Resolve and Evolve 2009

My Resolve and Evolve posts are not only a time to set goals for the new year, but also a time to reflect on the past year's accomplishments and derelictions. Dating stories are usually always the highlight of my year. 2008 had the 3-date weekend where I narrowly avoided a stalker, a clinger, and a Disney Lifetime Member. But I did meet my 2008 resolution of going on a subsequent dates, which is why I somehow managed to land a boyfriend, who has decided to stick around even after reading my lame-ass blog. I was also able to delete all sentimental text messages - mainly due to the fact that I dropped my blackberry in the toilet. But alas, the new year is here and it's time to Resolve and Evolve.


1) Buy new bras - But this was on the 2008 list? Yes, it was. And guess what, not only did I not buy new bras, but my boobs have managed to get even bigger.

2) Mail all birthday/congratulatory/thank-you cards in a timely manner - This resolution may also include me mailing the many, outdated addressed envelopes sitting on my desk at home. I mean, so what if Hebard's birthday card from 2004 never got to her, I'm sure she'd still love to the get a card from me no matter the month. It will be like I'm haunting my friends from the past. Maybe the real resolution is that I should just stop pretending that I'm one of those people who thinks about their friends and buys them cards to celebrate their milestones.

3) Cook at least one new recipe a week - I'm 28 and I figured it's about time I start becoming a little more domestic. At least I think that's the hint my mom is making when she gifts fancy dancy kitchen gadgets and cookbooks every Christmas and birthday. I'll probably start by dusting off the ole gravy strainer?

4) To not buy the Malibu Pilates Chair - Guthy-Renker and all of those other exercise infomercial folks are geniuses. They only air infomercials at a times during the day when normal people are out doing active things, and the pathetic are sitting on their asses mesmerized by the featured product's testimonials and demonstrations. You can get lost for hours dreaming of the potential physical transformation. I'm not going to lie, the Malibu Pilates Chair is a very attractive offer, with some very attractive bonus DVD's, workout charts, and diet suggestions. I mean, who can refute Susan Lucci and her petite little physique? I will not succumb, but rather save the $314.95 for my new bras.

I'd like to briefly showcase a friend's resolution (thanks, Haley): "Build up my immune system." This is really quite brilliant. In saying that you're going to build up your immune system, you don't have to identify the specific, pesky tasks that help you (exercise more, eat better foods, drink less alcohol, take a daily multi-vitamin, etc). This saves a lot of disappointment if you don't lose those 10lbs or eat your daily fruits and veggies, but ultimately you're the one who suffers because you'll be illin' all the time.

Happy 2009!

There's No Place Like Someone Else's Home for the Holidays

Have the rules changed with respect to dating and sharing holidays? I must still be a traditionalist, for I thought that you didn't share holidays until you were actually married. Or maybe it's just that I don't want to share my holidays until I'm actually married, or maybe I just don't want to share them period. Since being in my recent relationship people keep asking if we will be spending Thanksgiving together, or more recently Christmas together. "No," I usually say, and then maybe throw in another "no" just for emphasis, and then another "no" because I have just envisioned what that might be like...

The truth is, I was asked to Thanksgiving dinner, but I respectfully declined. And maybe once I set that tone, there was never really any discussion of whether or not we would be spending Christmas together. I mean, let's be honest, why would you want to prematurely subject yourself to someone else's holiday traditions? They will never be up to par with those that your family practice, and thus your partner's family will be unfairly judged (well, they will eventually be judged, but better later). If the tables were turned, I don't necessarily want to explain how every Christmas Eve my sister and I break out sequin gloves from high school dance team days and perform routines, or how my entire family drinks an inordinate amount of champagne and passes out before our guests have even left, or how my Dad generally doesn't rise until about noon and fixes a Bloody Mary Christmas.

It's sort of like when people talk about giving birth. I really don't want to know the details, not just because they're gross, but because I rather go into the whole experience with complete and utter ignorance. So yes, I just likened going home for the holidays with your significant other to giving birth. I mean, you can tell me about your traditions, but they may sound lame. And I rather experience them first hand once I am committed to having the baby. What?

