Could've been so beautiful...

I am about 80% okay, about 90% of the time these days.  Some time has passed--albeit just a few weeks--but even so, with each day that passes, hindsight gives me more and more clarity and further justifies that the decision I made was the correct one.  

Major deal-breaker aside, if we were still together, he still wouldn't have time for me.  There would always be complications and lifestyle choices that didn't mesh.  The thing is, even though logically I know this, I feel as though I was robbed of discovering it organically and determining whether or not there was enough love there to power through the little things.  

I never got the chance to see what it would be like for him to go climb a mountain while I went out for cocktails with the girls, then meet back up and discuss our respective adventures while snuggling.  I never got the opportunity to figure out what annoyed me about him, or what little idiosyncrasies he had that would eventually drive me crazy.  We never got to have our first fight about something stupid that we would laugh about later on.

I've heard it said that things don't have to last forever to be perfect, and I believe it.  We had a perfect few months.  The problem is because they were so perfect, it makes it that much harder let go--to not continuously wonder how much more amazing it could have become.  

Then there are days like today... I got up early to go to the farmer's market.  The last time I went to this particular market was over a month ago, and it was with him and his kids.  It occurred to me that I might run into him there, so of course I slapped on some makeup and made it a point to wear actual clothing instead of my pajamas even though I am positive the universe will not allow me to see him unless I am completely unprepared and looking like something my cat barfed up.  And although I did not see him there, by the time I'd bought my basil, peaches and gladiolas, I was practically in tears.  It's astounding how many memories you can make with someone in such a short time. 

The remainder of the morning was an emotional war zone... a song on the radio that reminded me of him...(bwooosh!!!)...there's that restaurant we went to on our second date...(blammmm!!)... a commercial for the State Fair that we'd talked about taking the kids to...(kabamm!!!)  By the time I got home from my hour-long outing, I was so mentally exhausted, I could barely stand up.

I know it's not really him that I miss at this point, especially considering I'm not entirely certain I really knew who he was.  More so, it's the future he allowed me to so carefully map out in my silly, girl-brain.  When the life you thought you were going to have is unceremoniously torn from your grasp, it's difficult to return to the life you were previously living.  Difficult, but not impossible, thankfully.  

I'm thinking one of these days, my sadness might very well morph into raw, untamed anger, at which point I can start mentally planning the future I will share with my lesbian cell-mate in a nice minimum-security prison facility in the desert.

So I fell in love with a sociopath...

Maybe I am being overly dramatic, then again, maybe not.  

He "futured" me... and I let him do it.  It's what I wanted, so I never stopped to question it.  He hypnotized me with his dreamy eyes and disheveled hair.  He told me everything I was ready to hear, and got my ovaries all in an uproar.  Yes, he seemed too good to be true, and perhaps that should have been my first clue, but for once, I was trying not to be cynical and over-think things the way I am apt to do.

For the last 3 weeks, I have stood by watching my friends stare at me with thinly-veiled disbelief that I would even consider giving this guy a second chance.  It got to where I barely recognized myself at times.  In knowing what I knew about him, and attempting to move past it anyway, I had begun turning into a suspicious, mistrustful, apathetic shell of my former self who could barely get out of bed some days.  All the while, adamantly trying to convince myself that it would just take time.  That he really was sorry and that he truly meant it when he said he loved me and wanted a life with me. That I could believe in him.  

Then it happened... that integral moment which made this decision I'd been so painfully struggling with, seem so suddenly simple.  

After an ostensibly perfect evening together, cooking dinner, laughing, and enjoying each other's company the way we always had, we started discussing some serious things, and I asked him to let me look at his phone.  Let me repeat that for emphasis:  I asked him to let me look at his phone.  Many a crazy lady would have waited until he was asleep and stolen a peek, but I pride myself on not being that lady.  In light of the things that have happened, I felt this was a completely reasonable request.  He, however, froze like a dear in headlights.  The look on his face answered every un-asked question I had left.  I told him to leave my house, never contact me again, and if he had time, go to hell.

Today I shot 150 rounds at the range, bought $100 worth of underwear, and ate a pretzel bacon cheeseburger from Wendy's... all legitimate techniques for coping with heartbreak, yet still the sadness has crept in.  I think it was inevitable, even though ultimately I know I made the right decision.

I count myself lucky that I only wasted 3 months, not 3 years on him (God bless that whole 'older and wiser' schtick).  I also take some comfort in the knowledge that I have a significant number of dear friends poised to drop-kick him in the baby-maker if he ever comes near me again.  

In hindsight, it's probably best that it's over... In the time we were together, I heard him use the "word" "irregardless" more than once, and let's face it, that has always been a deal-breaker for me.

Just give me a reason...

This will either turn out to be the best or worst decision I've ever made.  Only time will tell... I want to believe this will be amazing, that the last few weeks have been a speed bump (or more accurately, a giant cesspool of suck) that if we can move past, will make our relationship that much stronger.  

I hear of this happening... People and their unsolicited advice have told me that working through hardships make for stronger bonds in the end.  That is yet to be determined, but considering I have given up on every other relationship I've ever had as soon as things got complicated, maybe trying a new tactic isn't the worst idea.  

It's not my first rodeo... I know that as a 35-year old woman, anyone I meet is going to have a certain amount of baggage.  I don't feel as though I entered this situation blindly--  I knew he was broke; I didn't care, he has ambition, ideas, goals and a crazy work ethic.  I knew he had kids;  I didn't care, I think they're awesome.  His house looks like a freaking Unibomber shack; I didn't care, I'm really good at cleaning.  It's the emotional, ex-related stuff I hadn't anticipated... 

Obviously, everyone (once past the age of 16 or so) has a certain amount of Ex-related fucked-upness they bring to new relationships.  This is definitely nothing new to me, but it gets tricky when the person you've fallen for is still actively dealing with the toxicity of their former.  I got lucky with my Ex, in that both of his Exes and children lived out of state and there was little to no contact taking place.  Selfishly, this was awesome.  I knew every detail about them, his relationship with both of them and the circumstances surrounding why they were no longer around, and although some crazy shit had gone down, I feel like I was better able to deal with it because there was zero chance I was ever going to actually have to deal with it.

