Genius Award of the Day

Yesterday, I got the genius award of the day. Why you ask? Because I am a genius!

Yesterday I had to drive to an arbitration to lay some smack down. After laying the smack down, I (unfortunately) had to go back to the office. Lucky me, the parking structure wasn't full! Hooray! So, off I pull into the parking structure and secure a spot. I turn off the car, throw my keys in my purse, open the door, and hit the automatic lock. And then I think to myself, "hmm...that's odd. I never do that. But I guess it's ok, I specifically remember putting the car keys in my purse. It would suck to lock my keys in the car, but I know I'll have my purse with me." (I'm not exaggerating, I literally thought that because I have a special paranoia about locking my keys in my car).

Anyway, I get out of the car and take out the shoes I'm going to walk to the office in. For the record, I totally deserve what I get because I was only changing shoes so that I could wear my Charles David black-patent-leather stilettos to lunch with Martamack. Anyway, as I'm changing into my tennis shoes, I hear the door slam behind me. (Insert expletive here). Then I think to myself, "maybe I left the window open." Followed by "I never leave my windows down." I walk over to the other side of the car, and of course, the window is secured and up. (Insert expletive here.)

How did I get into my car after all? Well, I am quite resourceful, that's how! And by resourceful, I mean that I called Martamack and begged him to help. Thank goodness he had his car in the city. (Sadly, he's going to hold this over my head for months, I can feel it.) And then the adventure began. I spent my lunch hour going to Kaia's new job in Wrigleyville. Then I went to Kaia's apartment to get my spare apartment keys out of her purse. (Getting a wee bit lost on the way). Then I took her apartment keys back to her at her job. Then we went to my apartment to get my spare car keys. Nearly 90 minutes later I'm back at my car, getting out my bags, leaving the shoes, and going back to the office. At this point, all I've had to eat is an apple. So I stop at CVS for a quick Lean Cuisine, and see my boss standing in line. (Blast!) So I boldly walk up to him and tell him the story; at which point he promptly calls me a knucklehead. (Good, he doesn't seem to blame me, or notice that I was gone for 90 minutes). And that's how I got the genius award of the day.

Sketchy McSketcherson

Duuuuude. I've upped the sketchy quotient a notch. Here's what happened:

So, my co-worker has a son who is pretty attractive. But he's also out of my age range, and has 2 kids, and is recently divorced. None of this really mattered though, because the odds of me ever meeting him were slim to none. So really, the only reason to ever discuss him was to laugh at his antics with his 2 girlfriends. Oh, and I told my co-worker to set me up with him so that he could take me on a cruise the way he did one of his girlfriends late last year. (The reason this was funny is because a bunch of family members went, and the girlfriend was mostly a whiny wet blanket. I told my co-worker that if they took me, I'd be loads of fun, and really wouldn't care what he did or with whom. Basically I just wanted the free trip -- you know me!)

So, all of that background for this: He stopped by the office because he was in the neighborhood. And my co-worker brought him around to meet all of us. So when they got to my office, I asked her if she'd told him about the cruise plan. She hadn't, so we told him then and there. After he walked away, I arrogantly said to myself "bet he asks her for my phone number -- or comes back and asks me." (Yeah, I can't believe my arrogance either!) But get this, later that night, I definitely got an email from him telling me to call him. (Unbelievable, right?).

I email him back, and tell him that I'll get back to him in a couple days. He slips it in the next email that he didn't tell his mom that he'd emailed me. Which honestly is fine with me because this is seriously not going anywhere. And it'd be wicked awkward to tell her I'm dating her son. (Yikes). Anyway, I never called. I figured why bother. I don't do so well with players, kids, or the older gentleman.

But here's the shocking part. He actually called me! Just the other day, which is roughly a week later. I never would have thought he'd call. I mean for one, I said I'd call him and didn't. And for two, based on what his mom says, he's quite the player. Since when do player's put forth so much effort? Anyway, he was quite bold and asked me when we were going out for lunch. I was quite sassy (because that's what players drive me to be). So now I have to be all secretive about my upcoming lunch date. (That means you too readers! Keep your collective yappers shut!)

Short story long, we're going to lunch. And I've officially raised my sketchiness quotient. Aye pheebee!

Horoscope

According to my horoscope, I'm commitment-shy. I would like to categorically disagree with this. I enjoy the idea of commitment greatly. I like the idea of having someone to spend an entire day in bed with. Of course, maybe that's just because I enjoy cuddling, and thus far have been unable to find a pet that I can cuddle with without risking asthma. Shout out to Gigi! But, what I don't particularly relish is the idea of committing myself who isn't the GREATEST. BOYFRIEND. EVER.

According to my ex, the Ninja, I want someone who's perfect. Well excuse me, it's not that he has to be perfect. He just has to be perfect for me. I'm not entirely clear on why that's too much to ask for. But that really does explain why we're soooooooooo NOT getting back together.

This does leave me to wonder where aforementioned greatest boyfriend ever might be found. I can pretty much guarantee that he's not making it very easy to find him. Hmm...maybe people (and my horoscope) think I have a commitment problem because I'm not so diligent in my search? D'ah well. Just add it to my list of things to do.

Score, Schmore

This is the gist of Brother's theory on my ACT score. The conversation went like this:

MMM: So you got a what on your ACT?
pheebee: A such and such.
MMM: And you got a full ride to law school?
pheebee: Yes.
MMM: At that pretty good law school?
pheebee: Yes.
MMM: Ok, either those scores and scholarships are not tied in the least to intelligence...OR you are the biggest. liar. EVER.

He was referring to my somewhat questionable actions when it comes to my love life (or lack thereof). I don't think it's fair to make that assumption. I mean intellect, I'm all over that...often. But, love life? PAH! I have little to no experience.

On the other hand, maybe it's just MMM being wrong as usual. Later on in the conversation, he told me I was going to be single and alone forever. Nice isn't he?

Silencing the Peanut Gallery

Yeah right. That title is really in reference to wishful thinking...sort of. I enjoy the peanut gallery. But lately, the peanut gallery has been yammering about IM Boyf. For some reason, they've knighted him the one with Potential. I have no idea why. I mean really? He lives in St. Louis and has distinctly expressed his general aversion to relationships.

And, evidently, I also have an aversion to relationships. Is it weird that I use my friends and road-dogs as one of my many many many valid reasons not to get into a serious relationship? I mean, really...I feel about 1000 times more useful as a single friend. I think it stems from the time when I was the only "singleton" around, and all of my (in-town) friends were in LTRs. I had no one to play with on the weekends. Add to that the fact that it was wintertime and it made for a lonely stretch. Grant it, I probably wasn't going out due to my general avoidance of precipitation; but I would feel extremely guilty if any one of my friends were in that position.

Now's the part where I acknowledge that not one of my friends has ever EVER laid said burden at my doorstep. And frankly, I don't think any of them would reciprocate -- nor would I ever ask them to. I mean really, what kind of selfish beast would ask that? And, if one of my friends had the audacity to ask or imply that, I'd probably tell them about themselves (and they wouldn't like it). But, at the moment, that's my current reason for avoiding relationships. And it's working quite well thank you.

Actually, it's a fall-back reason. There's always the lack-of-opportunity reason. But if you ask the SiQ (which, no one did), she would say that the reason I have no opportunities is because I turn them all away due to aforementioned reason. But really? Even if she (or any other member of the peanut gallery) destroys that reason, I've got a million others. So bring it on ditches!

Playette's Handbook

In an effort to distract myself from Gigi, and because my dating habits are cyclical, I have been out a few times in the past few weeks. Four times in the past 2 weeks to be exact. First, there was IM Boyf for the Jill Scott concert in St. Louis. If I may? Wow. I was thoroughly and completely impressed. From the sports car to the decent seats, to having to pay for nothing but my train ride down, Mr. IM Boyf pulled out all the stops. And he framed it so that I was completely off-guard -- I thought I was a back-up date.

Second, I had tix to the John Legend Concert. It was by invitation or win only. I originally invited the Ninja, in an attempt to give him a 2nd chance. But, as per usual, he flaked. This time, he even waited until the last minute. So, I spent the next 2 hours finding someone else to go with. I called Snowflake and TinyTot. Both were available. So, I had to blow off TinyTot, and pacify him with a Friday date...and take Snowflake because I asked him first. That, and John Legend is a little deep for a first date. Anyway, Snowflake not only showed up, but also was quite a date. All in all, I'd say it was an excellent date.

The next day was Friday. I planned to meet TinyTot for First Fridays at the Museum of Contemporary Art. But, before I could go, the Danka guy asked if I wanted to grab a drink. My answer, of course, was heck yeah. Unfortunately, the Danka guy bought be two beverages prior to meeting with TinyTot; so I had to play sober with TinyTot. The Danka guy is over a decade older than me, so it wasn't a real date. TinyTot was. And I'd say the first date with TinyTot was quite good.

So, do any of these have potential? I have no idea. I'm not ready to place any bets yet. As long as I'm in the middle of the cycle, I may as well enjoy it and go with the flow. If for no other reason than the story...and we all know I'm always in it for the story. :)

Missing Her...

I never thought I'd get teary-eyed over an animal. I never thought I'd miss a kitty after only 2 weeks. But alas, here we are. Gigi cat is going back to the shelter tomorrow...and I feel awful. I feel awful because I'm sending her back to the shelter and I know she hates it. I feel awful because she was just getting used to being here. And I feel awful because I failed as a pet parent. But when it came to choosing between gambling with my health, I decided to send her back. Basically, the doctor told me that the throat-tightening could potentially go away in a few months. He also said that I could potentially develop asthma. Basically, I decided that I'd better not take that chance. If I waited a few months, only to become more attached, and then have to take her back, I'd die of a broken heart rather than asthma. So, I'll miss her...but maybe I can try again someday when I have a bigger place...with doors. :(

Magic Act

Well, Gigi is the name that won, of course. It was destiny, it goes well with "the Magician". How did she earn that name, you ask? Well, Gigi managed to find the one teeny tiny 4" by 4" hole that leads to the dark morass under my counter. A spacious hiding spot that no human hand can get to, short of moving the stove out of the kitchen. She found it and stayed there for about20 hours.

