Event: Psychic Reading
I have always been fascinated with the notion that a regular person like you or me has the ability to see spirits and ghosts and talk to the dead. I have always hoped people really had these powers, but I never thought I'd be a true believer...until today.
On Friday, I called a psychic whose name was given to me by a friend. Hoping she would answer the phone and say, "I knew you were going to call" (ha) she answered the phone sweetly, told me about the near death experience she had as a child, the visit she received from a higher power and how during this visit He explained the gift she had been given. At this point I'm still a little skeptical, especially when she said she can do readings over the phone, but I'm going with it. At about that moment, she interrupted and asked me a personal question that was spot on and I about fell over.
We made our appointment for Saturday morning at 9am. I woke up super early - anxious, nervous, scared, excited and not really sure what to expect. At 8:59 I had the cold sweats and kept thinking about the scene from the Sixth Sense - "I see dead people." (Did it just get really cold in here? I think I can see my breath). Ok, snap out of it. I called her. She answered and said, "Oh I'm so glad you called." Uh, I was supposed to call. Anyway, she immediately started apologizing because she was getting new carpet in and the carpet people came early so she wanted to know if we could reschedule. I wanted to say, "YOU'RE A PSYCHIC! DIDN'T YOU SEE THAT COMING?" But I bit my tongue and we rescheduled for Sunday. Then I felt bad because what if she could sense all the 4 letter words I was using to describe my disappointment about her schedule conflict but then I laughed and prayed just a little bit and told God how wonderful her gift is. (Can't hurt, right?)
Sunday. 9am. Cold sweats part 2. I'm as nervous as a sinner in church. So we begin. My psychic kicked off the session by telling me I needed to ask some questions. So I told her my biggest question was about my love life. It's a fairly simple question, I told her. Like, 1) Where is he? 2) Who is he? 3) Do I know him? 4) Are we going to get married? 5) Are we going to have kids? 6) Is he hot? You know, just some basic questions.
As she started down a path talking about relationships, there was a long, dramatic pause. Then she said, "Your grandma is here." Holy shit. This is for real. Not only was my grandma there, but it sounded like more than one grandparent was weighing in on my life. Because this psychic pulled out things that no one but family or close friends would know. In fact, she said to me, "Did you just change your hair color?" (I got really blonde highlights a couple of months ago). I said yes and she said, "Well, your grandma wants me to tell you they're kind of funky and a little too blonde." HA! Sounds like grandma to me!
Over the next 51 minutes, my psychic, my deceased grandparents and I discussed life, love and the pursuit of the "joy spark that is missing." In fact, grandma said, "Nobody wants to date you because they feel like it's a job interview." Harsh, but true. Then the psychic gave me some encouraging news - the man that she sees me with is a little nerdy (ok that's not the encouraging part), he is tall, has salt & pepper hair, is musically gifted, might have kids and will want to take care of me. And...I may have to ask him out first. According to my psychic friends (and family) network, I need to put down the 'dating checklist', take off my 'dating armor' and just be. Oh, and go to church. The psychic said, "grandma is saying something about going back to church...you may want to do that because that's where the nerdy guy will be..."
So, it looks like next weekend I'm going to be quite busy getting low-lights in my hair, shredding my 'dating checklist' and going to church. The things we do for love.
*Special thanks to my amazing psychic. Oh, and Dionne Warwick - I never stopped believing!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Week Eleven
Event: Hang out at a local bookstore
People say the best place to meet someone is either at the gym, the grocery store, the dog park or the bar. I'm not sure who those places are working for because they aren't working for me! So, I decided to think outside the box tonight to see if Barnes & Noble is a singles hangout. The short answer is, no.
Making my way down the 'Fiction and Literature' aisle (pretending to be interested in the titles I was reading) I noticed a cute guy crouched down looking at books at the end of the aisle. Wishing I was wearing my semi-fake reading glasses (for looks of course), I walked towards him. As I got closer, he got cuter but I noticed he was doing something with his right arm. Puzzled, I walked slowly behind him and realized he was rocking a damn car seat with a newborn in it. Fooled again!
That's when I decided to head over to the 'Relationship' aisle where I immediately discovered three helpful books: "Dating for Dummies", "The Surrendered Single" and "Chicken Soup for the Single Soul". I picked up the first two and spent a half hour skimming them. The "Surrendered Soul" had a quiz in it called "Are you attracting the man who's right for you?" so I took it. It asked 20 questions about dating and based on your score, you know if you're attracting the right kind of guys. The three scoring categories were defined as 'It won't be long' (66 points or more), 'Are you comfortable on that fence?' (41-65 points) or 'You're standing in your own way' (40 points or less). I scored a 38. Neat.