Meanwhile, back in the giant fishbowl where I currently reside, everyone knows everyone else as well as their secrets, their past mistakes and their present bullshit.  This makes for difficult decision making, because even if you fancy yourself the type of person who cares very little about what others think, the fact is, you still care a little.  

All I know at this moment, is that I have spent the last 2 weeks observing those around me and their relationships.  What I have seen is people my parents' age who are plodding along in loveless marriages, doing little more than tolerating each other. They share a home, but not a bedroom, an intimate moment or even a kind word.  I have seen people who have been together 2, 3, and 5 times longer than he and I, who do nothing but fight and spew vitriol at each other, and seem genuinely miserable together -not all the time- but a majority of the time.  

Then I look at us... I'm not an idiot, I know we barely know each other, but the love I feel for this person even after what we've been dealing with the last few weeks, is still there.  There has been an exorbitant amount of hurt, but never has there been name-calling or harsh words said in anger that we are unable to take back--something I witness happening endlessly around me.  And somehow, even throughout some pretty dark moments, we've been able to laugh.  This reinforces the faith I have that some things are worth the struggle.  But again, only time will tell... 

And people wonder why I'm superstitious...

Obviously I know that superstition, or Mercury being in retrograde, or any number of other voo-dooey, mystical things have very little if anything to do with the fact that life can be a little bitch.  She's just waiting there quietly ...biding her time until you are nice and happy and complacent.  Then, out of nowhere...BAM!  Here is a giant, steaming pile of shit for you to deal with!  You're welcome!

Now, I've always been a bit of a "when life gives you lemons, make lemon-drop martinis" kind of a girl, but even my optimism has its limits.  

I was recently blind-sided by some information I learned about the man I'm seeing.  Was seeing.  Haven't yet decided if I am going to continue seeing.   Yes, the same man I so cock-eyed optimistically cooed and gushed about in my most recent post.  Part of me wishes I could turn back time and slap the keyboard right out from underneath my fingers, as I clearly jinxed myself by making such grand statements about my unconditional love for him.  Apparently, I do have some conditions.  

As is my way, when life and everything I know to be true comes crashing down around me, I got in my car and drove 500 miles away from the problem, hoping to gain some clarity.   It's amazing what 7 hours of driving, while intermittently crying, listening to bad country music and chain-smoking, can do for the soul.  And God bless my friend at the other end of those miles, for listening, making sure I ate, plying me with alcohol, making me laugh and giving me a peaceful place to talk things out and try to heal.  

Somehow, after all the emotions I experienced this week; after all the tears, and the screaming at the top of my lungs while driving down the highway at 85 mph, and the anger and the sadness, my brain and my heart still aren't ready to make a deal.  This is brand-new territory for me.  Usually, my decisions are pretty cut and dried.  If this were any of my friends, I know exactly what I would tell them.  But I just can't seem to take my own advice... not yet.   

I used to wear mine underneath my right pant leg, strapped to my boot, but now it's on my sleeve...

A good (and brutally honest) friend once told me that my blog posts, much like Ani Difranco's music, are not as good when I am happy.  I assume she thinks they lack the sardonic, self-effacing edge that comes with being single and miserable.  Not that I've ever really been miserable, but you know what I mean.  

For the past 3 months, I've been floating along on a blissful little cloud, annoying the hell out of the people around me with my constant smiling and glazed-over eyes, and the dreamy, contented sighs that keep escaping my lips at random moments throughout the day. I can't help it... I'm in love.  And since I am no longer afraid of jinxing it, you're gonna hear all about it...

I feel like new relationships are like a drug addiction.  You start off just trying it out, seeing if it's something you might enjoy recreationally.  Before you know it, you start to crave it.  It becomes harder and harder to resist having it and it becomes an all-consuming desire.  For someone like me, who is a self-proclaimed loner, this is a strange sensation.  Suddenly, I want to spend every waking moment with this person.  I want to crawl inside him and cozy up, and figure out what makes him tick, what he loves, and who and what made him into the person lying next to me that I can't stop touching. There is also the hilarity that comes with the newness... for example, slipping your last name into casual conversation so as not to make it awkward that you've had your tongues in each other's mouths, yet you don't know each other's surnames.  Then there is the 45 minutes it takes to compose every text I send, making sure it is not just witty and smart, but also that it is spelled correctly, punctuated properly, and winky-face emoticons have not been overused.  

Once you get a month or so under your belt, it gets a little easier and more fun.  About this time, I personally enjoy tossing around the "b" word when talking with friends and co-workers.  "Oh yeah" I'll say, nodding knowingly "my boyfriend gets heartburn from time to time as well."  Or, "Speaking of electric eels, my boyfriend told me the funniest story the other day..." Regardless whether or not anyone has mentioned eels, electric or otherwise.

Obviously, I've been in love before.  I've been writing about my various exes for years.  Now I'm beginning to wonder if all of my journaling therapy has led me to this man.  My whole life, I've heard happily married people say things like: "When it's right, you just know."  Well, he and I are three months in, and I knew after a week and a half that I was done looking.  And if there was any remaining doubt, it was completely erased a few days later when we kissed for the first time.  

He smells like pine trees, diesel, soap and manliness.  I am powerless against this.  The pillow-smelling antics that occur after he leaves my house in the morning are comical. He works harder than anyone I've ever met; is humble and genuine and does not take himself too seriously.  He is hilariously sarcastic, strong yet gentle and an amazing dad to his two kids. I've always joked about how I wished I could fashion together a voo-doo doll-type boy made up of all the best qualities of all my exes...ask and ye shall receive?  