For the first few hours (this was Friday), I just assumed she was in there, since there really isn't any other place for her to hid in my open floor plan apartment. So, I went out with Kaia, Lalo, and IM Boyf. When I came home, nothing. She, evidently, hadn't moved. During the night, around 2am, I heard "meow, meow." And that was it. I suppose she was just making the announcement that she was still around. The next morning, I still didn't see nary a hair of her head. I started to get concerned that I'd actually lost my new friend in less than 24 hours. Until I looked down next to the stove, and she looked back at me like "Dude, What?". So I roll my eyes and leave her be.

For the next several hours, I called the shelter and tried all of their suggestions to get her out. She meowed twice, but was having none of this coming out business. It wasn't until later that night that she came out. First, she stuck her head out. When I got to close, she went back in. so I walked away, and out she comes. She explores a little bit, and then takes up residence under the coffee table. Well, I decide to go out with the same suspects from the night before, now that I know she's safe, and so she'll have some quiet time. (I got to see my former neighbor and standby boyf, Adam!)

When I got back, she'd used the litterbox (and the area in front of it, but she scooped out litter to cover up what didn't make it in the box). But she still hadn't eaten. Not long after I got home, she shot up the stairs and hid under my bed. Where she stayed until late Sunday. I was all kinds of worried because she still hadn't come out from under the bed or eaten by the time I left Sunday afternoon. Well, when I came back Sunday evening, I went upstairs to try to coax her out for the last time. Guess who wasn't there? That's right, Gigi. She started meowing from under the coffee table, and then ate heartily. Oy. Gigi the Magician indeed.

Why I've been silent...

Ladies and Gentlemen...may I introduce the reason why I've been remiss in my posting...

Introducing Gigi! (AKA Gigi the Magician, Wonder Kitty....stories on that to follow)

Winter blues

So, today, I come home from work. And I see a bright orange glow. I'm totally panicking -- what could be on fire. Oh my goodness! Did someone break in? Did I leave some electrical appliance on?! WHAT HAPPENED?!?!

...

As it turns out, nothing happened. I just saw the setting sun, shining in my window. THAT's how long it's been since I saw the sun.

Cheap Shots

Here's what I don't understand. Why are people (aka self-righteous - extremist - conservatives) throwing around Barack Obama's middle name? (It's Hussein if you didn't already know). I mean really, to be eligible for the presidency, you must be at least 35 years old. Which, would mean, Mr. Obama would've been born at least 33 years prior to middle America hating Saddam not-related-to-Obama Hussein. Therefore, are you implying that all of middle America is too stupid to realize that Hussein is a common name in more than one country? OR are you implying that every person with the same name is of the same caliber of person, same religion, same personality, etc.? If the latter is the case, then I feel sorry for all of y'all named John (John Wayne Gacy), Charles (Charles Manson), Aileen (Aileen Wuornos)....well you get the idea.

New Rant

Ok. I have had ENOUGH. I am tired of television putting pressure on women to have perfect, fabulous bodies (AKA bodies like mine - HA). But I am more tired of television not putting the same pressure on men. Because frankly, women are just as shallow as men. So QUIT putting fat men with pretty women on sitcoms.

Examples: According to Jim, King of Queens, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and the like.

I mean really. This is a terrible idea. Shows like these make men believe they have the right to hit on anyone, and women start ranking themselves and believing some men are unattainable. This is completely unacceptable. And I, for one, am not going to take it anymore! From now on, I vow to only watch shows with hot guys.

And while I'm on the subject of television, did anyone watch that new show Quarterlife? It aired for the first time last night on NBC. Thank you, NBC, for a show about a bunch of fake-plain white people. What do I mean by that, you ask? Well, let me explain. First of all, the take teeny tiny women, and put glasses or plain clothes on them, and make them play average characters. (I take offense to the glasses part -- and the clothes part, because I don't watch you to see you in a dirty t-shirt). And THEN, they add a cast of plain looking hippy dippy white guys. And, then on top of all of that, I am totally sick of the homogeneity of winter in the Chi. All of that adds up to a show that is a total disdain on my part. (That, and the plot wasn't really all that impressive).

Snugglies, or, The Importance of a Good Bathrobe

For the past few weeks, I have been living in a new set of playclothes. Enter the fabulous rubber duckie sweatpants and extra-snuggly bathrobe. I'm in heaven. You know that song that says "the weather outside is frightful...". Well, the weather outside is frightful -- but I couldn't care less! I can't remember the last time I went out. Usually, I'd be sad about this. But, thanks to the snuggly rubber duckie pajamas, and my extra comfy bathrobe, I am just ecstatic at the promise of lounging on my chaise. So, what we've learned is that staying in is an excellent past-time, as long as there are sweats and a bathrobe. (A t.v. and a nice warm fleece blanket help too!).

On a sidenote, currently the names Jack & Kate are winning. But I haven't sent out the survey link as an email yet. :)

Signs you may be Boy Crazy...

So, there I was, reading the headlines on AOL. And I see a headline that says "Athlete Cut All Over Body." And I think: "oooh! I wonder if there are pictures?!"

...

Then I continue reading, and it says "Player falls through plate glass."

Yikes. Think it's time to find a new crush, maybe??? Hello, my name is pheebee, and I'm boy-crazy.

There's nothing wrong with a little OCD

In an effort to keep my current obsession fresh, I've created a survey. (How awesome is being able to create a web-based survey anyway?! So, feel free to vote at will!

Click Here to take survey

Fashion Mini-Update

So, I have an update for the ladies out there. I've noticed a few things that have come up for spring. First, that awesome safari dress that I bought a couple years ago is going to fit right in this spring. The safari look is back. I've noticed quite a few patch pockets, khaki colors, and safari dresses making a comeback. I've also seen some new twists, such as suits with the patch pockets in the safari-khaki color (ATL), as well as rompers. I'm not sure about the romper look, as I've only seen it on tv models, so tbd on whether that will work for everyone.

Also, for casual-wear, evidently we're also looking to Africa for patterns, colors, and trims. Casual shirts are beaded, or have earthy patterns, or are in earthy colors.

On the flip side, the feminine look is back in. Good news for the boys! We're showing more of our feminine wiles next season. So, more frills, more skirts, and more frocks. Also, there are going to be a lot more fluttery materials. Jury's still out on this -- too many ruffles can go very very wrong. But, I'm pretty amped about the peasant-girl potential (just think how much more comfortable that would be!).

Once again, it looks like fashion really is for the masses these days. Offering complimentary, but different ends of the spectrum at the same time. Nice work fashion gods!

Time flies

So, I just discovered that I am woefully behind on the blogging. But really it's because not much has happened recently. Lately, I've been having a crisis a day, but nothing worth writing because they are neither big nor hilarious. But here's a quick rundown anyway:

1. My parents are driving me nuts. Seriously up the wall, climb a bell tower, and start shooting crazy. I will officially go on record and say that for the first time EVER, I wish I wasn't an only child. Arrgh!

2. I'm still waiting for the kitty-fund to grow enough that I can afford cat-man-doo. (No, I won't really name him/her that. Yeesh! Have some faith!)

3. If I don't get an interview for a new job soon, I may get back up on the bell tower. Just sayin'.

4. I keep waffling on whether or not I should take on the debt of a mortgage in LP. I mean, I know I can't really afford what I want...but is it better to pay rent for another 3 years (to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars making a swoosh! sound as they get flushed?)? Or, is it better to buy something less than what I want, take the tax write-off, and sell in 5 years? I have no idea. But I know that my current salary puts me below the lines needed to get special lower middle class loans.

So those are my crises. Not major right? Yeah, I know. I tried to warn you. But nooooo you refused to listen. so you get a post full of non-exciting chatter. :}

I beg to differ

So there I was, reading the RedEye, when I cam across a rather absurd article. It was actually a book review, so the article wasn't absurd so much as the book is absurd. Anyway, the name of the book is "Rules of the Game."

The premise sounds logical enough. This guy has deemed himself a pickup artist, and has decided to share this knowledge with hapless guys out there who are not smooth-as-buttah. Ok, fine. I can handle that. The Game doesn't come naturally to everyone. And it takes a helluva lot of guts to walk up to a girl and pull a connection/relationship out of thin air. I am totally on board with that notion.

However, I'd like to see some proof of this guy's player card. Frankly, I question his ability to pick up a woman based on a few of the tips the RedEye pulled out to share with its readership. The first tip: Read Cosmo. His reasoning is sound -- it's hot to men when women can speak intelligently and enthusiastically about sports. Therefore it should be hot when men speak intelligently and enthusiastically about things women care about. But Cosmo?! Some titles from Cosmo: "How to make him hot". "Best sex position EVER." "How to have an orgasm right now!"...Are these really appropriate first met topics? And are you really proving you're interested in things the object of your desire is interested in? No. You're not.

Another tip: Do magic tricks. I'm NOT making this up. This man seriously suggests doing a magic trick in the bar, because "if you're bored in a bar, then you'd rather be entertained by someone." Perhaps this is true. But I will find you nothing but cheesy and lame if you're doing magic tricks in the bar. At that point, the only magic I want to see is you disappearing. I'm just saying.

I can't tell you how to get your mack on if you don't have the confidence to do it. But I can definitely tell you that I will not be duly impressed by your knowledge of Cosmo, or your magical ability. Honestly, can't you just say hello?

New Year, New Companion?

So, about a week ago, I told my friend Kdub that I thought I was ready for a boyfriend. I specifically, categorically, absolutely was NOT ready for a boyfriend when I first got here. I mean, new city, new job, new apartment...oy! The last thing I needed on top of all that was a relationship. Especially since I didn't yet have a real circle of friends.

Well, now I have that new circle of friends. And the city, job, and apartment are really old hat at this point. (Although, with any luck -- and by luck I mean a little (tons) of help from the Man Upstairs-- I'll have a NEW job soon.) So, I think I'm finally ready to turn my full attention to a relationship. Which is what I told Kdub. Her answer, of course, was "whose the guy?" Well now, how should I know? I haven't found him yet.