Well, that book is stupid. So I turned to "Dating for Dummies". I skimmed the chapter entitled, "Polishing your social self" and there was a section about the importance of hair, make-up, appearance and physical fitness. Attention: This may be my turning point. Hair - As I see myself in the reflection of the window, I realize I look like Medusa with snakes as hair because after I showered, I threw my wet hair back into a bun, then let it down and headed out. It's a cross between a crimp, a curl and a bad wave. I'm a hot mess. Make-up - I neglected to put on eye liner so I look tired and with my hair the way it is, I resemble something similar to a police mug shot. Appearance - I'm wearing a fake velour jogging suit and it's clear I wore the wrong underwear because I have an underwear line half way over each butt cheek which means my underwear is too tight (and too small) for my big ass. As I stand up, I'm reminded of just how tight this pair really is. In fact, I think it may be cutting off the circulation to my butt. Oh well, maybe part of it will fall off. I digress. Physical Fitness - If I worked out I wouldn't have the underwear/butt problem.
Clearly, these self-help relationship books really helped. I'm going to go to a new stylist, get a make-up make-over, go on a shopping spree and join a gym. As I'm having this epiphany, an old woman walked by looking for her lost glove. As she passed me by, I noticed she was wearing a blouse that didn't quite match her pants and her stark white high-top sneakers squeaked when she walked. Her hair was a bit out of place but that clearly didn't matter to the cute old man she was with. The moral of this story is, maybe, just maybe there's someone out there who will take me just the way I am. In the meantime, if you start hearing me talk about my nineteen cats, please contact the local authorities.
People say the best place to meet someone is either at the gym, the grocery store, the dog park or the bar. I'm not sure who those places are working for because they aren't working for me! So, I decided to think outside the box tonight to see if Barnes & Noble is a singles hangout. The short answer is, no.
Making my way down the 'Fiction and Literature' aisle (pretending to be interested in the titles I was reading) I noticed a cute guy crouched down looking at books at the end of the aisle. Wishing I was wearing my semi-fake reading glasses (for looks of course), I walked towards him. As I got closer, he got cuter but I noticed he was doing something with his right arm. Puzzled, I walked slowly behind him and realized he was rocking a damn car seat with a newborn in it. Fooled again!
That's when I decided to head over to the 'Relationship' aisle where I immediately discovered three helpful books: "Dating for Dummies", "The Surrendered Single" and "Chicken Soup for the Single Soul". I picked up the first two and spent a half hour skimming them. The "Surrendered Soul" had a quiz in it called "Are you attracting the man who's right for you?" so I took it. It asked 20 questions about dating and based on your score, you know if you're attracting the right kind of guys. The three scoring categories were defined as 'It won't be long' (66 points or more), 'Are you comfortable on that fence?' (41-65 points) or 'You're standing in your own way' (40 points or less). I scored a 38. Neat.
Well, that book is stupid. So I turned to "Dating for Dummies". I skimmed the chapter entitled, "Polishing your social self" and there was a section about the importance of hair, make-up, appearance and physical fitness. Attention: This may be my turning point. Hair - As I see myself in the reflection of the window, I realize I look like Medusa with snakes as hair because after I showered, I threw my wet hair back into a bun, then let it down and headed out. It's a cross between a crimp, a curl and a bad wave. I'm a hot mess. Make-up - I neglected to put on eye liner so I look tired and with my hair the way it is, I resemble something similar to a police mug shot. Appearance - I'm wearing a fake velour jogging suit and it's clear I wore the wrong underwear because I have an underwear line half way over each butt cheek which means my underwear is too tight (and too small) for my big ass. As I stand up, I'm reminded of just how tight this pair really is. In fact, I think it may be cutting off the circulation to my butt. Oh well, maybe part of it will fall off. I digress. Physical Fitness - If I worked out I wouldn't have the underwear/butt problem.