Cup of Something Good

I was really beginning to think I had lost my edge given that I haven't been asked out on a date in sometime. No worries, I managed to find one in the most un-obvious of places...again. Last night I attended my condo association meeting, which generally consists of a few of the building occupants using up one plus hours of my life to talk about nonsense because I'm pretty sure this is the only human contact they have all year. Don't worry, we covered the gamut of dog-poop, dumpster placement, stray golf-shots and common area house-keeping all with me rolling my eyes a total of only 6 times. Usually I rush out of the meeting so I can be sure park correctly, given that this is often a major topic of conversation. Well, today I received an email from one of our 5 Condo Board Members. It was for all intents & purposes a date invitation, but the way it was composed certainly downplayed that to a painstaking degree. Excerpts:

1) "I was working with one of our clients recently that mentioned your name, along with other girls she knew" - - read, I decided to shoot you an email, but in the off-chance that you reject me I just want you to know that there are plenty of other single girls out there dying to receive an anonymous email from me.

2)"You seem like you’d make a nice friend if nothing else" - - read, I'm going ahead and setting your expectations low because I know you will be heartbroken if for some reason I don't call you back for a second...

3)"Cup of something good at Starbucks" - - read, I'm a little bit of a pansy-ass when it comes to coffee. I figured that you must be like me and go to Starbucks to get a frozen blended drink of chocolate and caramel with a drip of coffee, and an inordinate amount of whipped cream. Cup of something good??? Has he ever heard of scotch on the rocks?

Cast Your Vote

With the dawning of the lame age of converging last names for Hollywood couples, I'm a bit surprised that it hasn't bled over into the political arena. With less than a month away to the election, I propose we change to the following tickets:

(R) McCalin

(D) Jobama or Obiden (leave me a comment and let me know your favorite)

Special Delivery

Don't you hate that image of the girl on her couch, wearing lounge pants and a sweatshirt, covered in a blanket, hair all-a-mess with a spoon in a tub of ice cream? I do too - - because it's often the reflection of myself in my t.v. screen whilst watching Lifetime Network for Women. Why isn't it acceptable to devour a tub of ice cream...alone, drink a full bottle of red wine...alone, or order a large pizza...for yourself?

Last night I stumbled across a sheet of coupons. Since the fridge was empty and I couldn't drive anywhere, you know because I had been drinking by myself, I decided to commit the crime and order the freakin' pizza. I made the call, got transferred to a closer delivery location, placed my order, reminded them of my coupon, and proceeded to wait the habitual 45 minutes. Somehow shortly after I hung up the phone I managed to fall asleep (this should come as no surprise to my friends who call me the Narc). When I woke up I was so excited for my pizza, but I looked down at my watch and an hour and a half had passed. What the hell! Confused, pissed and hungry I called the pizza place and yelled: "you guys never delivered my pizza!" (this had to be true, my condo is tiny, i was on the couch, I would have heard - - maybe the hoodie on my sweatshirt muffled the sound) - "hold one moment, ma'am, let me check...it says here it was a bad order." - "bad order? I've been sitting 5 ft from my door for the past one hour and a half!" - "ma'am they came to the door, but nobody answered" - "but I would have heard, and why did nobody call me...." Suddenly I must have fully woken up and realized the patheticness of the situation - I was arguing over a pizza ordered for one at 9:30pm on a Wednesday night. As punishment for being so lame, I went to bed on an empty stomach.

Born Ultimatum

I just created a user registration for Babys R Us.

somebody

help

me

ple............

Talladega Knights

Sunday afternoon, driving back from an estrogen-filled weekened celebrating the last days of singledom for a friend, I was feeling the need for a reprieve and a little bit of male companionship. Given my recent winning streak in Atlanta, it should come as no surprise that the newest fly to swarm over my trap also happens to reside in the home of the Braves. After a week of some hard-core texting and emailing, it was time to come face-to-face, so we spontaneously'ish decided to meet in the middle for an all-out, redneck afternoon excursion. I had never been to the Talladega Superspeedway so this seemed like the obvious destination...and honestly we weren't given much choice given the dearth of attractions between Birmingham and Altanta. But I'm not complain', just sayin'.

Start your engines and meet at Exit 168 in T minus 1 hour. Please note, if you have to wait on your date, no gas station on Exit 168 has an ICEE machine, but the Shell Station's Race City has just about every memento related to NASCAR imagineable. We'll call my date Bobby because that seems to be the most fitting name for the setting. Bobby pulled up, I hopped in his ride and we made our way to the tracks. Just as excitement had peaked we pulled up only to find out that the last tour ended at 4:00pm. By our watches it was 4:45, and well by Bobby's it was 5:45 given that he was on Eastern time and all. Just before we resorted to pounding the steering wheel in anger a white pick-up truck appeared beside us (read Knight on a White Horse)...Dega Security. Bobby explains our devotion as fans and our devastation, so Ed (security) first confirms that we have our camera ready, and second commands, "follow me." Doors were opening. We made our way around the chain-linked fence, past the security gates, down through the tunnel and up to the most glorious vision that is...the Talladega Superspeedway. We drove past the garages, down the track and toward's the victory stage. Ed asked if we wanted our picture taken - duh - but mentioned that we couldn't reproduce any images. Then I asked him about reproducing in general... In an effort to honor his wishes, no pictures will be posted. Okay, maybe just this one:











