Event: Meet with a Financial Planner
Ten years ago I was working two jobs living paycheck to paycheck. My rent was $425 a month and I could barely make ends meet. Instead of balancing my checkbook like most OCD-anal retentive-have-way too-much-time-on-their-hands kinds of people do, I would just call the 1-800 number of my bank, cross my fingers and pray that there was money in my account at the end of each month.
Now, I'm fortunate to have a 'big girl' job that allows me to not sweat it at the end of each month. You'd think though, with all my free time (not having to work that second job) I would maybe take the time to balance my checkbook. Think again. Ten years later, I still call the 1-800 number of my bank each month to see how much money I have. Only this time, it's so I know how much I can spend at Target and Banana.
Thinking this behavior may not be attractive to my potential soul mate (I'll probably end up marrying an Accountant), I thought it'd be a good idea to meet with a financial planner - someone who can really whip me into financial shape. As we started to discuss my 401(k)'s, my mortgage and my investment opportunities, I quickly realized I was in trouble. I had no idea what we were talking about. I mean, I have heard the word "Escrow" (I thought it was Esgrow), and I've been told about Money Market Accounts, Roth IRAs and CDs...but I have no idea what any of these are. I mean, I thought Dow Jones was some big-wig financial guy and Warren Buffet was a successful singer/songwriter. Apparently, I need to get out from under my non-financial rock and learn a thing or two.
So, goodbye carbon-copy checks with an empty check register. Say hello to Quickend. (see, I still have soooo much to learn...)
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Week Fifteen
Event: Shooting range
Annie Oakley ain't got nothin' on this cowgirl! This week I did something I've always wanted to do - go to a shooting range. I've never shot a gun, but I've always been curious about what it'd be like. So I asked my dad to take me to a shooting range. I was excited, anxious, nervous, maybe even a little scared. I mean, what if I was "that girl" that accidentally dropped the gun and shot some guy's toe off? It could happen.
Unsure if we would be greeted by Tony Soprano or John Wayne, I was surprised to see we were greeted by both! The first guy that helped me was a true cowboy. He had Skoal in his lip and every 10 seconds he'd lean over and spit into a bucket on the floor. Neat. He had two guns on his belt and a camouflage ball cap. Yee Haw. The second guy that helped me was named Guido. I swear. He was about 12 feet tall, had a pony tail and sideburns three inches thick. But don't be mistaken, his rose colored glasses made him a true bad ass. He too had 2 guns on his belt and enough ammo around his waist to fight a war. I wasn't sure if I felt safe or scared to death.
Guido and John Wayne walked me through holding a gun, loading a gun, shooting a gun and unloading a gun properly. My palms were sweaty and I had wished they had instructed me on how to not drop the gun but oh well. I put on my stylish safety goggles and ear protection and suddenly I looked like I should be landing planes. Apparently I won't be picking up today.
We were escorted into the shooting range where 3 others were shooting targets in their individual booths. I couldn't believe how loud the gun shots were, even with my landing gear earmuffs. As I stepped up to my own booth, John Wayne attached my target to the target hanger and sent it out about 15 feet. He then tried to review the steps but I couldn't hear him and before I knew it, I was up. I loaded the gun (scary), pushed the barrel into place (scarier), held it with my right hand (seriously almost dropped it), quickly added support with my left hand (now both hands are shaking like I have early stages of Parkinson's), I pointed the gun towards the target, spread my feet apart, bent my knees (my legs are jell-o by the way), leaned forward, closed my eyes and pulled the trigger! HOLY SHIT! I did it.
When I opened my eyes I immediately looked at my dad and Wayne. Wouldn't you know it my first shot hit the bulls eye. Unbelievable. It was down hill from there but boy was that fun. Before I knew it, I was twirling the gun on my finger, tossing it under my legs, shooting it behind my back, blindfolded....just kidding.
I did get a little confident after a while and that's when Guido called me over and pulled his own gun out of his holster. Oh crap. It was big. It had a barrel as big as a Chipotle burrito and the bullets were the size of baby carrots. Sweet baby Jesus I was in trouble. I smiled and said "That's ok." And he was like, "You're doing this." So me and my Parkinson hands walked up to the booth, picked up his gun and I couldn't believe how heavy it was. To add insult to injury I was like a 5th grader trying to reach the pedals of the car. My pointer finger could barely reach the trigger. I gritted my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The kickback sent me into the middle of next week and I missed the target completely but it was a thrill of a lifetime.