I had high hopes for the boxer -- he was probably one of the most attractive guys I've ever dated. But he didn't turn out to be the one. He was too frickin' needy. And, I'm still not convinced that he was after any more than gettin' laid. And, of course, Snowflake was so, well, flaky. As a side note, the Ninja recently made an offer, and as nice as it was -- I'm not convinced it's the right choice to make. So, the moral of the story, no firm prospects at the moment.

In related news, around this time last year, I was obsessing over getting a pet bunny. (Awwwww). Of course, I essentially dropped the idea due to finances and the fact that bunnies, though cute, don't really trip my trigger as a pet. But I never really got over wanting a pet. For exactly 5 minutes, I considered getting a dog. Of course, we all know that I wasn't going to walk a dog and pick up its poo. Furthermore, I've always been a cat person. So, now I've decided to make an attempt at getting a cat. AND I'm even taking steps to make it happen. I've actually made an appointment with my doctor to have allergy testing. I know I'm allergic to cats, but the real questions are (a) how allergic, and (b) what exactly am I allergic to (hair/dander/Feld-1).

So, basically, I've decided it's time for a new companion. Either a boyfriend, or a cat, or both. I've always said if I wanted something around that I had to feed and pet all the time, I'd get a boyfriend rather than a dog. I guess we'll find out if that's true after all :).

I'm Agile, Like a Mongoose

That's a quote from NBC's salute to the 90s, "American Gladiator". Of all the reality/game shows, this is quickly becoming my favorite. I love LOVE LOVE this show. God Bless NBC for bringing it back.

In completely unrelated news, I recently received "The Play of the Week" award from the playette's association. I didn't really set out to get it. The opportunity just fell in my lap. But as Bud once said on The Cosby Show "When opportunity knocks, open the door." Here's what happened:

So, there I was, realizing that the date with the Drank Realtor was not going to go well. Essentially, the Drank Realtor earned his name because he asked me if I wanted to "grab a drank." And then he said it 2 more times. And then I called him out for citing to a T-Pain song. To which he responded "I know a stripper who's also a bartender who can make a mean drank." *Sigh*. it was at that point I realized that I needed a rescue from this date. Unfortunately, neither MMM nor Kaia were answering their phones. So what did I do? I called Snowflake! Not only did he answer, but also agreed to go to dinner AND pick me up from the ridiculous date with Drank Realtor. That's right. My second date picked me up from my first one. I am SO awesome.

Anyway, for multiple reasons (too old, too ridiculous, he quoted TPain songs when asking me out), the Drank Realtor has no shot of a second date. Interestingly, Snowflake and I did not share a goodnight kiss. This was our 4th or 5th date. At this point, I'm pretty sure that he doesn't want a romantic relationship either. Although, I'm not entirely certain why he keeps paying. But whatever.

So, I almost outdid myself, because I scheduled a date with the boxer for the next night. Unfortunately, he had to work. And then, for what would've been the post-date activity, he picked a fight and therefore didn't come. (Don't even get me started on the content of that fight. Suffice it to say that he was ticked because I wouldn't pick him up). By the way, I am once again declaring my done-ness with the boxer, and I will NOT get distracted by those abs. (Moment of silence for the hotness). I'm serious! For real this time. I am done. Like Nextel. Done. |

Did I mention that I saw the Ninja over NYE? ;)

Age ain't nothin' but a number

So, MMM was being his usual smug married self, and explaining his theory on aging to Kaia and I. In short, his position is your life is over at 25. After that, you start working, paying rent, having real responsibilities...etc.

Well, with all due respect (however little that is), Kaia and I whole-heartedly disagree. To Kaia, 25 is when you first start gaining a sense of self. To me, numerical age isn't what makes you old...it's what you do and when. Allow me to explain.

At 25, martamack became married martamack. At 29 (give or take a year -- I wasn't really listening) married martamack became Al Bundy (that is, married with child(ren)). Well, this, my friends, is what makes you old. Marriage is the end of your single social life (which is vastly different from a couple-d social life). In fact, I'd even go so far as to say an engagement and/or giving away your milk (you know, euphemistically living together) is the end of your single social life. It's the end of great stories like Snowflake, and Drunk Natalie, ooh! and remember the guy that was gay but didn't know it? and other such entertaining nonsense that goes on. It's probably the end of meeting new and interesting people. (Unless, of course, you go about meeting couples). And then kids. Well, that's the end of a social life altogether. Have you ever seen someone with children stay out past midnight or so? Because I haven't.

So, I'll thank you not to call me old. I still have my single social life perfectly intact. I don't have anyone that I have to check in with, and make sure I go to the A-bar with my road dogs. And for that matter, I still have road dogs. So yes, while being single can be stressful at times (i.e. when I need a date for the wedding, when the guy you're dating is being a total girl and giving you the silent treatment (ahem, that means you boxer!!!), and when you're in the mood to go to a romantic restaurant but can't find anyone to go, the list goes on); it's the life I'm into right now. And really? It's keeping me young. (Of course, at some point I will be too old for such nonsense. Now is so very not that time).

There's a reason why the saying is "young and carefree" and NOT "old and carefree". There's also a reason why people keep calling ages the "new" decade. (50 is the new 30, 40 is the new 30, 30 is the new 20). Because people are feeling younger later in life -- which happens to coincide nicely with people waiting until later in life to get shackled...er....married and have babies.

Eat your heart out...I'm still young!!! ;)

Secret Agent (Wo)Man...

As it turns out, I did not get to flex my double agent muscles this weekend. But it was a heck of a lot of fun leading up to it. Here's what happened:

So, as many of you know, I am/was embroiled in a disagreement/reverse/island-kicking-offing moment with the boxer. I am also in the process of platonic/romantic/platonic-again relationship defining moment with bottle-service guy (who will be henceforth known as Snowflake). Well, this weekend, I attempted to elevate my level of pimp-tress and scheduled dates with both of them on Friday. (Yes, yes I really did attempt it).

First, the boxer and I re-established communication on Thursday. In an effort to make myself more available, and less neurotic, I suggested we get together after he left work on Thursday. I was even going to drive to meet him. (I know, I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, alright?). But, because I am an early to bed kinda girl, it didn't work out. As an alternative, he invited me to meet him out with his friends on Friday. So I agreed...and then I enlisted Kaia to go with me, so she could also take advantage of the boxer's potentially cute friends.

A couple hours later, I receive a text message from Snowflake, letting me know he had dinner plans in my approximate side of town, and wanted to know if I wanted to meet up afterwards. Well, I texted back that I already had plans, but if he got out of dinner early enough, I could probably do both. Naturally, I only told him the part of the plan where I was meeting up with Kaia (I left out the part where Kaia and I were going to meet up with the boxer and his friends).

Well, as per usual, Snowflake flaked out. (Hence the new name). I was kinda sad about that, because I couldn't be a double-agent as previously planned. However, I still had the pseudodate with the boxer. (HA! Remember pseudodate? I wonder whatever happened to him?) Anyway, that also failed to happen! Now, the boxer has never failed to follow through. He's given me the silent treatment, and other childish things, but never flat-out flaked. This time, though, I called him and asked where he would be. He said Leona's for dinner, and then out to Wrigley. I told him I would text him when we were on our way. Well, I never found out where in Wrigley they were. He never texted, and never called.

Of course, I got really annoyed as the night went on. But my irritation was tempered by the fact that Kaia and I ended up at the bar where Afroguy works, and he was there! Hooray flirting with increasingly-adorable-with-alcohol Afroguy! He totally recognized me, which was surprising. He asked Kaia and I to stick around and party at the A-bar when he got off work, but honestly, we weren't that down.

Anyway, the boxer and I exchanged text messages the next day. He alleges that he told me 50 times which bar they were at. I potentially didn't get the texts, because the very same night, Snowflake claimed to have sent me 4 texts, but I only got 1. So now, the boxer and I are embroiled in another disagreement, but I have no idea what to do about this one. Do I bother making an effort (if for no other reason than to have the last word), or do I just cut my losses because it will probably always be difficult putting up with this dude's ego? Knowing me and my track record, I will probably end up calling or texting again, just because I have to have the last word. If I'm going out, I'm going out making sure he knows exactly how right I am. (Such is my fatal flaw ;}).

The Reverse

I am a HUGE sucker for the reverse. As you all know, I have had island security escort the boxer to the dock. As you also know, I suck at the clean break, and therefore there was probably going to be a reversal of my decision. But, this did not occur.

Instead, the boxer pulled the reverse on me. You know this move. First, you are sooooooo bitter and angry and ticked and such. Then, you express that bitterness in one way shape or form. So then, the person who is the object of your anger does not respond properly with remorse and or apologies. And then, this is the killer move. Then they, as if by magic, are angry at and or ignoring you! Sometimes you don't even know why. So now, you're all kinds of distressed and wanting to know what you did. And boom! Thus shifted the power in the relationship. You have totally lost the game of chicken you were previously winning.

As always, I totally fell for this move. And the boxer is currently winning the game of chicken by a full touchdown. I am dying to know the meaning of his last text message. And he blew off my last phone call; and so I still don't have an explanation. Arrrgh! I hate the reverse. Someday I'm going to find the anecdote for it... :). Until then, I have no clue what I'm gonna do. Do I call again? Do I text again? Do I cut my losses and wave goodbye to the boat?

Oops I did it again...

I have a shopping problem. This is not new to anyone who has known me for more than 6 minutes. But, the holidays are a time for me to use my powers for good rather than evil. So I can spend hours upon hours in a mall shopping for the perfect gift. A gift I've always enjoyed giving. But, the holidays are also a time when evil retail empires mark things down to ridiculously low, can't beat it, must have it prices. So, I always find something I must purchase for myself, and I can't just ask for it for Christmas because I already turned in my list and I have no one on my roster who has that kind of cash to drop on a present for me. So, I resisted this weekend, but I very nearly purchased a fabulous top for myself this weekend. And I totally would've bought it. But they were out of my size. Phew! Close call. I can't promise that I won't be tempted again. But I'm going to try really hard to avoid it by not going to the stores. Unless it's really really necessary. ;)

/\ /\

Today, I saw the weirdest looking makeup job ever. I've never really understood why some women shave off their eyebrows and then repaint them with an eyebrow pencil. Well today, I stand completely confused. This chick on the eL had not only shaved off her eyebrows, but she also drew some on in a color that was more charcoal than black. And, they had a little bit of a stretched-out-upside-down "V" vibe to them. And then, on top of that, she drew them all the way into her nose area. It was so freaky! Man, people are so weird.