Ed then asked if we wanted to go to the Finish Line...uh yeah. Pictures were taken at the finish line and as Ed put it, "Talladega looks perfect in the background." We thanked him profusely for his generosity and good deed, and in closing he said "Hey. I understand." I have to admit, I didn't understand at first, but now I totally get it. Ed loves his job. Ed loves that other people envy his job. Ed is, as Bobby likes to say, pretty awesome. We got back in the car and took our vicotry lap - said our own good byes to Ed and to the track, and made our way into town (downtown Dega, that is). Destination? Davey Allison Memorial Park.


Davey Allison Memorial Park is a beautiful patch of grass and trees with a circular walk of bronze reliefs of all of the major NASCAR players, and a brick path in the middle which contains bricks purchased by die-hard fans, chiseled with warm messages to their eternal heroes. A few favorites include:

While at the park we met the local lawnmower repairman who guided us to the best place to get a cold one. He recommended two Mexican restaurants: "Maragaritas is the cleanest. And there's one on the square, but I can't pronounce the name." We went to the one with the hard-to-pronounce name on the square. Please note, when making a small-town excursion on a Sunday, pack a cooler. No alcohol is served on Sundays. Since we didn't really want Mexican without a margarita we opted to end this red-neck rendezvous in style with fine dining at the Cracker Barrel, after browsing through the Country Store first...obvi. An order of chicken and dumplings, and one meatloaf dinner later, we rocked out in the famous CB rockers discussing our favorite part of the day. Bobby and I both agreed that if it weren't for Ed, none of this would have happened. We eventually parted ways, but not before we did some neckin' with my other Talladega Knight in the parking lot...Is there any other way to end it?

One Hit Wonder

I met the Professor in the month of February at a party in Atlanta. We talked about music and what not, and I mentioned that the next time he passed through my hometown he should give me a buzz and we could go check out some bands at this new venue in town. Well, I never really heard from him until May, and he called to say that he wanted to come in town and take me out. Sounds good, right? I mean, the guy was extremely good looking and exuded a strong sexual vibe...and he was a former sociology professor. He got to my house, picked me up, and we went to the neighborhood restaurant down the street. All-in-all we had really good conversation and were having a pretty good time. Some of his friends came to meet us at the tail-end of dinner to have drinks and then we all decided to go to the bars. Well, the Professor and I took our own car and once we parked he pulled out a cigarette. No big deal, people smoke. It's okay. Well, the circumference of this particular cigarette appeared to be a little bit larger than most, and when the Professor lit it, he took a really large inhale. Okay, so apparently it wasn't a nicotine cigarette...he was smoking the weed out of a one-hitter. what? do people do this on a first date? Normally I am one to speak-up, but I was kind of shocked and didn't say anything. I'm also pretty sure proper etiquette is to offer the other person a puff on your pipe. No offer. And while I don't smoke, I was pretty offended. I just pretended I was ignorant to the whole situation, and then we went on to dance the night away.

So, do you let this get in the way of a second date? Ugh, I guess not. So the professor comes back to Birmingham to go out again. We went out to dinner with one of my best friends and her husband, and then out on the town. Well, what I didn't realize is that when the Professor excused himself for an inordinate number of times throughout the evening, he was taking his one-hitter with him. After a long night of eating and drinking I tend to pass out pretty early, which is exactly what I did. I woke up, Professor next to me, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. What I saw before me was one of the most classic displays of the munchies...ever. Apparently while I was catching some Z's, the Professor was participating in a little pantry raid. There were multiple empty yogurt containers, a turned over cereal box...empty, wrappers from some frozen something from the freezer, and perhaps the best part was the red sauce smeared across the front of my microwave. I first was in awe, then I was laughing, but then I was pissed because I legitimately didn't have any food left.

We went out a couple of more times, but I knew that a wake'n'bake wasn't in my long-term future. The Professor and I talked on the phone one night, and I was telling him about my day or something completely insignificant to pass the time when suddenly there was complete silence on the other end of the line. "Hello?" I said, "Hello? Are you there? Hel-looooo?" Suddenly a choked up voice, as if in mid-swallow on the other end says "Sorry...I just took a really. big. hit." "Oh," I said. To which he responds, "This isn't going to work out, is it?".

