorts. My scalp prickles with goosebumps. Ball Buster has reminded me that I used to be a lot feistier in high school, i.e., I was insanely competitive and over-the-top intense about everything. Ev er ry thing. I can't tell if it's good or bad that I've mellowed out (resigned myself to failure) in my old age, so I contemplate crafting a craigslist "missed connections" post that will lure UnHot Topic to an untimely crapping of her pants in hopes of reclaiming some repressed feist. I get back to my car and change into my third outfit of the day. In the middle of a public park. But hey, I'm so used to changing on the side of the highway that this seems pretty tame in comparison. I shiver in my car, waiting for 4thGradeFriend to come pick me up and take me out for a birthday dinner.

Since I have fifteen minutes to kill, I try to think of people I can call. Guess who I think of? He did get me flowers, right? And maybe it would be okay to try to contact him on the weekend even though he did not return my text on Friday? At the very least, he should be aware that I am about to have a super awesome Saturday night without him. I figure he won't answer. He does. He is tired. Lying on the couch and unable to rally to go out. I don't buy this, but whatever. He lets me know he went out with his bros the night before, and again I'm not sure I buy this. I recount my harrowing Marine encounter and he tells me that those types of things are par for the course with all of the military types around here. When I tell him about the cute volleyball guys I'd met, he gets quiet. It is probably because he is dozing off, but I'd like to think it's because he's jealous.

4thGradeFriend (4GF) shows up and I hang up on GPG. We head downtown to check out a new restaurant. The place has a meat-centered menu, so neither of us is very excited. We head to another restaurant where I ate when half of My Gay Couple (MGC) came to visit. We sit at the bar because service absolutely sucks in San Diego. I have little patience for the laid back Cali Cool attitude when it comes to food! 4GF and I check out the wine list. Now, I'm sure this comes as no surprise to anyone who reads this blog, but I do know my way around the wine list. So I am super excited to see that they have my favorite champagne at a very, very reasonable price. They didn't have splits or half bottles listed anywhere, so I thought that maybe they didn't sell much champagne. And 4GF does a lot of client entertaining, so she is also familiar with wine lists. She decides that it is my birthday so I should have my favorite champagne. Especially since it was on sale.

That's Pam Anderson. Not me. Common mistake, as we are both bastions of good taste.

I get a text from Sexty McSexterson asking how my night is going. Our birthdays are two days apart, and he was out of town, so we had talked about meeting up for bday drinks at some point. Since I know he is out of town, I tell him that I wish he were here to drink some bday champagne. I send GPG a text about how awesome and fun my night is. He doesn't respond. This irks me. But whatever, there is Veuve Clicquot to be dranken. Sexty McSexterson texts me that he is actually in town and had plans that fell through and was hoping to meet up since he lived right around the corner. I hadn't seen him since Operation Palm Tree Rebound, but I figured things would be cool. We could either go the friendly route, or he could be flirty, and then I would have a makeout partner for my bday. Win/win. Right? 4GF is married, so she is okay if I am trying to get some male attention.

We decide that since the champagne was so good and so cheap, it really made a lot of sense to order another bottle. The bartender loves us. We love us. He brings us bday cake. We love him. Then Sexty McSexterson walks in and we pour him some Veuve and let him eat cake. Things are cool. We're friendly. Then he gets kind of touchy and flirty, which I am more than okay with. Then 4GF runs to powder her nose. Sexty McSexterson smiles, and leans in to whisper something in my ear. I am expecting to hear something naughty. "Is it okay if a date meets me here?" he asks.

"No. No it is not okay," I respond, looking at him like he was the dumbest, rudest asshole on the entire planet. I mean, seriously. You are going to invite some skank that you are banging to my birthday outing? This wasn't happening. And just then some wannabe Real Housewives of Orange County whore wearing a skirt from Express, circa 1999, walks in.

"Is it someone's birthday?" she asks.

"Yes, it's mine," I reply, turning my back to the two of them. 4GF returns and asks who the skank is. I inform her that Sexty McSexterson had found something better to do, and was apparently going on a date right next to us at the bar. I expect them to make a hasty exit. They don't. They sit next to us, as if this were completely acceptable. I am fuming. I had only invited him out because I didn't think he was in the state! And after I had saved him from staying at home all alone on a Saturday, this is how he repays me? You'd think he'd at least buy me a bday drink, but he is the tooliest of the toolsheds, and he doesn't. And I am so tempted to write some really good burns about what he is spending his money on, but I shall refrain. Because I have class. And I know he is reading this. He is lucky I am more passive-aggressive than feisty these days. But that could change.

Since they are canoodling, we decide it's time to leave. We get the bill. I don't expect it to be too bad, since we'd only split an appetizer and an entree, but we both gasp when we see the total. Apparently, the bottles were actually four times the amount we'd thought they were. I contemplate putting a bottle on Tooly McToolerson's tab. 4GF thinks we should ask him for $45 to cover the cost of his one glass. The bartender feels bad, but what could we do other than laugh because that's all people do when they drink champagne? We giggle and tip him well and befriend his friends who had just walked in. They take us to a club and we get our dance on. I am pretty much dry humping some young, shaggy haired, blonde hardbody, but am sober enough to not make out with him. We dance up a storm and laugh the whole way home about our champagne shenanigans.

GPG texts me the next morning to see how my night went. I let him know how much fun he missed. He lets me know how much he has to do that day. Awesome. I delete Tooly McToolerson's late night text and voicemail without a second thought. Then I delete him from my phone and facebook. I set about dealing with a difficult, self-professed genius who would like me to write his website for him, but doesn't think he should have to pay for it. I spend three hours listening to him tell me his life story on the phone. He uses the word brilliant to describe himself. Several times. I make the wry observation that maybe my birthday wish should have been for a year free from all self-absorbed, rude assholes. To make the day even better, my guy friend points out that GPG likes me enough to take me out for my birthday, but not enough to take me out on a Saturday. Moving on. Pffffftttt...

Part One of Saturday Rudeness (Jerkface Isn't Even Involved)

2010-11-15T22:55:00.000-08:00

My birthday weekend brought all sorts of fuckery. And not that kind. Most of it was due to narcissistic tools. (Writes the blogger without a hint of irony.)

Friday was fun because my friend had a big birthday party. Sure, it was for her birthday, not mine, but I can pretend. And then on Saturday, my friend from high school invited me to go hiking with her. So pretty! Then we decided to ride our bikes to do some outside birthday day drinking. I wasn't sure what clothes to bring, so I brought a few pairs of jean shorts. My friend borrowed the longer pair and I put on the obscenely short (it's okay b/c they're really baggy) ones. We walked into the bar and noticed a bunch of shaved, shirtless meatheads who were also in denim shorts. We secure a table and begin ignoring the weirdos that start hitting on us.

Turns out the guys were Marines, which was great, because my birthday is on the day the Marines were founded. And I can support the troops if they are shirtless. Two of them come talk to us, and my friend takes great pleasure in busting their balls. There is this ugly goth girl who is with them, and we surmise it must be solely for BJ purposes. She didn't exactly fit in with a bunch of meatheads. UnHot Topic waits until we get our food to come ask if she can use the ashtray on our table. Now, I'm not sure what happened next, but I think she tried to smoke at our table while we were eating. I mean, they didn't have a table, so I don't know why she would want just our ashtray when there were empty ones closer to where she was standing. Whatever, I am too busy picking out the tomatoes on my chicken nachos to pay much attention. My friend, Ball Buster, tells UnHot Topic she can't smoke by us while we're eating. UnHot Topic storms off. Roidy Daisy Duke Marine comes over and haughtily snatches up the ashtray and turns on his heels in a way that betrays his self-hating closet case status. He goes back to flexing for his bros.

Don't get all offended if you're a homophobe. This is hot. And patriotic. And a poignant symbol of American freedom.

Roidy Daisy Duke Marine walks past us as he's leaving. And he dumps a full beer on my friend's food. Which gets all over my nachos and jean shorts. UnHot Topic laughs and runs off with Roidy Daisy Duke Marine. Ball Buster jumps up and starts shouting obscenities at the girl. I'm kind of in shock, as I'm not really one to get in bar fights. Or any sort of loud verbal exchanges. But I make sure that UnHot Topic and the Roidy Daisy Duke Marine are unable to touch my friend. The bouncers kick the Marines out and try to placate us. Ball Buster would not be placated, and I think she is hurt that I didn't jump over the railing and grab UnHot Topic by her greasy Manic Panic hair and give her a sound beating. Ball Buster wants to leave and I offer to follow them to settle the score. And I also wanted to check out the bars in that direction. She wisely decides that it's not worth it, and we head in the opposite direction. We go to another bar and Ball Buster sees some friends. They are nice and I think I might have found some new volleyball partners. (This detail is important for my next entry.)

Dramazon's Birthday Week

2010-11-15T21:15:00.000-08:00

From CakeCentral.com

I knew the weekend had passed because I didn't hear from GPG for three days. Even after he said he could do the Saturday night dates. But Tuesday brings a shower of attention from Jerkface. He kept calling and texting, even reminding me that my birthday was on Wednesday. After his fifth call of the day, he revealed that he would like to take me out to a birthday dinner, but had a client dinner on Wednesday, so could I do it tonight (Tuesday)? Now, I know I had promised my readers that I wouldn't accept anything less than a Friday or Saturday night dressy dinner date, but I couldn't help that 1) I like to milk my bday for all it's worth, and 2) I had a lame mid-week bday. And in my defense, I had also emailed him that on our next date we would not be having sexy times. (Mostly because I was pissed about the past few weeks, but also because he was physically incapable of performing. I reasoned that since there would be no sexy times, it meant he actually wanted to put forth some effort and hang out with me because he liked me and not the sexy times.)

I told him that he'd have to come up here. He said that was fine, and would I mind going kind of early since he was still not 100% after impaling himself? I said sure and tried to prepare myself for the inevitable letdown. But I would not be let down without a fight. I deliberately refrained from warning him that my dog will attack anyone who comes through our gate unescorted - partly because I wanted him to get eaten alive and partly because I wanted to see if my dog would actually like him. I put on a hot dress and heels. Then I noticed it was freezing and had to switch to a sweater and jeans. The dropping temp also meant that my roommate closed the front door so my dog couldn't run out and attack GPG on sight.

This was actually better, because the fact that my dog couldn't see the scary burglar worked her up into quite a frenzy. GPG asked if he were about to be eaten from outside my door. I opened the door so that my dog could attack him, but the damn traitor was instantly wooed. I followed suit because Jerkface actually brought me flowers. I know, right? I mean, he is all about letting me know he will not put forth any effort. Ever. And it wasn't the cheapest bouquet that the grocery store had, either. I was torn between giving positive reinforcement and not reacting so he'd know that a bouquet is a generic, empty gesture. But it was my birthday, so I proceeded to coo effusively over the flowers. And then I had to compete with my damn dog, who was sashaying around and showing him all of her favorite toys, like a pathetic, needy, attention whore. Shameless, really. At least my roommate maintained her icy, awkward demeanor the entire time.

Jerkface says we can go wherever I want for my birthday dinner, so I request the chocolate chip bread pudding place. We go and have a great time. I'm not sure what his deal is, but when I told him how my friend had wanted to come get bread pudding but I forbade her lest he think I was trying to trap him into meeting my friends, he is just so darn hurt that I have such an unfavorable opinion of him. Of course he would love to meet my friends! And when talking about my fruitless job hunt, he tells me to apply for jobs at his company. Yeah right, I snort, as if! Again, he's taken aback by my assumption that he would think I was stalking him if I applied to work at his company. Maybe he was on meds?

Regardless of his oddly open demeanor, it's nice to just relax and be my feisty, dorky self around someone. And he takes entertaining me pretty seriously. Which I love. Like everyone, he is skeptical about the chocolate chip bread pudding, but he has to admit it's amazing. After about three hours I am aware I have hearts shooting out of my eyes like a cartoon character. I look like Pepé le Pew. I try to cover it up, but he sees. We both know he's getting sexy times.

There is some messed up stuff going on here!

The next day he calls to sing me happy birthday. The day itself is pretty lame because I have to go to the doctor because my face and neck are numb a lot, and it's been a year since my last car accident. Jerkface even calls to see how the doc visit went. And then he texts me later to make sure I am going out for my birthday. That's nice, right? My girlfriends took me out for more chocolate chip bread pudding!!! It was fun and I'm pretty thankful I have such awesome friends who help cushion the blow of eventually dying alone.

And if you're looking for gifts that will scar your four-year-old daughter for life, why not get her a deck of Old Maid cards? I'm sure she'll turn out just fine.

Jerkface is on a roll and texts me again on Thursday to see if I had a good time on my bday. We text all day. And then nothing on Friday. So I text him. No response. Saturday brings lots of blog fodder, but no GPG texts.

The Mourning After Halloween

2010-11-15T12:48:00.000-08:00

Waking up after Halloween is always a little dicey. I mean, you can wake up to all sorts of horrific scenes. Ones that involve cross-dressing. Torn fishnets. Multiple wigs. I consider it a success if I'm alone in my own bed, and still have all parts of my costume, my phone, and license still in my possession. This year was a success! And since I was still drunk, I texted GPG to get the scoop on his innards. He called me for the first time in 3 weeks. He knew he could play the sympathy angle to avoid any outright anger on my part. And I did feel sorry for him - surgery is scary, and I can't imagine being in the hospital all alone. All things considered, I think I was pretty nice on the phone.

We texted all day, and he answered some questions about the area I was thinking about moving to. He also let me know that I could start sending bikini pics again. I took little cheap shots at him throughout the day. He seemed intent upon talking about things. For the most part, I resisted. And then I told him I felt rejected and too low on his priority list considering things (imho) had gotten to a point where they either needed to stop or move forward. In so many words, he told me I was too demanding, but he that he'd never rejected me. I said I realized he had a full life and that mine was uh, a bit lacking (albeit temporarily), but I said if you like someone, you make an effort to see them. He maintains he made an effort. I maintain he did not.

Then he brings up the email I sent. He said it was awkward and that I told him not to write me again. I told him that of course it was awkward, because I was trying to tell him how I felt. He didn't understand why I couldn't just say how I was feeling. I said I had to write it because, like a good little former grad student, I wanted him to know my historical dating context, and how it affects my dating perceptions. And I couldn't just blurt all that out in a normal conversation. He was like, yeah, it was awkward. So I went back and looked at the email and was mortified that I had ever sent it! It was, uhm, a bit much. I acknowledge this, but argue that he should expect this sort of thing if he's making me feel rejected.

And you know I'm not going to let him win the awkward battle, so I counter with how weird he was about the word "hate." He tries to talk his way out of that one, saying that he just loves nature a whole bunch. I said "No sir, you actually used the word multicultural, so don't try to act like you weren't being a total weirdo." He is on the defensive, but no amount of verbal gymnastics can get him out of this one. And just in case he thought I was going to let us be on even ground again, I one-upped him with his bizarre pizzeria from his childhood date idea. Again, he acts like he was "just trying to let me into his world," and I said that was bullshit, since he's so otherwise protective of his space. He is on the defensive again: How dare I rebuff his kind gesture when he's just trying to forge a meaningful connection with me? Finally GPG realizes he's good, but not that good, and admits that my expectations of a more traditional dinner date were normal.

"Dramazon, what do you want from a guy? What is it that you are looking for?" Whatever. Sales tactic. Find customer's objections and then talk your way back into her pants. Or something like that. I said I wanted fun, adventures, and laughs. I said I would probably like to get married at some point, but wasn't really sure about it. I definitely did not want to date a player who can't commit. He said he wanted someone tall, pervy, and very, very independent and non-clingy. He wasn't sure about the marriage part. He reminds me that no one sees him as marriage material. I see this as a self-pitying cry for help; he sees it as he is honestly telling me he isn't about to get serious with anyone anytime soon. (It was so weird to even say the word marriage, but whatever, I'm in my 30s so I think I can bring this up now in these types of conversations? And did I mention that I have never had these types conversations with any males? Awkward, indeed.)

I steer the conversation back to less feelingsy territory and then we hang up. He sends a cute good night text. While discussing the turn of events with my BFF the next day, she reminded me that I totally forgot to mention Saturday night dates! I immediately email him that I also need Saturday night dates and someone who opens the door when I come over. He responds he can do that, and that he'd like to see me soon. The word "soon" causes the crazy train to leave the station, and I write back instructing him to avoid using that word and to pick an actual date so I can say yes or no. For some reason, Jerkface does not address this issue in his response.

I call him on my way home from looking at the house where I'm moving. GPG is a little concerned about the living environment, but suddenly becomes very supportive and enthusiastic once I mention the stripper pole. And he makes a big show of asking me when my birthday is and lets me know that he is putting it in his planner. Wow, so I can get excited and end up with nothing but a "Happy Birthday!!" text? No thank you. Because if there is one thing that GPG is good at, it's disappointing me. I tried to put GPG and my Halloween Hangover out of my mind by looking at lots of funny Halloween fb pics.

