Sunday, February 28, 2010

Week Eight

Event: Applied to be on ABC's The Bachelor/Bachelorette

Ok, so I did it.  It was either apply for this or the Biggest Loser and since I refuse to step on a scale in spandex shorts and a sports bra in front of millions, I thought this was the lesser of two evils.  Then again, I just realized I signed up for the show that without fail requires the women to run down a sandy beach in their slow motion.  Oh crap.

Please, go ahead and hold your breath like I am for the phone call.  I'm sure once they read my profile and see my amazing, almost air-brushed runway model-like pictures, they won't be able to dial fast enough. 

Watch out Trista and Ryan, you got nothing on this girl!

Stay tuned...

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Week Seven

Event:  Church Singles Volunteer Activity

In the spirit of doing things I normally don't do, I looked online for a singles volunteer opportunity at my church.  This is the best of all worlds, I told myself.  It gets me to church, it helps the community and it forces me to meet people.  Done, done and done.

I showed up at church bright and early Saturday morning for the activity I signed up for online.  Now, I thought this meeting place and time was just for the singles group.  When I arrived, I quickly realized the church had numerous volunteer activities that day, with lots of different groups attending.  My group was the 'All ages singles group' and I was pleasantly surprised when I signed in on the clipboard to see about 15 names, most of them men.  I introduced myself to the group organizer and she pointed to where the group was gathering.  As I turned around (in slow motion), I closed my eyes for a moment to picture what I hoped to be a fraternity like gathering of 30-something guys all with a love for God, volunteering and someday, maybe me.  When I opened my eyes I was smacked with a dose of reality.  Oh, I forgot.  It's an all ages singles group.  I was the youngest by a few years, and the oldest member could have been my grandpa.  Laughing to myself, I put on my nametag and head over to meet my new, single friends.

A few minutes later a woman with a microphone kicked off the morning by introducing the team leaders.  As the team leaders met up with their individual groups, we had a quick prayer and we were dismissed.  Oh wait.  Suddenly, the woman with the microphone gets back on and loudly shouts, "Is the singles group still here?  Singles?  Singles?  Where are you?  Could you raise your hands?"  I was like, "Noooooooooooooooooo!  Please don't make me raise my hand in front of the more than 200 people!  Hey!  Look at me!  I'm single!"  The lobby, packed with volunteers, stops moving to make sure the singles group is located.  Standing smack dab in the middle of my group, I keep my hands firmly in my pockets, stare at the ground hoping to not be discovered, but my wonderful over-enthusiastic support group raises their hands with pride as if to signal to God that we are, in fact, still here.  Mortified, I look around, and laugh, as if meeting total strangers all by myself wasn't hard enough, let's go ahead and announce to the congregation that I am single.  "Are you there God, it's me.  And I'm still single."

We head out to our activity and I learn that all of the eligible bachelors are divorced and they all have kids.  In fact, a couple of them brought their kids.  The good news is, I love kids, so over the next 5 hours I make the best of it and become that 'cool aunt' that played with all of the kids.  After volunteering, we decided to go to lunch where one kid in particular, became quite smitten with me (only because I kept giving him quarters to play games).  Towards the end of lunch he came up to the table and whistles at me (like how a construction worker whistles when a woman walks by).  Cracking up, I asked him what that means (thinking he had no idea).  He replied, "It's what you do when you see a hot chic!"  Did I mention he was six-years-old?  Flattered but embarrassed, I pat him on the back and we all grab our coats to leave.  Suddenly I find myself walking out with his arm around my waist asking if he can go with me.  Ahhh, that's cute.  Now off to your daddy.  But no, he insists on getting into my car.  (His dad isn't helping at all).  Before I know it, both he and his dad are sitting in my car.  We're all laughing, but then my little crush did the unthinkable.  He asked me for my phone number!  (Yes, I'm still talking about the six-year-old!)  To make matters worse, he leaned in and tried to kiss me on the cheek! 

Words cannot express how I felt in that moment.  Embarrassed - check.  Mortified - check.  Humiliated - check.  I'm just glad God has a sense of humor.  But apparently I need to be a little more specific about what I'm looking for.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Week Six

Event: Valentine's Day Eve, Girls Night Out

Valentine's Day Shmalentine's Day.  Last night I went out with a couple of fellow single gals.  The plan was to see "Valentine's Day" the movie, go to dinner and go out.  The location was perfect.  We chose a restaurant/bar district with a movie theater, plenty of restaurants and bars and hopefully lots of singles. 

