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.

Resolve and Evolve 2008

"So this is the New Year, and I don't feel any different." - Deathcab for Cutie

It's that time again. Time to jot down some resolutions that I might actually adhere to in December 2008 just so i can have some sense of accomplishment. I seriously don't feel that 2008 will feel much different than 2007, but I am a) trying to set expectations low so that they have a chance of being exceeded, but also because b) 2007 wasn't really a bad year. I started a new job in April that I genuinely like, have made some new friends, have become slightly more financially stable, and yes, it took some serious patience, but I have even been nicer to my mother. So with the fundamental resolutions of 2007 having been somewhat met, it's time to dig a little deeper for 2008. So here's the list, Resolve and Evolve.

1. Do not judge a man on the first date, and if asked on a subsequent date, take it. They say that you should go on 3 dates with a person before making up your mind (who the hell do "they" think they are?). I have a hard time not passing judgment quickly, but am willing to be more open-minded and open to opportunities. This resolution is contingent upon a man putting his car in park when dropping me off, keeping his clothes on (unless taken off by me), and not whipping out a joint within the first 30 minutes of meeting. I guess this is somewhat a continuum of 2007's "go on more dates."

2. Confront confrontation. I have a serious problem with confrontation. Whether it be someone confronting me, me not being able to confront an individual, being a part of a group that is being confronted, or even watching confrontation on television, I literally have to get-up and walk away. Take the movie Borat for instance, probably saw 1/3 of the movie because I left the room anytime they confronted him on his antics, pathetic. From this point forward I vow to confront those that done me wrong, to stand up straight whilst being confronted, and to keep my ass glued to the sofa if watching an uncomfortable situation on the t.v.

3. Buy new bras. What is the average lifespan of a bra? I'm not really sure if there is an answer to that question, but I'm almost positive 99% of mine have passed their expiration date. It's like I'm in complete denial that my boobs have grown, and for the majority of women (and men), that should be a good thing, but to me it's like the whole Peter Pan syndrome of not wanting to grow up (or out, in this case). Like my bras carry any real memories worth clinging to.

4. Delete all sentimental text messages in phone after one month. That seems like a long-time still, but honestly I just deleted some text messages that have been sitting in my phone for 2 years. They were there to remind of days gone by, but all they were really doing was taking up storage in my Inbox that could otherwise be filled by more text-flirting with new, potential text-partners. A stored text, is not the safest form of text.


This is my list for now, but I have a feeling that it will continue to grow (much like my boobs).

Food Confession

Putting a 6 oz cup of Stoneyfield Farm french vanilla yogurt in the freezer, is not the same as eating Vanilla Frozen Yogurt. Just sayin'

The Bathroom Stall

There are few things more annoying to me than walking into the bathroom at work, seeing a co-worker also in the bathroom, and as soon you enter the stall and sit down she starts talking to you. I mean, could you have not started the conversation before I went into the stall? Then you have to make the decision on whether or not you want to hold your business and finish the conversation, which can become painful if it's a bathroom emergency, OR start your business and have the conversation over trickling noises. All in all it's just very uncomfortable. Even worse is when said co-worker also enters a stall and your forced to have the stall-to-stall conversation.

You're Never Fully Dressed

Sometimes what you’re wearing from head to toe is what matters.

I recently found myself back at a guy's apartment sharing a beer after we had been watching football with friends at a bar. This is a guy, who I have been on one date with, enjoyed his company, and since he doesn’t live far from me, was willing to share a night-cap. I was fully aware that he could potentially plant one on me. The evening took it’s usual course – open the beer, sit on the couch, listen to music, make conversation, and then pick your right moment to go in for the kill. Kissing not too aggressive and not too awkward. He stood up at one point, which was the sign that he wanted to go into the bedroom. I was fine with a little bit of horizontal action, PG-rated horizontal action, that is. Anyway, after drinking copious amounts of liquid, one usually finds themselves in need of some relief, so I said “I have to use the restroom.” Please note, that this was not said in a seductive, sexy way. Nor did it have the tone of “wait right there, mister. I’ll be right back.” It especially did not imply what I found when I came out of the bathroom.

I opened the door only to find that this guy had taken off ALL of his clothes. Okay, he left the boxers on, but what? It was wrong on so many levels. My gut reaction, an honest reaction, was to burst out into laughter – which I did, in his face. And I said “Oh my God, you just took off all of your clothes.” And he said “yeah,” (as in what’s the big deal), and too confused for words I just said “so we’re clear on one thing, my clothes are not coming off.” And then he's like, "you can at least take off your sweater." I know this story brings out my prudish side, but come on, there are signals and signs that a woman gives off if she wants to get busy. None of which were emitted by me that evening. I don’t even think I have that capability, period (sad, but true). It was a very presumptuous move and makes me wonder if it has worked for him in the past.

So, your clothes may be Beau Brummelly, but leave them on for a while, cuz brother three-fourths of the fun is getting to take each other’s clothes off! (when appropriate signal applies)

Stang Operation

I recently rented a car to drive from Nashville to Birmingham. Little did I know that when selecting a “Midsize” vehicle (read: cheaper) on my reservation form, that I would actually be stepping into the biggest ride of my life. The perfect early-fall weather had arrived which already made me excited for the road trip, but when the Hertz Representative asked “will a Mustang be alright,” I grinned from ear to ear and told her that I wouldn’t accept any less. And then when she told me it only had 54 miles on it, I suddenly had a flashback to Ferris Bueller - “You guys got nothing to worry about, I’m a professional.”

Once our transaction was complete she pointed me in the direction of Parking Space No. 12. Behold, the bright cherry red brilliance, and its seamless tan cloth interior that cleverly and continuously reads “Mustang” on each seat - just invisible enough so that one might think it a design, but in a way that only a true believer could see the scripture. This car needed no introduction, but just in case you’ve been couped up in a mini van your whole life, the geniuses at Ford had “Mustang” lettered on each side of the exterior. Coincidence that the words Respect and Mustang have the same number of letters? You do the math.

Once I got on the highway I had an out-of-body experience, the ‘Stang was in control. For the first few minutes leaving Nashville, the Mustang had to listen to the rest of the Colts v. Titans game. As you can imagine, the Mustang celebrated the Colts’ victory, kicked the speed up about 10 mph, and turned its radio dial to any station playing Lynard Skynard, Aerosmith or hard-core country. And soon my 3 hour trip, was taking much longer than expected. Who knew the ‘Stang would have so many important stops to make:

Everyone eating the Mustang’s dust.

Will you ‘mare’y me?

An empty bottle of dark liquor on the floorboard is a staple accessory in any Mustang. But Mustang’s don’t drink and drive – alone.

A Mustang in its natural habitat. Can you really take a man out of the Mustang?

The Mustang always pays homage to man-made marvels, fabricated out of steel, built to overcompensate shortcomings, and equipped with inter-galactic horsepower.

The Mustang breaks for DQ dip cones and an Alabama Terd Bird at Stuckey’s…obviously.

The Mustang only stops to refuel because the oil industry forces it to. But then again, this is America. Coincidence that the words America and Mustang have the same number of letters? You do the math.

Haley's Tip of the Month (yes, we're going back to the original title)

Going out to a bar after a dinner date is like a call option. Only when your stock is up should you exercise your option. If you exercise when it's down, you're going to take a loss.