"Uh. No"

Creepy 80's Video YouTube Dude Strikes Back

Remember the Hall 'n' Oats video I received a little over a month ago? Well, Creepy 80's Video guy has returned, with the following email:

Again, I hate to be a pest, but I just could not resist sending this to you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55nTwg5NIPM

Do you really hate it? You really couldn't resist sending? Is there an unsubscribe button that I'm missing? First Hall 'n' Oats, now Bonnie Tyler, I think it's pretty safe to say that the Bangles "Eternal Flame" is next. Is this some form of courtship that I'm unaware of? Am I to be attracted not to the man, but to his selection of horrific music videos from the 1980s? I mean, these aren't even funny. You're not funny.

Dear Prudence

I recently found myself involved in a pretty good vertical make-out. i thought I was doing fine considering it had been a while since I last swapped some serious spit. But then I realized that just a few steep stairs up, was an actual bed, which meant that this thing could turn horizontal at any moment. I mean, I came prepared for the horizontal, bikini wax and shaved legs, but honestly those were extremem cosmetic measures that needed to be taken care of whether I wasremoving my jeans for a shower, or having my jeans removed by some lucky guy. And don't get me wrong, I love a good horizontal session. The anxiety sets in when I start to realize that clothes are going to come off sooner or later. And don't get me wrong, I like a little flesh-on-flesh, but the hyper-anxiety sets in when I think "how much flesh?"

You see, even at the mature age of 28 I still fancy myself a bit of a prude. And while I may be a 28 year old prude, you never know what kinds of 28 year olds your guy has gotten with. Another point of confusion is my ability to talk a big game, but never actually produce. This can sometimes lead to aggravation when I bust out the ole hault hand-signal. Anyway, all of the confusion surrounding what is kosher for a late-twenties make-out normally leaves me flailing around like a fish out of water...or a fifth grader. Blushing, giggling, not really knowing where to put my hands, mortified/curious if a certain member peeks through the boxers, accidentally biting lower lips or elbowing their face or knocking porcelain, freaking out that I may weigh more than my actual make-out partner, freaking out that I may have in fact not shaved my legs...just generally freaking out. And your friends who normally envy your dating life usually cannot handle these stories. It's like going into details with them about a colonoscopy.

So when you talk about your prudishness to your friends and they're like "don't worry, you should only do what makes you comfortable?" I'm thinking feeling guilty might feel a lot better.

More People I Love (It's Getting Hot in Here)

Men in my hot yoga class. I'm not talking about the walk-ins, I'm talking about the regulars. Three in particular.

Karate Chop - This guy is in his mid 50s, comes into class very serious. he's tall, very fit, and always has on short nylon running shorts with to-the-knee spandex underneath, t-shirt tucked into to shorts and spandex, and, this is my favorite, a karate headband around his forehead. Karate Chop always walks in with a purpose and is determined in the mastering of his moves. Favorite Pose: Awkward Pose.

Inflatulation - This gentleman, also in his mid 50s, is the stereotypical male yogi...in his mid 50s. Longer, curly dark hair, goatee, slightly scrawny. Always adorned in a white tank and baggy shorts. He brings his own mat and places it in the same spot every class. This is the guy who becomes so relaxed and focused that he FARTS at various points throughout the class - making hot yoga 20 degrees warmer. Favorite Pose: Downward Dog (ass in the air - all you need to know).

Dan - Just straight up Dan, because that's his name. Dan knows everyone in class, and if he doesn't, he'll introduce himself to you. Dan is also in his mid 50's (starting to see a trend), talks with a calming voice replete with lisp, and has a pretty significant gut. Dan dresses every class in head-to-toe Under Armor...and all-black Under Armor at that. When I say cap-a-pi, I mean the sleeveless black tank, full-length spandex pants, wrist bands on each wrist and head band across forehead. All black, all Under Armor. Dan is a big fan of sharing his zen-like philosophies such as: "Dance like nobody's watching," or "Love like you've never loved before, " or "Life is not meant to be complacent." Favorite Pose: Breathing (while breathing is not technically a pose, it is so yoga. I know Dan loves breathing because of his loud phlegm-like inhale, and even louder exhale, showing off the length at which he does both).

I See a Red Flag and I Want to Paint it Blaaaahhhh

I previously posted about a recent 3 date weekend in Atlanta, in which I referenced the Human Cocktail. As many of you know, I avoid using names so as to not totally hurt someone's feelings. I am going to make an exception this one time and just divulge the last name of the Human Cocktail's which is "Black." Which after the fated Friday night turned to Blaaaaaaahhhh. Here's why...