Nextel. Done.|

The boxer is so very off the island. Not officially. Officially, he is standing on the local dock, awaiting his transportation. Why? Because he PISSED. ME. OFF. Here's what happened:

Yesterday, we had our third date. We hung out at my house and watched (yes, actually watched!) a movie. When he first got there, he told me he didn't think we were spending enough time together, in order to get to know each other. I told him this was the most time I'd ever spent with anyone I was dating (for the most part), since usually I was dating someone who lived in a different city than myself. Anyway, I found this all incredibly adorable.

So today, in an effort to offer him more of my time as requested, I txt'ed him to ask him if he wanted to go to dinner tomorrow. His response is "Are you cooking?". In my head, I'm thinking "Are you effen kidding?" What I say instead is, no, but how about coffee. So he says, and I quote, "Lol. No, dinner is fine. I don't drink coffee nor am i a baller sweety. [sic]" Well, excuuuuuuuuuuuuse me. First of all, we split the bill on our first date. Second of all, I offered to split on our second date. And third of all, I bought his @#$*%! dinner last night. So, thankyouverymuch, suck it up and pay for dinner tomorrow. Moreover, what kind of place do you think I would want to go to? Fogo de Chao? Anyway, I'll be d***ed if we fall into the habit of all our dates being "hanging out" at my place. This is the early stages, and YOU should still be courting. Anyway, all of that wouldn't fit in a text, so I said, "what kind of golddigger do you think I am? I just wanted to go out rather than stay in."

And you know what? The more I thought about it, the more ticked off I was. So, in an effort to not cuss him out, I opted to cancel our date for tomorrow. Far be it from me to spend someone else's money. Frickin' A. He was doing so well too. At any rate, I just have to figure out a way to get him off the island, and by that, I mean how to push him off. As we all know, I'm not so good at the clean break, and I'm easily talked into giving extra chances (See, the young'n, the ninja, the engineer, the bottle service guy). *Sigh*. I can be such a pansy sometimes.

Un-retirement

This is an essay on "why I decided not to retire." So, as I said many many months ago, I had already decided that if I didn't make either of the dance teams I tried out for, I'd go ahead and hang up my dance shoes, and be a real adult. Naturally, my mother tried to talk me out of this. My friends tried to talk me out of this. And most of the less than perceptive people in my world made many suggestions as to what I could do instead. (Grant it, they were just trying to be helpful -- but it was less helpful and more annoying).

Anyway, what actually changed my mind was an article I read in a local trade journal. It was about a lawyer who had a hobby of writing plays. He too, attempted to just keep it in the background -- something he did as a kid and in college. But eventually, he decided to just give in to the hobby. What he said, which rang true to me, is that a person cannot give up that which they loved to do as a child. For him, that was writing. For me, it's dancing. And gosh-darn-it, why should I fight it?

Besides, why retire before you're forced out? Well, I've got 7 months to get my act in gear. Darn shame I thought I was retiring...it'll be like starting all over again. (Including the 10 lbs I must have gained since the finals. *Sigh*. Why wasn't I born naturally skinny?)

300!!!!!!!

Can you believe this is officially my 300th post? And I'd really like to post something profound, but this is not a thinking man's blog. So instead, I'm going to write about something completely shallow....Boys, Fashion, Gossip and such!

Ok, I don't have anything interesting to say about boys, fashion, gossip, or anything. So, I suppose I'll just give you an update.
1. The Boxer -- I've broken the curse -- with the Boxer!! After 11 months of first dates and no second dates, on Wednesday, I FINALLY had a second date! And it was loverly. He took me out for sushi, I took the wine (it was BYOB). He's a little obsessive; but in a cute kinda way. As in, he'll whine if I haven't called him. So, but for the fact that I watch so many crime shows, it wouldn't be creepy at all. But alas, I do watch a lot of crime shows, so now I'm all worried that he's going to turn into a stalker. **This is completely unfounded, and totally encouraged by a recent CSI: Miami episode. We haven't even had a 3rd date!

2. Bottle Service Guy -- he's still a total flake. I've determined that when we do talk, he's completely entertaining, and so I'm making efforts to turn him into a platonic friend. Thus far, it's been a feeble attempt. Yesterday, he asked me to watch football with him, and I told him I couldn't because of the Dancing With The Stars finale. I think he was shocked at the reason I turned him down. I found it kind of hilarious really.

3. Laptop -- so, I've purchased a new laptop, to much pain in my wallet. I did go to the store on Black Friday to see if they marked it down even further, but alas, they hadn't. Sadly, I lost all my pictures and all my music. The music, totally replaceable. The pictures, not replaceable, but almost all of them are either in print or on my digi cam still. Sadly, roughly 8 pics from last year's NYE in PHX are MIA. :'(. Soooooo sad about that.

4. The Ninja -- yup, texted me over Thanksgiving. I texted back. That was it. But I suspect he's trying to re-establish contact with the island.

I think that's it. But, if there's more, you'll find out in post #301!!!!!!

It's like riding in a coffin down a mine shaft

That is a quote from the t.v. show Samantha Who? on ABC. She was talking about elevators. I feel it refers to my job. I really didn't want to write another post about how much I enjoy my job. And by enjoy, I mean despise. But, I felt that quote was oh-so-appropriate, and therefore I thought I'd share.

Here's what I was going to post originally: I am so confused by the boxer. Remember how he and I had sorta, kinda arranged to meet on Thursday? And then he never got back to me to confirm time or place? And then he didn't answer my text on Saturday (it was a totally random text, one that I sent to more than one person). So I figure, good riddance to mediocre rubbish; given my earlier determination that his island stay would be short as he was just trying to get laid. Anyway, I received the most baffling phone call and message today...from the boxer. Wait, why is he calling me? Yes, I get that he and I did not actually have a set time or place to meet last Thursday, but I thought that maybe our mediocre date was understanding enough that we weren't really going to put forth effort. Was I the only one that got that vibe? Hmmm. Anyway, I haven't returned the call yet. That'll give me something to do tomorrow when I'm driving to BFE for work.

Sister Mary Bridget Jones

Yesterday, martamack -- ahem, Married martamack -- missed his train, and because he lives in BFE, that meant another one wasn't coming for quite some time. Being the adoring kid sister that I am, I agreed to meet him at the nearest Starbucks and provide company. During our coffee break, I had a very Bridget Jones Diary moment.

You may remember the scene in the first Bridget Jones movie where she's sitting around at a friend's dinner as the only single person there. And one of the smug married men goes "so why do you suppose there are so many women in their thirties who are single?" or some such thing. To which she replied it was because she had scales and fur.

Anyway, the day before yesterday, MMM asked his periodic question of "why are you still single"? Evidently, the answer I gave him on Tuesday wasn't satisfactory enough, because we wound around to that topic again on Wednesday night. I think it may have started because I was describing why bottle-service guy was re-kicked off the island.

Anyway, my usual course of action is to play off the question, or merely ignore it. However, today, I've decided to lay this issue to rest once and for all. The reason why, I have had 7 (8???) first dates and 0 second dates in the past 11 months is because I am abstinent. There, I said it. I dare you to refute it. Think about it, first, the sexual revolution, followed by Sex and the City, and everything in between, and I expect a guy -- mind you, a guy I just met -- to give up getting laid on a regular basis until marriage? Yes, I acknowledge the arrogance in that, but sadly the idea of burning in hell and the accompanying emotional guilt just aren't worth it for me. But, I don't blame the guy for just deciding not to ask me out on a second date, and find a girl whose giving it up instead. I mean really? I'd do the same thing.

MMM's solution to all this was just not mentioning it until the 3rd date. I'm pretty sure all that does is put off the inevitable...and adds the extra bonus of accusations of being a tease. AND, if you don't bring it up right away, I find that the guy merely believes it's a ploy and that either (a) I'm lying in order to look coy or (b) he can talk me into having sex.

So there, that's why I'm still single. All clear? Ok good. Glad we talked about that. Just call me Sister Mary Bridget Jones.

Promised Details

Ok Dance Team: I went to finals. Before finals, we had 2 boot camp classes. They lasted from 7 until 10:30. Then, the finals were held at a local club. We dancers had to arrive by 10 a.m. We rehearsed, and then changed into black cocktail dresses. For the record, my black cocktail dress is fabulous, but no longer fits me awesomely, because my trainer worked and whittled me down a size. (Yee haa). There was a question portion, where we were to shine with personality. Then, we changed out of our black dresses and into our teeny tiny dance outfits. And then we danced. And then I didn't make it. The end. And so now, I've pretty much decided to retire my dance shoes once and for all. As I said way back in September, if I didn't make it, I'd probably be done. Hence retirement.

Ok boys: The bottle service guy. We had a FANTASTIC first date. There was lots of giggling, and we were both dressed rather stylishly. This was the Thursday before the tryout. The night after the tryout, we talked. He wanted to hang out, but for obvious reasons, I really didn't want to. So, I invited him to come over on Sunday and watch football. I grant you, they were tentative plans, but I still wasn't expecting him to blow it off. Which he did. I didn't hear from him again until I texted him the following Tuesday. Long story short, I kicked him off the island. But upon re-examining the issue, I have sent him another invitation to the island. But, I'm going to make it very clear that he's walking a fine line.

The boxer. The boxer is a guy I just met on Saturday. He's both a professional boxer (middle heavyweight) and a personal trainer. I shudder to think of that 8 pack he's sporting. We met on Saturday. He called and asked for a date on Sunday, which we had on Sunday. I'm impressed by his boldness. However, I suspect he's just trying to get laid. Unfortunate really, I would've enjoyed a cuddle with a hard body like that.