Now, don't get me wrong, he is not without his faults. There is a significant amount of ex/mother-of-his-kids baggage on board this train.  Not to mention, the man works endlessly and is therefore exhausted 99% of the time.  Unfortunately, the little time we have together is usually a few nights a week after I get off work, which is typically 2 hours or so after his normal bed time.  I realized the other day, he is basically a Gremlin.  I can't give him food or water or get him wet (i.e. let him take a shower) after midnight, though instead of turning into a demon, he will just fall asleep. Like, instantly.  I'm not entirely certain he's not narcoleptic.

Our work schedules are far from conducive to nurturing a budding romance, but the thing is, I don't care.  In the past, I have always had a tendency to over-think and over-analyze things.  I would often worry too much about the future and as a result, act like a crazy person in the present.  This time, though, everything just feels different.  There are so many things we don't know about each other...probably some pretty major things, but the fundamentals are there and so is the love and the trust.  As far as I'm concerned,  I know all I need to know.  I would marry him tomorrow if he asked me, and I would happily spend every day for the rest of my life, learning the details.  

Haven't ranted about crap in awhile, so here I go....

Anyone who knows me, or reads this blog regularly, knows that I work in a restaurant.  I have worked in restaurants, from divey to fancy, as well as everything in between, off and on since I was 16 years old.  I fully intend to write a book about my experiences in food service at some point, but until I do, I'd like to take this opportunity to vent a little, share some pet peeves and hopefully in the process, provide some insight and education to those who frequent restaurants, but have never worked in one.

When you go out to eat, it is reasonable to expect a certain level of quality.  However, I feel like the phrase "You can't please everyone all the time" should be painted across the front door of every restaurant in existence.  It has certainly become my motto over the years.  Here's an example of why:  For every 10 steaks that are ordered and prepared "medium", 5 people will say it is cooked perfectly and tastes delicious; 3 people will say it's under-cooked and send it back to be redone; 1 will say it's terrible and refuse to pay for it; and 1 will eat the entire steak, say it's fine, pay the bill, then go home and write an awful, online review about the restaurant.  This last person, the bad review writer who wasn't happy, but didn't alert anyone so they could try to remedy the issue, is one of my biggest peeves.  

Restaurants serve meals to hundreds of people a day.  Mistakes are bound to happen once in awhile since they are, after all, run by humans.  The important thing to remember is that these mistakes are not intentional and any place worth it's salt will typically bend over backwards to either fix the problem or compensate you in some way, since you are the one keeping them in business.  My point is, you have to let someone know there is a problem.  Thanks to a handful of gross movies, people seem to have the idea that if they complain about their food, the server will do something disgusting to it.  Now, while I can't say this never happens, I can say that in the 15 years I've worked in restaurants, I've never seen it happen.  There are always jokes, but no one I've worked with would ever actually do it and if they did, you had better believe I wouldn't stand by let it happen.  That being said, don't be afraid to let your server know when something is wrong.  As long as you're polite, and clear about how you would like it fixed, your server and/or the manager is usually more than happy to do what they can to please you.  

It's also a good idea, especially if you are trying out a new place, to listen to your server's suggestions.  Most restaurants have at least a few items that aren't great, but are on the menu anyway for various reasons.  Your server will be more than willing to tell you their personal favorite items, as well as the most popular items.  And if you're lucky enough to get someone really honest, they will come right out and say "We are a steak house. Order a steak.  The only reason we have the cheese ravioli you're asking about is to appease vegetarians, but it's not great."

This brings me to Pet Peeve #2... Since I began managing, I can't tell you how many times I've had to speak with an unhappy table at the end of their meal, who didn't want to tip their server.  "Well, the food was terrible", they say.  To which I respond "I'm sorry you didn't like the food, did you let your server know so they could bring you something else?".  Often, the answer is no.  It's then I say to them "Did your server do everything they could for you?  Did you get your drinks/refills in a timely manner?  Were they friendly and helpful?"  Often, the answer is yes.  

People.  Please understand that your server does not cook your food, nor do they have any control over how long it takes to do so, or what it tastes like when it arrives.  If your server has provided you with good, timely, friendly service for the duration of your meal, and your only complaint is that the food was bad, you still need to tip your server!  It's one thing if you don't want to pay for the food--that is understandable and something you need to speak to the manager about--but tipping is still necessary.  Your server makes $4.00 an hour and just spent at least that long waiting on you.  Do not punish them for things that are out of their control. If you do, you're an asshole.  Think about it this way:  Let's say you work in an office setting.  You spend an hour on the phone with a customer who is dissatisfied with one of your company's products.  You finally calm them down and offer them a refund on the item, but they are still annoyed and tell you they won't buy your company's products in the future.  You hang up, and your boss comes in and tells you that you will not be getting paid for that last hour on your next check.  How is that fair?  

Another point of contention is coupons.  Coupons are great for both businesses and customers.  They get customers in the door during slow months and provide people with a good deal.  However, your server is doing the same amount of work, whether you paid full-price for your meal or not.  Please tip on the amount of the original, un-discounted bill.

Pet Peeve #3

It is 2013.  The standard tip amount is 18-20% for good service.  15% is no longer the norm, and anything less than 10% is just insulting.  If you are bad at math, use your iphone app or ask the server to add the appropriate amount for you.  If you are foreign, I don't care how they do things in your country, you need to buy a USA guidebook and learn the local customs.  There is no excuse for not tipping or tipping poorly, unless your server is flat-out rude, mean, or apathetic, in which case you should promptly alert a manager.

Pet Peeve #4

Please don't complain about prices.  This is an especially frustrating thing to hear when you work in a small, independently-owned establishment.  I've heard people say "I can get this same steak at 'Blah Blah' corporate restaurant down the street for $4.00 less!"  Of course you can, because there are 5 different 'Blah Blah' corporate restaurants in this town and they get huge discounts from distributors for ordering in mass quantities.  Mom and Pop places know they can't always compete with corporate places on pricing, which is why they typically try to make up for it by offering various specials and incentives, or by making your experience special in some way that 'Blah Blah' can't.  