First let it be known that this was a blind set-up. I am adventurous, I don't mind going on blind dates, mainly because you usually walk-away with a pretty good story. Human Cocktail calls me on the phone just to make brief chit-chat and discuss potential plans for the upcoming date. Phone convo isn't as easy flowing as I would normally like, but that's okay. After we discuss our Friday night plans, he proceeds to ask me to brunch for Saturday (insert red flag #1). Okay, so maybe he was just being nice thinking I didn't have any weekend plans, but seriously, asking a girl out on a 2nd date before you even go on the first date? Can you imagine if things went so sour that you either a) have to go to brunch, or (b) have to awkwardly break the brunch? So Friday rolls around and I cruise into Atlanta around 7:45 and the Human Cocktail is set to pick me up around 8:15pm. Not knowing what my plans were with my other dates for the weekend, I put on my "best" outfit for Friday night. Human Cocktail arrives, knocks, my friend is scurrying to the door, he knocks again...and a third time (insert red flag #2). I finish getting ready while my friend offers the Human Cocktail a glass of wine. I join them about 5 minutes later in the kitchen, shake Human Cocktail's hand, make idle chatter, and within 3 minutes Human Cocktail throws back the entire glass of wine (insert red flag #3). From what I could tell, Human Cocktail looked nothing like his picture on his law firm web site (note: for those of you don't know, just about every law firm has a picture of all of their attorneys on the web, this is genius for single people everywhere who have a blind date with a lawyer). In fact he was a poor man's version of You're Never Fully Dressed (insert red flag #4).

Human Cocktail and I set forth on our Friday night journey into Decatur, where we go to this seemingly awesome restaurant known as Watershed. The hostess gave up our seat b/c we were late (my fault), but Human Cocktail was seemingly cool about the situation, which can sometimes cancel out one of your already flying red flags. We go to the bar to kill some time before our table is ready. I make chatter, asking him how he knows our friend who set us up. For the record, I already knew, was just trying to make conversation. Well, this turns the Human Cocktail completely red and awkwardly stumbles through: "I mean, ugh, I mean, we kind of had a few dates this past summer-is-that-WEIRD?" Please note that the words is, that, and weird were all strung together and said very fast as if they were in fact one word (insert red flag #5). Well buddy, considering it's been almost a full year since you had said dates, no, it's not weird, the only weird part is how weird you just made it. Are you weird? Thankfully the waitress came and got us before the cocktails came, which meant we would get to sit at our table and get this dinner over with sooner than I had anticipated.

Conversation was a little awkward. Lots of one-word answers. Just not much connection on banter, etc. One thing, which most late-20s, early 30-somethings talk about, that came up was the inordinate number of weddings, babies, etc taking place around us. Now I approach this topic in one way, so you can imagine when I heard/was asked the following how I fumbled like Grace, Ed Rooney's secretary in Ferris Bueller:

Human Cocktail: "I mean, I just feel like all of my friends are married and all of my friends are having children, which makes me wonder what's wrong with me? (insert red flags #6 and #7 - you know it deserves two)

Ugh, er, oh, ugh...I think you just put your finger on it! I've only known you for 20 minutes and you want me to answer that question? Didn't your mother teach you that you don't bust out the psycho-analysis until after the entree?

Don't really recall how I weaseled out of that question, but I probably did something cowardly like excuse myself to the bathroom. I sat in the stall trying to think of how I was going to be able to end this evening early. Unfortunately, the Human Cocktail drank the bottle of wine as fast as he drank the pre-dinner glass at my friend's house, and became very excited to take me to this bar up the street. I can't help it, sometimes I'm too nice (right?), and didn't know how to say "no." So I obliged and we went to this cool bar - at which the Human Cocktail stuck out like a sore thumb. I failed to mention that he showed up in some kind of hunting boot, tapered jeans, a shot-gun shell on his belt, a blazer, and a bad hair-cut. This bar was full of urban hipsters. We had one beer and I explained that I was tired and probably needed to head home. He mentioned that he has had past issues with law enforcement and drinking and driving (insert red flag #8), so he was going to call this sober-driving company called Zingo (okay, i know, that's responsible). Zingo isn't a cab, they deploy a person on a motorized scooter to come get you - they collapse said scooter in the back of your car, and drive you home in your car. Genius, really...in theory. So Zingo says they're going to be about 30 to 45 minutes, fine. A cab would have taken just as long. The Human Cocktail suggests we have another beer. Honestly, at this point I had passed my limit, not only with drinking but with conversation and with the Human Cocktail altogether. At this point, the Human Cocktail decides to tell me how funny I am. Okay, in some circles I may be witty, but it has been my experience that when a guy actually says "you're funny," he is in fact not...funny at all. This is due to his inability to come up with a witty retort in response, so he has to default to "you're funny." So the Human Cocktail decides to tell me that he thought I was SO funny, that when I responded to the first email he ever wrote me, that he FORWARDED it to his office (insert red flag #9). Wow, we've all forwarded emails, yes. We've all been busted forwarding emails, yes. But NEVER do you disclose to someone that you forwarded their email to the masses.

