Dog Daze

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

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

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)

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

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.

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.

Halloween Hex

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. 

Fall Trends: Be Like Laird

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.

For Brett!

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

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.

I Should Probably Wear a Helmet

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.