Ok, I think that's it. Consider yourself updated. Phew. Just in time to go to bed. Zzzzzz.

Quick Note

So, I haven't blogged in a while, so here's the cliff notes of what you need to know. Last week my computer died. And by died, I mean fubar'ed. That happened the day before I didn't make the dance team -- and de facto went into retirement.

The guy from the bar fell off the island. But he's been replaced by a new guy, the boxer. Whom I met on Saturday, and then went out on a date with on Sunday. More details to follow.

Anyhoo, as expected, I'm up and down with my mood, of course. Being forced into retirement sucks a little. The guy from the bar leaving the island also sucked, given our excellent first date. The new guy, kinda fun, but I'm not yet sure about.

At any rate, I'll post more soon, I promise.

Oyeille yeille yeille

Ouch. That's what my body is saying, exclaiming, crying really. Why, you ask? Well because yesterday I had tryouts to become an Adrenaline Rush Dancer. Tryouts began at 9:15. We started with very scary technique. And given the fact that we were in a convention center, and not a dance studio, there were no mirrors. All I know is that I did the leaps and the sexy walks really well...because I already knew how to do those. I also know that I didn't do the Calypso so great. And, I tripped at least once attempting to wink at the judges. Smooooooooth.

Ok, after the technique, we moved on to the sideline. This was pretty easy as long as you knew something about pom dancing. Which, obviously I do. The real key was to be able to do the freaky straight arms of a cheerleader. Totally handled that. But so did everyone else, for the most part.

Then, we had our lunch time adventure. The sign on the bus stop said 3 blocks to get to the McDonalds. So I, along with some other girls, walked. I don't know who measured, but it was definitely a good half mile. ONE WAY. Arrrrrgh!

After lunch, there was even more. First, there was a hip hop. I had a good time with that one. Shakin' my distinctive parts, as Luda said. Second, there was a pom funk routine. No one rocked that one, because it wasn't as high energy as the hip hop. Which is probably why we had to do it twice. Yikes.

Anyhoo, short story long...I made it to finals!!!!!!!! Squeeeeeeee!

Long Weekend

Last weekend was quite the weekend. Friday, I went to an incredibly grown-up dinner party that the cute neighbor invited me to. I was so impressed with everyone's dish. (Given that I didn't get notice until the last minute, I took tasty tasty liquor, and didn't show off my culinary skills). Anyway, the hostess made a tasty and delicious pork tenderloin. Cute neighbor made tasty pasta. HBG made sauteed green beans. But, most impressively, one of the other guests brought stuffed mushroom caps. They were to die for. So very delicious. Afterwards, we went out for a bit, ending up at the bar where Afro-guy works. Sadly, he wasn't there. HBG's friend from college came along, and he was a super cute law student. I would've definitely made out with him, but for the fact that HBG was standing right there. Bummer. D'ah well. If he's friends with HBG, he's probably stuck in the frat boy mindset anyway. Particularly since he's nearly a lawyer.

Then Saturday I went out with the Fabulous Kia (That's pronounced kye-ah). She is a most fantastically person that I met through Chrissy. Fortunately, Chrissy introduced us, because we were both languishing from going out to lame bars with Chrissy. Now we can go out to classy bars with each other, and get into all kinds of trouble. What kind of trouble you ask? Well, trouble like Saturday night. Not only did we get into VIP for free, but Kia also managed to get us each a free glass of champagne from some random guy. And then we both got drinks from cute boys with bottle service (Belvidere for those of you keeping track). Hilariously, Kia was actually using her pseudonym, and the guy to whom she'd given her phone number called on Sunday asking for her. And she was a teeny bit confused. HA!

Speaking of cute boys with bottle service. One of them asked for my phone number -- and unlike JLH he called! Hooray! We'll see if it goes anywhere. So far, so good. I've been impressed with his boldness thus far.

This post brought to you by the number 9

Last night, I was looking in my closet, longing to wear jeans to work the next day. I came to a rather shameful conclusion. I own nine pairs of jeans. 9!!! Isn't that absolutely nuts. That's american materialism at it's best. And honestly, I only feel bad about 2 pair of the 7. The other 7, I get a decent amount of wear out of them. But 1 pair used to be my comfy pair, have sort of turned into a mom jean. The other pair are the skinny jeans. A great pair of jeans I bought at the height (low?) of my Weight Watcher days. I keep them around to remind me how tiny I can be if I really put my mind to it. I tried them on last night, given my recent strength training with the trainer extraordinaire -- they were still pretty tight. But not necessarily in the obscene kind of way, maybe in an almost kind of way. So, we'll see if at the end of our sessions, I can get myself in them. Dude, making the dance team + fitting into my skinny jeans = wickedly worth the price.

Thus swung the Pendulum

So, the Ninja called me tonight. I missed the call (making me look like a busy busy girl). But he left a message. Which was even more shocking; since he never leaves message (that would be far too responsible). The message basically asked what I was doing on Friday. And therein lies the question. Why is he calling asking what I'm doing on Friday? And since the only way the thought would cross his mind to ask me is if he broke up with his g/f or if the relationship is on the rocks....how long ago did that relationship start to spiral downwards? And, most importantly, do I care?

News and Reflections

News first: We'll start with the Hawkeye. Ok, basically, I'm so over him. He's too young. And generally not that into me. Actually, I don't know if he's that into me, so much as he isn't working that hard to get to me. That might be because he's not that into me. And it might be because he's not used to having to work that hard...having been a football player in the Big 10 and all. Thus, although he's still uber-cute, I'm just not willing to put in any kind of work to get his attention, because he's just out of college, and therefore not worth the effort.

There may, however, be a newcomer to the island. We'll call him JLH. JLH is a little bit older than I'm normally attracted to. Stop laughing! I'm not always attracted to 22 year olds. I'd definitely go for someone who is 27, 28. Remember cute neighbor?! He's 28. Ok then. Glad I proved that. (I still hear you giggling). Anyway, JLH is probably around 32, 33. He's an attorney at a sweatshop firm; a 7th year. He's tall caramelly and handsome. And definitely spends some time at the gym. Which I like. I don't know much else about him biographically. Mostly because we only met briefly at a lawyerly function. So far, there's been no contact. But my buddy said that I may have made him think that I wasn't interested, so I broke the 2 day rule and emailed him right away -- but it was both casual and legitimate. The ball's in his court now, so we'll see if he was actually interested. Here's to hoping that he's not only interested, but also child-free and has a good personality to go with that nice body.

Reflections: Ok, so today I was at my friend's housewarming dinner party. And she was mentioning some things that pheebee's been getting into and some things that she's done. I've always said that I want to lead an exciting life; and I've always been afraid that my 20s were just languishing since I wasn't really doing anything uber-exciting. As it turns out, when you list all the things I've been getting into recently, my life's not so boring. Think about it, I've tried out for a pro dance squad, and I'm trying out for another one in a few weeks. Besides that, I was already on one a few years ago. AND, I was picked to be the CBJIG. AND, I used to be a Hooters Girl. (Bet you forgot about that). And I went out with a pro-basketball player. And I've been to a bunch of foreign countries. I mean, my biography, while nothing movies are made of, is actually fairly interesting. Sah-weet! I don't have to worry that I'm the most boring person in the world. Which, believe it or not, is a near constant nagging fear that I have. (Look at that, one more layer to pheebee's personality -- I'm like a deluxe parfait).

Phooey

Ok, so I finally learned the Hawkeye's name. And therefore I google-stalked him. And, I made a startling discovery. He was born in 1985. I've already had to deal with someone born in that year. Remember the young'n? Oh crap. Maybe I'm no longer that into him. I don't think I can deal with fighting his sexual impulses. Which may be just as well, because there may be an unconfirmed girlfriend. Why couldn't he be a nice 27-29 year old man?

I did enjoy talking to him for an extended period of time today. He seems to be able to handle my smart-arsed mouth. Although, he may be a little bit of a whiner in terms of giving him a hard time. And we have an appointment to chat on Tuesday; as we have a bet going about who's going to win the Packers/Bears game (duh). He took the losing side, so I need suggestions for bet terms. And before you suggest it, it can't be dinner or drinks or any such thing; because the terms he picked involved lunges and squats. (sad. He definitely passed on the opportunity to ask me out).

Speaking of the young'n, he called me this week. He's moving to California. I think I may miss his empty threats of proposing marriage.

Houston, we have a mini problem

So, I've been properly stalking the Hawkeye. And by stalking, I mean going to my regular gym at the regular time and checking him out. We often exchange pleasantries. However, I noticed today that he wasn't as cute as I originally thought. Which got me a little worried. Even I am starting to think I'm too picky. But, for the record, I'm going to continue to stalk the Hawkeye. Because he's still hot. Hooray Hawkeye!

Incidentally, I've also renewed my resolve not to repeat those who have been kicked off the island. I had the oddest dream about the Engineer, and that got me to thinking for half a second. I wondered to myself whether it'd be a bad idea to call him. Goodness knows I haven't forgotten the phone number (darn memory for phone numbers). Which reminded me: I need to get new cabana boys.

All this to say, that despite not being as impressed by the Hawkeye as before, I still want him on the island to prevent repeats. I don't know whether I"m any closer to making that happen. But what the heck, I'm still game for giving it a shot.

The Hawkeye

Well, I was in love. I saw him on Tuesday, after a rather brutal workout with my trainer. Actually, I'd seen him around the gym sometime before that, when he was taking off his shirt. But then when I looked away and back again, he was gone. So I thought he was the Phantom hot guy. I was pleasantly surprised on Tuesday when I saw him in real life and up close.