Things cost what they cost and are priced accordingly.  If you can't afford to go out to eat, then don't.  Yes, you can get a bottle of wine at the liquor store or a steak at the grocery store for 1/3 of what you pay in a restaurant.  But remember, we charge more because we are preparing it for you, serving it to you, and washing your dishes/cleaning up for you when you're finished.  It's called 'overhead' and it's sort of the whole concept behind restaurants.  Anyone who thinks an independent restaurant is "sticking it to them" with prices, then laughing all the way to the bank, is mistaken.  Most small establishments, especially in touristy areas where business is seasonal, are one slow week and an unapproved loan away from going out of business altogether.  I've seen it happen more than I like.

Pet Peeve #5

Please don't get angry with the hostess/manager because you didn't have the foresight to call ahead when you knew you would be bringing 9 of your closest friends out to dinner at 7:00 on a Saturday night and now you have to wait for a table.  We will do what we can to accommodate you, but we're not going to displace people who did make reservations, just because you're hungry NOW.

Finally, and this is a bartending-specific pet peeve, please don't order "double" Long Islands, or "double" Margaritas.  These, and similar drinks are already 3/4 alcohol and are prepared in a way to taste like they aren't.  When you ask for these to be "doubles", you sound like a douche.  If you are  hell-bent on getting plastered at dinner, then either keep a flask in your glove box so you can pre-game in the parking lot, or order straight shots on the side.  And maybe check out an AA meeting sometime.

I could go on for hours about all the strange and crazy things I encounter working in the food-service industry, but I felt these were some of the most important.  If nothing else, I would ask that you show a little compassion for other people who are trying to make a living the best way they know how, just like you are.   I'm sure your job has it's sucky moments too and maybe you can tell me about it sometime. :)

I can hardly believe it myself...

Ahhh, Spring... The time of year when birds are chirping, flowers are budding, hormones are raging, and the air is so thick with love it's almost palpable.  I am going to try my damnedest not to fill this post with cliches and gooeyness, but it might be difficult, considering my recent state of complete and total twitterpation.  

If you will recall, about a month and a half ago, some girlfriends and I decided to start going out regularly to some new places to see if we could meet some new people.  You may also recall, we weren't having much luck.  This all changed, however, by the 4th week.  In a strange, yet almost kismetic (I think I made that word up) way, one friend said yes to a date with someone she had known for awhile, the other took a chance on someone she'd never really considered, and I met someone I never dreamed existed.  So, believe it or not -especially since I joked about it after the first night- "The Experiment" is effectively over, almost before it began.  Don't get me wrong, we will still be going out every week, if for no other reason than we like food/wine/gossiping.  I am also quite impressed with and a little freaked out by our seemingly magical powers of manifestation.... It's a good thing we plan to use our power for good, not evil.

We're still here...

This past week, marked week #4 of "The Experiment".   Unfortunately, we all had other plans.  But as it turns out, that was okay.  Week #3, we found ourselves once again at a nicer place, eating incredible food and talking amoungst ourselves, only that time, it wasn't for lack of trying.  There were literally 2 guys in the entire place, the entire night, and they were slightly drunk liquor reps, which we decided is really only one step up from dating someone we work with.  There was, however, a marked change in our topic of conversation that night, since we are all -all of a sudden- in some various state of sorta dating someone!  I don't know how the hell it happened or where any of it is going, but I think it has something to do with "The Secret" and the laws of attraction.  By putting ourselves out there one night a week, and opening ourselves up to new experiences, we somehow brought a plague of dudes down upon us.  Details on this will be forthcoming once I've determined I'm not jinxing anything by talking about it. (Yes, I am oddly superstitious.) 

Sometimes things have to be said...

I recently read that 1 in 5 women (age 16-59) has been sexually assaulted.  If you are one of the lucky ones who has escaped this, then I ask you to look at your 4 closest girlfriends and ask yourself "Who is living with this and not talking about it?".  This is not something I talk about.  These are not things that anyone really knows about me.  These are also not things that have ever defined me, nor will they ever.  But these are things that happened.  

My first kiss... something that should have been magical and beautiful, was a result of assault.  I was at a neighbor's holiday party and their adopted son offered to give me a tour of their house.  When we got to his bedroom, he pinned me down on his bed and forcefully kissed me. When he let me up, he told me to go back downstairs and act like nothing happened.  I was 15 years old.  I was not attracted to him, and I didn't know what to do.  I let it happen, yet for years after, whenever I saw him, I felt sick to my stomach.  I have since told anyone who was interested, that my first kiss was with my first boyfriend, in his car, in my parents' driveway.  The way it should have been.

Years later, when I was sowing some oats after leaving a long relationship,  I found myself flirting with a guy at a bar one night.  I had a fair amount of beer and felt okay, and to be perfectly honest, was intending on taking him home with me.  However, at some point, he brought me a beer and it gets a little hazy after that.  I remember walking to my house from the bar with him.  I remember saying "I'm really drunk, I don't know if we should do this."  I remember fooling around and making him promise to wear a condom.  Then I passed out.   The next thing I remember is waking up hours later with him on top of me, not able to move or protest.  I barely knew what was happening.  I don't know whether I had more to drink than I realized, or if he drugged me, but regardless, he did what he wanted to do and was not wearing a condom.   

I remember going to Planned Parenthood that week, feeling like a total whore and thinking "If I end up with an STD, I have no one to blame but myself."  

I made better decisions after that.  I made sure not to put myself in situations like that and tried not to blame myself completely for my poor judgement. 

This is a hot-button topic right now, in light of the Steubenville, OH case.  I read about it.  I watched the YouTube videos of the bystanders laughing and joking about it.  I've seen how it's affected people I care about and compelled them to share their own stories, no matter how horrific.  And that's why I decided to share mine.  I have chosen not to let these things affect my life, but others don't have that luxury.  This shit is not funny, and it's time we put a stop to it.

3rd time's the charm?

Last Wednesday, on night #2 of "The Experiment", we found ourselves at a classy, upscale bar downtown.  Before arriving, we had joked that it might be a good place to find an older, sugar-daddy type.  We were wrong.  The place was crawling with men... unfortunately, they were all sitting in groups at tables throughout the restaurant, ostensibly having business meetings.  

