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 bikinis...in 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 28, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Week Four
Event: Took a road trip back to college
This weekend my College Alma Mater played our #1 Rival in Basketball, so 5 of us decided to live it up like we did 'back in the day' and spend the weekend cheering on our old team in our college town. We arrived in town around 2:30, starving, having skipped lunch waiting for the much anticipated "Linner" at our favorite deli. Unfortunately, it took us longer to get to the restaurant than anticipated. Apparently everyone else was doing what we wanted to do - get a cab ride from our hotel down to the bar district so we wouldn't have to mess with a car. So we decided to walk the 2 miles to the restaurant. This, of course, was only a good idea since we knew we could make pit stops to bars along the way to warm up. First stop, a super dive bar with the coldest beer I've ever had. And then came the Tequila shots. You know, Tequila is never a good idea. Ever.
So we continue along our merry way and finally make it to our "Linner" destination. It is now 4:30. Forget Linner, let's call it the early bird special. We inhale our dinner like pigs on slop, and once our sandwiches were finished, the last chip was devoured and the second order of cheese dip was gone, we sat back, took a deep breath and we were ready to hit the town. Side note: I had to unbutton my pants.
We made a couple of stops before landing at our game-watching location, throwing back a couple more brewskies and another shot that cleared my nasal cavity. Peppermint something or other. And despite being surrounded by 20-year-olds (making us feel ancient) we actually got carded...twice! (Then you see the sign on the wall that says "We will card anyone who looks 35 years or younger." Rats!)
Game time. The game was about as exciting as you can get with back and forth lead changes resulting in overtime. During these heated moments I felt it was my civic duty to make sure the crowd at the bar stayed on their toes. That's why I decided to lead the bar in cheers while standing (and sometimes falling) on my chair. I love college. Where else can you get away with jumping on your chair, leading a crowd of strangers in a cheer only to have them cheer you on to do more. I didn't let my people down. It was magical.
The game ended with a less than desirable outcome and that's when I noticed a TV news crew was firing up to interview fans. The camera guy was heading in our direction and one of my friends was asked to be interviewed. Unfortunately for him, his 4 seconds of fame quickly came to an end as he went on a tangent about the other school's fans saying "this arrogance is typical for these fans..." Sorry Jon. End scene. Fade to black. Roll credits. You're done buddy! That's when I decided to swoop in, flip my hair, tilt my head and say, "Sir, if you need a more positive quote, I'm happy to oblige." The camera man said, "Ok, let's do it." So the news reporter comes up and begins asking me questions. Let me state for the record I cannot recall what she asked me, nor can I recall what I said but let me tell you something. I might win an Emmy for my performance. Not only was I articulate (I mean, I've had like 782 beers!) but I was positive Pollyanna about school spirit, great performance despite the loss, this is a building year, yada yada yada. Whatever I said prompted her to smile and say, "This was great. It will be featured on our morning show tomorrow."
No autographs please.
The night wrapped up shortly after that, but not before a must-needed midnight stop at Pizza Hut. I mean technically we hadn't had dinner, right? Not wanting to end our amazing night at Pizza Hut, we ran across the street to one more bar. And then we decided it was time to call it a day. The wait for a cab was an hour, so we bundled up and walked back to our hotel. Did I mention it was about 2 miles away? Did I mention it was about 20 degrees outside? Huddled together, we made it. With only a slight amount of frost bite.
While getting ready to turn in for the night, I had a vision of waking up the next morning, fearing a scene from "The Hangover". Luckily, besides the tiger in the bathroom, our group suffered only a few casualties - a lost earring, a minor trip on the sidewalk, skinned hands and knees, the wonderment of where all our money went and the realization that college really was the best time ever.
This weekend my College Alma Mater played our #1 Rival in Basketball, so 5 of us decided to live it up like we did 'back in the day' and spend the weekend cheering on our old team in our college town. We arrived in town around 2:30, starving, having skipped lunch waiting for the much anticipated "Linner" at our favorite deli. Unfortunately, it took us longer to get to the restaurant than anticipated. Apparently everyone else was doing what we wanted to do - get a cab ride from our hotel down to the bar district so we wouldn't have to mess with a car. So we decided to walk the 2 miles to the restaurant. This, of course, was only a good idea since we knew we could make pit stops to bars along the way to warm up. First stop, a super dive bar with the coldest beer I've ever had. And then came the Tequila shots. You know, Tequila is never a good idea. Ever.
So we continue along our merry way and finally make it to our "Linner" destination. It is now 4:30. Forget Linner, let's call it the early bird special. We inhale our dinner like pigs on slop, and once our sandwiches were finished, the last chip was devoured and the second order of cheese dip was gone, we sat back, took a deep breath and we were ready to hit the town. Side note: I had to unbutton my pants.