As my dad I were driving home giving each other high fives, we passed three cops on the side of the road stopping speeders. We quickly had heart attacks thinking how we'd have to explain the gun in my lap...
Annie Oakley ain't got nothin' on this cowgirl! This week I did something I've always wanted to do - go to a shooting range. I've never shot a gun, but I've always been curious about what it'd be like. So I asked my dad to take me to a shooting range. I was excited, anxious, nervous, maybe even a little scared. I mean, what if I was "that girl" that accidentally dropped the gun and shot some guy's toe off? It could happen.
Unsure if we would be greeted by Tony Soprano or John Wayne, I was surprised to see we were greeted by both! The first guy that helped me was a true cowboy. He had Skoal in his lip and every 10 seconds he'd lean over and spit into a bucket on the floor. Neat. He had two guns on his belt and a camouflage ball cap. Yee Haw. The second guy that helped me was named Guido. I swear. He was about 12 feet tall, had a pony tail and sideburns three inches thick. But don't be mistaken, his rose colored glasses made him a true bad ass. He too had 2 guns on his belt and enough ammo around his waist to fight a war. I wasn't sure if I felt safe or scared to death.
Guido and John Wayne walked me through holding a gun, loading a gun, shooting a gun and unloading a gun properly. My palms were sweaty and I had wished they had instructed me on how to not drop the gun but oh well. I put on my stylish safety goggles and ear protection and suddenly I looked like I should be landing planes. Apparently I won't be picking up today.
We were escorted into the shooting range where 3 others were shooting targets in their individual booths. I couldn't believe how loud the gun shots were, even with my landing gear earmuffs. As I stepped up to my own booth, John Wayne attached my target to the target hanger and sent it out about 15 feet. He then tried to review the steps but I couldn't hear him and before I knew it, I was up. I loaded the gun (scary), pushed the barrel into place (scarier), held it with my right hand (seriously almost dropped it), quickly added support with my left hand (now both hands are shaking like I have early stages of Parkinson's), I pointed the gun towards the target, spread my feet apart, bent my knees (my legs are jell-o by the way), leaned forward, closed my eyes and pulled the trigger! HOLY SHIT! I did it.
When I opened my eyes I immediately looked at my dad and Wayne. Wouldn't you know it my first shot hit the bulls eye. Unbelievable. It was down hill from there but boy was that fun. Before I knew it, I was twirling the gun on my finger, tossing it under my legs, shooting it behind my back, blindfolded....just kidding.
I did get a little confident after a while and that's when Guido called me over and pulled his own gun out of his holster. Oh crap. It was big. It had a barrel as big as a Chipotle burrito and the bullets were the size of baby carrots. Sweet baby Jesus I was in trouble. I smiled and said "That's ok." And he was like, "You're doing this." So me and my Parkinson hands walked up to the booth, picked up his gun and I couldn't believe how heavy it was. To add insult to injury I was like a 5th grader trying to reach the pedals of the car. My pointer finger could barely reach the trigger. I gritted my teeth, squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The kickback sent me into the middle of next week and I missed the target completely but it was a thrill of a lifetime.
As my dad I were driving home giving each other high fives, we passed three cops on the side of the road stopping speeders. We quickly had heart attacks thinking how we'd have to explain the gun in my lap...
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Week Fourteen
Event: Line Dancing at a Country Bar
This weekend a good friend of mine hosted what you might call a "Mom's Gone Wild" weekend. Her sister and 3 good friends had their annual trip to "the big city" for a weekend full of shopping, pampering and partying. While I don't meet the criteria (the whole "mom" thing), I have been an extension of the group for the last couple of years. It always proves to be a good time and this year was no exception.
We started out with surprise transportation provided by a black, stretch limo and inside the country tunes were rockin' as we slugged back Coors Light. The Moms and I kicked off the night with Mexican for dinner and that was our first mistake. On our way into the restaurant we were 7 energetic women, a few beverages in, feeling no pain. On our way out of the restaurant we acted as if we'd just entered a hot dog eating contest and won. We were full. We had fallen into a burrito/chip/queso/guacamole/why am I still eating chips-induced coma. Moms gone wild turned into moms gone mild. We were in trouble.
Attempting to rally, we drove around town before making our final descent to a place whose reputation precedes itself - Denim & Diamonds! Where 'Cowboys Lie" and the bigger the belt buckle the better. I don't think I've been to a country bar in 10 years but when I walked in, I was like a country girl in a Wrangler outlet. I was in people watching Heaven! I love how country and rock have collided. Women were in sequined tank tops but had their shit-kickers on. Guys were wearing cowboy hats, but yet had bedazzled jean pockets. I was confused, but I loved it.
