Saving the good underwear

Why do I, every day, say to myself when picking out my undies for the day, “You’d better save those good ones. Don’t wanna waste them on work [or fill in the blank with some other random boring or sex-less activity].”

Look, no one other than some rando in a store dressing room has seen my undies for months. But still, no matter what I do or where I’m going, I say to myself, “Gotta save the good underwear.”

The other night I went to a friend’s house to hang with some lady friends, eat mexican food, and watch the last Twilight movie (don’t judge). That’s it. I’m 100% heterosexual and these ladies are all 100% heterosexual, so there was no way that any funny business was going to happen with any of them. So as I was getting dressed, I said to myself, “Gotta save the good undies.”

THEN I said to myself, “What the fuck for?” Seriously, why did I buy these cute undies if I was never going to wear them? Well, to be fair, I went out and bought a slew of new cute undies six months ago with a specific “undie looker” in mind (there is a half-written blog entry about this particular situation, however, I’m still too mad to finish it). Obviously that didn’t work out, BUT who CARES if I’m not getting any (I’m not bitter. Motherfucker. No…I’M NOT BITTER). That doesn’t mean I have to cruise around in the goddamn cotton grandma pants. Fuck it, man. I’m no longer going to be a slave to practicality. I’m wearing the cute undies with the ruffles on the front.

Mic drop.

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My Idiot Brother-in-law

Today: Another day that I am grateful that I’m not married to some moron. Or anyone.

So I drove to Long Island (8 hours or more in the car, depending on traffic) to visit my sister for the weekend. Oh, and her family, too I suppose.  Actually, let’s be frank. I really came so that we (the sister & I) could go see a friend do one of his final performances in a Broadway show before it closes.

Of course when I got here, my sister was wandering around doing chores (like prepping tomorrow’s breakfast, cleaning up the kitchen, etc) while my brother-in-law sat around like a lump, fucking around on his computer. She explains that she did not have time to clean the bathroom and apologized if it smelled like pee, which it always does now because she has two boys living with her. Apparently neither the 4 year old NOR the 36 year old can effectively aim accurately into the toilet every time. Since I ordered her husband to stop sitting around like dead weight the LAST time I was here, I decided to just tell her it’s no big deal and I’ll just make sure not to go in there barefoot.

Cut to two or so hours later. Four year old was in bed, 36 year old was in bed, my sister was falling asleep on the couch…so I headed to the guest room to go to bed, which bro-ski got ready for me earlier in the evening.

In the bed: A small, plush white tiger. A paperclip.

Not in the bed: A top sheet.

Oh, Bro-ski! What to do with you?

Posted in Lovin' Single Life | 1 Comment

Texting, Facebook, Twitter and dating do not mix.

Hey Facebook. Yes, sure I’d like to send a friend request to that guy I went out with once four years ago who told me he’d love to hang out again then blew me off after I texted him. Thanks for suggesting it. Sounds awesome! Hey…how did you know that happened, anyway? We do not have one mutual Facebook friend. Not one! You are a scary stalker, Facebook. Stop peeping in on my [bad] dates.

I fully believe that modern technology has ruined courtship and dating. I know…courtship? How Old Timey of me! But seriously…when did text messaging become an acceptable form of asking someone out, especially on a first date? I know I’m going to sound like my grandma here for a minute, but there IS something special about the olden days…days where people actually took some time out of their day to make sure a person of interest knew that they WERE an interest and not just a distraction to make the day go by faster by sending rapid fire 160-characters-or-less messages back and forth.

There is something charming about the getting-to-know you process when it takes place through real back and forth voice conversation and not just over various chat/email/phone/font types where you can take as long as you want to craft the perfect witty response. How many times have you sent a message to someone (text, email, whatever) only to wait and wait and wait and not get a response until hours later…or not get a response at all. We all know we are all attached to our phones in this day and age, so at that point, either the person is playing the “I can’t respond too soon!” game (which is fucking stupid, by the way…if you want to respond go ahead and RESPOND – it’s OK to let a person know you like them for fuck’s sake) or they are spending waaaaaay too much time thinking about the perfect thing to say back. OR they can’t be bothered enough to respond right away. Eek. 

I think that we sometimes let ourselves forget that there is a real person on the other side of that electronic wall. It’s easier to not commit or open up too much when you can’t hear the inflection of a person’s voice or when all you see is Helvetica or Tahoma (or if you’re really out of it, Comic Sans) and not a face.

So basically what I’m saying, dearest four readers, is that the next time you are interested in someone romantically, show them you are interested by speaking to them rather than typing to them on your virtual (or physical) keyboard. Go back about 20 years and do it the old fashioned way. Meet up for coffee. Talk on the phone. Hang out together. How about an actual laugh and not an LOL?

Real people. Real feelings. Goddamn, how I miss thee.