Tightening Up

2010-11-09T10:07:00.000-08:00

Dog is trying me!

I'll put my life in bullet form for you. (Is this not an awesome emo song title??)

I'm moving in a few weeks. To a house that will probably generate waaay more fun stories than my current living situation. I'm looking forward to being able to sit on a couch again! Plus, there's a stripper pole in the garage. I will miss this location, but I think I need a break from sleepy beach towns. And while I haven't lived more than 4 minutes from the beach in the past eight years, I always had to drive way more than 4 minutes just to find a breaking wave, so this won't be so bad.

I'm feeling guilty about leaving the dog, who now spends many of her nights at my feet while my roommate calls her a traitor from the other room. Seriously. But can I help it if dogs, cats, and horses love me, and I love dogs and horses?

Found out that two friends from elementary school and high school live close to my new place. We met up for dinner last Friday and had a blast talking shit about ourselves and everyone we knew. I've been friends with one girl since 4th grade, but things were never the same after she broke her leg on a field trip and I was a little miffed because we were supposed to dance in the talent show together. I was also resentful b/c she had boobs. I think I'm over it now, though. And the other friend is single! And fun! And likes to ride her beach cruiser all over! I have a feeling she will make an excellent wingwoman. Sidenote: You know all of those awful and embarrassing things/rumors that happened to you when you were younger that you hope no one remembers anymore? They remember.

This cracks me up, especially at 2:10. BITCH has already seen it, so maybe you have too? But just in case you aren't super cool...

Halloween and the "Return" of Granny Panties Guy

2010-11-07T10:38:00.000-08:00

You knew that was coming.

And on a completely unrelated note, not to be overbearing and needy, but I feel unloved when I go this long without anyone commenting on or following my blog!! I know things have gotten a little boring here on dramazon, but have no fear, as I have a feeling things will start to get spicy in the next few weeks. And hopefully it isn't because I'm working at Taco Bell.

Okay, so the Friday before Halloween, Granny Panties Guy (GPG) sent out a group text about a Halloween Eve party in his neighborhood. I wanted to reply "no thanks, don't want to get shot," but resisted. This text, coupled with his Halloween email, meant he was willing to put forth minimal effort in the hopes of maybe scoring a future handjob should he ever run into me again. So I ignored the text. I wanted him to wonder what I was doing for Halloween.

So it was finally Halloween! I spent about two hours trying to paint an orange mask on my face with the crappiest facepaint ever made. And then I went and met Vegas Model Judger and his friend who was dressed as a corrupted Mormon. And his friend didn't break character the whole entire night, and I LOVE when people commit to their costume. I mean, check out my awesome friend's costume from a couple years ago. She actually wore padding just to give herself a vagomach. She dressed as a taco this year. People like this make my Halloween/life:

She wore a fat suit, people! And her mentally challenged uncle's prescription glasses.

Vegas Model Judger fully committed, too. He went as Lakers Fletch. And even thought I don't find Chevy Chase to be that funny, it was fun to dribble his basketball around the bar and hip check Fletch and random strangers. And tell everyone that I was All-State back in the day. And I was. No lie. But that was a long, long time ago. And now I was dressed as an 80s cartoon character reliving my high school glory days. That's not pathetic. I decided to get a pic of myself before sweating off all of my orange face makeup. I was Cheetara from Thundercats.

Wasn't Trying to be the Ultimate Warrior. Oh well.

I'm standing like this for several reasons:

I want to show off the cheetah spots that I made with waterproof mascara.
I hate my armpit fat.
Proudly displaying the huge run in my tights.

I get the bright idea of sending the pic to GPG. He responds with a pic of a gruesome, stapled scar that gave me Halloween Hex flashbacks. Not exactly the response I anticipated. Apparently, GPG had been served some karma (j/k!) and been in a nasty accident. I asked if he were okay, and he said he'd had surgery two weeks ago and was on the mend. I feel bad for GPG and want to call him. Vegas Model Judger will not let me. I realize he's right and go back to enjoying myself.

I head to another spot to meet up with The Cabinistas, who are dressed as garden gnomes. There is a short line to get in, but I'm feeling optimistic and am first in line in no time. And then I stand there for 30 minutes as the jerkoff bouncer decides to let Jason from Laguna Beach (who was dressed in an L.A. County jail jumpsuit = hilarious!!) go in and out of the bar every five minutes (maybe he had to keep checking in with his probation officer?), while keeping me there just so he could look at my boobs.

I am finally allowed inside, and start dancing up a storm. And can I help it if I happen to enjoy the company of taut, sinewy, 6'3" guys with shaggy blonde hair? Especially when they don't seem to be in costume, but once they tell you their costume you realize it is the awesomest costume ever because they are super hot and marginally clever? And then you have no choice but to make out with them because it is the only way to break the Halloween Hex once and for all?

Halloween Hex

2010-11-06T21:55:00.000-07:00

Last year I was all ready to go with my Halloween costume. I was going to be Kim Zolciak from Real Housewives of Atlanta. I was going to have my wig on crooked and walk around handing out copies of my single "Tardy for the Party" while chugging chardonnay from a giant goblet. I even had a fake cigarette and the perfect red polyester dress from Ross. And lots of masking tape for my boobs. But Halloween morning I decided to go to a little surf gathering, and drove 90 miles just to check out some cool boards and see some cool people that I actually enjoy surfing with only because I don't see them that often. Kinda weird: I go to great lengths to avoid crowds while surfing at home, but see nothing wrong with driving two hours just to surf in a huge group.

Neil requested more boobs. You're welcome.

And I wasn't really having fun. The waves kinda sucked, I wasn't catching much, so I decided to just start pulling into dumpy little closeouts so that my long drive wasn't in vain. I drop in, get tossed, and as I'm paddling back out I see a flap of skin dangling from my arm. Which was weird, because I didn't feel my fin hit me. So I take a closer look and see that a decent chunk of my arm is missing. And now I'm embarrassed because I have to get out of the water infront of everyone and be the only dork who got hurt in chest-high junk. The shorepound is a little hard to negotiate, especially while I'm trying to hold my bad arm up and carry my fish with my close to useless left arm. I look at the blood and feel a little queasy. I simultaenously have visions of me passing out like a wuss, and/or mistiming my exit and getting washed up infront of everyone like a crippled seal.

Lawless sees me walking up the beach and is like hmm, you should probably wrap that in a towel. But my towel is a pretty brown and blue special towel that was a present that matches my brown and blue board and my brown and blue bikini. I tell him that it is a special towel that matches my board and outfit so I can't ruin it with blood. Lawless rolls his eyes, but I think he gets it. He begrudgingly offers his towel, which didn't look very special, but knowing Lawless it was made from a combination of virgin vegan free range wool and Malloy brothers pubes or some crap like that. But then my friend Tweety intervenes and says that putting a towel on it will only hurt more when I have to take the towel off after it has dried/stuck to my bloody arm. Lawless is glad he can keep his damn towel. I obviously need a ride to urgent care, but there are waves in Florida, so no one wants to take me. Tweety is the only one nice/clueless enough to make eye contact, so he has to give me a ride. And then we almost die about 15 times on our way to the doctor because we keep getting lost and he thinks his gianormous SUV gives him license to make U-turns infront of oncoming traffic.

I texted this to my friends and they thought it was a Halloween prank.

While waiting to see the doctor, Tweety flirts with the receptionist. I don't realize that I have to take the plastic wrapping off of the giant gauze maxi pad the receptionist gave me, and am basically smearing blood all over everything. I whine that I'm going to pass out in hopes of getting in faster. This makes her bring me two mini Gatorade bottles. Tweety assumes one is for him because of course she is there to serve him drinks. So he drinks my Gatorade while I'm about to die from loss of fluids/dignity. (Wasn't exactly able to change out of my bathing suit, so I'm wearing a wet rashguard tank and shorts that have a wet butt b/c I couldn't take off my bikini bottoms.) Finally get in to see the doctor, who's kinda cute, and I guess he is turned on by all of the dried blood and the fact that it looks like I peed my pants, so he tells me all of his secret sandbars and what tides they work best on. He stitches me back up and I'm on my way, but now my arm really starts hurting. I probably shouldn't have driven home with one arm, but I wasn't about to miss Halloween.

Needless to say, I was unable to summon the strength needed to get my costume on and had to stay home and miss Halloween. I was upset, but told myself that my birthday was in 10 days, so that would make things better. And then I got into my 3rd car accident the day before my birthday. But hey, at least I was able to kill two birds with one stone and have my stitches removed while I made yet another trip to Urgent Care.

My friend knows I'm down in the dumps and wants to do my hair for me (she was the one who got me the special blue and brown towel), so I go to see her. On the way there, I get pulled over for speeding, on my birthday, in the dealership's loaner car. I also had an open bottle of wine in the cup holder (wasn't drinking it - brought it for my friend because I'm classy like that and I didn't have time to stop and buy a bottle). And since the car was a loaner, I had no idea where the registration was. I didn't have to fake the tears for the cop. He looked at the birth date on my license and could tell I was about to have a nervous breakdown. He figured that there was no way someone would be dumb enough to speed in a stolen car (a Prius, no less) while drinking wine at 4 in the afternoon, and let me off with a warning.

So that was last year. I was hoping for things to improve this year. I mean, Halloween was going to be on a Sunday which meant you could also go out on Saturday, too! I stayed in on Friday, just in case the Halloween Hex was still around. I also didn't surf, just in case. And then Sexty McSexterson texted (not sexted) me on Friday all grumpy and refusing to do Halloween. I tell him that is unacceptable and help him come up with some costume ideas. I tell him that somehow my friend got me a ticket to this really cool party and he should try to get a ticket and go with his friends and have a good time. He agrees and is back to loving Halloween, and I feel like I'm a good friend.

Then I find out my friend (Vegas Model Judger) doesn't actually have a ticket for me. Vegas Model Judger feels bad and heads over to get me one, just as Sexty McSexterson texts me that tickets are sold out and he probably got the last one that was up for grabs. Things snowball after this, and I end up staying home as everyone else in the whole entire world goes out and has an amazing time while I sit at home watching Trailer Park Boys and texting Brooding Intense Tall Canadian Hero, who now thinks I'm dumb because I thought Halloween was an exclusively American affair. And then the ex texts me that he will always love me, which this always scares me, because I'm afraid he's about to do something bad. Insomnia ruins my plans of getting a good night's sleep. I lie awake, cursing the Halloween Hex.

Awesome Things to Share with My Readers

2010-10-30T14:20:00.000-07:00

Brooding Intense Tall Canadian Hero (!) first introduced me to the greatness that is Yacht Rock. And he was somehow able to top this by telling me about Trailer Park Boys - a Canadian mockumentary/stoner comedy that is pretty much the coolest thing I've ever seen. All of the episodes are on youtube. Please watch. You're welcome.

I would also like to share Hungover Owls with you.

Okay, off to put the finishing touches on my Halloween costume.

Fall Trends: Be Like Laird

2010-10-30T13:58:00.000-07:00

But you will never be like him. Here's why: Laird is athletic. Like, freakishly so. You are not. Subscribing to Outside and Men's Health magazines will not change this fact. Instead of getting various degrees and devoting his life to the corporate machine, Laird spent all of his time working out, surfing, and overcompensating for his squeaky voice. You chose a different path, and you must live with this decision.

This is not you. Deal with it.

I'm only bringing this up because if there is one thing that I hate more than entitled desk jockeys who can't do a bottom turn and ruin every wave by going straight on their SUPs, it has to be novice kite boarders. Now, I'm all for people learning new sports and hobbies. As long as they stay away from people until they are proficient. Having $1400 to spend on a board that you won't be able to ride is great! But it doesn't mean you are Laird. You will actually have to put in some QT bruising yourself and your ego until you stop squatting while going straight. I mean, if you want to learn how to be a racecar driver, you certainly don't go buy a Formula One car and start driving through your neighborhood or school zones doing 180 mph. Right?!

So you can imagine my dismay when I heard about the newest craze that's sweeping the balding, over-40 with something to prove crowd. Uhm, Ess You Pee-pee-ers are now attaching kites to their SUPs. Isn't that windsurfing, you ask? Or kitesurfing? I really don't even know. Don't you kitesurf because you get so amped on all the rad air you catch? And the speed! So thrilling! Don't even worry about people and their earlobes getting caught in your kite lines as you lose control while doing some spastic/extreme board-grab. Why would you want a kite attached to a 13-foot, 30-lb board that requires the use of an oar just to propel it? What's the goddamn point?

Don't forget your tunes! Who wants to hear nature? Or screams?

The goddamn point is that kitesurfing is too hard for most Johnny Utah come latelies, so I guess now they are going to take an out of control/shape SUP Laird wannabe and give him a kite to wreak havoc with. It's true. (I heard it the other day at Cardiff when I was on my longboard -- which I use as a crutch because I can't ride my shortboard on thigh-high mushburgers.) And remember who told you about this awesome new sport that only real watermen will embrace. You also need to look the part, so check out this new Chanel diving watch: Time for a shaka!

*Obviously this post isn't directed toward all kitesurfers/SUPers/Chanel wearers. Only the ones who annoy me. And people who are obviously trying to make a quick buck while pretending otherwise.

Beery Bathroom Banditry

2010-10-22T16:32:00.000-07:00

Last week I got drunk and made out in random places along my street. Twice.

First up: Pizza date with So-So Nice Guy (SSNG)

I decided that a beer might allow me to enjoy myself on our date. And I was also starving, so I was hoping the beer would make me full and then I wouldn't eat all of the pizza like a little oinker. But it didn't really work out that way. First we had an appetizer, which basically consisted of a teeny tiny piece of bread. No biggie, I thought. We had a whole pizza coming, so I could just wait for that. Except the pizza was very, very small. And as the girl you have to take the smaller slice and leave the extra piece for him. Sure, I'll have another beer. Make it a large. SSNG was starting not to bug me as much. And I found myself saying all sorts of pleasantries and maybe leading him on a bit? I felt like Jerkface. I decided to drown my conscience with the rest of my beer.

Then I decided we needed dessert. So we went to my favorite dessert spot. (I really wanted to order another pizza, because I knew we would share a dessert, and again, I would have to act like I didn't want to devour it in one bite.) So I filled up on a glass of wine waiting for our dessert. And spent an entire nanosecond protesting that I didn't want the last bite before I shoved it in my mouth. At this point I'm pretty bombed, so I agree to go look at the beach, knowing to take him to a spot where we won't be able to make out. I allow SSNG to kiss me for a total of maybe 30 seconds. And maybe we kissed a little bit on the walk home, since there are all sorts of trees and shadows. Which are fun. Because there was nothing I loved more than - back in college - walking past a stranger on the way home from a bar and stopping to makeout with him. It was my "thing." And maybe I am regressing a bit these days, you know, trying to fit the part of someone who has no furniture or job and is once again considering donating plasma just to pay her phone bill. Anyway...

SSNG tries to get naked back at my house. I scold him and tell him to put his pants back on. And you know I still didn't touch it! And then I fall asleep. For real sleep, not fake cough go away sleep. Or maybe I passed out. From hunger! I slip back into Jerkface mode (thanks for the stupid Halloween email forward, Jerkface), and ignore SSNG's two texts. And then I get a bunch of emails checking on me to make sure I'm okay b/c he hadn't heard from me for two days. Really? Who does this? At this age? But I don't want to be mean/jerky, so I make sure to return one text per day. He will tire of me eventually. Right?

I spend the next few days occupying my would-be sexting GPG time by obsessing over my Halloween costume. It isn't coming together as planned. And when I tried stuff on and sent pics to one of My Main Gays for feedback, he didn't reply in time. So I ended up buying ugly stuff and will probably spend more money than if I had just bought a costume and made it easy on myself. I also broke down and bought Uggs. Well, they were Target Uggs. Because I refuse to spend more than $25 on ugly shoes. They are amazing. I can't recommend them enough. I've been wearing them nonstop b/c apparently I mistakenly drove to Seatte instead of San Diego when I moved. I mean I had to break out my skiing tights just to go running yesterday. However, I'm thinking I can probably wear knee socks when I'm jogging and act like I'm doing it to stay warm, and not b/c I have some weird leg warmer/knee sock fetish.

Part two: Bathroom Bandit encounter leads to making out while lying down on the inclined driveway of a parking lot.

I know! Last Friday I went to meet up with a guy I met a few months ago. Even though he thinks Soundfarden and Chris Cornell are talented, I still enjoy his company immensely. He's just really fun. And before you're all you should date him, his job consists of hanging out with gorgeous spokesmodels in Vegas every week. So obvi that isn't going to work.