First stop:  The movie.  This movie was soooo good but it made me keenly aware that I do not weigh 112 pounds, I do not have rock hard abs and I will likely never marry anyone that even slightly resembles Bradley Cooper.  And that is exactly why three single ladies, all dressed up, opted for fried chicken, fried shrimp, mashed potatoes and two desserts for dinner.  I haven't had friend chicken since the 80's but let's face it.  It's not like anyone was going to be putting their hands around my waist tonight so why not!

As we rolled out of the restaurant in the spitting rain, two of us attempted to see what nightlife lay ahead of us.  But unfortunately the combination of the mediocre crowd (lots of couples, not many singles), the weather, and the fact that I was in a deep fried coma, we decided to call it quits.

The sad truth is, I was home and in my retainers by 11:30.  Ugly Betty, meet Bridget Jones.

Happy Shmalentine's Day.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Week Five

Event:  Super Bowl Party

Every year for as long as I can remember I have spent Super Bowl Sunday in my sweats (or at least pants with some elasticity) at a friend's house eating the equivalent of a meal of a contestant on the Biggest Loser.  Grazing, grazing and more grazing.  This year I decided, (in the name of the blog!) I would not wear pants with an elastic waste band, I would not graze until the cows come home and I would not find myself at a party with all couples.  I will go out, to a public place, where boys might be.

So, I invited my trusty wing-woman (same friend who helped provide the embroidered disaster from week three).  She and I set out to what we hoped would be a 'happening' location that would attract singles from around the globe.  Side note - since there was nothing else going on this weekend, I decided to go out of town to visit family knowing I'd return in time for the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, I got back into town with exactly 37 minutes to shower, do my hair and make-up, get dressed and let the dog out.  Super. 

38 and a half minutes later, I was out the door.  Outfit - check.  Hair - check.  Make-up - sort of but I had plenty of stop lights to do touch-ups.  Lip gloss - check.  When I arrived at the bar, I got out of the car and caught a glimpse of myself in the car window - that's when I realized I got ready so fast I looked like a drag queen!  My hair was huge and my make-up was terribly overdone.  Oh well.  Go.

So we walk into the bar and we were quickly disappointed with what we found.  The place was half full, and most of the people there were couples.  But, we strategically grabbed a table in the middle of the bar and made ourselves at home.  Let the grazing begin.  Shortly after ordering some appetizers, we notice a table next to us with 3 guys and 2 gals.  Then another guy arrived.  Ok, the odds were getting better.  My friend and I were both eyeing one guy in particular and we noticed he was eyeing us, too.  So we played the 7th grade game of back and forth glancing, smiling, flirting, etc. and I think there is a good chance Mr. Cutiepants will come over.  My body language was inviting.  We were laughing at all the same commercials.  We were rooting for the same team (oh who am I kidding, I was cheering for both teams) but low and behold he never came over.  Then at one point I look over and he's drinking a drink that gave me pause.  While every other person in the bar was drinking a beer, this guy wanted to be different.  He wanted to stand out.  Don't be fooled America.  Blueberries in a drink are masculine.  Blueberries sitting at the bottom of your drink while you poke at them with your straw is manly and will make the girls go wild.  Wait a second...Blueberries?  In your drink?  Oh please.  Mr. Cutiepants turned into Mr. Fruitypants and that's when I realized I have a high bar.  I cannot and will not date a man who, at a Super Bowl party, orders a drink with blueberries.  Yes, I'm picky.  Next.

With three minutes left in the game, I once again have grazed my life away, have successfully unbuttoned my pants (at this point who cares!) and I have given up on Fruit of the Loom.  That's when out of the blue walks up Bill.  Now Bill surprises both me and my friend.  First, he's Irish.  Now let me state for the record:  For me, a guy with an accent = let's go to Vegas and get hitched.  Unfortunately for Bill, he looked like he was 16 and in between his drunken slurs he was cussing Americans and making fun of our accent.  Oh really.  At one point Bill tries to invite his friend (a girl) over to join us (I wanted to poke my eyes out) and as he walks over to get her suddenly they both dart out of the bar!  Right behind them was security and as it turns out, Bill and his friend were trying to dine and dash!  Only Bill left his coat on his chair.  Whoops!  Stupid Irishman. 

So, in the end, my friend and I did get hit on, but only in an attempt to be a decoy for a dine and dash that failed miserably. 

In summary, if my life was to be compared to a book, it would be a perfect blend of 'Bridget Jones Diary' and 'He's Just Not That Into You'.  Seriously.  I'll forever be the single girl in spanx thinking the cute guy is smiling at me only to realize he's smiling at the 6' tall blonde behind me.  Oh well.  Pass the chicken wings.