There was one attractive fella around our age, who walked in, sat directly across the bar from where we were and smiled at each of us as if mentally playing eeny-meeny-miney-moe.  However, before any of us could decide whether or not we wanted to engage him,  in walked his prey.  That's right... while sipping our $12 cocktails and listening to the soft music of the baby grand piano behind us, we got to witness a cougar hunt of epic proportion.    

So, for the sake of scientific research as well as entertainment, we kept an eye on that situation, but proceeded to once again talk only to each other and the cute bartender.  In case I haven't mentioned this before, all 3 of us work in a restaurant.  And after last week, I had the realization that you can "take the girls out of the restaurant, but you can't take the restaurant out of the girls".  Checking out the hot, kitchen guys when they come out to the bar for a drink, and flirting with the cute, funny bartender...this is what we know.  This is what we are comfortable with.  That's just one more thing to work on, though it's not without its perks.  We managed to score complimentary creme brule and dessert wine, which frankly, was more satisfying than some of the sex I've had in recent years.  

So, although the night was once again fruitless,  I'd still call it a success on some level.  Each week we learn a little more, and each week our confidence grows.  Tonight, we're classin' it up once again and heading to a ritzy part of town.  Goal for the evening:  Talk to someone who isn't paid to talk to us. 

Round two...

As you all know, last Wednesday marked the first night of "The Experiment".  I would like to report that everyone involved found their soul-mate and is presently enjoying endless amounts of phenomenal sex, intellectual stimulation, intense emotional connectivity and snuggling.  Experiment over.  I'll begin blogging again when I start popping out babies.

If you believe any of this, I order you to stop watching any movie starring Kathryn Heigal, Meg Ryan or Jennifer Lopez immediately.  Just stop it.  In all seriousness, last week was the maiden voyage, so we weren't really expecting much.  We were still getting our "sea legs", so to speak.  We also got a bit of a late start, thereby missing most of the happy hour crowd.  

In a nutshell:

+ We got to eat good food.

+ We got to catch up on girly crap.

+ We got to flirt with the cute bartenders.

- We didn't talk to a single person other than each other, the aforementioned cute bartenders, and the highly intoxicated, middle-aged gal beside us, who kept showing us her Spanx.

This week, we're classin' it up a bit and going out a little earlier to see what we can find.  A couple of cocktails at this joint costs more than filling up my gas tank, but we're thinking that means the guys will most definitely have jobs and probably not at Blockbuster.  (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

I also want to mention that I feel as though I have been taking a "fake it til you make it" approach to this, in the sense that I would much rather drink scotch at home, in my pajamas while watching The Ghost Whisperer on Netflix, but I am doing it because as I've said before, I have reclusive tendencies and have yet to meet anyone in my living room.  So, in the spirit of really trying... I shaved my legs today. 

Here we go...

When you live in a small town, the dating pool can get a bit incestuous.  I learned this growing up in a town of about 4,000 people in "middle of nowhere" Pennsylvania.  Sure, I have wonderful friendships that have lasted into adulthood with girls I've known since elementary school, but I also had to share a few of my boyfriends with them over the years.  

Now, keep in mind that in junior high/high school, my friends and I were all somewhat innocent and had led fairly sheltered lives, so when I say we "shared boyfriends", I don't mean we had wild orgies and also shared STD's.  It was more like, one girl dated so-and-so for a week and a half in 8th grade, then another dated him sophomore year for a few months, then I fell head over ass in love with him junior year and dated him off and on until graduation.  Within our smallish group specifically, even if we hadn't dated, most of us had nursed a brief crush at one time or another.  

After graduation, however, things did start to get a little weird.  I remember when 2 of our friends got married a few years after high school, we realized that out of 7 or so girls in our group, 4 of us had slept with the groom, not including the bride.  Bizarre. 

Fast forward to present day, and I am beginning to see history repeating itself.  In the quaint little village where I live and work, there are approximately 5 datable men.  Now, in case you're thinking "Oh, your standards are just too high, I'm sure there are plenty of men, you're just being picky", I will qualify the term "datable" as someone who has the following: a job; a car; a home.  I am picky in the sense that I prefer the "home" be somewhere other than his parents' basement, and the "job" be something other than selling drugs, but beyond that I am fairly open-minded.  

So, of the 5 datable men in my town: One is the brother of my bestie and dated a good friend of mine a few years back; One was good friends with my ex; One has already done the marriage/kids thing and is therefore uninterested in doing it again; One is completely uninterested in me or a relationship in general; and One is reeling from a recent divorce and acting like a bit of a douche.  If you add in the handful of other men that technically qualify under the job/car/home criteria, but who are raging alcoholics, well, there you have it... very few options for a gal like me.  

Thus begins "The Experiment".  Formerly called "The Mandi/Jess experiment", we've had some other girlfriends join our science project, so in the interest of keeping things simple, I've shortened it.  I've written down the names of 20 or so bars/restaurants/lounges in the area that we do not typically frequent, or where we've never actually been.  Many of them are in parts of town that seem like an entirely different world than where we reside.  I have put these names in a bag and chosen one at random.  We will go there.  We will order a cocktail.  We will turn on the charm.  And hopefully, we will bag us some new dudes.  Wish us luck!  "The Experiment" starts in T-minus 43 minutes.

Don't get me started...

I have a lot to say, and lately, very little time with which to say it.  So, in lieu of a typical post, I give you my 

Top 5 things to 'not get me started on':

1.) People who think every spider they see is a brown recluse.  It's not, and you're stupid.

2.) People who don't know the difference between to, too and two.  Were you absent during your entire 5th grade English class?

3.) Rock bands who continue to tour (and wear leather pants and makeup) well into their 60's.  Ew.

4.) People who think that gold is a logical investment and will come in handy during some sort of apocalyptic situation.  Yeah, good luck lugging around a bag of gold bars and trying to trade them for food, guns and medical supplies once the planet has been nuked.

5.) People who can afford cigarettes, alcohol and pot, but who are on food stamps.  I can't even comment on this for fear my head will actually explode.  Do NOT get me started.  