Anyway, Chris Cornhell Fan has a BFF in town and they are drinking very strong beers right by my house. I don't even think I talked to his BFF at all? But I did drink 3 very strong beers. I think I switched to water at the next bar, but I'm not sure? Because at this point, my vision and memory get a little foggy and suddenly Visiting Friend is giving off a douchey Alpha Male energy that I find intoxicating.

Then we move to the dessert place I went to with both SSNG and GPG, and I definitely drink water. I come out of the stall in the restroom, and am ambushed by Visting Friend who is now Bathroom Bandit. I was a little confused, because I'd assumed no guys pulled this trick past their late teens. Yes readers, believe it or not, some guys will actually skulk around outside of bathrooms at bars or parties waiting to make out with you. Bathroom Bandit starts kissing me and I start to panic. Not because of the ambush, but because I'm afraid I will be banned from the restaurant and will never be able to enjoy their delicious chocolate chip bread pudding ever again. So I run out of the bathroom. I don't know what Bathroom Bandit did.

The bar closes and now Bathroom Bandit is walking me home. I do not like the way his deoderant smells. Or maybe it was cologne? Now, I'm not saying he's stinky. I just have a very sensitive nose, and he smelled exactly like the stench that was coming from 6'9"Guy's freshly shorn armpits. But I still like to makeout in shadows on the way home. But I start being difficult because I decide I don't want him to come home with me. And I think he quickly realizes I am not worth the trouble, and the feeling becomes mutual. I let him touch half of one boob and we call it a night.

Okay, the sun is shining so I have to go do something outside.

For Brett!

2010-10-18T12:07:00.000-07:00

T'his isn't his newest video, which I found to be a little underwhelming in the wardrobe department. But this video is hilarious. Unintentionally. And check out Stacey Dash's shoes...

No Soup for You

2010-10-11T13:24:00.000-07:00

A lot has been going on. Well, not really. It just seems that way because I don't have a job and spend all day obsessing over that fact. And maybe I spend way too much time analyzing every little exchange with GPG. Before I get to that, let me catch you up on some other things...

When is it gold digging?
I am having issues with getting guys to put in effort while not looking like I'm using them to pay for stuff. And I spent all of college withholding sex, so it's not like I haven't tried that option, either. I am super paranoid b/c I paid for everything with the ex. Everything. Lame. Not doing that again. I don't mind paying for some stuff, and yet I can't help but think guys keep track of their expenses to monitor the return they're getting on their investment.

Hardy har har!

In other words, I paid for a date that I didn't want to go on, with a guy I didn't want to be with. Why did I do this? Not sure. So-So Nice Guy mentioned that he was short on cash and wanted to know if we could do something other than go to dinner. I knew what he was getting at. So two weekends ago, we went to a movie because he said that's all he could afford. I could take the hint/bait, so I bought the tickets and then spent the next two hours pretending not to notice that he kept staring at me and trying to touch me. I felt like I was back in 8th grade. I was pretty bored the whole time. And then I told him I was super tired and couldn't invite him in for any making out. Whatever. Obvi, I need to tell him I just want to be friends. But I don't want to do that because I am hoping that at one point he will say something funny and then I will like him.

I still haven't figured out the whole issue of being self-sufficient and independent without coming across as cold and unappreciative. But I am aware of this issue, and I'm working on tackling the whole Modern Woman paradox, because I really don't have many female friends my age who have both a fabulous career and children. I mean, I grew up with Barbie going corporate. Day to Night Barbie was a huge influence on me - I knew I wanted those wingtip heels and a career when I grew up. And she also had an apartment with a Murphy bed on one side, and an awesome office on the other.

Check out her shoes! (Her skirt was reversible, in case you couldn't tell.)

Okay, enough of this, but it will come up later with GPG.

Awkward Moment of the Week

Last Monday was foggy and cold and rainy and it made me want to jump off a cliff. I thought buying some healthy food would make me feel better. As I'm scoping out the raspberries in the produce aisle, this bald, overweight, middle-aged grocery store employee decides to hit on me. In front of 10 customers. He asked me how I was dealing with the gross weather. I said I wished I were somewhere sunny with a pool to swim in. I was being honest, since pools and bikinis are always lurking somewhere in the "depths" of my mind. (I can also blame Barbie for this one. Maybe I would be a different person today if my mom hadn't bought Sun Gold Malibu Barbie and the Bubbling Spa for me when I broke my leg for the second time.) Then I realized he might think I was flirting back, so I went back to wrecking the raspberry display. He invited me over to swim in his pool. I didn't think he was serious. Then he starts giving me his address. And did I know that his development has three pools that were all heated? I grabbed two cartons of raspberries and got the hell out of there. Soooo creepy. Why couldn't he have been hot?

Granny Panties Guy
Okay, I'm starting to get antsy to go surf, but I wanted to get my GPG update finished first. Just to recap, I had decided to go Full Pervert, and was succeeding at getting things back to being fun. And then the progress was stymied b/c Jerkface got the flu last weekend. Again. Now, being throw-up sick is the worst feeling ever. And he was also throw-up sick three months ago. And I guess he was sick from Thurs-Monday. So I left him alone. And then since last Monday was so cold and dark, it made me crazy and needy. So I texted him at 5 that I was eating some soup and would save some for him if he were still sick. He was incredulous that I could cook. So I lied and said that of course I had made the soup, and that cooking was a talent that I kept hidden from most people. He was impressed. I made a mental note to learn how to cook squash soup. We texted for about two hours. Then nothing on Tuesday and Wednesday. But I figured he was busy with work since he missed a few days.

Here's Your Soup!

On Thursday I decided it was time to either move things forward, or end them once and for all. I threw down the ace I had up my sleeve. Which was texting him pics of my Chargers-themed bikini photo shoot. (My ~~roommate's~~ dog thinks I am so weird.) Anyway, the pics were super cute and Jerkface was very happy that I'd jumped on the football bandwagon. But just as things were getting good, he had to go to a meeting. Momentum killed, once again. Yes, I am sympathetic that he has to work, but I also need the attention. So I went to grab a bite to eat with one of my girlfriends. I told her that I was thinking of inviting Jerkface over since my roommate was going to be home late. But I also knew that he would say no because he was too tired. She said that I might as well invite him and that would move things along in some kind of direction.

I steeled myself for his lame "I'm still sick and need to go to bed, but I would like to see you soon" text and got it. I decided not to respond while I was feeling emo and rejected. But I knew that was the end of things. If you are sick, and you like someone, you go to see them. And at this point, I'd done everything I could. I had asked if he were seeing anyone. I had been demanding. I had gone Full Pervert. I had ignored and been detached. I had shown interest and pretended to cook for him. I had talked about feelings a little bit, which is a lot for me. All that was left was to clear my conscience about the gold digging issue. First, I sent him an upbeat, sexy response to his rejection text. That way, when he looks back, he will see that I was fun and hot, not pouty and whiney. Next, I sent him an email explaining why I got grumpy when we stayed in those two nights. I told him that I was digging for effort, not gold. For some reason, it was just really important that things didn't end with him thinking I was just another cold, treacherous woman who was only using him for free dinners. I told him not to worry about writing me back.

And he didn't. I was pretty sad the next day. But I feel like I handled things as an adult, and honestly, this feelings stuff is really just an awesome way to absolve you from any of the blame when things don't work out with someone! Feelings are my new thing. It is just hard to have them for 99% of the guys that I meet.

Rebound with Sexty McSexterson

Deciding to make the most of my weekend, I'm sure my readers will be happy to know that I spent Saturday night drunkenly making out up against a palm tree infront of a very busy Taco Bell, and up against my car while a bunch of bro-brahs from a house party looked on. This was with Sexty McSexterson, the visionary who introduced me to sexting about a year ago. At one point, last winter, I had pictured us playing volleyball together, and then going night swimming in the Pacific (which would also be 85 degrees), followed by me licking guacamole off of his hip flexors (avocados make me think of CA). But then I noticed that he was hooking up with a lot of girls from his facebook. And since I was living in FL, it's not like I could get mad. But some of them were skanks and it is hard to have feelings for someone that is hooking up with skanks. But he is fun and cute and was a welcome distraction from the Jerkface failure.

The Jerkface Whisperer: Going Full Pervert

2010-10-03T18:07:00.000-07:00

Upon receiving the obligatory Monday Morning Football Excuse Text, I decided to make a drastic change. I reasoned: Jerkface likes sexy times; I like attention. I also like sexy times, but can't enjoy them without getting the attention first. (I know this seems strange to my male readers, but just go with me on this one.) I had tried pouting and bitching to get the attention, and Jerkface's fun façade crumbled as a result. I could continue on this dangerous path and end up having to walk away from the (finally) good sexy times I'd worked so hard for, or I could try something unheard of. Something that no intelligent, self-respecting feminist would ever do. I was going to go Full Pervert on GPG.

I found this while googling "Full (Un-PC term)" - this link is a collection of WW cover art and gender role commentary.

Let me explain. When I send GPG a boring text about my day, he responds hours later with how busy and tired he is. If I even hint at something dirty, he replies seconds later with something funny or amusing. I used to get texts full of smileys and pet names, fun lunchbreak calls, and cute bedtime conversations. Since I flipped the bitch switch that has all disappeared. Was it possible to get things back to how they used to be by sending one or two suggestive texts? Because I had put in weeks of bitching and neither GPG nor I were having much fun. Could two texts (and I mean really, that's zero effort on my part), with only hints of sex, and no actual action, undo the damage of my pouting campaign? (Sure, I was setting women's rights back a few decades, but it's not like I'm texting him pictures of me vacuuming in a bullet bra and girdle. Yet.)

[Beyoncé is also struggling with an Independent Woman-Madonna-whore complex, albeit in a more compelling fashion than I.]

Oh yes. They could. Actually, it only took one text. Attention Deficit Disorder, indeed.
When I texted him about my surfing injury, he waited 42 mins to ask if I were okay. When I replied (21 mins later but I swear I didn't time it) with the details of how it happened, he waited 95 mins to say "Glad u weren't hurt. Thick head payed [sic] off : )." It took 34 more mins until I decided to kick off Operation Jerkface Whisperer. Swallowing my pride, I replied asking if it were too early for dirty puns. And then, rather miraculously, he answered within a minute. And suddenly he had all the time in the world to text me. And I know you're thinking, sure, he only wanted sexy talk. Duh. But many of his texts weren't about sex, they were just about mundane things. But the difference was the response time. As long as he thinks there's a possibility of sexy talk, four minutes was the longest it took for him to write back. And the speed and length of his responses increased exponentially whenever I paid him a compliment.

And then he gave me a compliment that, as twisted as it sounds, actually made my heart pitter patter just a teensy bit. To be fair, GPG is always telling me that I am hot, intelligent, and funny. But when I warned him that I was about to go Full Pervert on him, he texted: "I heart the pervert in you." *Swoons* I started taking longer to respond to him, but regardless of the subject matter, he responded to each text within a minute. He even asked me if I wanted to make out. I ignored that text, as I had to get ready to go on my date with SSNG. (Yes, I'm a horrible person. And SSNG is compounding my guilt by being so damn helpful and supportive!) Jerkface even texted me while watching Monday Night Football with all his bros.

We didn't text the next day. Maybe he had some work to make up, as I'm pretty sure he just walked around with a boner all day on Monday. Then he sent me an email. I haven't gotten an email from him in awhile. He didn't write much. He might actually be illiterate. Instead, he sent a video that he thought would help me to understand the ludicrous demands placed on him by his boss and Quarter close. Okay, so maybe he is borderline mentally challenged when it comes to communication, but as it was unsolicited attention, I would take it. I also took a chance and decided to call him before I went to bed. I knew I'd get his voicemail, but figured at least that way I would get a call the next day. He texted me that he was hanging out with his family and he'd call me on his drive home. I contemplated shutting off my phone to punish him (ha!) for not taking my call. But we hadn't had a non-pouty conversation in a long time, so I answered when he called twenty minutes later.

We talked for an hour. Of course he had to bring up that he made me fall out of bed (not true, his bed is just very small), but the conversation was decidedly non-sexual. In fact, it pretty much consisted of me whining about my roommate and job situation. He was actually really supportive and encouraging. He even gave some helpful advice! And I felt sort of special because I knew he would have to wake up at five to get his paperwork done since he was skipping it to listen to me vent. Operation Jerkface Whisperer was going surprisingly well. Maybe there is something to this fake-nice business everyone keeps talking about? Maybe I shouldn't have been such a smartass every time my dad told me I'd get more flies with honey than vinegar and I responded by asking him what kind of idiot wants to attract flies? It's like my dad could tell I was going to be a spinster.

I sent a text early the next morning thanking GPG for the pep talk. He wrote back something nice. I waited until the afternoon to go Full Pervert. And I deliberately waited a long time in between texts, but he would still reply within a minute to whatever I wrote, sexy or not. Again, all pet names and lots of attention from GPG. And don't worry, I wouldn't even THINK of agreeing to another night in on the couch with him. I decided I would say two things before I saw him next. First, I am going to tell him that when he doesn't answer the door and greet me with a kiss and lots of enthusiasm, it makes me not want to have sexy times with him. Second, I will tell him that taking me out to dinner only heightens the anticipation of sexy times, and I will see what happens. I might also mention how sexy times in Bali would be amazing, but then he might catch on.

Sure, I feel like I'm being manipulative, and the romantic in me insists that these things should occur naturally. But, guys are just playing the nice guy because you make them. I'm sure if it were socially acceptable for men to walk around all day in dirty sweatpants, drinking beer and eating turkey drumsticks, they would. So I will let him think that he is so good at sexy times that I have forsaken my bitchiness for perviness.

And you thought I was joking. From bulkyboy's blog.

GPG calls me on Thursday and it's back to enthusiastic, cute, fun Jerkface phone conversations. But I get another call that I have to take. I call him back before bed and he sounds awful and thinks he's getting sick. He is right. GPG will spend this weekend in bed. Alone and sick as a dog. Somebody please kill me because I had finally gotten things back to where I would get the Saturday Night Date. Which I wouldn't even want if he would just stop withholding it from me.

No Myth

2010-09-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

I miss the 90s. And guitar solos. Black jeans are back, though.

Song by the underrated Michael Penn. (Aimee Mann's husband - not Ryan from The Office.)

I Should Probably Wear a Helmet

2010-09-28T12:52:00.000-07:00

So I guess I am still two weeks behind in filling you in on my boring life that only seems interesting because you are married and are surrounded by screaming children and you wish you could go on dates with guys who are pretending to like you just to see if they can get in your pants. I would be more motivated to update if I actually had anything pleasant to report. But, there are some funny parts in my story, so I'm going to try to cover the last two weeks...

Jerkface told me to dress comfortably and come over around 7 last, last Thursday night. So I put on my lululemon pants that make my butt look big and my Wonder Woman t-shirt for extra Amazon strength (and b/c it is tight on my boobs). I show up, and once again Jerkface is sitting on the couch and tells me that the door is open. Then he sees that it's locked and gets up to let me in. So I am pissed from the get-go. Again. I brought over a nice bottle of wine and some tomatoes from my roommate's garden b/c he loves tomatoes. (I hate tomatoes. Just smelling them makes me ill. And I had to pick them and regardless of how many times I scrubbed my hands, the tomato stench just wouldn't go away. Picking tomatoes for someone is a fairly serious commitment for me. It's akin to giving someone a kidney.)

He opens the bottle of wine and wants to sit at his kitchen table and get caught up and just "enjoy each other's company." I drain my glass of wine as he talks about himself. I am buzzed. Glancing around, I notice there are no pots going on the stove. I ask what we're having for dinner. Feigning surprise, he says that he was just going to eat some tomatoes and skip dinner altogether. You know, because, it's weird that I would want to eat dinner. I give him a dirty look. He offers to make something gross that I don't want. Another dirty look. He offers to take me out, but does so with a pained expression. I tell him not to bother. He fills up my glass. I sulk and complain that I would not have come down if I'd known heirloom tomatoes were the only thing on the menu. He says that we will have to communicate more in the future. I want to tell him that I know he is playing dumb on purpose and it has nothing to do with communication. I'm pretty sure he suspects I am using him for free dinners.

We move to the couch and he is excited to show me videos he took of him riding his bike in BC. They were fun to watch. I guess. He states that he had so much fun he is probably going to go on another (solo) vacation soon. I want to scream. And then he brings the weirdness - it's really not an official GPG post until the weirdness is broughted. Taking a deep breath, he turns to me and says: "You know, I wanted to stop seeing you when you said you hated the mountains. Hate is a very strong word, and I don't like when people use it. I grew up in a multicultural neighborhood and a lot of people didn't get along. So it really disturbed me when you used such a strong word so casually."