Clearly, these self-help relationship books really helped. I'm going to go to a new stylist, get a make-up make-over, go on a shopping spree and join a gym. As I'm having this epiphany, an old woman walked by looking for her lost glove. As she passed me by, I noticed she was wearing a blouse that didn't quite match her pants and her stark white high-top sneakers squeaked when she walked. Her hair was a bit out of place but that clearly didn't matter to the cute old man she was with. The moral of this story is, maybe, just maybe there's someone out there who will take me just the way I am. In the meantime, if you start hearing me talk about my nineteen cats, please contact the local authorities.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Week Ten
Event: Party Crashers
Saturday my BFF and her husband threw a St. Patrick's Day party. It was an all ages affair and I'm pretty sure the adults were outnumbered by munchkin-sized little ones. The gathering began at noon, and before I knew it, I had kids on each ankle and one poking me in the butt with a toy stethoscope. That's when I cracked my first beer. A hot dog, plate full of cheetos and a shamrock-shaped cookie later (hey, it's what the kids were eating, when in Rome...), we headed down to the neighborhood parade where we saw everything from men in kilts to a cheerleading squad made up of drag queens. I looked at the kids who were looking at their parents thinking, "Mommy, why does that cheerleader have an adam's apple?" Good question kiddo. We have no idea.
Green beer in tow, we headed back to the house for more fun and good times. About 7 hours later, the adults decided we needed a change in scenery. Conveniently, at the other end of the block was another party and we felt it was our neighborly obligation to go down and say hello. As we approached the house, we couldn't believe what we were seeing. These guys had a tent in their front yard with a heater that would've kept a Super Target warm, and three kegs. Within a few minutes we were making new friends, drinking their beer, sitting comfortably in their heated tent. At one point the host of the party came in and met us one by one. When he got to me, he said, "Are you single?" I mean, do I have a sign on my forehead that says, "DESPARATE and SINGLE! Please help"??? For real! So I respond by saying I am single and that's when my friend jumps in and asks, "Are there any single guys here?" He responds by saying there were a few, inside. I immediately jumped out of my chair (playing it cool as always, geez) and for some un-Godly reason I asked him if there was any single guy in particular he would recommend. (Side note: Why the hell am I asking a total stranger which single guy he would prefer for me? Would someone please put me out of my misery?)
He says, "Yeah, go for the one with the beard." So my friend and I high-tail it towards the house and as we're passing through the garage we encounter a cute guy...with a beard. Assuming (and secretly hoping) this was the infamous bearded single man, we walk up and introduce ourselves. My strategy was: Play it cool, slyly check for a ring and...about that time I hear my friend say, "Hi are you single? Because this is my friend and she's single too." In a way I was glad she got it all out on the table, especially when he responded that he was also single. Score! I then jump in and say, "Oh good, because Jon told us of all the single guys here, you were the best." (Again, why am I talking? Will someone take me home? Put a fork in me, I'm done here). Thinking I had just paid him the compliment of a lifetime, he turned and introduced us to his friend. Ooops. He was one of the other single guys. Foot, meet mouth.
Hoping that most of my Candid Camera moments were behind me, bearded man and I ended up talking for the better part of an hour. Now, it goes without saying I'm picky and I have a high bar when it comes to guys. So when I learned he was unemployed, hadn't completed his college degree, was 7 years older than me, had a Skoal can imprint on his jacket pocket and his Harley Davidson wallet was chained to his pocket, I was not thinking 'future baby daddy'. But, this is a new year and I'm keeping an open mind. We talked about jobs, where we were from and at one point I asked him if he had any tattoos. He does not and when he asked me if I had any, I said, "Oh, no I don't. I'm pretty vanilla like that." Again, what in the hell is going on here? What alien took over my thought process? Do I have no filter? Really? I'm 'vanilla like that'? Who says that? Seriously someone needs to walk me home.
Mortified and wanting to change the subject immediately, something on his hand caught my eye. I couldn't tell at first, so I said, "Tell me about this." And as I got a closer look my reaction had to have been something like, "Ooooh....uh....that's....uh....nice..." It was a sterling silver ring of a skeleton face! It resembled Skeletor from Masters of the Universe! All I could think was if he hit someone they'd have an imprint of a skeleton on their cheek. Is that normal? Hmmmm. I'm really gonna have to work hard at this 'open mind' thing.
As it turns out, he was a really sweet guy and ended up asking for my number. Given my track record so far this year (as a reminder, I've given out my number 4 times and no one has called) I thought it can't hurt. If anything, a date with the Vanilla Queen and Skeletor could end up being one for the record books.