So, I decided to say hello and give him a hard time because he was wearing a Hawkeye shirt and the Badgers just beat the pants off of them. We quickly bonded because he actually went to Iowa (and played football there!!!) and I went to old CC. AND we're both Packers fans. Anyway, we'd been talking for a little while, when some people needed to get by us. And here's where the oddness happened. In order to let them pass, he went into the office that was behind him. But, instead of backing in (his back was in the doorway), he turned around and went in. Then he stayed in there for an oddly long time. So, I walked away. And then, after I walked away, I wondered if maybe he wasn't ending the conversation after all. But I was already gone. And then I couldn't find him when I came out of the locker room. So, that's how our great conversation ended.

Ah well. I guess it's just as well anyway. Martamack told me today that I have no shot with the hot trainer. Actually, what he said was that I only had a 1:150 shot, and why should I even try if I'm competing with girls who spend hours upon hours in the gym. AND if there are any of the Asian persuasion, I should really forget about it. AND he said that I really shouldn't bother because there are so many pretty women out there that the Hawkeye would have to choose from. So, the moral of the story is I shouldn't bother.

Open Call

With all the activity I had going on last weekend, I'd forgotten about what weekends are really like for me. Last night, I was prepared to stay in, because I had a busy day of working out and errands planned. And, I thought I'd be going out with the SiQ tonight. However, the SiQ decided to make a stop downstate first, before coming up to the Chi. So, here I am, ready to go out, and yet instead I'm blogging.

I knew this is what I'd be doing early on in the evening. I stopped by the library around 4, and figured I'd get a book to read tonight, but I forgot my library card. Then, when I went to the grocery store, I picked up a frozen pizza, because I knew I wasn't going out to dinner. And then, the final straw, at 8, I went upstairs to grab the nail polish remover, cotton balls, and the nail polish to give myself a pedicure. All this, because I knew I wasn't going out.

The sad thing is, sometimes I make plenty of effort, texting people and trying to get plans together. But, rarely do people ever call me to go out. Though I have friends, they're all too attached, too old, too busy with family, blah blah blah they are NOT partiers. Or, in the alternative, they don't go out clubbing, but prefer bars, and therefore got sick of me turning them down and so never call me. Today is not one of those days where I'm making effort though. Today, I'm participating in a social experiment to see if anyone will call me to see what's shaking. But, I know the answer. That would be nothing.

So, what's a gal to do? Well, this gal is probably going to start expanding her friend circle. To people who prefer to be out rather than in on the weekends. Oh, and people who prefer to go out and look cute rather than go to bars where looks aren't that important. Because honestly? I have too many darn cute clothes to be in my pjs at 9pm on a Saturday night.

Worth it?

Prep classes plus registration fee -- $99.00
8 sessions with personal trainer -- $352.00
Living broke for weeks to attempt another team try-out --- priceless?

Hippy Dippy White Guys

And while I'm on the subject of hippy dippy white guys...who the hell decided these men were attractive? And now they're everywhere. Seriously, that giant dude from that idiotic movie "40 Year-Old Virgin." Who later carried the movie I couldn't bring myself to watch "Knocked Up." And then Jack Black. And, goodness help me Will Ferrell. Gaaaaaah.

Seriously, I"m not sure which is worse, saggy pants or the idiotic curly 'fros made allegedly popular. Wait, I take that back. They both make me want to settle down with a nice gay man.

Confessions of an eL rider

So, there I am, standing on an awfully crowded train, trying to avoid eye contact with a hippy dippy white dude with a curly fro and a knapsack. Meanwhile, he's singing to himself, without an ipod. But, that's what public transportation is for right?

Anyway, what happens at my third stop out, is some chick he knows gets on the train. Who woulda thunk it? Apparently said chick and the hippy dippy white guy haven't seen each other in ages. So they're catching up, and the rest of us gain all kinds of insight into the hippy dippy white guy. Apparently, not only does he look like a hippy, but he also gets high like one. Apparently, he started doing crack since he last saw her. Him and his dad used to get high on it together. He and his mom used to get high on meth. So, once you start crack, it's really hard to stop. AND, his dad has decided to stop. (Bummer). Also, he isn't staying at the hostel anymore, instead he's sleeping in a local park. Unfortunately, we weren't graced with anymore of the catching up, because the hippy dippy white guy and said chick got off at the next stop. She actually asked him if she could "walk with him." Hello, random?!

Now, here's the part that makes this hilarious. He was neither joking, nor tragic. He was completely proud of it. I suspect he may have even been proud of it. He told it the way most people would describe the 4 years they spent in college. The girls I was exchanging pointed looks with were equally as disappointed as I. We spent 1/2 of the time to the next stop musing over how random the conversation was, and how it ranked as far as all time most awesome eL conversations we'd (shamelessly) eavesdropped on. And THAT's when I decided to blog about it.

Nope

That's the answer to the question you've been dying to know. I did not make the dance team. Of course, I guess there's bound to be at least one dance try out that I have where I don't make the team right?

The sad thing is, I totally thought I nailed it. And, moves-wise, I may have. But, just before they made the announcement, the director came in and said that for the people who didn't make it, it may have been any number of reasons why -- personality, etc. She even said "maybe you look exactly like another girl." That was the official moment that I got worried. There was an uber-awesome girl who, from far away, looked exactly like me. Crap! No, she wasn't talking to me, but for goodness' sake, how could I think anything other than that meant both of us weren't going to make it? This was sad, because that chick is awesome. I'd practiced with her on Thursday, and I really wanted us both to make it so we could hang out. Had she gone to Cornell, she def. woulda been an m-te. I was already planning to invite her to the next m-te vacation.

Anyway, I was standing there, with my parents and 2 friends, when my name was definitely not announced. (Hers was, for your FYI). So, here I am, not on a(nother) pro dance team.

So my mother, ever the optimist, spends the next 45 minutes or so deciding that I'm going to go ahead and try out for the team I'd originally planned on trying out for in October. Meanwhile, I'm bummed AND feeling less than confident about my skillz. Well, my mother is stubborn. (A trait that's hereditary, incidentally. I'll never admit to being stubborn (ha!), but everyone agrees that my g-ma was.) And so, despite the many many valid reasons I had for not trying out, my mother has gone so far as to offer to pay for the entrance fee and the prep classes. Oy.

But she can't make me go, right? On the other hand, am I really that much of a baby? (Yes.)

Funny, every time I went to practice for this last dance team, I passed the stadium for the other one. I definitely found myself thinking how nice it would be not to have drive so far. One time, I even said to myself "If I was on that team, I'd be home by now." I also remember wondering to myself whether I'd not be picked on Saturday as a sign from God that I should be on the other. Hmmm. All things to think about.

Some good news, though, my neck doesn't hurt anymore! Squee!!! And my body didn't feel completely torn up this morning. Squee!!!! Guess I was just rusty before, which means, I AM NOT OLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Take that martamack.)

Tragedy on Belmont

So, as I said yesterday, I went to a play with friends, and the guy they're making a minor attempt to set me up with. (Remember, the one who may be a bit dim?) Anyway, I arrived at the theatre after they did, because I was busy purchasing new split sole dance sneakers. So when I got there, I arrived alone. As I'm walking into the auditorium, an extremely handsome man said "Excuse me....what's your name?" So I say, "pheebee." He says "I'm Darryl. Let's sit together." All of this was executed with extreme Billy Dee Williams suaveness. I was very impressed with his boldness, and the simplicity of the line.

Anyhoo, I'm all set to agree, but I tell him that I can't because my friends have brought someone I'm supposed to be set up with. But, I tell him, let's meet up during intermission. (Did I mention he was handsome AND bold AND suave?!)

Now, here's the tragic part of the story. Once I sat down, and looked at the program, I was devastated to find out that there was no intermission. BLAST! My friend said that's what I get for being greedy. But I wasn't being greedy! I was just leaving my options open ;). Sad times. Maybe I'll see him around...it's possible right?

Shake what your momma gave ya! or Man! I am old!

Ok, so we know I decided to try out for a local sports dance team. And we knew I had a few months to get my arse in gear, as well as buy dance shoes, stretch, etc. Well, what we didn't know was the power of google. I'm tooling about the internet, looking for various dance tryout websites, trying to get the upper hand. Well, one of my searches turns up a dance team try out for Saturday. As in, yesterday. So what do I do? I decide to try out, on a whim. It was Thursday, so somebody hit the panic button!

Ok, Thursday night, I'm emailing the Director to find out if it's too late to sign up. Friday morning, I wake up at the crack of dawn, so I check my email. The director emails me the night before, and says it's cool. Alright, it's Friday, and I have no shoes. Sweet. I spend the day trying to find a store that sells used dance shoes, to no avail. Ok, it's 6:36 p.m. I'm supposed to be meeting up with some friends to see a play (more on that on a later date). I've found a local dance store that sells new dance shoes....and they close at 7pm. Well, I drive a Mustang right? (just ask Rubix, HA!). Let's let her out. I'm praying-while-driving, passing on the right, speeding, cruising, and illegally parked, but I made it just after the store closed. But, having called before, I think they were feeling generous and held the doors open 5 minutes later than they would have. So, I've got brand new ($60 - yikes!) dance shoes.

So, it's Saturday, a.m. I'm required to bring a picture of myself to the audition. On Friday night, I go online and have one sent to Walgreens. It was supposed to be ready by 11:30 p.m. Friday night. Naturally, it wasn't ready when I went to Walgreens at 7:05 a.m. the next morning. *Sigh* Oh well, she's able to print it (with plenty of attitude) right then and there. So I'm on the road by 715.

Now, the fun begins. For those that don't know, when the tryout information page tells you to bring a lunch, they mean it. When they say plan to be there all day, they mean it. The teaching started at 9:15. We broke for lunch at 12:15. What sucks about that is they don't say it out loud, but the judging starts at 915. (I can prove it too, a bunch of people were cut at lunch). Anyway, around 1030, I hurt so much I thought I was going to die. But, I figured, I just bought $60 shoes, so I'd better go all the way. Between the hurting various body parts, and the fact that more than half the people there were younger than me (including one chick who had braces and was dropped off by her dad), I felt old for the first time in my life. Ouch.

After a series of cuts, I've made it to the final round, which will be held next Saturday. It's open to the public, so come on out!!!! The more people that are cheering for me, the hotter the judges will think I am. ;) (I'm all about using every advantage I've got baby!)