You read that right, folks. He wanted to stop seeing me because I used the word hate, not in a malicious or hurtful or bigoted manner, but because like everyone else, he was persecuted for one thing or another during his childhood, and was now scarred so I must now censor myself. Guess what? I was called Medusa by every boy in the 4th grade who would then act like they turned to stone when I looked at them. You don't see me avoiding Greek mythology. Or snakes. Or geologists. AND I knew that the mountain comment was something I had probably said the first time I met him, just so he knew I would not be going on any ski trips because I HATE THE MOUNTAINS. I do. That is where Skeletor and Gargamel and all
other scary people lived on Saturday morning cartoons. Mountains are fun to hike in the summer, but in the winter, they are full of cold and ice and long lines of weekend warriors trying to ski.

I drained my second glass of wine while I tried to rein in the snark. I told him that since I pretty much spent most of my adult life studying words and their power, I really didn't think he needed to get upset because I had used that word to convey feelings that I knew were out of the ordinary, especially since I had lived in Colorado and most people are amused by irony and my melodrama. Okay, I didn't say the last part because he doesn't understand big words. If I'd said I hate Catholics, or puppies, I could have understood his moral outrage. I wanted to point out how ludicrous his statement was, but clearly there was something strange going on and I just didn't feel like dealing with it. I also wanted to point out that if some offhand comment I made months prior was all he could find that was wrong with me, perhaps he should be a little more appreciative of my company. Instead, I apologize for my insensitivity (he either ignores or doesn't notice the sarcasm), and seems relieved to have gotten that off his chest.

I only let him pour me half a glass before I go back to complaining about how hungry I am. Again he offers to make something or take me out. I tell him that now I'm too full on wine to eat anything. He acts like I am being a pain. I guess I am, but it's warranted. Right? He puts some music on and lets me play dj for a bit. That makes me happy. He talks about how he loves to go out dancing. This is one of the things that I liked about him in the beginning, because no straight white guys make a point of mentioning that they like to go out dancing. And here we are, three months later, without any actual dancing having transpired.

We make out. We move to his ridculously small bed. Things FINALLY go the way I want them to, although I am sure his neighbors will tell him to limit my wine intake in the future. Then I fall off the bed. I'm lying on the floor thinking maybe he hadn't noticed. I plan to casually crawl back in bed, but he starts laughing and made some remark that I can't remember. I grab my pillow in a huff and head out to the couch where it's quiet. And then I can't sleep. I lie there until five, and then I start to realize every girl's worst fear: this guy is only pretending to like me so that he can have sexy times and I just became his midweek booty call who doesn't even rate high enough to take out to dinner. And I had picked him tomatoes! Mother effer! So I pack up my things, making sure not to straighten anything or do anything considerate like turn any lights off, and I leave at 5:30. I feel better. More in control. And a little crazy because I didn't really sleep or eat anything.

At 7 a.m. GPG texts me a pic of his cool car that looks just like the convertible in "Teenage Dream" that maybe I had pictured myself riding down to Mexico in for a beach party / surf trip at some point in the near future. He wants to know why I left. He calls at noon and gets sent straight to voicemail. I call my one friend who is always 100% honest and doesn't just tell me what I want to hear (everyone needs a bff like this), and she is on Jerkface's side and tells me that her husband has never opened the door for her in his life. I said that I'm sure he did when they first started dating. She wasn't so sure. She says I need to call Jerkface and level with him and at least let him know that I'm not down with the being Thursday night booty call girl. I wait for him to call over the weekend and make some sort of grand gesture. Doesn't happen. I compose several mean texts, which may or may not have made fun of his "hate" issues, but never send them. I call him on Monday morning with a well-rehearsed farewell voicemail message all ready to go. I am a little bummed that the last time that he will ever see me was after I fell off the bed.

(How I did not spend my summer vacation)

Jerkface answers the phone, foiling my farewell plans. I don't get it. If you don't like me, don't answer the phone. If you just want sexy times, go a different route with someone who isn't so prone to pouting and overanalyzing. Jerkface is all, "Where'd you go? You disappeared from the face of the earth this weekend." As IF we ever hung out on the weekends. I told him I was tired and HUNGRY so I had left early. He was like "Uh huh, what else?" I told him there was nothing else. He continues to ask what was really wrong. I told him I'd had a little freakout. "Uh huh. I figured that. Why?" "Uhm, because I don't want to be anyone's midweek booty call." (Not entirely true - call me Paul Walker!!) "Okay." And that was it. No "well sorry, but that's all I'm looking for right now." No "well that will never happen again because I really like you; I just have a hard time expressing my true feelings." Nada.

I bitch about him not opening the door. He tells me I'm wrong and that he did get up. I tell him that it doesn't count because the door was locked. Then he starts to say how much he usually likes to go out, but how he just doesn't have the energy right now and how he likes to stay home. And he apologizes for not making better plans for dinner, but WITHOUT ACKNOWLEDGING THAT HE AVOIDED MAKING CONCRETE PLANS because he wants to see how little effort he can put forth and still get away with it. I tell him that I was pretty upfront about not being a homebody from the get-go, and that he shouldn't have pretended to enjoy going out if he really doesn't. He maintains that he does like to go out, just not right now. Then, for the first time ever, we have a prolonged awkward silence on the phone. He starts to say something, but I interrupt and tell him I have to go. I hang up. We text a little bit (this was last Monday) throughout the day, but the texts are forced and unfun. I figure that's that. Go about putting the finishing touches on a website I've been working on for awhile and try not to think about what a chump I was with GPG.

I start to think about So-So Nice Guy (I think that will be the final version of his code name), but decided that only an evil person would call him after dropping him for GPG. So-So Nice Guy calls me out of the blue on Friday and says that he misses me and thought I needed some space. This makes me feel awful about myself. SSNG wants to go out for dinner on Monday (yesterday). He also wants to help with my website. Again, this makes me feel awful. I reason that maybe I can start to like him once he loosens up and stops being so nervous around me. And let's face it people, I like the attention. Especially after being dumped by someone that I was never seeing in the first place.

The weekend comes and goes. I underestimate my PMS and make the mistake of going to a restaurant with some friends on Saturday night. It was fun, but it was also where GPG and I went on our first date. Back when I was given a meal. I remember how we were sitting at the bar and he just leaned in and stole a kiss. And how mad I got at him for doing something so douchey. But now, thanks to PMS and pinot, it made me miss Jerkface. But this is the longest we'd gone without talking. Sunday morning I decide that inviting GPG to come surf would be a nice gesture on my part. And, he doesn't write back. I have fun surfing until I do a faceplant on someone's board. Then my head hurt and I think I suffered permanent hearing loss in my left ear. I try to go to bed early after checking my phone for missed calls/texts at least 7,000 times.

Monday morning brings the usual "I just got this text because football is an excuse for everything" text from GPG. I decide that having expectations with GPG only makes me hostile toward him. I force myself to not look for meaning with him, and hope that at some point I meet someone who brings the laughs and the attention. In the meantime, I text GPG as I'm getting ready for my date with SSNG, feeling good b/c whether or not he knows it (and whether or not it's true), I feel as though I have the upper hand again with GPG. SSNG and I have a nice date. I give him a spark-less goodnight kiss and go to bed. The end.

From Jung to Jerkface

2010-09-21T12:40:00.000-07:00

*Sung to the tune of Neil Young's "Hank to Hendrix" (Hi, Sue!)

I haven't written anything substantial ~~ever~~ in awhile, and I was waiting for something MAJOR to happen, either good or bad, before I updated. I wanted to wrap everything up with a ribbon of meaning, but I have nothing. Sorry. I get it, we are all sick of Jerkface's cool act. Don't worry, I'm going on a date with a new guy soon. In the meantime, let me explain the title and fill you in on the last two weeks.

Two Tuesdays ago, GPG called me from the airport as he was on his way home from his mountain bike vacation. I guess I am an entertaining way to kill an hour. He said a lot of unexpected things, which caught me off guard.

GPG: "What are you doing on Thursday? I will be staying up by you for work stuff, and I wanted to lock in Thursday night before you made a date with another guy."

Me: "Uhmmm."

GPG: "Oh, and I want to do something this weekend, too. That is if you haven't already made plans with someone else."

Me. "Uhmmm." (Panicking over turn of events, do I reveal that, duh, I'm not a skank, so of course I'm not seeing anyone else? But what if he is? Then I will look pathetic. But what if I leave it up in the air and then that makes him decide to see other people when he really isn't only because he thinks I am? Why is he asking me out for the weekend?) "Thursday sounds good. I haven't made plans for the weekend because it's only Tuesday." (Get nervous. Change subject to surfing.)

~Ten Minutes pass with lighthearted chit chat.~

GPG: "I mean, I can't go out with you this weekend. I know that you want to do something on Saturday night, but I just can't promise you that now, and then cancel later and have you get mad at me."

Me: "Uhmmmm." (Did he not just ask me out for this weekend ten minutes ago? WTH?)

GPG: "And I'd like to cook for you, too."

Me: "I'm not really into that."

GPG: "But that's like the most intimate thing you can do for someone."

Me: "I'd have more fun eating at a restaurant. They won't have their feelings hurt because I'm a picky eater." (I have major food anxieties, and I really hate eating stuff I don't like and pretending to like it, and then the cook is personally insulted because they catch me putting shit in my napkin. I also don't like how "Let me cook a gourmet meal for you" soon turns into "I have a frozen pizza and some gross cheap beer. Let's stay in and watch the game instead of going out." Not to mention, some people view cooking for their favorite meal for you in the way that I judge people based on whether or not they love my favorite songs.) "I'm not much of a homebody, and would prefer an actual date where we go out."

GPG: "Sounds good, let me know when you're taking me out."

Me: "Touché. You know what I mean. I'm down with having a snugglefest at some point, but would rather go out."

GPG: "Okay, so we will have a snugglefest soon. And you will love my cooking."

Me: "I am not into tacos made with the gray meat-type substance you have in your fridge. And I don't like balogna sandwiches, either."

GPG changes subject to how he hung out all day with his brother's girlfriend and how cool it is to hang out with someone that he gets along so well with. I wonder if he is in love with her. Why else would he bring that up? Unless he is trying to say that he would like to have a girlfriend soon? Or that he just wants to be friends? We agree to hang out on Thursday and hang up.

Now of course I wanted to run to my blog and tell everyone about this turn of events, but then the realist in me took over, and I told myself to wait, b/c knowing him, he would flake on Thursday and weekend plans. He texts me a dorky picture on Wednesday and I wrote something mushy in return. Don't hear from him to confirm plans, so I went to see a movie with SeaPony on Thursday instead. GPG texts me at 9:30 that night to tell me that he just got home from work and is up by me, but has a roommate at his hotel, but would still like to see me. I ignore. Then I get a text from a number that I don't recognize saying that someone was at a wine bar in TX and thought of me because of a song they heard. (No, I'm not telling you the band b/c it is a band that is a guilty pleasure and I have to keep my indie cred intact.) GPG calls at 10, asking where I am and telling me to head over to hang out with him and his work friends, and that he is sorry that he misunderstood the arrangements and actually has a roommate in his suite.

Now, seriously, WHAT THE EFF? No call from him to confirm, and then he thinks I'm going to drop everything to go hang out with him and a bunch of corporate dickheads at 9:30 at night? NO. I decide to ignore him until Saturday. (I mean, at some point he has to understand that I will not tolerate this bullshit. At some point he must realize that he can't live without me. And then I will promptly lose interest.) I begin to wonder why he even called. I mean, it wasn't even a booty call since he had a roommate. Are we transitioning to the friend zone? I decide to get drunk and make out with someone to get my mind off of GPG. But then I drank a beer and got tired and went home instead.

I wake up the next morning and remember the mystery text and set about finding out who it was. When I go to open my email, my word of the day is "synchronicity," which makes me laugh because I have a feeling that I know who wrote the mystery text, and this word reminds me of him. The text is from a guy from college who totes "got me" and my taste in music. And I loved talking to him about how everything needed to have some deep meaning because that is what emo college freshmen do. But the thing you have to watch out for when you're known as someone who looks for meaning constantly, is that sometimes when you do things that have no meaning, people assume the opposite.

[Uhm, so okay, I had such a crush on this guy. And duh, we both were the type who loved J.D. Salinger. So for his birthday I gave him a copy of Franny and Zooey because he already had Salinger's other books. No biggie, right? I know I inscribed something, but can't remember what. I know it wasn't anything mushy, though. Anyway, I give him the book and he freaks out b/c he thinks that I am saying that he is Zooey and I am Franny and we are in love, which is totally bizarre because they are brother and sister! And Franny is crazy. I swear I just thought it would be nice for him to complete his Salinger collection, there was no secret meaning!!!] He stops calling me, hooks up with my roommate, end of that story/friendship. But since we are adults now, we kind of haven't mentioned ALL THAT and are back to talking, being careful to avoid any topics with meaning.

So of course the whole GPG/TX Text is so an example of "the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner." Because the TX Text was pretty random, considering I haven't heard from that guy in a long time, especially considering that the text came while GPG was pulling his usual crap. Was this a reminder not to like standoffish guys because they will only crush my soul? Or was it saying not to think about things too much? I mean, my email word of the day picked a pretty significant word. I think? And THEN I got an email in response to my Chantilly Lace post stating that the song's second verse was probably the best second verse ever written in the history of music. So of course that equals insta-crush on the emailer. Except he lives where GPG just vacationed. And GPG likes good music, but he doesn't "get it" the way I would like him to. What does it all mean? Of course, the whole point is that it means nothing, we just like to assign significance to random events in order to briefly escape our own personal hell that we're all living.

So I call GPG that Saturday. I had gone to a party the night before and couldn't wait to tell him about all the fun he was missing by flaking on me. I said that I was about to go to some random "restaurant" that he likes, and he responds with "I'm sorry, I can't go - don't feel like driving all the way up there for breakfast." Uhm, what? I told him that I wasn't inviting him and that he must be mentally unstable. He laughs. Conversation doesn't go well after that. He doesn't even bring up Thursday night! We ignore each other the rest of the weekend. He texts me on Monday morning. I ignore until Monday night. He wants to do something during the week. I text back that Thurs or Fri work for me. Don't hear from him. Get mad. Text on Wed night asking if we are still on. He replies that his career is killing him and that Thursday sounds good and to dress comfortably. I assume he is going to cook dinner and that we are staying in for a snugglefest.

Alright, I have to go work on some other stuff, but I wanted to the stage for our date first. Check back soon.

Blonde Bitches

2010-09-14T09:45:00.000-07:00

Notice how just being near wine makes her smile.

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sba/1737517917.html

The above link is entitled "Emotionally unavailable woman seeking emotionally unavailable man."

Read it. I didn't write it. I am going for a run. I will write more later. I am in a mood.

How to Make Sizzurp

2010-09-09T11:11:00.001-07:00

*This is not actual sizzurp, people! If you're looking for that, go back to the google.

1. Steal your friends' money and put it down your shirt.

2. Get out secret ingredient: Pom-flavored bar mix with ENERGY that can only be found at Smart and Final.

3. Enlist help of sexy spokesmodel.

4. Get out gallon of Ketel (29.99 at Vons) and whipped cream (buy one get one free). Grab second can of whippped cream once you realize that your friends know you take a shot straight from the opened can for breakfast every morning.

5. Mix Ketel and Energy/Pom.

6. Prepare whipped cream for dispensing by emulating Katy Perry

7. Enjoy with sexy spokesmodel

No. I Cannot Grab You a Beer While I'm Up.

2010-09-07T21:59:00.001-07:00

I went out on a date with GPG last Tuesday, because he was leaving the next day for a week's vacation. Initially, I didn't want to go because I didn't want him to think that I was the kind of girl who was available to go out on a Tuesday with very little notice. I asked my friend and she said that if he was trying to hang out with me on the one night he was in town before he left town again, it was a good sign. She told me not to make everything into a moral dilemma and to just go have fun. But making everything into a moral dilemma so that I can feel superior to others is fun. But only the former involves wearing high heels. Oh yeah, the heels.

GPG texted me to make sure that I wore a skirt and heels. I was a little relieved because at least that meant I wouldn't be sitting around on the couch with him while he tried to save his energy for traveling. I was kind of impressed that he was making the effort to go out on a weeknight. I spent a lot of time getting ready and decided that his effort was worthy of the coral Gucci heels and my Irresistible Sundress (it has never failed me).

What followed was out of every woman's worst nightmare. Yes, it was THAT cliche.

I go to knock on his door and can see him sitting on his couch. I can also see that the door is open, but I still knock and wait for him to come open the door. The way polite people do. He tells me that it's open. "I can see that," I want to say, but refrain. I enter. He is lying on the couch, drinking a beer in his shorts, watching football!