We finish the beer and I suggest we go outside to check on the Zingo. He calls Zingo and apparently a scooter has broken down, it's going to be a little bit longer, oh good grief. The remaining details really aren't that entertaining - other than the fact that I would excuse myself to the bathroom every 20 minutes just to get away. And more importantly it in fact took Zingo TWO AND A HALF hours to come to my rescue. Why didn't you get a cab you ask? Remember how I mentioned I had surpassed my drinking limit? Why didn't the Human Cocktail get you a cab? I don't fucking know, all I remember is something about him needing his car in the morning to go play golf. Did I also mention at one point during our TWO AND A HALF waiting period that I suggested we go wait in the car and I literally passed out. That was not a good call - he could have been doing something creepy like...playing with my hair. Shiver down my spine.

So Zingo drives me home first - thank GOD there was a third party in the vehicle so that the Human Cocktail couldn't pull any shenanigans. He goes in for the front-to-front bear hug, which I swiftly turned into a side-hug-pat-on-the-back, said "have a good night!" and darted into the door.

With all of those red flags waving, you can understand why I didn't answer his call the following Sunday evening. The classic Fade to Blaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.

She's Gone...So Wrong

I recently received the following email from a guy that I had ONE date with in September of 2007. After several attempts at a 2nd date, I finally had to tell him that the Scheduling Gods were not in our favor (it is actually you buddy, but I'm blaming the Scheduling Gods b/c I don't have the heart to tell you that asking a girl 7-8 times for a 2nd date after she's said "no" 7-8 out of those times is a huge turn-off). Anyway, it's now April 2008 and the email is as follows:

For some reason I thought about you when I got this; take that as a compliment please.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=vZZngTkp54I

What in this video actually reminded this guy of me: (1) the mock irony? (2) the costuming and hair? (3) the devil, or, (4) the actual lyrics "she's gone...oh why...what went wrong?"

I guess my kiss is still on his list.

Three Date Weekend (Will You Accept This Rose)

With gas prices being so high you really have to maximize your time when going away for the weekend. You don’t want to have traveled a long distance for no return on your full-tank investment. To really pack it all in though, you need to not only plan ahead, but you also need to be flexible in case something throws a wrench in your plans, or maybe you just want to add an additional attraction to the itinerary.

I recently visited Atlanta with a group of my college friends. We dined, we danced and more importantly we went to a party where there were lots of eligible bachelors. This made me happy being the only bachelorette in the crowd. I left Tyler Perry’s fair city that Sunday, not knowing that my entire routine to Thriller at said house party would leave an indelible impression on the young minds of a few.

Fast forward to the next week. One of the party goers finds my email and begins what could be known as an e-friendship. Lots of bantering back and forth for the next week, culminating (finally) to the question of my return. Of course I replied that I’d be returning upon invitation. To which an invitation was extended. Invitation accepted. Two days after invitation was accepted, a college friend, and ATL resident explains that she has a friend she’d like to set me up with. This guy will be known as the Human Cocktail – simply because his name is so ridiculous that is sounds like something you’d order at a bar. Also, he was a lethal combination of the worst house liquors (another post on the Human Cocktail later). Not knowing the Human Cocktail at all, I graciously accepted her offer to set me up and explained that I would actually be in ATL in the next couple of weeks. So yes, I’m feeling pretty suave right about now. Set-up a Friday night date and a Saturday night date.