Saturday my BFF and her husband threw a St. Patrick's Day party. It was an all ages affair and I'm pretty sure the adults were outnumbered by munchkin-sized little ones. The gathering began at noon, and before I knew it, I had kids on each ankle and one poking me in the butt with a toy stethoscope. That's when I cracked my first beer. A hot dog, plate full of cheetos and a shamrock-shaped cookie later (hey, it's what the kids were eating, when in Rome...), we headed down to the neighborhood parade where we saw everything from men in kilts to a cheerleading squad made up of drag queens. I looked at the kids who were looking at their parents thinking, "Mommy, why does that cheerleader have an adam's apple?" Good question kiddo. We have no idea.
Green beer in tow, we headed back to the house for more fun and good times. About 7 hours later, the adults decided we needed a change in scenery. Conveniently, at the other end of the block was another party and we felt it was our neighborly obligation to go down and say hello. As we approached the house, we couldn't believe what we were seeing. These guys had a tent in their front yard with a heater that would've kept a Super Target warm, and three kegs. Within a few minutes we were making new friends, drinking their beer, sitting comfortably in their heated tent. At one point the host of the party came in and met us one by one. When he got to me, he said, "Are you single?" I mean, do I have a sign on my forehead that says, "DESPARATE and SINGLE! Please help"??? For real! So I respond by saying I am single and that's when my friend jumps in and asks, "Are there any single guys here?" He responds by saying there were a few, inside. I immediately jumped out of my chair (playing it cool as always, geez) and for some un-Godly reason I asked him if there was any single guy in particular he would recommend. (Side note: Why the hell am I asking a total stranger which single guy he would prefer for me? Would someone please put me out of my misery?)
He says, "Yeah, go for the one with the beard." So my friend and I high-tail it towards the house and as we're passing through the garage we encounter a cute guy...with a beard. Assuming (and secretly hoping) this was the infamous bearded single man, we walk up and introduce ourselves. My strategy was: Play it cool, slyly check for a ring and...about that time I hear my friend say, "Hi are you single? Because this is my friend and she's single too." In a way I was glad she got it all out on the table, especially when he responded that he was also single. Score! I then jump in and say, "Oh good, because Jon told us of all the single guys here, you were the best." (Again, why am I talking? Will someone take me home? Put a fork in me, I'm done here). Thinking I had just paid him the compliment of a lifetime, he turned and introduced us to his friend. Ooops. He was one of the other single guys. Foot, meet mouth.
Hoping that most of my Candid Camera moments were behind me, bearded man and I ended up talking for the better part of an hour. Now, it goes without saying I'm picky and I have a high bar when it comes to guys. So when I learned he was unemployed, hadn't completed his college degree, was 7 years older than me, had a Skoal can imprint on his jacket pocket and his Harley Davidson wallet was chained to his pocket, I was not thinking 'future baby daddy'. But, this is a new year and I'm keeping an open mind. We talked about jobs, where we were from and at one point I asked him if he had any tattoos. He does not and when he asked me if I had any, I said, "Oh, no I don't. I'm pretty vanilla like that." Again, what in the hell is going on here? What alien took over my thought process? Do I have no filter? Really? I'm 'vanilla like that'? Who says that? Seriously someone needs to walk me home.
Mortified and wanting to change the subject immediately, something on his hand caught my eye. I couldn't tell at first, so I said, "Tell me about this." And as I got a closer look my reaction had to have been something like, "Ooooh....uh....that's....uh....nice..." It was a sterling silver ring of a skeleton face! It resembled Skeletor from Masters of the Universe! All I could think was if he hit someone they'd have an imprint of a skeleton on their cheek. Is that normal? Hmmmm. I'm really gonna have to work hard at this 'open mind' thing.
As it turns out, he was a really sweet guy and ended up asking for my number. Given my track record so far this year (as a reminder, I've given out my number 4 times and no one has called) I thought it can't hurt. If anything, a date with the Vanilla Queen and Skeletor could end up being one for the record books.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Week Nine
Event: Home Improvement Project
Saturday I went to a cute antique store to look for a new piece of furniture. I decided the wood printed, cardboard covered, plywood book shelf I bought at Target like 15 years ago needed an upgrade. Besides, I don't read anyway, so why show off a bunch of books I've never read. The tipping point might have been when a friend stopped by and picked up "The Abs Diet for Women". If looks could kill, I'd be dead. And I'd have a six-pack.