OMG I HATE FOOTBALL SEASON

I see that he is also hooked up to some muscle shocking machine (pulled groin, indeed), which he explains is the reason why he couldn't get up to let me in. He pats the empty spot next to him on the couch. I flounce over and plop down. My boobs almost pop out of my Irresistible Sundress. He tells me I smell like candy. I'm not sure if he's talking about my new Dove Pomegranate deoderant (good stuff!), my Missoni Acqua perfume (discontinued!), or my Frederick Fekkai shampoo(lifesaver!). I think it was probably my deoderant.   I can see him trying to look down the front of my Irresistible Sundress, so I get up.

"While you're up, can you grab me a beer?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, I'm hooked up to this machine and I can't move."
"Did you just ask me to fetch you a beer?"
"Haha, come sit back down and I will be finished in two minutes and then I will get up and make you a drink. Does that sound better?"
"Yes..We're going out right?"
"No way! I'm exhausted. It's Tuesday! Why would you think we're going out?"
"Because you said to wear heels and a dress! Why would you say that if we were staying in???"
"Because I'm a pervert?"

Well, this wasn't exactly how I envisioned my night unfolding. But, to GPG's credit, he got up and made me a drink. (He is good about remembering how I like my drinks and coffee. Except that 90% of girls order vodka sodas and not too much cream in their coffee.) I noticed that he was sticking to beer, so I knew that meant he was planning on putting forth more effort during sexy times. This made me happy.

The "restaurant" that he picked did not. Actually it wasn't that bad; he just lives in a not-so-nice part of San Diego. And I always like to go out of my way to pretend that I'm scared every time we go out in his neighborhood so that he will avoid taking me to gross places in the future. But we had a fun time and he makes a point of telling me how much we have in common. That is a tactic for suckers and people who believe in psychics. I will not fall for commonality banalities. He says he thinks it's funny when I call him on his shit, like the beer fetch attempt. I express how sad it is that my Gucci heels had to step in this icky establishment. He laughs. We make it home without being mugged. Although I did mention the possibility several times.

He tries to pull out all the stops during sexy times. I appreciate the effort. I still sleep on the couch. Sleeping on the couch really sucks because the blanket only covers one half of my body, so I have to alternate covering body halves every hour.  (Tonight he admitted to giving me a small blanket so that I'd get cold and come back to bed. This is cute. I think?) I decide not to be polite the next morning and bolt when it's convenient for me. This works for both of us.

And being bitchy is working for me. But I think it's really just because I'm being myself. I will admit that I almost got him that beer because it was the nice thing to do.  So glad I resisted the urge! But just in case that book is working some kind of voodoo marriage magic, I brought up the two subjects you are to NEVER bring up: ring shopping and marriage. I mentioned how my roomie had decided to get engaged and how she and her long distance boyfriend skype about what kind of rings he should buy her. The whole conversation made GPG very uncomfortable. Good.

I'm tired. I will update later.

Terms of Enfearment

2010-09-07T10:53:00.000-07:00

Ever notice how you really don't call people by their first name that often? Aside from people I just meet, I don't really think I frequently address my friends by their first names. And when you give someone a code name on your phone, and then give them a different code name on your blog, it leads to complications.

GPG called me by my first name the other night when we were talking on the phone. I started to call him Jerkface. (That's how he comes up on my phone. And I changed his name to that after GrannyPantyGate because I wanted to make sure I wasn't too nice after he ignored me -- having Jerkface come up whenever we communicate reminds me of how he so capriciously/unceremoniously ended things. And now I am scared to change it back to his real name because then it might jinx things.) Realizing my gaffe, I started to call him by his first name. But Granny Panties Guy started to come out! Then I just shut my mouth, and now I think he thinks I don't know his name.

GPG has also started to call me a pet name when he gets tired at night. But that might only be because he is too tired to keep all of his dates' names straight. Oh well, I like it. I didn't tell him that he already had not one, but two nicknames. It's a little early for me to use a pet name. It takes about two years to get to that point. (In theory, as I have never actually christened anyone with one of those affectionate little monikers.)

Get Your Gloss On

2010-09-05T12:10:00.001-07:00

I hope your morning coffee experience was better than mine.

No, I will not stop using it. I should use the mug it comes with, but I like using my Hawaii mug. Of course it tipped over and fell after I had added the sugar.

Since it is freezing and flat again, I will use this time to make inane posts about lip gloss. First up we have the combo that I have found to work the best. Now, a bit about me: I am lazy. I have a teeny mouth. I forget to reapply. I drink. I lose stuff rather easily, so I don't like to pay more than $8 for any cosmetic. I feel that lip glosses are a cheap way to make yourself feel pretty.

This combo stays on the longest, and will often stain glassware. Highly recommended.
Cover Girl Outlast Lipstain goes on first. It is dry, so you can't wear it alone. You can even go outside your lipline! Then put L'Oreal Infallible 6-Hour Lipgloss over it. Any other long wearing gloss is drying and disgusting. This duo will stay on through anything and lasts about four hours. Only drawback is that the Infallible gloss doesn't taste very good.

So if you want to add a third coat, I would suggest Cover Girl Shine Blast or Maybelline Shinesational. Both taste good and are glossy without much pigment. If you are looking for gloss and pigment, I'd go with Revlon ColorStay Mineral Lipglaze. But it's too matte for me, so I usually blot a little and put on a gloss topcoat that tastes good.

If you want a piece of crap drying lipgloss, I'd go with Cover Girl Wetslicks AmazeMint gloss. (It's the one with the blue cap.) It tastes like toothpaste. And I think it's supposed to freshen your breath? Except that Cover Girl forgot how drying toothpaste is. Definintely don't recommend this one. Unless you have halitosis and a weird-colored tongue that you need to camouflage. Don't put this stuff on your lips!

Waxing Nostalgic

2010-09-04T22:23:00.001-07:00

I love my Yater Spoon. It belonged to a very cool guy who passed away and I ended up with it. I think most people recognize the board's name from Lt. Kilgore requesting his Yater Spoon in Apocalypse Now. I would have liked some napalm when I surfed Cardiff tonight. But only because the waves were micro and it was a really long wait in between sets. And the water is back to freezing again. And it was crowded.

This little kid, about ten, paddles out singing "Chantilly Lace" and is just kind of cracking me up. I used to love that song when I was four; it was on a rockabilly tape my dad always played when he had to drive to an away basketball game, and he would take my sister and I along. I have a really fond memory of not feeling well before one of the games, and the national anthem was about to start, so my dad was ignoring me. I threw up all over the gymnasium floor while everyone watched and kind of saluted me.

Anyfondmemoryway, I asked this kid how he knew that song. He said he was watching The Buddy Holly Story with his dad, and his dad had been playing it after they watched the movie. I wanted to tell him that I was his age when that movie came out, but then I remembered how much I hated people saying shit like that to me when I was little. As if I cared about what happened in their childhood?

The kid he asks me what I'm riding. I told him it was a Yater. He asked if it were a Spoon. I was like, "Uhm, yes, it is." He said, "Yeah, Yater pretty much perfected that shape." I told him he could try it out if he wanted, but he declined. There were a lot of surfdads out, so I couldn't tell which one was his, but I really did enjoy this kid's moxie. Kudos to his dad for getting his kid started on the classics.

Obviously I have nothing going on in my life right now. I will update on GPG and lip glosses soon. Here is a cute video for you to watch in the meantime. (Had chewing gum just been invented?) I think Justin Timberlake should cover this song. Or Lil Wayne.

French Bulldog Full-court Press

2010-09-02T19:48:00.001-07:00

Coffee Update
Still using the new coffee maker. The French press can suck it. It isn't green. It isn't good for the environment. It makes weak coffee. Here's why:
-Energy used to boil water on stove
-Three times the amount of grounds needed = more trips to grocery store, increased carbon emissions, eventual deforestation and environmental apocalypse accelerated
-Much water and soap is wasted as you spend hours washing the damn thing

So, I will not give up on my Black and Decker. Although it is now perched on a shelf, and because our house leans to one side, I just caught my magic mug before it slid off the too-small platform today. The mug was a souvenir I got for an ex when I visited HI a few years ago. Actually, I presented a paper to three people and got my school to pay for most of my trip. I believe he tried to give the mug back to me, in lieu of rent money, one month. So I didn't feel bad keeping it when I kicked him out.

Dog Walk Update
Didn't go so well. I walked in and the neighbor's dog understandably started barking. Then he blocked the door. So I just kind of stepped over him and tried not to snoop through anything. Dog didn't like me putting the collar on him, but I knew I couldn't show fear. Or disgust. Dog seems kind of excited to go outside, until he decided I was trying to dognap him and refused to leave his yard. So, like a moron, I walked him around the perimeter of the house several times. He was over that soon and just sat on his fat haunches, glaring at me with bulging, bloodshot eyes. So I put him back inside. Neighbor texted me thanking me for walking the dog. I told him the dog wouldn't walk. He replied: He's just like his Poppa and doesn't like to be on a leash.
Yeah. Awesome. Didn't reply to that one.

Something good almost came out of it when a never before seen hot neighbor came by with his dog the other night when I got back from surfing. My ~~roommate's~~ dog was so happy to see me that she jumped up on the fence and licked me. Hot guy with dog thought that was cute. And just as we start to fall madly in love, annoying neighbor walks up and says, "Hey, do you like beer or wine. I'll bring over either." Hot guy walks away. But not before I made a mental note of the time that he walks his dog. I told short neighbor, who I noticed owns a copy of Jesus Surfs, not to worry about it.

I feel like dogs know boundaries but play dumb. My ~~roommate's~~ dog isn't allowed in my room b/c of my allergies. So she always lies just outside my door, making sure that at least six inches of her front paws are in my room. I know she's doing it just to mess with me. Here is what she looks like after I move her paws back beyond the imaginary boundary. She waits until I'm not looking and then moves them back.

I've Now Made Fifteen Cups of Coffee

2010-08-27T12:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my new Black and Decker one cup coffee maker showed up. The product had some negative reviews, but overall it seemed to be the only quality tiny coffee maker out there. (My roommate says we have no counter space. Because the giant electric mixer must stay out at all times just in case Martha Stewart drops by with her camera.) And she doesn't drink coffee, so I don't want to be a counter hog. And I only drink one cup. Except for today, as I've had to do some coffee troubleshooting. (!!!)

Complaint 1: Coffee comes out tasting like plastic.
Well, this is true. So I've washed it several times. And have made several pots with soapy water, just to get the insides clean. I may have overdone it, since when I finally made a cup with grounds, the grounds had bubbles in them. Not sure how to resolve this. Open to suggestions. It's more of a plastic aftertaste, really.

Complaint 2: Coffee filter doesn't let enough water through, and grounds overflow into the reservoir.
True. Not sure how to resolve this, either.

Complaint 3: Hole at the bottom that dispenses coffee is too small, possibly contributing to overflow issues.
I got out my screwdrivers and knives and went to town, widening the hole. Coffee still dispenses at same piddly rate.

Other annoyances:
1. Surfed too much last Friday and now my shoulder is sore again, even though I rested it all week. Can't sleep on my left side because it hurts my shoulder, so haven't been able to fall asleep. It is also hard to type, but I don't want to let my three readers down. Knee is hurting b/c I've been running instead of surfing. Getting old sucks.

2. Just saw a note left on my porch from my new neighbor. Apparently I needed to call him, as he had a small favor to ask. I don't really want him to have my number, but I call anyway. Neighbor (who I've met ONCE) had to run up to Orange County and needs me to walk his dog. Oh, and he forgot to put his collar on, so would I mind opening his back door, going into his bedroom, grabbing what is hopefully the dog's collar, putting it on his giant bulldog, and walking the dog until it poops? Oh, and since his dog is probably bored, if I want to hang out with the dog, that is cool, too. This is not good. I don't want to do this. But the dog can't help it if his owner is irresponsible. I know the neighbor is going to try to turn this into a repayment with dinner situation. Or maybe he is setting me up so he can say I stole a bunch of his stuff? I'm a little concerned that the dog won't really be into me breaking into his house, but the dog is a fatty fatty bo batty, and I'm fairly certain I can outrun him.

3. GPG. Just kidding!!! He isn't annoying me. Yet. Actually things are going smoothly. On Wednesday I was upset because he didn't call all day. Then he called while I was in the shower. But I didn't want to be that person who has to check their phone just to make sure someone didn't call when they weren't hovering over it, so I didn't see he called until an hour later. I called back and it went to vm, which stated that he'd be traveling and would have limited access to his phone. So I sent him an email saying I called him back. (I couldn't leave a voicemail because he didn't leave me one.) He texted me he'd call me later. Which I guess that was nice since I think he was probably pretty busy. He calls at 9:30 p.m. and we get disconnected after a few minutes. He calls me back about 45 minutes later. What was he doing for 45 minutes??? Anyway, we talk for a bit. Here are the highlights:

****Interruption: Just had to go look at my phone in the other room. GPG called 20 mintues ago. Damn it! Called him back and could tell by the beep that he was on the other line. And he didn't click over!! Okay, so now make him #3 fer realz.****

He is sleepy and sounds cute. He brags about his King-sized bed and pimped out room. I tell him that I have a Cal King, so I'm really not that impressed. I point out that it must be a welcome break for him, because he's always sleeping on his teeny tiny Queen mattress. Then I hear him call the front desk and request a wake-up call while he is still on the phone with me!! I let it slide. He talks about how the gal at work who makes the travel arrangements hooked him up with an extra late flight so that he can stay longer than everyone else and can go climb a mountain or something. I keep my assumptions about how they've slept together to myself.

****Interruption 2: He just called me back. We say hi. He is waiting for a shuttle. He sounds tired. He has to go after 30 seconds. Lame. Okay, now he just texted me to say he'll call me from the airport. Uhm, wait. I thought he was there all weekend? I thought he got to stay longer than everyone? If he is on his way back, why did he not yet ask me out for Saturday night? Too bad I have tentative plans with other people (not SSNG or 69Guy b/c I've been ignoring both) and will not be able to see him! ****

He talks about how it would be nice to have someone there with him because the place is so beautiful. I do NOT fall into that trap. Awkward silence. (I am still picturing him having drinks with the travel agent on his company retreat at Sandals Jamaica.)

He tells me I should google the name of the resort (in Utah) so I can see what he's talking about. I tell him that I really don't care about his polygamist retreats. He tells me that he can't handle one chick, let alone five. I tell him that maybe he'd have better luck if he stopped referring to them as chicks. He laughs. (We share the dubious distinction of having people that we date immediately get engaged after they stop seeing us.)

There was something else that was funny, but I forgot what it was. I will update if I remember.

So yesterday, I figured if he called, it meant he was smitten. And then I'd promptly lose interest. Luckily, he didn't call. Today's calls are puzzling, though. Unless he is only calling so I know he is home and is still not asking me out for Saturday night. I am going to go walk the neighbor's dog.

So as I'm looking for fat bulldog pics to post, GPG calls. I tell him about the neighbor sitch, making sure to let him know that the neighbor is probably after me. He tells me not to do it; it's not my problem. But I'm like, well, the dog shouldn't have to suffer on account of his owner. And the guy just moved here and doesn't know anyone that can help him out, and maybe he had something bad happen and it's really not like I'm doing anything. GPG had to go after five minutes, so I think I will stop answering.

The Icing on the Beefcake

2010-08-24T12:54:00.004-07:00

On Sunday night (back to feeling exhausted/nauseous all day Sunday), I decided that I didn't need a man to help me sabotage my diet. I met some friends for some rather large and decidedly non-light beers. And then just to make sure I was getting my veggies, I ordered some sweet potato fries. With Ranch dressing.

(For Brett.)

My friends ate a lot of the veggies, so I guess I didn't realize I was getting a little drunk. And then I reasoned that I'd only had two beers, forgetting that they were giant beers.

So maybe I had beer goggles. For myself. As in when I got home and looked in my bathroom mirror, I thought I looked super cute. So cute -- and deserving of male attention -- that I should snap a pic and send it to Granny Panties Guy.

Here is how I saw the pic when I was drunk, followed by GPG's perspective, followed by my sober observations the following morning.

The Braids          Drunk Me: Cute and girly!!            GPG: Handlebars         Sober Me: Too old.
The Cutoffs         DM: I'm so stylish!!                       GPG: Slutty                  SM: White trash.
The Tilted Pic      DM: What tilt??                            GPG: Wasted               SM: Did I fall?

I text him the pic and dial 69 Guy's number. I ignore the ping signaling GPG's immediate response. I steel myself for a dull conversation with 69 Guy. 69 Guy spent all day doing home repairs and launches into some long explanation about cabinets. I interrupt him, asking if he would like to come over and hang some paintings for me this week. He asks if we can go on a date afterward. I may have replied with something about him having to hang the pics while shirtless and wearing a tool belt in order for me to consider going on a date. I let him brag about his workouts, and then I hang up to check out GPG's second text (which was a picture message).