Posted in Dating sucks, Dating then and now, I'm old. | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Let there be m-f’ing light

Oddly, the nice weather today gave me a weird burst of energy, so I was outside trying to clean all of the dead leaves out of my flower bed when something awesome happened. The UPS truck came and brought me a package from Target! I ordered a floor lamp on payday and was super excited for it to get here! Yes, I am THAT lame that this is the highlight of my week. SO Project Lamp Assembly took precedence over gross dirty leaves. 

Yes! An excuse to stop touching dirt!

If there is ever any doubt at what an idiot I am at doing things on my own, this is all the proof you need.

I began taking the lamp out of the box. Of course I was too lazy to go find regular scissors to cut through all the packaging – why should I go roaming around the house trying to find regular size scissors when there is a manicure set right next to me? So, there I was, hacking away at packing tape and plastic and styrofoam packing materials with a tiny cuticle scissor. Once I freed all of the contents, I read and followed the instructions which were basically “Screw pole A into base. Screw pole B into pole A. Screw pole C into pole B.” You get the picture, right? So I’m screwing poles and screwing poles, working from bottom to top like the directions said, just pulling the cord through as I assembled because it didn’t want to seem to want to be jammed into the holes as I was going. About the time I got to “screw pole C into pole D,” I realized there was a problem. I had a ton of cord leftover and still had to screw the damn socket onto pole D! And that cord did NOT want to be fed through those poles! Gah!

Look at all that damn cord!!

I kept trying to jam all that damn excess cord into the pole…I was bending it, smooshing it, crimping it…knowing full well that there was some smart person’s solution that I was missing. Also, I am an idiot, but I’m not a TOTAL idiot, so I knew that one shouldn’t really bend and crimp cords too much (my step-dad is an electrician…so I feel like I’m kind of an expert on such things). This resulted in me having to unscrew and screw the poles a million times, jamming and shoving the cord down the all holes with a probe-type object (another piece of the lamp, actually), all the while, the cat is staring at me like I’m a complete moron. I’m pretty sure she thought she could’ve done this faster. But I finally got all the cord in there, even though I felt a little bit uneasy about all the jamming and bending of the cord, and went to plug it in to test it out.

Looking at the length of the cord to plug the lamp in, I said to the cat, “Jesus Christ…the cord to plug this bad boy in is so short! Why the heck didn’t they give me more of that instead of giving me all that cord to jam into the inside? Do they think everyone lives in a brand new house that has outlets every-damn-where?” My house is almost 90 years old, so some rooms only have one or two outlets.

She stared at me blankly. I stared at her blankly. Then it dawned on me. Holy shit. THAT IS ALL THE SAME CORD! I should’ve just pulled all that extra cord through the BOTTOM of the lamp! So there I went…unscrewing and screwing again, pulling the cord through toward the bottom of the lamp instead of toward the top like I had done before.  Shouldn’t THAT have been in the instructions?

And now, behold. There is light. And it is glorious.

I love lamp.

P.S. Look! I learned how to use PHOTOS! I’m so techno savvy now!

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The Museum Date

So, all three of you who read this blog have probably been on the edge of your seats for the last few weeks waiting to see what happened on that date I had. Well. Unfortunately, I haven’t been slacking in updating you b/c I’ve been having regular, crazy sex with date guy (We’ll call this one MetalHead, or MH for short)…it’s just because I’ve been slacking in updating you.

It always amazes me how cripplingly awkward I am when it comes to dating. I can never get it right.

As you know, I went out on a date a few weeks ago with some guy that messaged me on an internet dating site. The guy, MetalHead, while VERY nice, was exactly the same kind of guy that ALWAYS is attracted to me: a little geeky, [too] scruffy, loves D&D shit and is awkward around chicks. MH actually had a really cool idea for a date – we went to a museum. Points for thinking outside the “hey let’s get dinner” box. Points also for being super nice. And yes, it was a little awkward at times (as first dates often are) and we didn’t talk about a whole lot except the things we were looking at, but there was pleasant banter. Enough so that I decided that if he were to call and ask me out again, I would go, even though he is really not my type and all I could think about was trying to think of ways to get him to cut his hair. So this all sounds ok, right? Eh.

At the end of our museum tour, there was a whole lot of awkward standing around. Now, we were chatting a little, too…but I couldn’t tell if he was trying to get rid of me, or trying to figure out how to get me to continue on with the evening somewhere else. We just stood awkwardly. And then put on our coats awkwardly. And then walked to the parking lot awkwardly where we again stood awkwardly talking about our cars. So he said something like, “So I guess I’ll talk to you later……?” And I said something like, “Yes! For sure – this was fun!” And then another awkward moment. And then he came in for a hug which took me by surprise because it was…you guessed it…awkward. So I said something really ridiculous like, “Oh! Are we hugging…?” ACK! What I meant to say was, “Oh! Are we hugging friends now?” Because that’s a term that my friends and I use for when you cross over into “hugging friends” territory – you know, when you hug hello and goodbye. Anyway, I meant to say that and I thought it was something cute to say, but then halfway through I realized that he would have no clue what that meant, so I stopped talking and then THAT came out. And we hugged. But then I felt totally stupid! Because he was probably like, “Oh. She doesn’t WANT to hug.” Not true! Hugs are ok! I like hugs!