That is all.

Should old acquaintance be forgot...

Ahhhh, a new year is upon us.  Every year, in the weeks leading up to January 1st, I make a list of approximately 8-15 resolutions, since I like to give myself options.  Historically, I keep about 3 of them, which I think is somewhat commendable.  This year I made 19, and I think the increase is a result of previous, unfulfilled resolutions, compounding themselves into one giant, daunting list.  If I am able to keep all of them, I will be the healthiest, happiest, richest, most Zen person on planet earth. So far, I'm easing into things.  I like to give myself a grace period to begin these arduous tasks, since the beginning of a new year always falls inconveniently in the midst of my mid-winter melancholy.  

It's been many years since I celebrated New Year's Eve in the traditional sense.  Back in 1999, when I still lived back East, my roommate and I decided it would be fun to spend NY's Eve at the house of a platonic guy friend who lived on a local college campus with 4 other dudes.  We wore the requisite slutty dresses and proceeded to drink $5 "champagne" straight out of the bottle all night.  When midnight arrived, I peered out through my drunken haze and grabbed the first semi-attractive guy I saw and kissed him.  Mission accomplished.  I then spent the remainder of the night pretending to be passed out, so that he would lose interest in me and go find a conscious drunk girl to date rape.  Oh, to be 21 again.  

Fast forward to my 2nd year in Colorado... some friends from work and I decided it would be fun to go downtown to ring in the New Year.  So, we got off work around 10:30, changed into our completely-inappropriate-for-20-degree- weather dresses, and paid an underage busboy to drive us downtown and drop us off.  We then paid a $15 cover to get into a club I wouldn't walk into for free on a normal day, and spent half an hour elbowing our way to the bar to get 3oz of complimentary "champagne" with which to toast at midnight. After the toast, the bartenders began spraying all of us with bar hoses and telling us to leave.  I distinctly  remember standing outside on the street corner, unable to feel my extremities, desperately trying to hail a cab.  I was not drunk, I had not had fun and now I was apparently never going to get home.  After about 20 minutes, in a daring and effective move, I threw myself on the hood of a cab that had slowed down in traffic.  "Get in!" I yelled to my friends, "We're leaving!!"  

Since then, I have spent the majority of NY's Eve's at home, sober as a Mormon, watching When Harry Met Sally.  And even though we are only 9 days in, I'd like to propose a toast to me and my good decision making thus far in 2013, because let me tell you... there have been more than a few opportunities for me to start this year off in much the same fashion as the last few. 

When the chance to hook up with an ex presented itself, I put down my 3rd glass of scotch and said "NO!  That is a bad idea."  When I started feeling lonely and decided that perhaps I would casually text a former fling, I threw my phone across the room and shouted "NO! No good can come of that."  And when a friend tried to convince me to get in a fight with some awful girls, I said "NO!  They're not worth it."  Then, I proceeded to dance the night away.  

You know what guys?  I think maybe I'm finally a grown-up. 

It's the Holiday season...

For as long as I can remember, I've loved the holidays.  I love the songs, the movies, the decorations, and the cookies.  What I do not love, is the forced merriment, the stressed out shoppers/diners I have to deal with at work, or the feeling of expectation that the big day is supposed to be something it is often not.  I am happy to spread as much joy as possible, buy a few gifts, and spend December 25th relaxing, eating, drinking and going to bed at a reasonable hour. 

My ex and I started a tradition of driving around on Christmas Eve, drinking cocoa, listening to carols and looking at Christmas lights.  In my romanticized hindsight, it was always magical and tender and we would get home, curl up on the sofa to watch a Christmas movie, and enjoy a beautiful night.  When I really think about some of those Christmas Eves past, however, I remember that we also got into quite a few fights when I thought he was driving too fast and recklessly on icy streets and trying to turn up people's private driveways to get a better view of things.  In fact, the last time we ventured out, I distinctly recall pouring a fair amount of peppermint schnapps into my cocoa, hoping to attain a level of apathy toward his driving that would prevent a Yuletide fight.  I don't remember if it worked or not, you know, cuz I was all drunk...  

Regardless, for the past 3 years (since he and I broke up), I've upheld this driving-around-looking-at lights tradition, only now I do it alone, crying, and pining for the past.  It's really quite a spectacle.  Thankfully, when I get home and pop in 'It's a Wonderful Life', the only ones around to see me weep into my wine are my cats, and they don't judge.

It occurred to me the other day, that I reference my ex quite often, in this blog and in life.  A friend actually asked me if I would consider getting back together with him--if maybe that's what I really want.  I thought about it for a minute, but only for a minute, because if I'm being completely honest with myself, the answer is no.  He is an amazing person, and I will always love him, but we didn't work.  I want what we had, but better.  I've since dated the too young, the too clueless, the too selfish and I've pursued the too old and too uninterested, with no one quite falling in the middle yet.  I'm apparently the freaking Goldilocks of dating.  

This year, I decided to buck tradition and instead, hung out with friends, got drunk and confessed some feelings to a crush...Had that worked out in my favor, I don't suppose I'd be sitting here typing this, but so what?  I've always been a bigger fan of New Year's than Christmas anyway.  I like clean slates, new beginnings and fresh starts, all of which a new year encompasses.  So, instead of letting the holidays make me blue, I'm going to continue making my resolutions list and look forward.  

Resolution #1) Maintain a high level of awesomeness.  

This shit is gonna be easy...

You've got my vote...

If you are anything like me, you could not have been happier to see Tuesday November 6th come and go.  It's not that I wasn't excited to learn the outcome of this pivotal election, but more so, I was excited that my phone would stop endlessly ringing.  

There are exactly 3 people who ever call me on the phone: 
1.) My mother 
2.) My father (and that's on a rather specific bi-monthly basis) 
3.)  A very persistent bill collector who I've been successfully dodging for years now. 