GPG's texts were about how he was doing an online training course for work. The pic was a screenshot of some product demo. Keeping it classy, I ask him if he's ordering sex toys, and inform him that he really doesn't need to go to all that trouble just to please me. He replies: Yes I do, carpal tunnel. I ask him how much longer until he finishes his Selfish in Bed Anonymous webinar. Phone rings. GPG is laughing.

Keeping my cool, I start right in about how I don't need him to constantly tell me how busy he is. I then, voice becoming shrill but I can't stop myself now, launch into a tirade about how rude he was on the phone. He says he's sorry, and tries to blame it on work stress. I'm thinking: Talk is cheap; I need behavior modification! I tell him not to pick up if he is stressed. I know he wants to tell me that he couldn't help picking up, because he had wanted to hear my beautiful voice. But he doesn't say anything. Aware of the unpleasant turn the conversation has taken, I change the topic and we talk for ten more minutes. He makes a point of telling me that his buddy crashed on his couch on Sat. after the Chargers game. So I guess that is good. Unless he's lying. Trying to sound cool, I tell him I went to a party that night. And then I slip and tell him the party was all girls.

Yesterday morning I get a call from 69 Guy mentioning something about a tool belt. It takes me a bit to piece things together. I don't call him back. Email GPG. We exchange a few emails. I wait until GPG is almost finished with work before I text him. He texts back. He calls. I don't hear my phone. We text some more. And then he calls and we talk for about an hour. Things are back to my liking, I guess. Except that I haven't heard from him today.

And still -- regardless of whether or not I reply -- Super Super Nice Guy sends boring texts, without fail, every single day.

This Is a Test, and I Am Failing

2010-08-22T12:27:00.004-07:00

Thursday I woke up at 6:30, kind of annoyed that I couldn't sleep in later. Then I got a giddy feeling in my stomach like it was Christmas morning. Why did I feel this way? Because it meant that after four agonizingly long days, it was finally Call GPG Day! Bad sign to get this excited, I know. I made some coffee with the gd French press, whose days are numbered btw, and waited until an acceptable time to leave him a voicemail. So I dialed at 8:30 and prepared to leave a casual, yet bubbly, non-pressurey, subtly sexy message. GPG picked up! Eff effing eff! I wasn't prepared to talk to him. And he was driving, and his earpiece kept falling out, so we couldn't hear each other most of the time. But I got sick of saying "What?" every five seconds, so I started saying "Yeah" after everything. Who knows what I agreed to?

First we made small talk about the water temp. The second thing out of his mouth was, "I'm so busy right now I don't even have time for myself, let alone someone else. Work has been killing me, especially since my phone broke." This was the second thing out of his mouth! I didn't even bring up anything! So obnoxious. I mean, I waited 4 days to call him back and he is acting like I'm the clingy one. Delusional. Then he said something else I couldn't hear. Then his earpiece fell out again. He prattled on about work and then he said he had to go. Of course I am upset after this call. Why did he have to answer? I resolve to not let this dipshit ruin my day, so I called 6'9" wifebeater guy. Unfortunately, his motorcyle is inoperable, so I don't know if he will work out. I mean, he will still work out for five hours/day, but you get what I mean. Anyway, he says he has work to do but will call me in a few hours. I make a mental note that I will go to dinner with him and see him shirtless.

GPG starts texting at 11:30. His texts crack me up. His texts stop at noon. (I realize that he is at work, but still!) He texts me again at 3:30. I don't respond. Again at 5:30, but I ignore it. I am waiting for him to call and ask me out on Saturday. But while I am waiting for that, I realize that 69 Guy hasn't called to make dinner plans. So at 4:00, I text Super Super Nice Guy (SSNG) to see if he wants to go to dinner. I wanted him to tell me to eff off because he can't make dinner plans on such short notice. Then I could have respected him. He writes back that he'd love to see me and is very excited. (I have canceled on him a few times in the past three weeks, but it's only because I've been sick and can really only manage to go out once a week.) I am somewhat repulsed, but am relieved to have salvaged my night.

We go to dinner and it's okay, but he can't make me laugh. He is very nervous the whole time. Luckily we are at opposite ends of a very long table, so he is unable to initiate any bodily contact. And before you complain that girls always use guys for free dinners, keep in mind that going out to dinner means sabotaging your diet and could also mean two hours of stilted conversation, so no, we don't use guys for free dinners.  Self-esteem boosts? Perhaps.

SSNG wants to go to Mexico with me. He also wants to go on a wine tasting trip. These are all things that I want to do! I just want to do them with someone else. I drink another margarita and remain non-committal. And then it ends up that his sister would be an amazing business contact for me. So now I feel like I am being tested. I do not want to use him for a business contact. But I don't want to live in my car, either. I change the subject without agreeing to meet his sister, and feel that I am still a good person.

We head back to my place and watch t.v. I see that GPG has called at 8:30. I contemplate secretly texting him, but refrain.  Instead, I have a makeout session that definitely goes in my favor, and I continue not to touch it. This is our 4th date and I haven't touched it yet. He could be a eunuch, for all I know. That might actually work in my favor, so I'm not that concerned. So SSNG tucks me into bed. And starts trying to cuddle with me. I am not a cuddler. (GPG knows to do the tuck and roll: three minutes of spooning and then roll over to your own damn side of the bed.) SSNG is stroking my hair and suffocating me.

I get up and run to the bathroom, giving him time to put his shirt back on and get ready to leave. I come back and he is still in my bed, sans shirt. I get back in bed, making sure I am very far away from him. He goes back to suffocating me. I fake a coughing fit. He perseveres. I actually start coughing on his arms! He will not pull back. I get up to get some water. Come back and he is still in my bed. WTF? So I tell him that no boys are allowed to sleep over. I expect him to make some snappy retort, but he just gives me a wounded look and finally gets out of my bed. I felt kind of bad, so I decided to be nice and walk him to the door (I usually skip the awkward goodbyes).   It's 11:30 and I really want to call GPG, but I don't. Oh yeah, and 69 Guy waited until 5:30 to call me back and ask me to dinner. As if!

I text GPG Friday morning, telling him that I didn't see the missed call until it was too late. He texted back that it was okay to screen his calls while I'm on a date. Shit! He said he was near where I lived and thought of me, so that's why he called. Now, does this mean he was trying to set up a date-free booty call? Or was he just wanting to chat? And freaking ask me out for Saturday night, already!! We end up texting all morning. I casually (ha!) mention that my roommate is out of town all weekend. He says he has to work all weekend. I tell him that I am pouting because I wanted to see him on Saturday. He stops texting. (I think it's because he has to eat lunch at some point.) I get mad. He calls at 1:30, but I don't hear my phone because I hid it so I wouldn't look at it every 10 seconds to see if he texted me. I call him back at 2:15 and he doesn't answer. I think he thinks I am ignoring his calls on purpose. He ignores me for the rest of the day.

He texts me at 8 on Saturday morning. We send a few texts, then nothing. He texts me at 10:30 that he went surfing. This pisses me off, because I felt like he should have invited me to go surf, even though I live far away and it would take too long to get there. But still! I don't respond until 3 pm. In the meantime, I go to five different places looking for the Black and Decker Brew n Go single cup coffeemaker. No dice. So I bought some lip glosses (lipstick is for grown-ups) to make me feel better. And maybe a can of triple chocolate fudge chip cake icing. I will update you on the lip glosses in a week. The icing will never be brought up from this point forward.

GPG texts me back a few times (he's at the Chargers game), but I stop replying at 4 because he is clearly not going to ask me out. (Yeah, I know you saw that one coming.) I want him to think I am getting ready for a date. Haven't heard from him today. SSNG is popping into my thoughts a little bit more, so I guess that is good. He is so nice. And eager to please. And is definitely NOT playing games. Which is what bothers me about this game playing stuff. Obviously GPG is playing games, but I'm not sure if it's because he doesn't like me, or because he doesn't want to rush into anything. I am playing games with SSNG because I'm not sure I like him. But I guess I'm guilty of playing games with GPG, too. So I'm not sure if you only play games with people you like, or the ones you don't like.

I hate not being in control of the GPG situation. And next weekend is out because one of My Main Gays is coming to town, and I will have to soak up as much fun as I can. SOOOO EXCITED! And then GPG is going to Canada the next weekend after that. And I don't know if I can stay interested for much longer. But I don't want to give up someone who makes me laugh, either.

69 Guy just called.

Just One of the Few Awesome Ideas I Had This Week

2010-08-20T12:39:00.000-07:00

It's finally summer in San Diego. But the ocean is still frigid. I hate wearing my fullsuit -- too hard to get in and out of without flashing everyone. And the sun's hot enough to where you really only need something to keep your legs warm. Duh: neoprene legwarmers! Sure, your feet will be cold, but you will look so cute! Granted, they could only be worn on small longboard days, or else you'd have to worry about them coming off. Getting them to slouch just-so would be a challenge, but it's doable.

As a child of the '80s, whose parents made her walk to school during blizzards, I often wore leg warmers when I wanted to wear my favorite outfit (lavendar ruffled miniskirt with matching pink unicorn sweatshirt). Stupid Ohio winters/lazy parents weren't about to keep me from looking cute. I had pink ones. They were so hot, and I couldn't wait to be cast in Fame as the talented seven-year-old ballerina that guest star Ralph Macchio would fall for.

My sister had rainbow ones which I hated because they were too thick and went up too high. But when it was really cold, my mom would make me wear my sister's. Uhm, why don't you just freaking drive me to school instead, Mom??? I would also like some thigh-high UGGS for the winter. Another company came out with over-the-knee shearling boots, but they don't go up high enough. And before you think I'm lazy and wonder why I can't put on sweat pants, you should know that putting on pants of any kind is too hard when your hands are frozen and you are too numb to dry off, so that you can never get your pants pulled up over your wet butt even though your butt is rather flat. I'm pretty sure worrying about the winter in the middle of August is just another drawback of trying to live with cryophobia. Don't worry, I'll be strong for you guys!

The Best Self-Help Book I've Ever Half-Read

2010-08-16T16:12:00.001-07:00

As a cynic, I find the self-help section of bookstores to be full of hilariously repugnant idiots. I mean really, The Secret? Really?? Naturally, I was a little offended when one of the teachers suggested I read Sherry Argov's Why Men Marry Bitches. She said it changed her life. I wanted to point out that she spent every lunchbreak in the disgusting teachers' lounge, incessantly whining in her baby voice about how her recovering alcoholic boyfriend fell off the wagon yet again and treated her like shit. I wondered what made her think I would need such a book.

On Sunday, feeling pissy and not in control of GrannyPantyGate, I decided to distract myself with this book's glorious affirmation of what I'd suspected all along: Being nice gets you nowhere. The book was amusing, and it pretty much instructed me to behave how I like to behave anyway. (But not as standoffish.) Yes, it's game playing, but guys constantly play games to get you in bed, so it's only fair. Why should I text someone if they haven't texted me? Why should I stick around to be polite when I feel weird? Why should I offer to cook anyone anything? Why should I act like I'm okay with going to some loud, gross pizzeria if I will only resent being there? Why should I settle for someone who isn't any fun?

The fun thing has driven me nuts for awhile now. As much as I can't stand Ladyfingers (obnoxious BFF at my old job, for dramazon newcomers), I do respect his opinion. And we went round-and-round one day about how obnoxious it was for me to demand constant entertainment from my dates. But what else should I demand? I'm not looking for a meal ticket. I don't want babies. And while I complain about not being married, it's only because it's funny. I am in no hurry to get married. I think I would like to someday, but just thinking about it makes my chest get tight. So I would like fun. And this book says that's what I should ask for. And that's all. But when you tell a guy you're just looking for fun, he thinks it equals sex. And I'm not looking for sex. Orgasms, yes. And sex doesn't always lead to those, so I'm okay with postponing sex in most cases. Or not having it at all. Or only having it three times in 2009. But hey, who's keeping track of that stuff anyway? So I'm not sure I agree with telling men I just want fun.

Although, I actually told GPG that I woud only go back out with him after GrannyPantyGate if he promised to be fun. And this was before I read the book! Actually, I had to stop reading it because the nefarious principle upon which the book is based is to get a marriage proposal. According to Argosy, you should expect, and get, a proposal within one year of dating. Why on earth would you want to marry someone after only knowing them for a year? So I stopped reading because I don't want to end up married anytime soon. I just liked that it seemed to reinforce what I was thinking anyway: That I don't like the so so so nice guy because I can't respect someone that has no backbone. I mean, if someone is so desperate to start a relationship, it kind of makes you wonder if they find you special, or if they're just hard-up. If someone is being too nice right off the bat, it's artificial. I think it takes time to let your guard down and be genuinely nice to someone.

Another part of the book that I liked was how it handled the "where is this going?" conversation. Women's magazines are always telling you to demand to know where you stand right away so that you're not wasting your time. I don't like this. Granted, maybe avoiding this conversation is why I'm single. Argosy points out tha when faced with this question, a man will say whatever he thinks you want to hear, and continue on his merry quest to try to bang anyone and everyone. She argues, "Your power gets lost the minute you start asking, 'Where do I stand?' Because you just told him the terms of the relationship are now his to dictate." I think she has a good point. Why should he decide this? It should be decided equally.

She also reasons, "When a man doesn't call, a bunch of scenarios will typically run through a woman's mind. Similarly, his imagination will run wild when he doesn't hear from you." DING DING DING!! So me being nice and calling GPG only led to him ignoring me all weekend. So now I will go with my instincts and ignore him and see what happens. Yes, very manipulative. But I don't buy for a second that men are simple creatures who always behave with the purest intentions where women are concerned. And I feel completely justified, since I'm not trying to trap anyone into buying me stuff or making babies. I would like someone fun to go on surf trips with, though.

The book's bottom line is that you should be a good person to get a good person. I like that. Argosy defines "bitch" as Babe In Total Control of Herself. Notice how it's "herself" and not "him." Or "everything." Yes, I know that would be bitce, but whatever.

GrannyPantyGate Debriefing (Adding "Gate" to Everything Is SOOO Annoying)

2010-08-16T13:31:00.001-07:00

So you know how I wrote that I am going to try to be nicer to guys from now on because my stupid friend told me I should hold off on being myself for a little bit? Yeah, that's over. It just didn't feel right to be so nice. I will no longer be listening to that idiot friend. And I feel strongly about this decision because I can back it up with textual support that pretty much justifies my approach to men, and life in general. I will get to that in a bit. But first, let me give you what you want, because I know damn well no one reads this blog to hear about teaching crap. You guys read it so you can laugh at my dating mishaps. It's okay - I like to make people laugh.

First, the update on Granny Panties Guy (GPG). My friend Rick asked how GPG was doing. I told him that GPG was out of the picture and explained the Granny Panties story. He was like, "Wow, that guy is dumb, b/c that's a pretty funny story." Then I sheepishly revealed that maybe his disinterest might have had something to do with how I had repeatedly emasculated him and pushed his buttons about his views on something that I don't feel comfortable mentioning b/c that seems mean to bring up on the internets. Rick said that what I had done was not cool. I explained that I love trading insults with my guy friends. He pointed out that this guy wasn't one of my buddies, and was someone I was just getting to know and date; therefore, I should not have been insulting him in this manner. Rick was right. The next day there was an article in the Times that had to do with GPG's line of work, so I sent him the link as a peace offering. I also added a cute little insult so as to not appear too saccharine.

So we started texting and talking again. And I agreed to go on a date. And it was super awkward at first. I kind of stood outside his gate for a long time contemplating a quick escape. But then my phone rang and I thought he may have heard it, so I had to go up to his door after that. Which is when I realized that thanks to my Cardiff Funkadelic, I had sweated through my dress. But only around my waist. Odd, I know. So I had to cross my arms and go into his apartment. Which he read as me being overly hostile. I was feeling kind of hostile anyway, so that was okay with me. Telling him that I was really just feverish and sweaty didn't seem like the sexiest thing to say, either. This turned out to be a good thing because he went out of his way to be extra entertaining and funny.

Then he tried to take me to a pizzeria. Uh, no. I told him that I did not blowdry my hair and put on a short dress just to go eat pizza. His (lame) defense was that he used to go there as a kid and he was trying to let me into his world. I told him that I wasn't really interested in sharing childhood memories and I would rather go somewhere that wasn't full of screaming children. He feigned being deeply wounded, but took me to a proper Friday night date spot. Afer a glass of wine I apologized about pushing his buttons. He acted like it was a big deal for me to say I was sorry. I hate when people do this. I have no problem apologizing when I f*#k up, it's just pretty rare for me to do so. I passed some sort of test with the apology, so things were pretty smooth after that. (I did refuse to apologize for the granny panties pic, b/c that was funny.)