We made a couple of stops before landing at our game-watching location, throwing back a couple more brewskies and another shot that cleared my nasal cavity. Peppermint something or other. And despite being surrounded by 20-year-olds (making us feel ancient) we actually got carded...twice! (Then you see the sign on the wall that says "We will card anyone who looks 35 years or younger." Rats!)
Game time. The game was about as exciting as you can get with back and forth lead changes resulting in overtime. During these heated moments I felt it was my civic duty to make sure the crowd at the bar stayed on their toes. That's why I decided to lead the bar in cheers while standing (and sometimes falling) on my chair. I love college. Where else can you get away with jumping on your chair, leading a crowd of strangers in a cheer only to have them cheer you on to do more. I didn't let my people down. It was magical.
The game ended with a less than desirable outcome and that's when I noticed a TV news crew was firing up to interview fans. The camera guy was heading in our direction and one of my friends was asked to be interviewed. Unfortunately for him, his 4 seconds of fame quickly came to an end as he went on a tangent about the other school's fans saying "this arrogance is typical for these fans..." Sorry Jon. End scene. Fade to black. Roll credits. You're done buddy! That's when I decided to swoop in, flip my hair, tilt my head and say, "Sir, if you need a more positive quote, I'm happy to oblige." The camera man said, "Ok, let's do it." So the news reporter comes up and begins asking me questions. Let me state for the record I cannot recall what she asked me, nor can I recall what I said but let me tell you something. I might win an Emmy for my performance. Not only was I articulate (I mean, I've had like 782 beers!) but I was positive Pollyanna about school spirit, great performance despite the loss, this is a building year, yada yada yada. Whatever I said prompted her to smile and say, "This was great. It will be featured on our morning show tomorrow."
No autographs please.
The night wrapped up shortly after that, but not before a must-needed midnight stop at Pizza Hut. I mean technically we hadn't had dinner, right? Not wanting to end our amazing night at Pizza Hut, we ran across the street to one more bar. And then we decided it was time to call it a day. The wait for a cab was an hour, so we bundled up and walked back to our hotel. Did I mention it was about 2 miles away? Did I mention it was about 20 degrees outside? Huddled together, we made it. With only a slight amount of frost bite.
While getting ready to turn in for the night, I had a vision of waking up the next morning, fearing a scene from "The Hangover". Luckily, besides the tiger in the bathroom, our group suffered only a few casualties - a lost earring, a minor trip on the sidewalk, skinned hands and knees, the wonderment of where all our money went and the realization that college really was the best time ever.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Week Three
Event: Got Kidnapped and rode a Mechanical Bull
This week I was told by my good friends at work to be ready Friday night at 6:30 and to not ask any questions. So, when they arrived the first thing I noticed was a wrapped present, which was handed to me when I got in the car. "Here's something for you to wear tonight" they said. Nervous, I ripped open the gift only to find they had purchased me a plum colored sweatshirt with a beautiful floral design...and a collar. "Wow" I thought. "They really shouldn't have." And that's when I noticed the added bonus - one of my talented friends had monogrammed my name on it! It was like real life Laverne & Shirley! (only waaaaay worse).
Laughing about my new gift all the way, we pulled up to the secret destination - a local Comedy Club. I've always wanted to go, but have never been. Praying this was not a practical joke and I was going to be the focus on Stacy London's 'What Not to Wear' show, I put on my new sweatshirt like a champ and we got seated. As the lights dimmed, we noticed there were about 50 guys sitting in front of us. Excited by the prospects I quickly realized two things: I was wearing an embroidered floral print sweatshirt and oops, they were like 18.
After the show, we decided to go to dinner and further humiliate myself in my new sweatshirt. Two of us treated ourselves to a half-yard of beer and for the record, I haven't had a half-yard of beer since St. Patrick's Day 1997. It wasn't a good idea then either. Upon finishing my yard, I proceeded to act out the many uses of an empty yard container. It's quite useful as a flute, the horn seen in "Ricola" commercials, a really really long breast pump, the Statue of Liberty and a marching band baton. (Did I mention I had two gin & tonics before dinner? And some wonder why I'm still single...)
After this brilliant display of maturity, we headed to another bar. We weren't sure what we were looking for, but boy did we find it. We walked into a country bar and there was the thing I have tried to avoid most of my adult life: A mechanical bull. Well butter my biscuits and call me Reba I quickly befriended the 'cowboy' in charge of the bull and pleaded with him to A) Let me ride despite my clear intoxication, and B) Turn this bull into Bambi and make me look good. He agreed to my terms and before I knew it, I was in the padded ring. Wanting to make an entrance, I thought it would be a good idea to get a running start and mount the bull in one flying leap. Enter liquid courage.