SO I obsessed about that stupid thing I said for a while. Like, all night.  And then partially through the next day. I asked some dudes for advice and the general consensus was I shouldn’t mention the awkward comment, but I should contact MH (texting seems to be the popular choice these days even though I hate it) if I wanted to and let him know that I had a nice time. I did that.  And got a response saying he also had a nice time and he asked me what I was doing the following weekend. For once, I had NOTHING planned, so I said, “It looks pretty open, actually.  Dinner?” And then? Crickets. Seriously. Dude NEVER responded!!! Who does that? Asks if someone is free the next weekend and when they say “YES” they disappear? Weeks later, I still don’t know what happened. Does he hate dinner? Did he not get my message? Did he pass out, hit his head and get amnesia? Perplexing, yes?

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Online dating sites. F you.

Springtime has traditionally been what I so affectionately call “mating season.”  That’s when I generally get the friskiest and really feel like I should be out there and dating a lot.  I’ve really put dating on the backburner lately because, quite frankly, I’ve been down in the dumps and have felt super shitty about myself.  Anyhow, long ago in a galaxy far far away (or like, 2009 and prior) springtime would awaken my online dating site profiles…I’d update them, make sure the photos were up to date, etcetera.

I’ve let those things kind of fall to the wayside, not really looking at dudes’ profiles or udpdating things.  Oftentimes I will get email alerts that someone has “checked out” my profile or that so-and-so “wants to meet” me (which means they clicked “I want to meet her” but were too lazy to actually write a message – boo on you, buddy. You aren’t going to get laid with that kind of crap effort).  I also get alerted when I get actual messages from fellas.  Every time I get one of those alerts, I’m not gonna lie, I get a little excited. Like, maybe THIS time it’s not some total illiterate fool that just wants to ejaculate on my boobs! Not that there’s anything wrong with that…I mean, perverts need somewhere to ejaculate, I suppose…it’s just not gonna be on my boobs. At least not on the first (and, with these types, likely only) “date.”  So needless to say, I’m generally horribly disappointed when I actually log in to the site (and my visits are so few and far between that I can never remember my user id and password which means I have to go through a ton of rigamarole to get them reset and whatnot) and realize that indeed, it is an illiterate fool who just wants to ejaculate on my boobs.  I thought I’d share some of my favorite messages that have been sent to me by large, hairy, men wearing non-ironic trucker hats and nascar shirts:

Hey cutie u look yummy wanna meet up and play cum hangout?? I’d love to ravage ur every inch this morning

sexy pix

Hi. [note: Or “Hey.”  I would say 80% of the messages I receive are like this. “Hi” or “Hey” are not gonna get you anywhere, fellas….fyi]

Hi there im joe im not trying to be to forward but you are very attentive if youd like to chat sometime id live a chance to get to know you [Yes, I’m very attentive, but I don’t think that’s what you meant, Joe. ]

i really like u,i am looking for love in here,can u b my gril baby

[Same guy as above, 18 hours later.] so yoiu dont wanna talk,i thank i can handel you very well….

Unfortunately I’ve deleted a lot of messages, so these are just the most recent ones.  Oh, another one that I can’t post here because it was an IM conversation that I didn’t save:  Some guy IMed me on a dating site and after about a 5 minute conversation, asked me if I would cosign a loan for him. Yep. Then I had to argue with him for 10 minutes about why I wouldn’t cosign a loan for a total stranger who contacted me on a dating site. The weird thing is, that guy seemed pretty intelligent…I’m sure he was on there preying on the dumb, desperate girls that would actually consider that. You know, like the ones you see on Judge Judy who let their new boyfriend move in after 3 days and take out a car loan in his name because he doesn’t have any credit.

Another favorite is the dude that said no less than 3 racists things in the first 5 minutes the first time I spoke to him on the phone.

Anyhow, what brought all of this up in the fact that I have a date with a guy from an internet dating site this weekend. Has a job. Seems literate. Is it sad that at this point that those are my only criteria? Stay tuned. Maybe this one won’t suck.

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Life and Death: What’s the motherfucking point.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted and this blog was supposed to be full of fun tales of my life trying to make it as a homeowner and a monumentally single woman. But I’m sad today and this is why:

I was up north at my mom’s yesterday – we were getting ready to go to the baby shower of a girl I have known since we were babies.  And as we were getting ready to celebrate this upcoming new life, we got a call with some bad news.  I’ve been kind of numb to it, pushing my emotions down.  And now that I’m home and left alone to ponder the magnitude of what is going on, I’m not dealing with it very well. You see, my cousin just died. She had a very aggressive form of breast cancer a few years ago, but fought against all odds and came out of it cancer free. She beat it. She got new boobs. She, her husband and her four little kids could finally relax. And then they woke up yesterday, but she didn’t. And I don’t get it. I don’t understand.  And I’m sad and angry.  And left to ponder my own mortality and the mortality of every single person around me.  And wondering why anyone even bothers because what’s the goddamned point?

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