After the date he had to pull back and let me know he needed time with his bros, so I went on other dates while he pointedly ignored me. I went out with one guy on Monday who is so, so, so nice. And it repulses me. But then I feel bad for being repulsed, since girls always complain about only meeting jerks, and he isn't one. But he doesn't make me laugh the way GPG does. GPG turned the charm back on and we went out on Wednesday. I stayed over (on the couch), and we both felt weird in the morning. I think he felt vulnerable because I was resisting the urge to bolt, but instead forced myself to wait until he was ready for work before I left. See, I was trying to be nice. It backfired, because I saw him go through his morning routine and that was too intimate for the both of us. He didn't text on Thursday. This drove me up a wall, as I expected a text telling me that he'd had a good time. Then I thought maybe I was being too standoffish and perhaps I should be nice and decided to send him a text on Friday saying hi. I felt like I lost as soon as I did this. Again, enough of this nice shit. It won't happen again! Because we texted a few times, but then: Nothing.

So I went out with a 6'9" guy. I couldn't pass up the opportunity, sorry! But he showed up in a wifebeater. So that ended things rather quickly. He was just trying to show off the muscles that he has in abundance, but I texted him about how it was super rude to have worn that on a date. We had cupcakes, which sent me into a sugar coma and I had to leave before I fell asleep at the wheel. I will keep him around because he has a motorcycle with those high handlebars that Justin-Bobby rides. It'd be fun to ride a motorcyle with someone who's tall enough to block the wind. And I may as well put my badass motorcycle jacket to good use.

(from VH1.com)

I expected GPG to either ask me out for Saturday, or ignore me all weekend to let me know that I wasn't anything special to him. He did the latter. This pisses me off. He calls this morning. I ignore it. Then he sends some bullshit text about how he had phone issues all weekend which were just resolved. I wanted to text him to not insult my intelligence with such an asinine excuse, but I've resolved not to contact him until Thursday. Or maybe Friday. We shall see, GPG.

The End of an Error

2010-08-15T12:48:00.002-07:00

So I've (obviously) been a little conflicted about ending the teaching thing. And I feel like even more of a hypocrite because I'm sitting and listening to this song

which I never would have discovered if it weren't for one of my favorite students making me a mix. She always sat in the back and was very quiet, but always knew her shit. Total overachiever who was definitely bored because there were so many slackers in her class. She painted something for a final project that was so amazing I almost brought it with me when I cleaned out my classroom.  I was a little shocked when Ladyfingers told me she was one of his least favorite students. He said she always gave him dirty looks and was coasting. I showed him her painting and he had a hard time believing that the student who was always trying to sleep in his class had produced work of that caliber.

Now I was wondering if I was giving her too much credit, and if I had been duped by her star pupil act which she knew Ladyfingers could see right through. Or, I could go the Pollyanna route and choose to believe that my (far superior) method of interacting with students inspired her to stay awake. And this would be the crux of the teaching dilemma with which I could never fully reconcile. What I mean is that I know you can't reach all students at all times. But I know how my 12th grade AP English teacher made a few offhand observations about me which I still mull over to this day***. And I know how my AP Bio teacher's offhand snarky comments sent me into a tailspin of self loathing. Granted, much of life is about dealing with setbacks and unpleasant things, but I still felt like such a hypocrite when I got annoyed with students who were so affected by some remark I'd unthinkingly made. I wanted to tell them that most of what I said didn't really mean anything, and that for the most party I really didn't care enough to like or dislike the majority of my students.

But I acted the same way they did as an ADULT in grad school when I felt a professor didn't like what I wrote. This makes it difficult to dismiss the hypersensitive students' feelings because I am still the same way. And I'm old! And know better. But I also know that I only cared about impressing the teachers who weren't idiots. I mean, I wasn't exactly sweating the fact that my gym teacher said I sucked at softball and was a disgrace to athletes everywhere. (Softball is dumb. That is why I'm not good at it.)

This little dilemma was also an issue during my performance review. The whole concept of this review at my school is such a joke. I know it's difficult to assess teachers' perfomances, but coming into my classroom for ten minutes at the end of the school year is kind of ridiculous. It's not like I'm going to get a raise based on how well I do. It's not like I'll get a promotion, either. I'll just be told I'm a natural, given a pat on the back, and be expected to come in all summer long and work for free.  And just to give you something to strive for, they always tell you something that needs improvement. Such horseshit, because again, it's not like you are assessing me as if teaching were a real job. I guess I should tell you about my observation.

So I'm having a discussion with my Regular 11th grade English class. Regular at my school means remedial. It means ADHD, emotional problems, and kids with English as second language issues. I was kind of scared to teach them, as I'd gotten the scoop on the "bad" kids before school started. Anyway, I've found that ruling through fear and having high expectations gets the most out of kids. I'm sure that's illegal to say, but the class is way less stressful for me, and for everyone else, if the kids aren't acting like wild animals in my presence. So I was ready to Stand and Deliver these misfits. And I always gave them the option of doing an easy book or doing the exact same thing as my Honors (really Regular) kids. They always chose the challenge. Now I'd like to say they all turned into geniuses by the end of the year, but in all honesty they couldn't really process a lot of what they were reading. But they tried. Hard. And that's why I ended up liking these kids more than most of my Honors students.

However, our discussions were always painful because they weren't able to engage with the material in a really "meaningful" way. I guess you have to start somewhere, but I hope I didn't make too many of them feel discouraged about not getting most of what I was saying. I always told them that the books made sense to me because I was an adult, and when I was their age I didn't get the books either. And that the only reason it made sense to me now was because I'd listened to teachers and always did my work I'm not sure if that was the right thing to say, b/c I certainly don't remember any of my teachers admitting to being stupid in their subject area. Oh well. I see no point in being deceptive to a bunch of kids who can smell a phony a mile away.

And speaking of not being deceptive, during my observation I guess I made some funny expressions at the kids when they were giving me some ridiculous answers. My principal brought this up as something I needed to work on. She said I was looking at the students as if, and she was choosing her words very carefully, their answers were unintelligent. Well you know I had to give her a look as if what she had said was unintelligent. Of course if a kid gives a stupid answer I will look at them like they're stupid. But only if the stupidity is a result of them not doing the work, or not paying attention.

You see, when you're being observed, you have to call on all of the students or else you get in trouble for ignoring the students who aren't raising their hands. But when you call on those students, they say stupid shit b/c they don't want to talk. And then you look stupid and the discussion stalls and you're supposed to sit there for as long as it takes until they give the right answer. Which makes the kids who are paying attention stop paying attention. And then that poor kid who is shy and hates to volunteer is dying on the inside as you stare at them expectantly waiting for the answer. And then there are the kids who know you are being observed so they decide to sabotage you, because some kids are assholes and I was an asshole at that age, too. And some of them want to help you, so they try to talk, but they are talking just to talk, and again, the discussion goes to hell. Anyway, I'm trying to call on everyone, because I had so show that my discussion style had changed since my previous observation where I was told to improve by halting the discussion until the kid says the correct answer. (I'm not even going to get into the problem of subjectivity in an English class versus finding the answer to a math problem.) The discussion derailed into a total trainwreck. But my principal had to admit I was following her idiotic steps. I win.

Okay, I will stop rambling and get to the point. I guess I dislike coddling 17-year olds who aren't children. If they go out into the world and try to say or do something about which they have no clue, people will look at them like they're morons. But I also realize I can't be too snarky, either. Because I'm not dealing with adults. I'm dealing with kids who have gone through school being made to feel stupid because of some arbitrary test scores. And I'm finally the one teacher who isn't treating them like they're morons. And as long as they're trying, I am happy. But I can't say this to my principal. I have to sit there and say, "I had no idea; I will definitely work on that!"  And she knows I'm full of shit. And she knows she's full of shit, too.  And I know that you always have to jump through hoops with whatever job you have. I just find it insulting that someone with some joke of an online education degree, who taught 5th grade science, is telling me to treat teenagers as if they are babies.

Yes, I can recognize the irony of this post. Which is why I don't want to be the one teacher who unwittingly makes some casual remark that crushes some kid's fragile ego.   I am glad I got out of teaching before I caused any permanent (that I'm aware of) damage. My room with a view - brings back scary memories of being stuck in a classroom, doesn't it?

***She asked me to stay after to discuss my college essay where I'd written about feeding carrots to horses. (Can you believe Chapel Hill waitlisted me?!) She started talking and I kind of spaced out. She said something about how she sees a constant struggle between a sensitive soul and a hardass. She said the struggle between the two was very apparent, and therefore quite endearing, and she was curious to see which one would triumph. I remember thinking I should reread Heart of Darkness since we'd been discussing that book in class and I didn't remember a character like that. She was talking about me. I looked at her perplexed, wondering how she'd gotten that from carrots, but I thanked her for her feedback and walked away. And then I was all, oh my god, it's like my mom and dad's respective clashing personalities are now fighting in me! And then I probably went home and played The Smiths and cried over some guy falling in love with my friend and not me because her boobs were bigger.

The Funkadelic

2010-08-14T14:01:00.000-07:00

Well. I am in a mood. This is day 13 of being sick. This is day 753,345 of it being cold and cloudy. This is also day four of it being unsurfably flat. Not that I have been able to surf, because I have been too sick to do anything other than ride my bike for a block before realizing I need a nap and new lungs.

I haven't blogged in forever because I've been waiting ~~to be in a good mood before I write anything~~ to do a goodbye teaching post. But the picture I want to lead with diappeared when I had to get a new phone. And then whenever I try to retrieve it from my wireless account, the site crashes. So I thought, after enduring 3 weeks of laptop issues, I'd be able to eventually fix everything and retrieve my gd picture. But noooo. That is not the case. I hate you, Verizon! So here I am. Cranky, bored, unemployed, unable to work on my fitness, single, losery.

Things were fun for a bit. I went out a lot. Surfed a lot. Smooched a respectable amount. And then I got sick from surfing in poop water (notice it wasn't from the other two activities). I would also like to give a shoutout to Kleenex for adding lotion to their tissues. So I guess I should wait to write the teaching post. All I can say now is that I have spent the last four years doing the wrong thing. And it is weird to not be spending this time fretting over my syllabus and reading list while dreading the start of school. And it is weird when people ask me what I do for a living. When you tell people you teach they usually react in one of the following ways:

1) They give you a dirty look because you are a waste of taxpayers' money, and you only work 5 months out of the year, and you have the super easy job of making 120 unstable adolescents do the exact opposite of what they want to do in a way that makes them not realize that they're doing the exact opposite of what they want to do and you usually achieve this by dancing around like a circus monkey.

2) They think you are a depraved sex offender.

3) They think you are dumb.

I'll admit it: I never liked telling people I was a teacher. There are many wonderful and amazing teachers, and I am just not that kind of person. I like to make a living wage. I am okay with the concept of dressing like a grown-up. Okay, this post obviously sucks and is rambling. I will stop. I am just so not good with abundant free time, as I just sit around and overanalyze the fact that I am destined to only be attracted to assholes. Yes, I am talking about Granny Panties Guy! He hasn't texted me today. That, along with no job, no sun, no waves, no lung capacity, is making me extremely pissy.

Westward Ho?

2010-08-04T20:40:00.002-07:00

So I'm back on my old computer. I don't even want to talk about it. Here are some pics from my drive out to CA. Actually, I'll just put one up, since I know I'm the only one who is impressed with these storm shots. Here's where I was almost hit by a Texas twister.

And a moment of silence for the awesome stereo that I had to leave behind. I've had it since I was 15. It didn't really work all that well, but it still played some CDs, so it didn't feel right to just throw it away. That Minor Threat sticker has been through a lot.

One thing that I wll not miss about Florida is the view from my front door.

And I don't miss the Salt Life stickers. Or the jorts. Or the silver chain necklaces with marlins or tuna charms on the them. But I would soooo kill for a heated pool right now.

Think Pink

2010-07-23T15:05:00.002-07:00

Last night was supposed to be a not so late night. But who can turn down sparkly firework thingies signaling the arrival of bottomless flutes of Veuve? Not me! It was a friend's birthday so I decided to see what the clubs are like in San Diego. We went to Fluxx, and it was super duper uber fun. Mainly because my friend is special and we got to dance on couches. (There was a tube in the middle of the dancefloor that had girls with sparkly bikins dancing in it. I want a sparkly disco ball bikini. And maybe a tube.)

I know you are rolling your eyes at me bragging about how cool I am. And I was feeling relatively cool. Until I didn't see a step. And tripped and punched myself in the face with some guy's drink. But at least I didn't fall like the lady who tripped right after I tripped.  And she went down hard. And hit my shin! And her face on something that must have been kind of hard. But she was old and poorly dressed, so they gave her a bottle of water and shuffled her out of VIP.

I also learned a new move last night. Not like that.  I pointed out a guy who had beautiful blonde curls and my friend said she knew who he was. At one point he walked past us and she slowly ran her hand down the small of his back! (It's okay, she has an adorable boyfriend who was standing next to us who knew she was doing it for me. She has agreed to be my pimp, and she's doing a good job so far.) He turned around because he knew it was one of us who had touched him so intimately, but we just both turned and looked the other way. So the next time you feel someone run their hand down your back in a crowded club, look for my pimp or me trying to act like we didn't just touch you.

Other fun stuff: Ladyfingers writes just like Stephen King! Hahahahahahahaha. The only name that could have been better was that lady who wrote Twilight! I made sure to let him know that King writes in a way that makes him very popular and accessible to many people - just like Dan Brown. He is crushed that his style is so pedestrian and commercial.

Here are some fuschia-themed pics. [ Since it has been so dreary in CA (average July temp is supposed to be in the 80s, not the freaking 60s), I've been surrounding myself with fuschia. Fuschia bedding, to be exact.] I had to take pics of the magnum (which was too heavy to pour), and send it to My Gays and the amazing soul who introduced me to Veuve. And drinking in general.  And doing it while wearing bikinis and high heels. Oh yeah, and I also liked this blog because it had pretty things: notcot.com's Veuve stuff.

And this is how I feel after having access to magnums of my favorite champagne:

That's my new dog! Well, she belongs to my roomie (for now), but she loves me because I let her do this to the couch when my roommate is out of town. She's bummed about the weather too, and is trying my fuschia thing.

And All the Little Come-ons...

2010-07-21T14:37:00.002-07:00

They were all just run-ons
And when I think of your arms
I forget what street to turn on - I'm Afraid of Everything by Braid

I spend a lot of time doing dishes out here in CA. Mostly washing the French press. Mostly because it is cold and overcast a lot. Mostly because everyone here has to be cool and not use something easy like a Mr. Coffee. You know, because French presses make SUCH a good cup of coffee. Because it's made with the world's worst tasting water. Anyway, the windows are always open, and it just kind of makes me feel like singing all the time. Which is unfortunate because I have an awful voice. And I live on a street with lots of foot traffic. So I'm scrubbing the godforsaken French press (which I swear makes weak coffee), and singing my favorite Braid song. And then I'm thinking that a super hot guy should walk by and be like "Hey, I love that song! And I'm creative and funny and passionate and neither bi-polar nor an addict and I have tons of indie cred and I can fix your truck and/or computer and cook and surf and fingerbang well. Let's makeout and fall madly in love just like a Braid song but with less angst."

Except no one good walked by, and if they did, they would tell me that I'm not 20 years old and to grow the eff up and stop trying to star in a bad Gen X film. But then I got a text saying that Bob Nanna from Braid was doing an in-store San Diego's coolest place to see and be scene M-Theory Music, (say hi to Rick when you're there - he's adorable, and much to my chagrin, strives to be the exact opposite of Jack Black's character in High Fidelity). I decided to go, since I have yet to learn that the bands of my youth can never live up to my post-post punk/hardcore expectations (this means you, Dinosaur Jr.! I gave you two chances!!). But not to worry, he put on a good show. I just felt a little out of place because I don't have an iPhone and/or a fixie. And there were a couple creepy guys who kept addressing Bob as BOB, but it was just awkward because you could tell they were trying in vain to force a rapport that would never happen, due to their obvious hero worship and the fact that they were saying his name way louder than necessary.

BOB was gracious and took lots of requests, even though these weirdos kept asking for songs that he obviously didn't want to play. And then it was silent and a meek girl in pigtails yelled out that she wanted to hear "I'm Afraid of Everything," which was quite a relief, because that's what I wanted to hear, but I'm not really the type to yell at requests in a room full of emo-back-when-emo-meant-something-but-I-still-hate-the-term emos. BOB agreed to play it. And then the fanboys continued calling out for the same songs that he already said he didn't want to play, so he played something else to appease them. And then he played something else. And then he mentioned that he'd play her request. And then he played something else. And then then he played something else. And then it was over. But that's okay, because he played a lot of old stuff that I liked, and had he played the song, it probably wouldn't have lived up to my expectations. Here's an old performance of the song if you're curious. He's a good songwriter, and I think the drummer kicks ass.