So, in a normal week, I receive maybe 2-3 phone calls.  Fast forward to an election year, however, and it's a totally different story. You see, I'm lucky enough to live in Colorado, one of the so-called "battleground" states.  I am also registered as neither Democrat nor Republican, which I recently learned is the equivalent of writing "I am obviously confused and unsure who to vote for.  Please call me 46 times a day to convince me your candidate is the best", on your voter registration form.  Lesson learned... but all of this nonsense got me thinking:  Is choosing someone to vote for any different than choosing someone to date?

Obviously, in either situation, you want someone who shares your values.  You want someone who is honest with you about their intentions and who keeps their promises.  Nothing is worse than a politician who promises not to raise taxes, for example, then gets elected and raises them anyway.  Equally disappointing, is a boyfriend who promises to take out the garbage and massage your feet then doesn't deliver.

Let's face it... whether campaigning or dating, everyone brings their A-game in the beginning in order to win over their audience.  You're playing up all your best qualities and glossing over all the undesirable ones.  This is understandable. Just like no politician would have a chance in hell of getting elected if he began a speech by stating his personal agenda and listing any and all special interest groups that are contributing financially to his campaign, no guy is getting a second date if on the first, he opens with "I have crippling intimacy issues, so it's great you agreed to go out with me!"  Euphemisms, spin-doctoring and in the case of dating, good old-fashioned 'fake it til you make it' are the order of the day.  

That being said, it would be so refreshing to find a man that could humble himself, admit to his shortcomings and be honest with you.  Just once, I'd like to hear a candidate (or lover) say "I honestly don't know if I can balance the budget (give you an orgasm).  But I believe I can do it;  I've got some good strategies and I'm going to get in there and try my damnedest to make it happen".

As for the next election cycle, candidates please note:  I would never go for the needy guy that calls me all the time telling me how important I am and needing constant reassurance that I like him.  It's the quiet, mysterious loner who's been catching my eye from time to time from across the room that I'm going to gravitate toward (what up, Gary Johnson!?)  And as long as he doesn't try to take away my hard-earned money, my birth-control, or my gun, I might just marry him.

Breaking up is hard to do...

Forgive me for stating the obvious, but it's true.  Breaking up sucks.  It's difficult whether you've been dating someone for 5 days or 5 years, because in essence, what you are saying to them is "You lack something that I require."  And often, what is lacking is something they already know about them self and having the person they care about present it to them and proceed to reject them as a suitable partner because of it, is awful.  

In some cases, your needs are clear and obvious.  In my 1st serious relationship, I stated to him "I need you to NOT stumble home drunkenly at 2:30 a.m. every night, take a piss in my garden and proceed to pass out open-mouthed and drooling on my brand new sofa."  I felt this was a legitimate request.  However, he could not abide, so out the door I went and I never looked back.  I had slowly lost any respect I'd ever had for him, and with it, any love I'd ever felt.  

But so much more often, the situation is a little fuzzier.  Breaking things off when you still love and care for someone, yet you know in your heart they will never be the person you want them to be, or be able to provide you with what you need... that's when it's tricky.  I've always believed that loving someone is the easy part.  Dealing with their family crap/prior relationship baggage/day-to-day b.s. is the real challenge.   

I know people can change.  I also know they will only do so when they are damn good and ready, and not usually because someone tells them they have to.  Changing fundamental things about yourself to attempt to make someone else happy, does nothing but breed resentment and, in my eyes, is more or less fulfilling an ultimatum: "Become the person I expect you to be, or it's over."  Who wants to live that way? 

Still, I am guilty of staying in relationships longer than I should have, simply for the comfort that comes from having someone around.  Those who know me, know I enjoy my solitude and independence, yet there's something to be said for having someone to come home to and snuggle with on a cold night.  It's also very easy to be seduced by the vision of yourself as seen through the eyes of someone who loves you.  You say to yourself "This person thinks I hung the moon... how can I possibly hurt them?"  

It's hard on the cats, too.  Laugh it up, but you try to explain to 2 precious little furry beings why the tall, hairy, deep-voiced human that pets them all the time, is no longer around.  Even if the relationship only lasted a few months, that's like, 4 1/2 years to a cat!  I'm just saying, break-ups are rough on everyone. 

I've often wondered if my expectations are too high.  I'm curious what it would be like to be one of those people who meets someone and decides "This is it.  I'm done with dating, I want a family, so whatever nonsense comes along with this person, I'm just going to accept it and power through for the greater good."  I know people like this.  I've watched them in action and it's intriguing.  But for me, it sounds dangerously like I'd be changing and compromising my vision of the future for someone else and that, I resent.

Papa don't preach...

Everywhere I look...babies. Perhaps it's because I live in a military town, but I swear you can't swing a dead cat around here without hitting a pregnant chic.  They're in restaurants, movie theaters, and most often, clothing stores.  Struttin' around with their adorable little basketball bellies, trying on maternity sundresses and stretchy pants.  

I've always loved pregnant bellies.  I am the psycho that accosts women in the grocery store to tell them how beautiful they look, all fat and waddling around.  In fact, if I were a dude, my obsession would be down-right creepy.  I have dressed up pregnant for Halloween three times, jokingly saying it was the scariest costume I could think of. 

I've never considered myself "baby-crazy".  In fact, children kind of freak me out.  So, I have never put much stock in the whole 'biological clock' thing, but recently, it feels like the universe is shouting at me: "Hey lady!  You ain't gettin' any younger!  Shit or get off the pot!"  (Apparently, I picture the universe as a hot-tempered, Italian-American cab driver.)  

For years, when asked if I wanted kids, my party line has been "Well, the jury is still out... perhaps if I meet the right guy?"  Lately though, I feel like my whole 'maybe-when-the-time-is-right' attitude, is quickly devolving into 'it's-now-or-never', as I'm bombarded with horror stories and statistics about older woman conceiving.

Now, I also hear it's helpful if there is a dude around to get this ball rolling, and as of late, there is no dude.  I finally called it quits with the man-child boyfriend due in large part to my recent soul-searching.  The irony of my life, of course, is that I broke up with him because he doesn't want children, nor is he in any way capable of the stability required to undertake such things even if he did.  Yet, I will probably spend the next 6 months mourning our relationship and in doing so, waste that much more time not finding someone who does want the same things I do.