Set Up

Ok, because I know you're all dying to know how the set-up went. I thought I'd post a little bit of an update. So here goes...

As you may or may not be aware, this wasn't a date. It was just a bunch of people getting together at a barbecue; my friend just happened to have invited the two of us. Er...three of us. The cute guy brought a cute friend. They were both single, and I was both single. So, here's the report.

Original cute guy: Hmm. Didn't really prove or disprove his reputation of being somewhat, ahem, dim. I'm not saying the boy is dumb. I'm just saying he didn't say anything all that profound either. But, on the other hand, neither did anyone else. It was a day full of inane chatter...but in a good way. He did talk a lot of smack about bagg-o. I think we all know that I enjoy a wisearse. So, all in all, he was pleasant. Although I'm not entirely convinced we have anything in common.

Cute guy's friend: Hmmm. Well, I've already established that he was attractive. Although I definitely think he was on the older side. He's an Academic Advisor, and freakishly reminded me of the former Director of Intercultural Life at my alma mater (and an usher at my church). Aside from that weird feeling, he was pretty cool. However, he was really quiet.

So, that's the update. I can't say that I'm overly enthused about either guy. I mean, they were both attractive, and great on paper. But, really? I didn't get much of a vibe that either was all that into me. (And truthfully, vice versa). Let's not be hasty though...if asked, I'd totally go out with one of them. Or both. HA!

Operation Shape Up!

Alright, we all know I'm not the largest woman ever. But, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm in shape. And I'll go ahead and go on record and say that I'm not in shape. However, I have a new goal that requires some serious shaping, toning, and strengthening. I've made the executive decision to try out for the indoor football league cheerleaders.

For the first time ever, I am worried about my chances in a dance competition. I mean, honestly, it's been 5 years. Five!!! For not the first (or last) time ever, I'm not that confident about the shape I'm in. In this case, I'm going up against teeny tiny 18 year olds. Gah!!! I'm not entirely certain what made this particular brand of mental torture sounded like a good idea. But, then again, I really do miss performing and dancing.

Doing this is going to be quite an investment, both financially and emotionally. I have to buy new dance shoes, and I'm going to go ahead and pay the $99 for the prep classes right before the audition. And I'm considering hiring a trainer at Bally's (depending on how much he'll charge per session). The way I see it, even if I don't make it, I'll end up with a kickin' body. And really? There's nothing wrong with that. Emotionally, well, if I don't make it, I'll officially have to hang up my dance shoes (and bragging rights). Bummer.

Alright, let the chronicles begin! (Gulp).

Anticipation

Honestly, I cannot wait a minute longer to quit my job. But for my propensity for paying rent, I'd already be collecting unemployment. But since even I am tired of whining about my job, and I'm too ashamed to admit to actually having a slight breakdown while slumped in the first bathroom stall at my office, I've decided not to blog about how much I hate my job. At this point, not only is it old hat and obvious, but in addition to the stress of the job taking a physical toll, the negativity is starting to affect other areas of my life. As such, suffice it to say that if I'm not out of there soon, I may have to take an extended mental health leave.

I am also, however, anxiously anticipating my setup/blind date/whatever. I'm hoping he'll be entertaining enough to provide a welcome distraction that I need. What worries me is a.) I haven't gotten the most detailed description of what he looks like -- just that all the women want him; b.) I haven't gotten much detail on his personality, other than he's publicly humble and privately full of himself; c.) I'm not sure just how dumb the poor boy is.

As much as I'd like a distraction, I do have my standards. Get this, I actually blew off Rubix by conveniently not calling him back. And I more gently blew off the Christian Rapper by sending him a text telling him I was too stressed to go out with anyone. AND, I'm slowly weaning off the young'n. I'm just tired of repeats and those that aren't meeting the standard. Hence, my worries about the setup. Although, he will be all new and shiny, and really, we all know I'm like a crow. Pretty! Shiny! Weee! (Yes, I am willing to be just that shallow, at least for a little while.)

What to post, what to post?

I find myself antsy with anticipation. I am having my very first set-up this weekend. I'm pretty excited at the prospect of meeting a new prospective boyf. I know I'm putting way too many eggs in one basket. But, alas it's better than the lame eggs I had before.

So, here's the dish on the set-up. My friend Liz (girlfriend of my happy-go-lucky friend Joyce's brother) has decided I should date her boyfriend's co-worker. This was decided the very first day we met, and I think she's been subconsciously plotting it ever since. Anyway, she's throwing a White Party this Labor Day, and has covertly invited us both to the event. Apparently he is physically just my style. Unfortunately, his reputation of being dumb as a brick precedes him. Evidently, the poor boy is pretty and dumb. Well, that's alright, nothing wrong with sitting and looking pretty. Hopefully he's perfected this art. We'll find out. Here's hoping!

Darkened Lights of Broadway

The blog has been silent due to the passing of my grandma. Pheebee's mom's mom. She went peacefully, and had homegoing to end all homegoings. Silence having been properly observed, musing and ranting will resume shortly.

It's Raining Boys

Today, I heard from 2 ghosts of dates past. First, Rubix called me at work. Then, Christian Rapper called. What? Again I am forced to ask, did I miss a memo?

Ok, honestly, Rubix and I not only had a not good date, but I'm pretty sure I was entirely noncommital after we saw each other again a week after the date. And yet he's calling asking for a round 2? I'm confused. And no, I don't know if I'll be giving him a second chance. On the one hand, he hasn't earned it. But on the other hand, when is free dinner ever a bad idea? (Don't answer that martamack).

As for Christian Rapper, I just have no friggin' clue what that's about. I think I managed a slick power-play when I had literally, no idea who he was when he called. It was completely accidental, but it made me chuckle (internally, of course -- well, for the most part). Anyway, I get that he really wanted a 2nd chance to redeem himself. You may remember that he lost his wallet the day of our date, and therefore our date was limited to coffee beverages at Borders, which I purchased. On the other hand, he drove me up the friggin' wall. All the daggone touching. Why are you touching me?!?! Gah! But, on the other hand, when is free dinner ever a bad idea?

One more random phone call from a guy that has either never received a formal invitation onto the island or been kicked off the island and I'm taking a poll of all islanders. Who's out giving the ok to these guys to call me? I bet it was 2DP. He'd totally do that.

Another weekend, another date

So, last night, there was a new applicant on the island. His name, originally, was hot body guy (HBG). After the date, it should really be lost cause guy, or frat guy. But more on that later. He lives down the hall from me. He, like cute neighbor, is in sales, and travels a lot for work. And, obviously, he has an incredibly hot body. Although his face was not so impressive. In fact, it was decidedly unimpressive.

Anyway, earlier this week, he asked me out...kind of. Actually, the whole story is, I had txt'd cute neighbor to see if he wanted to get ice cream. He wanted to go, but he wanted smoothies instead. Anyway, as we got ready to go, he went down the hall to ask another neighbor. (Grr; turning it into a complete non-date. Although probably my fault, because I gave his brother a by-the-way invite...Well he was sitting right there!) So, the other neighbor decided to go. (Bummer). On the way out the door, we ran into HBG. Since so many people were going anyway, we invited him.

After the smoothies, we were all standing in the hall and HBG says "hey, I'm in town this weekend, if you want to get together knock on my door and we'll grab a drink." I invited him to volleyball on Friday in response. So, after some discussion with IM Boyf, he told me that HBG was asking me out on a date. I thought it was just a casual, acquaintance type asking. But apparently, it wasn't. So, as it turns out, I had a tentative date for the weekend.

The date itself was nice. HBG and I doubled with yet another neighbor and her new possible beau. We went for Mexican and had good times. What made the date so unimpressive are the things I learned about HBG. He's a hardline right-wing conservative (that's his own definition, not mine. I was surprised). And he listens to horrible HORRIBLE punk rock music. (loudly). And, he still thinks he's a frat guy. That is the largest problem. He still has a beer bong on his porch for cry-eyed. Yikes. After all of that, I'm not sure what I could possibly have in common with that guy. Oh, and he has bad taste in bars.

But, the up side is, he's still a really nice guy. So there's no sparks? That doesn't mean that I can't stop by his place and watch a movie once in a while. Hopefully he'll answer the door with his shirt off once in a while. What?!?! He didn't get the nickname hot body guy for nothing!

I haven't put up a quiz in a while...

SiQ and Young'n

So, the SiQ recently had a problem with a girlfriend. A problem which begged the question, why are women freakin' crazy?

The short version of the back story, is that she totally made out with guy, whom she thought was single. I guess, technically, he was single at the time. But then his literally crazy girlfriend caught wind of this, (cause she tricked him into telling her), and started hitting her head against the wall until he promised to take her back. Then, this moron (the guy, not the girlfriend) tells the SiQ about it, and asks her to speak tot he gf and tell her that nothing all that serious happened. I know! I thought the same thing -- clearly he has a severe lack of common sense. Anyway, the gf eventually gets the SiQ's phone number and tells the SiQ not to talk to the guy anymore. (Is this sounding vaguely familiar? So, apparently the engineer's girlfriend isn't the only psychob---ahem--idiot out there.)

Now, I beg you, why on earth would you go through all that for some dude? Honestly?! Somebody get that girl some Prozac. Anyway, does anyone know a good investigator? We need to find a picture of the gf to make sure she isn't stalking the SiQ.

In other news, the young'n is coming down for a visit. He isn't necessarily specifically coming to visit me, because he's coming with other people. But there is definitely a plan to see me. He's asked if he could stay with me though (on my couch, perverts). I'm pretty apprehensive on that point. But here's the weird thing. There are other people I'd let stay here without a second thought. There's 2DP, of course. But that's so not the same situation, he being my future backup husband and all. And, there was the engineer. I mean, think about it, I went and stayed in the ATL with the engineer, and then again in Seattle, and I hadn't been talking to him nearly as long as the young'n. And no one blinked an eye -- not even my mother for cryin' out loud. So what's the deal with the young'n? Why is it so hard to let him stay on my couch?