And then when I was leaving, I scraped the wall with my car! I have never hit anything parking. Ever! I feel like such a loser/bad driver. Also, Rick introduced me to BOB and I couldn't help but try for some witty banter. BOB obliged, but I'm thinking it was a bit much. I'm thinking the whole witty banter thing might be a bit much. A guy friend advised that in light of the Grannypantygate, I should tone it down a bit, and just be cute until the unsuspecting fellow has already fallen madly in love, and then I can start to be myself. But that's kinda unethical I think. False advertising, if you will. Personally, I love shittalkers, as long as they are funny and not mean. Witty banter is a huge turn-on, and I don't think I should tone it down. But I'm hanging out at record stores by myself in my 30s, so what the hell do I know? I'm open to suggestions!

Here's a funny scene from High Fidelity. And for those of you who don't know, Barry asks if the guy's daughter is in a coma b/c during the 80s, that song brought someone out of one.

Undie My Thumb

2010-07-19T23:14:00.000-07:00

Let's face it, I am pretty damn funny. And you'd think that the guys I meet would enjoy this. They do not. Here is the latest...

**Interruption** My friend just texted me that she woke up thinking she'd shat the bed because there were brown smears all over the sheets in the hotel in which she was staying. But she'd really only passed out on the chocolates they left on the pillow. I love my friends. Especially Babar.

Okay, so back to the neverending joke that is my life. I went out on a few dates with a guy who, even though he wasn't Mr. Perfect, definitely made me laugh. He was a big fan of doing stuff. Maybe he had a bit of a Peter Pan Complex, but who am I to judge? We went on several dates and I was starting to like him. My friend and I were shopping at TJMaxx and there was this disgusting pair of nude granny panties. So we held them up and took a picture. I sent it to him w/ the message saying that I couldn't wait to wear these for him. Hilarious, right??? Who wouldn't want someone to make them laugh over old lady undies??

Well apparently this guy was not amused. And he stopped calling me! He said that the panties were such a turn-off and that was that. No, that was not that. And that was not acceptable. So I went into revenge mode. Maybe I got a little carried away, but I never actually did anything. But it's the thought that counts. Things ended with him trying to flirt with me, which is when I began ignoring him. I win. The end. Next?

Finite Jest

2010-07-18T22:29:00.001-07:00

I saw this pop up on facebook today - it's a site that tells you which famous writer you write like. I just plugged in some stuff from here and prayed for a cool name to pop up. I got David Foster Wallace! Hahaha, Ladyfingers will be furious, as he worships the footnoted ground on which DFW walks. I highly doubt the legitimacy of facebook apps., but it made me laugh just the same. At least is wasn't Dr.Seuss. Or Thomas Friedmann. Or either of the Brontes. Damn it, how do I make an umlaut? (On a new computer that is giving me fits.)

Ladyfingers and I had a contest last year about who could have the most meaningful final class with their students. Since he had seniors, and students who actually try at school, he kind of had the upper hand. But, I had a lot of misfits who had actually started to read by the end of the year. (I was really hoping to see how my most difficult student was affected, as he had revealed that my class was like therapy, even though we had a very rocky start where he had some sort of boundary-testing outburst every five minutes.)

Ladyfingers decided to read DFW's commencement speech (probably 20 mins long?), because he loves to hear the sound of his own voice. I opted for a Bukowski poem (uh, it was a tame one, and remember, these kids don't read so it's not like they will be corrupted) for two reasons:

1. I never got around to teaching poetry because trying to talk about poetry makes me uncomfortable. Yes, this is one of my many teaching failures. But, I also got them ready to write for (community) college, which is a decent tradeoff.
2. I found a clip of Bono reading it, which got me out of reading it aloud to a bunch of eye rollers.

I printed up copies of "Roll the Dice," passed them out, and then waited for the video to upload. My school has one dial up connection, so things like this can take awhile. Laptop crashed. Then the projector had to be rebooted. Then we had an effing fire drill!!! We finally got back to class with three minutes left and things started to come together, but at this point they were just staring at the clock, which I could kind of understand. The last thing they cared about was my goodbye message. But I had spent a lot time putting this together, and I wasn't going to give up now.

The bell rang with about 5 seconds left in Bono's reading, and I made them sit and listen to it! (I would have soooo hated me if I had me as a teacher.) I told them to take the poem with them and to re-read it every now and then. The difficult kid threw his in the trash as he walked out without saying goodbye.

Of course, Ladyfinger's DFW reading was a smashing success, even though he'd broken his cardinal rule of never using a writer/book that you actually care about, because when the students tell you they hate it, you can't help but take it personally. This year he read the speech again and his students blatantly yawned in his face; he contemplated jumping out the window. I didn't even bother with a final "lesson."

Last Night Out Rejection

2010-07-08T22:38:00.000-07:00

My Super Devious Gay Friend came out with me on my last night of going out-out in FL - but on the condition that I wore something that showed off the bubbies. And my friend who usually avoids answering her phone on the weekends also joined us. Ironically, she is pretty much the only person who made an effort to see me, even though everyone else knew I was leaving. I guess it made me realize I wasn't leaving that much behind. And then that point just had to be hammered home when I went out. But first some boob/shoe porn:

You know I had to run into the douche who ate the hotdog on our movie date and never called me again. He actually had the nerve to ask me if I'd get him a water when I ordered my next drink!   And I also saw the Whitesnake car guy. I didn't make eye contact. His friends looked at me knowingly. I looked at my drink. Time for a refill...

I spent the next couple of days packing and repacking.  My mom was nice enough to say that she'd come pick up whatever I couldn't fit and store it indefinitely. (She called me today to say that she was picking up my stuff. And then she called again to say that she couldn't fit any of my books in her car because she'd taken a bunch of my stuff for herself. Awesome.) So then it was my last night in my condo. And I'd spent all day selling my possessions to weirdos on Craigslist. Now I've moved a lot, and it always leads to some soul searching. Or drinking for going away parties.  Anyway, I decided that I would not be spending my last night sitting on the couch that I couldn't sell, staring at my empty place.

It is definitely a rule that you will meet someone cool before you go, and of course I'd met a cool guy a few nights prior. He was funny and had nice legs and we went nightswimming. However, I hadn't shaved my legs in six days, so there were obvi no sexy times going on. So, we hung out a bit on my actual last night, and he invited me down to stay with him for a few days, because unlike me, he has a boat and fun stuff to do. But I declined because I had to drive in the opposite direction. I don't know why I didn't go, but I was impatient to get out of FL. So I went home alone and tried in vain to stretch out on my couch.

I thought about how eight years prior, when I'd moved here from Denver, I'd spent my last night with a 24-year old who ended up stealing some of my CDs. Then my phone rang. Of course, it was a 24-year old wanting to spend the night. I thought about how it would be a funny story for my blog, and how I could wax philosophical about how my love life goes in circles. But my life line goes in a much more linear fashion, and I decided I was too old, so I fell asleep before any lines were crossed. Alone on my couch in my empty condo on my last night.  Boo.

Sorry for being bummy, but I haven't seen the sun in forever, and the 10-day forecast has me pricing out sun lamps.

First, some shoes...

2010-07-08T20:44:00.000-07:00

These are my new favorites. I love the metal Gucci logo. I fell in love with them when they came out in the spring, but they were too tall (5-inch heel), and too expensive. On my way out of town, I decided to stop at Gucci and see if they had any left. The salesgirl, was all, "Oh, you mean the ones that are on sale at 60% off right now?" Uhm, YES! I tried not to get excited, figuring they would never have them in my size, but they had one pair left in Vegas. So these were waiting for me when I showed up in CA! I have no idea what my new roomie thinks, nor do I care. Okay, she thinks I'm a ridiculous whore and I care a little bit.

And these were the ones I had to leave behind. They are a little fashion-forward, but they are exquisite. And since they are Alexander McQueen's last collection, they are collector's items. Like surfboards, they are functional art? The salesman got all choked up when he talked about Alexander's unfortunate passing, so my friend kept bringing it up to make him cry.

They have little skull zippers and they were so cute and were made of the softest leather. But, I got three pairs of new heels for half of what these cost. I win! And now I need to find somewhere to wear these new shoes.

Crooked Horizons

2010-06-22T14:53:00.000-07:00

I made it all the way to CA safely. And then I slipped and fell on the bathroom floor after my first shower. But I was expecting something to go wrong, so my ninja-like reflexes kept me from breaking any bones. And now I'm waiting for UPS to deliver a bunch of clothes that I have no room for.

The house is adorable, my roommate is super-cool, and there is a great yellow lab who shall remain in my good graces as long as she doesn't eat my shoes.

I am a little concerned because there are no heat vents in my room.

Here's my yard with the boards that are finless because I can't find the screws for their fins. (I'm not riding the shortboard yet.) And I also took some pics from Summer Solstice vball last night.

I apologize for my absence!

2010-06-17T12:09:00.000-07:00

I have been busy finishing school and packing up my life to move cross-country. Everything has been going wrong, so I'll have plenty to bitch about on here once I'm settled. Will try to update from the road, but technology has it in for me.

I had to repack four times, in a heat index of 105 degrees. Now I have the following 8.5 years of stuff crammed into my RAV4:

2 heavy longboards

1 shortboard

1 fish

1 heavy stupid beach cruiser

1 longass skateboard that I've avoided since I ate sh#t on it

3 heavy stupid paintings

70 amazing shoes

20 cute cocktail dresses

150 books stashed randomly in open spaces

3 wetsuits

1 blogger who is f#&king tired

1 Mom who is probably going to chain herself to my tailpipe if I try to leave

Mo' 'Mos

2010-06-01T18:56:00.002-07:00

Again, don't expect a good title anytime soon. And I'm sure you can see where this blog is headed. Right into the gutter. But it's a pool gutter. And it's on a roof. And it's two pools. And one had a staircase through it.

This weekend started off with me going to bed on Friday night at about 8 o'clock. It was either that, or go to some outside (sweaty) bar where people wear Guy Harvey shirts and sip Bud while listening to the shitty sounds of Jimmy Buffett. Of course no one around here wanted to wear fancy shoes and make fun of other people for trying to be fancy, so staying in was really my only option. Then I got up early on Sat. and started preparing for the shoe sale at Neimans. I was hoping that Shoe Guy would come through. At first I was a little pissed at Shoe Guy because he was supposed to set aside my snakeskin d'Orsay Manolos. (I can't believe that they actually went on sale! I would post a pic but there aren't any online for some reason?) He was also supposed to set aside my Alexander McQueen works of art, but he didn't. But, if all goes as planned, I will be getting a sensible pair of Louboutins and a super hot pair of Manolos at about 75% off. Of course, nothing goes as planned - esp. when I'm trying to be sneaky - so we shall see.

I also felt kinda bad b/c Shoe Guy wanted a hug before I left, and I was wearing a sundress, so I got deoderant on his black suit. But I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I did something gross, so I just let it go. But then I felt bad about him walking around with Shower Clean Degree all over his shoulder (he's short!). Hopefully one of his coworkers pointed it out to him.

I got home and realized that even though MGC was in Napa, my favorite super devious fun Gay had just moved into a new condo in Fort Lauderdale. So I threw six pairs of heels and as many bikinis into a bag and headed down to where the bois are. (Stop!) We went to swanky bars and I wore a lot of polka dot dresses. Super Devious Fun Gay (SDFG) had a rooftop pool, so we did some daytime drinking and made friends with the building gossip. We also took a lot of pics of ourselves. We decided to buy a raft (awesome) and Rose's Pomengranate mix (awesomer) to mix with vodka. The high fructose corn syrupy goodness inspired all sorts of booty tooching/tilted head drunk perma grin shenanigans. Here is me managing to do both, while almost rolling off the raft.

Then we went to more fancy bars and the next day we decided to go to a fancy rooftop pool bar. So fun! The crowd was kinda cheesy, but after a few RBVs we started talking to all the people who we'd previously been making fun of. And I'm sure the feeling was mutual, since as soon as I lied/bribed our way into prime sunbathing real estate, we pulled out the heels and camera and started making fools of ourselves. Then, when we were packing our stuff to leave SDFG turned into a klepto and made me steal a fancy towel and some random Polo shirt that'd been left alone for five hours. Then SDFG said I couldn't keep the towel, but I could have the shirt?? But he wasn't sober enough to hide the towel all the way under his bed, so I stole it back, and left him the shirt. I figure he can get another, right? I tried to speak Spanish for a few hours in order to sober up. I feel sorry for those people. And then I started my long drive home at about 11:30. Yeah, that would mean four hours of sleep for me. If I hadn't consumed 5 cans of Red Bull.

I realized that I forgot to eat lunch and dinner, so I grabbed a bag of Doritos (I don't even smoke pot) at the gas station and promptly dumped them all over the floor of my car. I was so hungry and in a rush that I started eating the ones on top. And maybe some from the middle of the pile. Don't act like you've never been there!

"Oates seems confident."

2010-05-27T18:22:00.000-07:00

I'm assuming you were lazy and ignored my post about Yacht Rock. Here is the amazing 2nd episode. But you have to watch the 1st one (see older post), or this won't be as funny.

If you go to yachtrock.com you can watch the other episodes. The episodes that are posted don't work, so you'll have to download them. It took a minute or two to download, fyi.

Substance Abuse

2010-05-25T19:26:00.000-07:00

The three blogs that I read on an almost daily basis would be:

1) http://www.modgblog.com/ This blog used to be known as Martinis or Diaper Genies. It is cute/crazy/girly material. And yes, I had to ask my friend what a diaper genie was. Even though she is short and cute, I still adore everything she has to say.

2) http://www.dlisted.com/ I check this blog on an almost hourly basis. It is cute/witty/celeb material. Highly recommended. Dlisted has enriched my life in more ways than I care to count.

3) www.richardbradley.net/shotsinthedark This blog is heavy on Harvard and Yankees material, but his commenters are smart and always have something interesting to say or link to. Reading this blog will make you feel like you aren't a vapid piece of crap. Sometimes Richard gets snarky about other writers, and these are my favorite posts. Because my writing is error-free and fantastic.

I guess I should put these up as permalinks (what are those?) or something, but then people might think that I know these bloggers, and that feels dishonest.

Feel free to comment with your favorite blogs, so that I can waste even more time at work.

This May Very Well Change / Rock Your World

2010-05-25T18:47:00.000-07:00

Thanks, Bud!

The first two episodes (heavy on Hall and Oates) are on youtube. Then the following episodes have no sound. I forgot how to find the videos after that, b/c http://www.yachtrock.com/ doesn't have a picture, but they have the sound. Bud sent me a link to some other site, but it didn't work. So figure it out yourself, Cetera!

I'm hoping this wasn't wildly popular years ago and I just found it.

Crapa Valley

2010-05-24T19:27:00.002-07:00

My Gay Couple has been on vacation, and is headed to Napa tomorrow, which means no crazy stories from this weekend. So I'm going to spend this week in whine country. Here's what's going on with me so I don't have to waste my daytime minutes filling you in on the past week.

Went to another neurologist b/c my face and neck keep going numb. Doctor was cool and said no surgery (yay!). He said my neck is curved in the wrong direction and a bad spasm on the left side is putting pressure on the nerves, hence the numbness.
He gave me some muscle relaxers that he said were mild enough to take during the day. So I waited until Saturday morning to take one and spent the next four hours feeling dizzy and nauseous. He said it takes a few days for them to really start working. Does this mean until I don't feel dizzy? Because I can't walk around feeling that way. It messed up my early morning Saturday surf plans.
He said that this is an injury that I cannot beat into submission (ha!). He said to run on the treadmill (can't afford it), or swim (can't afford it), and to avoid jogging on pavement (can't afford to stop it).

Speaking of Pavement and jogging, I would like you to watch the following clip. The Silver Jews are one of my favorite bands, and Natural Bridge is an album that everyone should own. David Berman started this band with Stephen Malkmus of Pavement (he touched my hand once), and I love David's lyrics. I like how he darkens upbeat clichés with little sardonic twists. He has this kind of deadpan delivery, which means everyone lumps him into this pretentious indie irony category; but it's really because he has such a deep voice. Anyway, he has serious issues with stagefright, which I find endearing. Here he is struggling through "How to Rent a Room."

And I posted this because I rented a room (ha!) in San Diego. Now, because I'm psychotic, I've been scouring the roommate ads on craiglist since last March, and I was about to give up because I do not want to live with anyone who is "4:20 friendly," or has 7 cats, or likes to hold band practice in the living room every morning, and these types of people seem to be the only people renting rooms. (Some people have been putting an ad up every day for the past 1.3 years. What is going on there?) But the place I found is perfect! And it's right by where I used to have to frogger the 101 in order to get to the beach when I wanted to go jogging. (And you didn't think I could pull that off. )