As we got our beers and perched ourselves on bar stools, I learned that line dancing extends beyond Cotton Eyed Joe and the Cha Cha Slide. The seven of us looked on, astonished at how many different dances there are - and every gal in the joint knew every one! Dances called the Bombshell Stomp, the Cabo San Lucas and the Booty Call. WTF? I couldn't believe my eyes.
Thinking I could fit right in, I jumped on the dance floor and attempted to learn the moves, making more of an idiot out of myself than anything else. But, it appeared my attempt at fitting in didn't go unnoticed. At one point, a sweet, older man (borderline grandpa) came up and asked me to dance the two step. I accepted the invitation knowing THIS was a dance I could do. Little did I know, grandpa's dream was to be on Dancing with the Stars and he was going to make a partner out of me whether I liked it or not. While I started out like Bambi walking for the first time, before I knew it, I was twirling, boot-scooting, two, three and four stepping my way around the dance floor. Reba ain't got nothin' on me!
Two songs later, I thanked grandpa for the free lessons and off he went. The unfortunate part of the story is, about 30 minutes later there was a bunch of commotion near the bar. The Police were here. Then the EMT arrived. Concerned (and nosey) I walked over to see what the commotion was, only to find my sweet dance partner had collapsed and was lying on the floor. They had him hooked up to a bunch of monitors (yes, right there in the bar!) and had a wet cloth over his head and chest. He appeared to be doing ok, but I can't help but think - did he have a heart attack because I was such a terrible dancer?
I might need therapy for this one.
This weekend a good friend of mine hosted what you might call a "Mom's Gone Wild" weekend. Her sister and 3 good friends had their annual trip to "the big city" for a weekend full of shopping, pampering and partying. While I don't meet the criteria (the whole "mom" thing), I have been an extension of the group for the last couple of years. It always proves to be a good time and this year was no exception.
We started out with surprise transportation provided by a black, stretch limo and inside the country tunes were rockin' as we slugged back Coors Light. The Moms and I kicked off the night with Mexican for dinner and that was our first mistake. On our way into the restaurant we were 7 energetic women, a few beverages in, feeling no pain. On our way out of the restaurant we acted as if we'd just entered a hot dog eating contest and won. We were full. We had fallen into a burrito/chip/queso/guacamole/why am I still eating chips-induced coma. Moms gone wild turned into moms gone mild. We were in trouble.
Attempting to rally, we drove around town before making our final descent to a place whose reputation precedes itself - Denim & Diamonds! Where 'Cowboys Lie" and the bigger the belt buckle the better. I don't think I've been to a country bar in 10 years but when I walked in, I was like a country girl in a Wrangler outlet. I was in people watching Heaven! I love how country and rock have collided. Women were in sequined tank tops but had their shit-kickers on. Guys were wearing cowboy hats, but yet had bedazzled jean pockets. I was confused, but I loved it.
As we got our beers and perched ourselves on bar stools, I learned that line dancing extends beyond Cotton Eyed Joe and the Cha Cha Slide. The seven of us looked on, astonished at how many different dances there are - and every gal in the joint knew every one! Dances called the Bombshell Stomp, the Cabo San Lucas and the Booty Call. WTF? I couldn't believe my eyes.
Thinking I could fit right in, I jumped on the dance floor and attempted to learn the moves, making more of an idiot out of myself than anything else. But, it appeared my attempt at fitting in didn't go unnoticed. At one point, a sweet, older man (borderline grandpa) came up and asked me to dance the two step. I accepted the invitation knowing THIS was a dance I could do. Little did I know, grandpa's dream was to be on Dancing with the Stars and he was going to make a partner out of me whether I liked it or not. While I started out like Bambi walking for the first time, before I knew it, I was twirling, boot-scooting, two, three and four stepping my way around the dance floor. Reba ain't got nothin' on me!
Two songs later, I thanked grandpa for the free lessons and off he went. The unfortunate part of the story is, about 30 minutes later there was a bunch of commotion near the bar. The Police were here. Then the EMT arrived. Concerned (and nosey) I walked over to see what the commotion was, only to find my sweet dance partner had collapsed and was lying on the floor. They had him hooked up to a bunch of monitors (yes, right there in the bar!) and had a wet cloth over his head and chest. He appeared to be doing ok, but I can't help but think - did he have a heart attack because I was such a terrible dancer?