As soon as I was in position, left hand in the air, right hand firmly gripping the harness, the bull starts up and that's when it hit me. Ooooooooooooooooh Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! What am I doing? My heart is pounding out of my chest. Luckily, my Cowboy in Shining Armor kept his promise and I quickly realized the bull was moving as about as fast as those horses inside a grocery store kids pay a quarter to ride. Oh thank God. The bull finally came to a slow stop and I stepped off with my grace and dignity.
And then I tripped on the padded mat.
This week I was told by my good friends at work to be ready Friday night at 6:30 and to not ask any questions. So, when they arrived the first thing I noticed was a wrapped present, which was handed to me when I got in the car. "Here's something for you to wear tonight" they said. Nervous, I ripped open the gift only to find they had purchased me a plum colored sweatshirt with a beautiful floral design...and a collar. "Wow" I thought. "They really shouldn't have." And that's when I noticed the added bonus - one of my talented friends had monogrammed my name on it! It was like real life Laverne & Shirley! (only waaaaay worse).
Laughing about my new gift all the way, we pulled up to the secret destination - a local Comedy Club. I've always wanted to go, but have never been. Praying this was not a practical joke and I was going to be the focus on Stacy London's 'What Not to Wear' show, I put on my new sweatshirt like a champ and we got seated. As the lights dimmed, we noticed there were about 50 guys sitting in front of us. Excited by the prospects I quickly realized two things: I was wearing an embroidered floral print sweatshirt and oops, they were like 18.
After the show, we decided to go to dinner and further humiliate myself in my new sweatshirt. Two of us treated ourselves to a half-yard of beer and for the record, I haven't had a half-yard of beer since St. Patrick's Day 1997. It wasn't a good idea then either. Upon finishing my yard, I proceeded to act out the many uses of an empty yard container. It's quite useful as a flute, the horn seen in "Ricola" commercials, a really really long breast pump, the Statue of Liberty and a marching band baton. (Did I mention I had two gin & tonics before dinner? And some wonder why I'm still single...)
After this brilliant display of maturity, we headed to another bar. We weren't sure what we were looking for, but boy did we find it. We walked into a country bar and there was the thing I have tried to avoid most of my adult life: A mechanical bull. Well butter my biscuits and call me Reba I quickly befriended the 'cowboy' in charge of the bull and pleaded with him to A) Let me ride despite my clear intoxication, and B) Turn this bull into Bambi and make me look good. He agreed to my terms and before I knew it, I was in the padded ring. Wanting to make an entrance, I thought it would be a good idea to get a running start and mount the bull in one flying leap. Enter liquid courage.
As soon as I was in position, left hand in the air, right hand firmly gripping the harness, the bull starts up and that's when it hit me. Ooooooooooooooooh Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit! What am I doing? My heart is pounding out of my chest. Luckily, my Cowboy in Shining Armor kept his promise and I quickly realized the bull was moving as about as fast as those horses inside a grocery store kids pay a quarter to ride. Oh thank God. The bull finally came to a slow stop and I stepped off with my grace and dignity.
And then I tripped on the padded mat.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Week Two
Event: Went to a CD Release Party
After last week's semi-successful phone number exchange with Adam, I thought last night would likely be one of those fun nights with lots of flirting but no real connections. Because let's face it, I think I've been asked for my phone number by a guy in a bar maybe 3 times. In my entire life.
But boy was I wrong!
When we arrived at the CD Release Party I was thrilled to see the bar was packed with people our age - especially what appears to be - lots of single guys. So we find our friends, park it at a table and away we go. Throughout the show, I kept making eye contact with this guy in a ball cap. He was super cute and was playing hard to get. Or wait. Maybe he was ignoring me. Either way, I was in cougar attack mode and it didn't matter. Encouraged by my friends, I made my way over to where he was, (he was standing with another couple). Let me state for the record I suck at this part. I get nervous. I clam up. I make stupid comments all in an attempt to make conversation. I might as well snort, push my glasses over my nose held together by duct tape and walk away with toilet paper on my shoe. It's literally that bad. But at least I try.
So I make it to the bar, get a beer and sort of stand near him. I try to make a comment about the band in his general direction and he says nothing - but the girl he and his buddy are with responds and she and I have a terribly uncomfortable conversation about the band. At one point I look past her and I ask him a direct question, which he answers and finally sticks out his hand. "Hi, my name is Brad." TOUCHDOWN! But then he turns and starts talking to his buddy. Shoot. Quickly I realized I was awkwardly standing in their circle, but no one was talking to me. Brilliantly, I say, "Oh I hope you don't think I'm trying to crash your conversation, I'm just waiting for a friend." I'm an iditot! What am I doing? I then say, (as if they care) "Well, you guys have a good night" and as I turned away, I laughed at myself and...snorted. Perfect.