Sure, it has occurred to me over the years that the right man/time/circumstance might never present itself, so like any smart planner, I had some back-ups in place.  You know, guy friends I made pacts with so that if it got to this point, we would pop out a baby or two together.  The problem is, my back-ups are a couple of suckers that keep getting girlfriends or getting married.  Clearly, I did not think these plans through....

I don't want to end up as a crazy lady who walks up to random men on the street who have straight teeth and full heads of hair and asks if they'd be interested in knocking me up. So, I suppose I need to just settle down and keep believing, as I have my whole life, that things will work out the way they're supposed to.  And if, at age 37, I'm still telling myself this, then bring on the turkey baster.

Who knew?

The strangest thing happened to me today. I received some long-awaited closure that I didn't see coming.   Let me explain... 

About 2 years ago, I was out one night with some friends, when I saw a boy I had been crushing on for years.  He works at a local natural foods store that I frequent, but I had never seen him outside of work until then.  There he was, in all his tanned skin, golden-haired glory.  I had an uncharacteristically ballsy moment and decided to not only go talk to him, but invite him to sit with my friends and me.  By the end of the night, he had walked me to my car and asked for my number, weeee!!  

We went out for happy hour beers about a week later--nothing crazy, just a casual date at a casual place.  We had, what I perceived to be, a wonderful time.  Talking, laughing, sharing stories and interests.  However, he never called me.  I eventually called him a week or two later, and left a breezy message about how I thought we had a great time, but maybe I had misread things, so if he didn't call me back, I would assume he thought I was a total spaz and would move on with my life.  It was totally breezy.  I never heard back.  Not a peep.  

I, of course, did not move on with my life immediately, but instead replayed our date over and over again in my head, wondering what I could have possibly done to repel him.   

When he asked what my interests were, should I not have said "bugs"?  
When he asked what was on my IPOD, should I have lied and said something less lame than Kelly Clarkson, The Pet Shop Boys and a bunch of NPR podcasts?  

My friends all decided he was a jerk, but I kept thinking 'I really don't think he is...'  
Eventually I did manage to stop dwelling on it and move on, except the once a month or so when I needed something from his store.  

Fast forward to this afternoon... I found myself in need of some supplements and hippie shampoo, so off I went.  He was the first person I saw as I walked through the sliding door, and he got the same sort of panicked look on his face that he's had every time he's seen me since our fateful date.  

I walked down the aisle to get what I had come for, and a few minutes later as I stood pondering which organic, patchouli-scented, beeswax chapstick to spend $3.50 on, he came around the corner.   As usual, I gave him an awkward half-smile and immediately looked back down at the shelf, expecting him to turn around and run away.  Instead, he came over and said "I really want to apologize for never calling you back that time.  It was a really shitty thing to do and I've been carrying it around and feeling guilty about it for 2 years now."  

He went on to say that he had been in the midst of a bad break-up, and she had been messing with his head and it was nothing I did, in fact, he thought I was really nice, he just shouldn't have tried to go on a date at that time, yadda, yadda.  

I was shocked to say the least, but I accepted his apology and thanked him for not only putting my mind at ease, but for making it so much less uncomfortable to go shopping for beet chips and coconut oil.  The moral of this story?  Closure does exist, and it could happen to you when you least expect it.

Fifty Shades of Crap....

I finished reading Fifty Shades Darker last night, the sequel to the best-selling Fifty Shades of Grey, and I literally threw it across the room in a fit of annoyance.  Where do I even begin... 

First of all, this blog is one giant spoiler, so if you haven't read this series and are still planning to, stop reading now.  Or, you could look at me as a book reviewer and let what I tell you determine whether or not you want to waste X amount of your precious time muddling through this pile of garbage yourself.  I'll leave it up to you.  

That being said, I originally bought the 1st book after seeing an SNL skit depicting various ladies getting caught reading it in very compromising positions.  I had heard a little about it and I thought "This will be some fun, light, escapist erotica to add to my summer reading list!"  And at first, it was.  

Then, about 1/2 way through the 1st book, I began noticing some things, like how poorly written it is.  Someone desperately needs to buy the author, (or more accurately her editor), a Thesaurus.  So help me God, if she uses the words: mercurial, taciturn or petulant one more F-ING time, I'm going to lose my shit.  Also, she consistently has people "muttering" or "mumbling", when just plain "saying" or "asking" things would suffice.  

Now, I know it must get tiresome trying to find new and exciting ways to describe orgasms when the couple (Ana and Christian) has had sex, like, 4,000 times, but please try!  Every blessed time, Ana is "spiraling out of control" and "shattering into a million pieces" as she "finds her release."  It's quite redundant, not to mention irritating.  As is the fact that this chic has an orgasm every single time they do it!!  Every time!  And she's always ready and willing... she's never tired; never has a headache or something better to do, nope! 

Not to mention, they've known each other a grand total of 5 weeks and somehow, in that time, Christian's deep-seated psychological issues have more or less vanished and now he wants a white picket fence?  And Ana, who is 22-years old, has never been in a relationship and was a virgin when they met, has decided he is the one and only?  Obviously, sex can be very powerful and I know I'm a total cynic when it comes to rushed romance, but really?  

I cannot remember the last time I rolled my eyes at every other paragraph in a book, except perhaps when I read the Twilight series.  In fact, recently someone mentioned to me that the Fifty... books were loosely based on or modeled after the Twilight books, which I totally see.  All supernatural nonsense aside, the characters are equally annoying, needy, co-dependent, controlling and dull.  

The real kicker is, I'm going to have to get the 3rd book because as frustrated as I was with the first 2, I am pretty much incapable of not finishing things I have started.  It's a curse.  Besides, I don't have 3 crappy books on a best seller list, so I know I might sound like a petulant child, but my mercurial temper needs to find it's release from time to time since I'm so taciturn in my day to day life.