I might need therapy for this one.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Week Thirteen
Event: Went to church! (With a single guy from church singles group!)
If you look back to my post from Week Seven, you'll read about the time I attended a church singles group volunteer activity where I met a bunch of single, divorced dads with kids. At the time, none of that fit my "criteria" so I wrote each and every one of them off. Didn't even think twice about it. Flash forward six weeks to today, and inspired by my psychic, I did the unthinkable. I actually contacted one of the single guys from the volunteer event. His name is Sean, he has two kids and although we didn't get to talk much at the event a few weeks ago, there was something about him that intrigued me.
A few nights ago, I was on facebook and I looked him up. We exchanged instant messages for 30 minutes and during that time we made plans to meet up again at another singles volunteer event. So, on Saturday, I drove to church and met up with him and other singles for "Hey look at me I'm single and volunteering" - part two. The highlight had to have been when a fellow volunteer asked me, "So how long have you been a member of the 'Lonely Losers' club?" Seriously? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
After the event we went back to church and Sean dropped me off at my car. There, he asked me to dinner...and I asked him to church! What the....? I don't even go to church! And I asked him to go with me...on EASTER SUNDAY? I am seriously losing it.
So, Sunday morning, bright and early, dressed in my Easter bonnet and patten leather shoes (just kidding) I find myself not only going to church (I go about twice a year) but I'm meeting a single guy there, with his two kids. And let me state for the record, there's nothing worse than pretending to know what to do in church. I didn't know when to stand up, sit down, raise my arm, clap, sing out loud, sing quietly, repeat, not repeat, bow my head, say Amen, stand up, sit down, fight fight fight I was a mess! Side note: it's fun to pretend to sing along to songs in church you know you should know, but you don't. That all goes well until you sing a part that only the lead singer sings, but you sing it with pride and passion. Side note part two: They say if you sing "watermelon" during a song you don't know, it makes it look like you know the words. This is an incorrect statement.
Anyway, I make it through the sermon sweating to death, hoping he hasn't discovered that the girl he probably thinks attends church every week really only goes twice a year. As I attempt to make my escape before lighting strikes me down, he says he will call me later to schedule our dinner date.
If I'm not careful, I'm going to find myself volunteering to teach a Sunday School Class, so let's hope I can keep it together at dinner. Amen.
If you look back to my post from Week Seven, you'll read about the time I attended a church singles group volunteer activity where I met a bunch of single, divorced dads with kids. At the time, none of that fit my "criteria" so I wrote each and every one of them off. Didn't even think twice about it. Flash forward six weeks to today, and inspired by my psychic, I did the unthinkable. I actually contacted one of the single guys from the volunteer event. His name is Sean, he has two kids and although we didn't get to talk much at the event a few weeks ago, there was something about him that intrigued me.
A few nights ago, I was on facebook and I looked him up. We exchanged instant messages for 30 minutes and during that time we made plans to meet up again at another singles volunteer event. So, on Saturday, I drove to church and met up with him and other singles for "Hey look at me I'm single and volunteering" - part two. The highlight had to have been when a fellow volunteer asked me, "So how long have you been a member of the 'Lonely Losers' club?" Seriously? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
After the event we went back to church and Sean dropped me off at my car. There, he asked me to dinner...and I asked him to church! What the....? I don't even go to church! And I asked him to go with me...on EASTER SUNDAY? I am seriously losing it.
So, Sunday morning, bright and early, dressed in my Easter bonnet and patten leather shoes (just kidding) I find myself not only going to church (I go about twice a year) but I'm meeting a single guy there, with his two kids. And let me state for the record, there's nothing worse than pretending to know what to do in church. I didn't know when to stand up, sit down, raise my arm, clap, sing out loud, sing quietly, repeat, not repeat, bow my head, say Amen, stand up, sit down, fight fight fight I was a mess! Side note: it's fun to pretend to sing along to songs in church you know you should know, but you don't. That all goes well until you sing a part that only the lead singer sings, but you sing it with pride and passion. Side note part two: They say if you sing "watermelon" during a song you don't know, it makes it look like you know the words. This is an incorrect statement.
Anyway, I make it through the sermon sweating to death, hoping he hasn't discovered that the girl he probably thinks attends church every week really only goes twice a year. As I attempt to make my escape before lighting strikes me down, he says he will call me later to schedule our dinner date.
If I'm not careful, I'm going to find myself volunteering to teach a Sunday School Class, so let's hope I can keep it together at dinner. Amen.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Week Twelve
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!
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 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.
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