Thinking I'm in stealth 'playing hard to get' mode, I make it back to my table, high five the girls and we wait. Brad never comes over. But wouldn't you know it, about an hour later the married girl he was with comes up to the table and says, "Can I hang out with you guys? The boys are boring." I'm like, "What?" Interestingly, a while later here come Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Brad finally makes an attempt to talk to me and that's when the other two decide it's time to leave. They then invite me to go across town with them (uh, no) and Brad apologizes for talking so long to talk to me. He then....(drum roll) asks for my number! I'm like "where have you been all night? You blew it!" He shrugged his shoulders, we exchanged numbers and he left.
At about that time, a new threesome of guys walked up to our table and said hello. I was on a roll at this point, so I started to talk to one of them. His name is Dan, he's about my age, super cute and...oh wait...he's slurring his speech. Great. Holding onto the table for dear life, Dan tells me about how he's been laid off 4 times, lives at home with his parents, might have a drinking problem, has been a smoker since he was 12 and had a crazy night where he ended up in a Los Angeles jail. I was like, "Dan stop talking!" He then leaned over and while he was attempting to ask me to dinner, he accidentally spit out his gum...into my hair! Luckily it didn't stick, continued to fall, bounced off my knee and fell to the floor. Dan swiftly picked it up and stuck it under the table. Welcome to 4th grade Dan. Here's a napkin.
A few minutes later Rico Suave Dan spilled MY beer all over the table. A thousand napkins later, we cleaned up the mess, grabbed our purses and Dan asked for my number.
One night. Two numbers. And the odds stacked 30,000 to 1 on who will call.
After last week's semi-successful phone number exchange with Adam, I thought last night would likely be one of those fun nights with lots of flirting but no real connections. Because let's face it, I think I've been asked for my phone number by a guy in a bar maybe 3 times. In my entire life.
But boy was I wrong!
When we arrived at the CD Release Party I was thrilled to see the bar was packed with people our age - especially what appears to be - lots of single guys. So we find our friends, park it at a table and away we go. Throughout the show, I kept making eye contact with this guy in a ball cap. He was super cute and was playing hard to get. Or wait. Maybe he was ignoring me. Either way, I was in cougar attack mode and it didn't matter. Encouraged by my friends, I made my way over to where he was, (he was standing with another couple). Let me state for the record I suck at this part. I get nervous. I clam up. I make stupid comments all in an attempt to make conversation. I might as well snort, push my glasses over my nose held together by duct tape and walk away with toilet paper on my shoe. It's literally that bad. But at least I try.
So I make it to the bar, get a beer and sort of stand near him. I try to make a comment about the band in his general direction and he says nothing - but the girl he and his buddy are with responds and she and I have a terribly uncomfortable conversation about the band. At one point I look past her and I ask him a direct question, which he answers and finally sticks out his hand. "Hi, my name is Brad." TOUCHDOWN! But then he turns and starts talking to his buddy. Shoot. Quickly I realized I was awkwardly standing in their circle, but no one was talking to me. Brilliantly, I say, "Oh I hope you don't think I'm trying to crash your conversation, I'm just waiting for a friend." I'm an iditot! What am I doing? I then say, (as if they care) "Well, you guys have a good night" and as I turned away, I laughed at myself and...snorted. Perfect.
Thinking I'm in stealth 'playing hard to get' mode, I make it back to my table, high five the girls and we wait. Brad never comes over. But wouldn't you know it, about an hour later the married girl he was with comes up to the table and says, "Can I hang out with you guys? The boys are boring." I'm like, "What?" Interestingly, a while later here come Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. Brad finally makes an attempt to talk to me and that's when the other two decide it's time to leave. They then invite me to go across town with them (uh, no) and Brad apologizes for talking so long to talk to me. He then....(drum roll) asks for my number! I'm like "where have you been all night? You blew it!" He shrugged his shoulders, we exchanged numbers and he left.
At about that time, a new threesome of guys walked up to our table and said hello. I was on a roll at this point, so I started to talk to one of them. His name is Dan, he's about my age, super cute and...oh wait...he's slurring his speech. Great. Holding onto the table for dear life, Dan tells me about how he's been laid off 4 times, lives at home with his parents, might have a drinking problem, has been a smoker since he was 12 and had a crazy night where he ended up in a Los Angeles jail. I was like, "Dan stop talking!" He then leaned over and while he was attempting to ask me to dinner, he accidentally spit out his gum...into my hair! Luckily it didn't stick, continued to fall, bounced off my knee and fell to the floor. Dan swiftly picked it up and stuck it under the table. Welcome to 4th grade Dan. Here's a napkin.
A few minutes later Rico Suave Dan spilled MY beer all over the table. A thousand napkins later, we cleaned up the mess, grabbed our purses and Dan asked for my number.
One night. Two numbers. And the odds stacked 30,000 to 1 on who will call.
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