We’re now one week out from the 3 Date weekend. You’re thinking, but you only have 2 dates? I know, but we’re getting there. I have talked to both Bachelor #1 (Human Cocktail) and Bachelor #3 (Cheese – this name given lovingly for 2 reasons – none of which have to do with him being cheesy – numbering is confusing but for purposes of the below schedule you’ll see why) on the phone and conversation went smoothly with one and sort of awkwardly with the other. It really is just best not to have a long drawn out conversations before any date in the event that the date is a total bust and you have nothing to talk about. Everything is solidified, well, the date with Bachelor #2 is kind of like jello after it’s been sitting in the fridge for about 15 minutes – no need to go into the details, all that matters is that the date happened. So Friday before I set sail to Atlanta I get an email from another guy (Bachelor #2 – Federal Agent) that I had met at the party mentioned in paragraph 2. He was emailing a shameless plug for a TV show in which he was appearing. I mentioned that I was going to be in his hometown this weekend and that we should get together. After some scheduling conflicts on both of our ends, we finally settled on afternoon drinks. So at 3:00pm Friday my itinerary consists of the following:

Friday 8:30pm Bachelor #1 Dinner and Drinks

Saturday 12:00pm Tyson (friend and default bachelor) Brunch

Saturday 4:30pm Bachelor #2 Drinks

Saturday 8:00pm Bachelor #3 Dinner

This script called for lots of set and costume changes, but I was willing to give it my best. Without going into detail for each date, here are the potential problems that could and did arise with such an itinerary. First, always book brunch the next day with a friend who is willing to potentially get the boot. You never know how the Friday night is going to go. If it’s a bust then you’ll be glad you had the back-up, if it goes well, you need the flexibility to plug in your Friday night to Saturday afternoon. In my case, I was wise and needed the back-up. Second potential problem, you go to brunch with your friend and have such a good time that you wind up drinking most of the afternoon. This did in fact happen. It wasn’t totally detrimental to my itinerary; however, considering I was going to have drinks w/ Bachelor #2 and THEN a date with Bachelor #3, I needed to do a better job of pacing myself. And while I made it back in time for hair and make-up for Bachelor #2, I could have used a few more minutes for a quick snooze and sober. This brings me to my third potential problem, you are having such a good time w/ either bachelor that you lose track of time and are late for the next performance. This also happened leading up to my scene with Bachelor #3. I was enjoying conversation with the Federal Agent, but I felt bad for abruptly cutting it short because I did in fact need to change clothes and get ready for Cheese. This also caused me to have to call Cheese to see if he could pick me up later making it seem like I was a high maintenance girl who wasn’t quite ready…not true. Fourth potential problem, not remembering conversations you had with any bachelor leading you to constantly ask – “did I tell you that already?” or “gosh I think I’m having déjà vu.” Of course there are many other potential problems if you don’t in fact have a home base. Cancel your vacation if that’s the case. My final piece of advice – leave Sunday wide open. This way you can invite your favorite bachelor to join you for brunch. I did this but was unfortunately rejected due to the bachelor having prior plans. Who knows, maybe he is also a fan of making the most out of the weekend.

In summary, my own private staging of the Bachelorette: Atlanta edition was a pretty good success. Roses were extended to Bachelors # 2 and #3. We’ll see if they decide to come home and meet my parents...and then ultimately who gets to come to the Fantasy Suite.

You've Got to Be Foolin'

I'd like to believe that this was some sort of radio April Fool's prank, but unfortunately the sincerity and grammatical usage in the voice leads me to believe otherwise. So I was driving into work this morning mindlessly listening to a talk radio show in which callers are playing the game "Fact or Bologna." The cheesy talk-show host begs the question to the latest caller/participant:

"Fact or Bologna? Mussolini and Hitler are a famous comedy duo from the 1940s?"
To which the participant responds: "Fact"

Need I say more?

People I Love

I love those women that you see on the street who wear every single trend known to man in one single outfit - God Bless Them and they're mis-matched thematic outfits, clashing colors, unseasonal shoes and gratuitous accessories.

Un-Veiling the Truth?

Email from Friend(addressed to 8 recipients): Does anyone have a veil that my sister could borrow for a bachelorette party? I can get it back for you after this weekend. I passed mine on after I had my bach party.

Me (to all): I do...think I have one at home. I sometimes play bride in the mirror on Saturday nights.

Friend (to me): Will you call me and let me know and I can come get it?

Me (to friend, thinking she was joking): :)

Friend: Call me when you are available and I can come pick it up…Please

Me: friend, you know I was joking, right?

Friend: Yeah but do you have a veil?


I'm sad to say that there were a few other exchanges beyond that point. First suggestion, when sending out an email about bridal veils, if you've already gone to the trouble to dwindle down the recipients to a seemingly targeted group - don't include 7 married folks and one single girl.