Twelve feet into the antique store I saw it. My new console table. Ok, it's not a table, exactly. It's actually an old, wooden ironing board. I'm revealing a little about my taste in home decor. I like interesting pieces. The desk in my office is farm table that I got at an estate sale. I have a purple couch and a lime green arm chair. I also have a salt & pepper shaker collection in my kitchen. A wooden ironing board made into a console table fits right in. As I proceed to the check out with my $24 ironing board, I noticed they had two irons (probably made in the early 1900's) propped up as bookends. It's a theme! But shoot. That means I need books. I don't think the "Abs Diet" or "He's just not that into you" books will fit my theme, so I splurged and bought 3 old looking books. There's a good chance I will never read these books either, but at least I'll look smart. "Building Better English" written in 1955, "The Story of Ernie Pyle" written in 1950 and "The Saturday Evening Post" written in 1951. I'm all set.
Thrilled with my new purchases, I rush home to throw out my old bookcase and set up my new table. As I get it in the house I quickly realize I may have underestimated the space in which my table will fit. It's tight, but the length is perfect. The bad news is, I didn't realize that in order for an ironing board to stand up, the hind legs stick out a few inches on each side. SH&%$!&%!
The damn thing won't work because the leg on the left side keeps it from being flush against the wall, and the leg on the right side sticks out just enough to successfully trip anyone who walks in the door. At that moment, I felt a hunger, a fury, an anger that I didn't recognize. Maybe it was gas, but that feeling deep in my belly made me tear into that ironing board like Tim the Tool Man Taylor. I was ripping, hammering, unscrewing, prying, kicking, yelling, cutting, just about anything to disassemble those legs so they wouldn't stick out. Side note: Did you know that people in the early 1900's didn't use normal screws? This thing was welded together with bolts used on the Titanic, but that didn't stop me. Ok, actually it did. Who am I kidding. Despite my best efforts to use what wimpy tools I had, (I even busted out my pruning shears) I could not tear it a part. I did, however, manage to get a splinter the size of a surfboard. Neat.
The moral of the story is, I should have taken the ironing board to Home Depot and wait for the cute guy in the lumber department to help me rip this sucker a part and build a new one.
That will be my challenge for next week...
Saturday I went to a cute antique store to look for a new piece of furniture. I decided the wood printed, cardboard covered, plywood book shelf I bought at Target like 15 years ago needed an upgrade. Besides, I don't read anyway, so why show off a bunch of books I've never read. The tipping point might have been when a friend stopped by and picked up "The Abs Diet for Women". If looks could kill, I'd be dead. And I'd have a six-pack.
Twelve feet into the antique store I saw it. My new console table. Ok, it's not a table, exactly. It's actually an old, wooden ironing board. I'm revealing a little about my taste in home decor. I like interesting pieces. The desk in my office is farm table that I got at an estate sale. I have a purple couch and a lime green arm chair. I also have a salt & pepper shaker collection in my kitchen. A wooden ironing board made into a console table fits right in. As I proceed to the check out with my $24 ironing board, I noticed they had two irons (probably made in the early 1900's) propped up as bookends. It's a theme! But shoot. That means I need books. I don't think the "Abs Diet" or "He's just not that into you" books will fit my theme, so I splurged and bought 3 old looking books. There's a good chance I will never read these books either, but at least I'll look smart. "Building Better English" written in 1955, "The Story of Ernie Pyle" written in 1950 and "The Saturday Evening Post" written in 1951. I'm all set.
Thrilled with my new purchases, I rush home to throw out my old bookcase and set up my new table. As I get it in the house I quickly realize I may have underestimated the space in which my table will fit. It's tight, but the length is perfect. The bad news is, I didn't realize that in order for an ironing board to stand up, the hind legs stick out a few inches on each side. SH&%$!&%!
The damn thing won't work because the leg on the left side keeps it from being flush against the wall, and the leg on the right side sticks out just enough to successfully trip anyone who walks in the door. At that moment, I felt a hunger, a fury, an anger that I didn't recognize. Maybe it was gas, but that feeling deep in my belly made me tear into that ironing board like Tim the Tool Man Taylor. I was ripping, hammering, unscrewing, prying, kicking, yelling, cutting, just about anything to disassemble those legs so they wouldn't stick out. Side note: Did you know that people in the early 1900's didn't use normal screws? This thing was welded together with bolts used on the Titanic, but that didn't stop me. Ok, actually it did. Who am I kidding. Despite my best efforts to use what wimpy tools I had, (I even busted out my pruning shears) I could not tear it a part. I did, however, manage to get a splinter the size of a surfboard. Neat.
The moral of the story is, I should have taken the ironing board to Home Depot and wait for the cute guy in the lumber department to help me rip this sucker a part and build a new one.
That will be my challenge for next week...
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