More concerning that the somewhat numbing exchange, is the fact that she thought that I actually could potentially be playing bridal dress-up in the mirror, on a Saturday night. Or she did have my sarcasm at "I do.l"

Baby's Got Her Boot Camp On

This morning I did something that I think I'm going to totally regret. In my sickly fog (my ears are stopped up, so I probably couldn't understand what my friend was asking), I agreed to sign up for Birmingham Boot Camp. Well, $210 and an anxiety attack later - I have agreed to meet with my instructor to take my measurements, determine my body fat, and take a before picture. I mean, I know all of these things advertise that they are for all fitness levels, but take one look at the women on the web site and you too might immediately regret your decision. I don't know if my ego can handle getting its ass handed to me by a 50 year old mom, who is better looking and in better shape than I am. More overwhelming than the word "boot camp", is the time "5:30 am", which is when I'll be standing at attention in the field of a local elementary school. Maybe I should really be offended that I signed up in the first place. I am a bridesmaid in my good friend's wedding this summer, and the bride is the one who in fact convinced me to sign up in the first place. Was she trying to tell me that I needed to be in better shape for her wedding? But not knowing what the after pictures look like, she's totally running the risk of me looking better than her at the wedding (i kid, i kid).

Maybe if the after results are as good as I hope they will be, I will put on a pink bikini, and re-enact Heidi Montag's "Higher" video.

Stay tuned for updates on my boot camp survival.

I'm Bringing Single Back (The Single Extinction)

Is the single female becoming extinct? I was briefly rapping with a friend about the upcoming wedding season (probably a conversation prompted by how our lives were not that far off from the ridiculousness of 27 Dresses - luckily I only have 8 in my closet), and in a tone of relief I exclaimed that mine was pretty tame with a total of 4 to 5 weddings between now and the end of the year. Let's face it, there really are no "seasons," just months with a higher celebration concentration. As I started to revel in the low-density of my wedding year I started to realize why there weren't as many. By the end of 2008 roughly 98% of my girlfriends will be married off. Maybe the Presidential primaries should focus their platforms on the rapid decrease of the 25 and over single-female in the human population. When age 30 hits there could be a legitimate crisis. This particular demographic could very well be climbing their way up the ladder of the extinction list, leaving only a select few to encourage and nurture a population increase. I realize that sometimes geography plays into the waxing and waining of this particular demographic - - but just like the chimpanzees in Africa, it's only a matter of time before we're forced out of our native territories into a foreign sanctuary, being taught how to socialize with our own kind.

Who's with me?

Irony Clad Banking

Whenever I need to check the level of funds in my checking account, I usually dial the 1-800 number for Regions bank. I always find it completely humorous when the teleprompter says: "to better protect your account information, please enter your social security number." What about protecting my identity people?

Just Pretend I'm A Man

I recently took an impromptu trip to the Nail Salon with a friend of mine. As a nail biter, I rarely get manicures. A couple of years back I tried going once a week to rid myself of the habit. I lasted a good three months, but then the whites above the quick just kept calling to me "bite me." So, when I do take these rare visits, I often just get the pedicure. Besides, the pedicures are a much better experience for a single girl - - vibrating chairs that massage your neck and back...and then those incredible foot and leg rub-downs? Anyway, the only problem with an impromptu pedicure in the winter is the status of your leg hair. Actually, the status of my leg hair is always questionable. I both love and hate shaving. I only love shaving after several weeks of letting the leg hairs go. I hate shaving on a regular basis because it's too time-consuming. Well this particular day was quite the experience for my nail technician. Not only are my legs pasty, white, but I probably haven't shaved them in nearly a month. It started to remind of when I was in Europe for a semester, and for the fun of it decided not to shave my legs for 3 - 4 months (when in Rome, people). The technician really wasn't horrified until came time for the ritual leg massage. She immediately started talking in Vietnamese to the rest of the technicians which made me completely uncomfortable. They all started talking and then a few of them would look my way and start laughing...it was awful. I looked down at her, apologized for my unkempt legs, and then just told her to pretend that I was a man. This made her giggle awkwardly...I'm sure communication was lost and she probably thought i said that I was actually a man in women's clothing. The pedicure was completed with success. My only question is, what is an appropriate tip for a nail technician who just gave Chewbaca a pedicure?

It's a Twister, Mister

One of the things I love most about the South is the thunderstorm and other inclement weather phenomenons- namely, the tornado. Just last night I sat on my front porch admiring a lightening storm moving South over downtown. But the visual affects are not the only things I love about a good storm. One mention of a tornado watch or warning and the whole entire city shuts down. Work closes early, shops send their employees home, suddenly you're second-guessing whether or not you should get in your car and drive home for fear you may get caught up in the eye. And even at age 28, my parents think that I would be 100 times safer at their house during a storm, than I would be in my own condo.

K-Why?

There are few things more disturbing than seeing your 70 year old female neighbor purchasing KY Jelly at the local drugstore.