Hmmm...given the fact that this city is far more dangerous than Madtown, maybe I should let him stay. He could scare away all the scary people. AND he offered to cook and clean. That would totally be worth sharing, wouldn't it?

Courthouse guy, updated

Me: "Hey." (Internal monologue: "don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes."

Rubix: "Hey."

Me: (Internal monologue: "oh good, he's walking away. That wasn't awkward. Phew. Oh crap, he's coming back. Don't sit down, don't sit down, don't sit....crap.")

Rubix: "So how's it going?"

Me: "Good. You?"

Rubix: "Not bad. What are you here for?"

Me: "Got an emergency motion. What about you, what are you doing on the 15th floor??"

Rubix: "Oh, I work all over. And I have a trial that might go, next door."

Me: "Ah."

Rubix: "You never called me."

Me: "You didn't call me either." (Internal monologue: "Is he kidding?")

Rubix: "Was I supposed to?"

Me: "No. I was just saying, the phone works both ways." (Internal monologue: "Wait, did he think we had a good date?")

Rubix: "Well, I made the last two calls."

Me: "Well I wasn't keeping track."

Rubix: "Me neither, I was just making my argument."

Me: "Ah." (Internal monologue: "oh yeah, that's why we'll never go out; you can't tell the difference between a trial and life. Gah! You are so ridiculous....please call my motion, please call my motion, please call....oh good; he has to run away."

Crimes against Fashion

Yesterday, I saw the most atrocious outfit ever. Picture a swimsuit from the 1960s. You know, the kind they always show in the pictures from Miss America of yesteryear. They are essentially short shorts and a tube top all in one piece. Ok, now loosen that up. Now, picture the loose, swimsuit-like shape in white cotton with black polka-dots. And then, add a drawstring at the thigh, to adjust the outside of the shorts to be shorter than the inner-thigh side. And THAT, is the exact outfit I saw yesterday at the eL stop. And, in case you're wondering, there was no beach or gym anywhere near there. Not that this is where that chick was headed. Perhaps she was headed to the proverbial red-light district.

In other news, I've become a fashion hypocrite. I am loathed to admit it...but I had a moment of weakness. I've always thought that the short shorts (what my mom would call hotpants) worn out to the club was an odd choice. But then, I was having an excellent leg day, and so I decided to wear a pair of recently purchased hot pants, mimicking an outfit some unknown celeb had on in the RedEye. Anyway, I had the black hotpants, the black buttondown (worn unbuttoned down to there), and the fabulous gold and bronze shoes. And then I further accessorized with big gold earrings, gold and bronze bracelet, and a gold and black necklace. Then I wore the hair up.

In front of my trick mirror, I looked fabulous. Then, I walked outside, and thought "oh good heavens what have I done?!!? I sooooo do NOT have the legs for this!" My nervousness was further cemented by the catcalls I got from the hoodrats in the passing vehicles. But then, I remembered the book "Beautylicious" which said when you're wearing an outfit, do it with confidence. So I squared up my shoulders, and walked proud (while secretly hoping I didn't look like I was cheap and/or easy). When I finally got to the party, I got compliments from other chicks. Which is a clear indication that maybe I need to eat crow about the short shorts worn out for a night on the town.

Courthouse Guy

So here's the story with courthouse guy. We met up at a pub/pizza joint not that far away from where I live. I finally got the chance to try out an outfit I'd been itching to try for quite some time. (army green tshirt dress from Old Navy, gold necklace, hair up, brown sandal wedges.) I looked rather fabulous. He was still wearing a lovely pinstriped suit, presumably he came straight from work. This was a pleasant surprise, because I expected him to be in tshirt and shorts.

Anyway, I went with an open mind. But sadly, this date was not meant to go well. It started out alright. We were talking about work and such. He asked me how many motions I'd had, and he'd had tons and tons more than myself. And he was giving me a hard time about that, but in a joking way. But then he brought it up again later, asking how many trials I'd had (0), and then telling me how many he'd had (oodles). So, I said "why are you counting?" You know, good-naturedly. Then, he brought it up, AGAIN! And I said, well, it's good for our company if our insureds aren't running about crashing into things...it keeps premiums down. And he said, yeah, we're high-volume, so we get tons of stuff. Then, he brought it up AGAIN!!!! At this point, I'd had it. So, I said "well, my firm isn't full of ambulance chasers, so I couldn't possibly have as many trials and motions as you." So he finally shut up.

The other problem he had, was waxing poetic about his vehicles. That's right, I said vehicles. Apparently he has 2 motorcycles and 2 cars. So, he was waxing poetic about his 1997 Mustang (which is not a classic, incidentally); and he mentioned how he wanted to put Cobra wheels on his car. And I said, "oooh, I love the Cobra Mustang." Which I do. So he went on for a few more minutes, and said "you don't even know what I'm talking about do you?" Excuse me? Did I not just say that I love the Cobra? My response was, "yes, in fact, I do. I remember the first time I saw the Cobra, I was in high school and..." Notice how I didn't finish my sentence there. Yeah, that's because he cut me off to say: "well, they were only out between 1995 - 1999." (I may have the years wrong). So I say, "that's good, because I was in high school between 1995-1999, which is when I saw a Cobra for the first time." But, the coup de gras, so to speak, was when he asked what kind of car I drove, and I triumphantly, and smugly, said "an '02 Mustang." Thankyouverymuch. Gah!

At any rate, he paid for dinner (with a $50); thinks the internet is a fad, doesn't own a computer, but owns a big flat screen t.v. That's right ladies....he's still single! (Excuse me while I swoon). So, he hasn't called, and I'm surely not calling him. I'm almost willing to be he calls me, just because he expects that I'm going to trip all over myself to go out with him. It could be fun just to screw with his head. But we'll see. :P

I missed Dateline for this?

So my date with Rubix was tonight. Ugh. He's such a lawyer. I'm still scratching my head. He was oh so arrogant. I think I may need to cut lawyers off the list of potentials. But more on this guy later.

Gross

There are a million ways to get grossed out. My particular rant of the day is smoking. Smoking is a truly repugnant habit. This is not a post to preach about the dangers of smoking. This is a post about how smelly and disgusting it is. When I was walking home today, I was stuck behind a guy who was sucking on his carcinogen stick. The smoke kept wafting backwards, the ash were floating on the breeze. Ack! It was disgusting.

And don't even get me started on smoking in bars. I know that smoking and drinking go hand in hand. Tons of people say that smoking enhances the buzz. I've even been known to partake in a drag or two -- but I didn't inhale. No really! I was just fascinated with the Smokin' Up tour at the time, and so I'd take a drag and blow it outwards and upwards without actually getting any smoke in my lungs. It did look cool, but my smoker-friends would yell at me: "You're wasting a perfectly good cigarette!" Anyway, none of this condones allowing smoking in bars. It's bad enough that you come home all sweaty from shakin' that groove thang. Do we really need to compound the situation by adding the revolting smell of stale cigarette smoke. The smoke is far worse anyway, it actually gets in your hair. Gah!

That's it. Smokers are soooooo very evicted from my island. How'd they get on my island anyway?

Rubix Cube Called

And he called a week late. Hmmm. I guess he had a pseudo-valid reason, and frankly, I'm ready to go out with someone who has the desire to buy me dinner. So we're going out on Wednesday. Today's conversation went far better than the last one -- so maybe he just needs to relax a bit. Okay, I'm officially having an open mind. Let go and let flow, right?

In other news, the young'n is getting close to far surpassing the engineer's surprising longevity. He'll randomly call me quite often, in fact. Unlike last summer, I don't have all day to talk to him, but we still manage to get in quality conversations. I get the slight feeling that he's becoming a bit attached. It's cute.

Also, I've given up on making out with Afro guy. Which is sad, since he was my most recent prospect. And no, I am so NOT going to kiss Rubix cube. Shudder. Oooh, that feeling does not bode well for the date does it? Meh. It happens.

It's a good day

Today, on perezhilton.com, there are pictures of Sexy Sexy Shemar Moore...Naked. Shemar. Don't-look-directly-at-him-because-he's-so-effen-hot Moore. Is. Naked. On. perezhilton.com. It's a good good day.

Yesterday, however, was a terrible day. Now, I know I said I was totally into the cutie @Goodbar two Saturdays ago. And I know I said I really wanted to make-out with afro-guy from two Sundays ago. And I know I've declared my love many-a times for other men. However, yesterday, I saw the Man of My Dreams. He was definitely THE ONE. I was walking back to my office from court when I saw him. And time stopped. Seriously. I was stepping off the curb when I looked up, and saw a caramel-toffee colored brother in a pink buttondown with coordinating tie. And a dark jacket, over square shoulders. He had the tightest fade in life. And, to top it off, he was driving a sage/mint green Land Rover. Good heavens I'm going to faint just thinking about the man. For reference, he looked like the guy from the Cadillac commercial where they're singing "Movin' on Up."

I definitely took a second look. And, quite frankly, so did he. But alas, he was driving the opposite direction of where I was going. So what did I do? Are you kidding me? I freakin' changed my course of direction is what I did. He even ended up pulling over and disappearing into a building across the street from where I was standing. Standing and dialing, mind you, attempting to look like I had a legitimate reason for being there. Do you know that NO ONE answered their phone? Not one person. All of you! Useless! *Sigh.* So off I went, back to the office, with a broken heart and blistered feet (I realized I was wearing shoes that were due for retirement). Anyway, I'm never going to be able to find a man now. No one is going to be able to measure up to my man in the mint green truck. *Sniff. Better to have love and lost my arse.

Kicking it into high gear

Ok, you win. I've officially cleaned up my resume and sent it off to MMM. Turns out he may be useful after all.

In unrelated news, I figured that I would do some pre-celebratory shopping, and finally purchased the fabulous art work for my hallway. Hooray!

In more unrelated news, I have a date this week. I met the guy at the courthouse. His name was originally courthouse guy, but martamack re-named him last week. The short version of the story is that last week, I couldn't remember the guy's whole last name, just the beginning, which is Rube-something. So, as I struggled to come up with the rest of the syllables, martamack just started calling him Rubix cube. Right before he predicted that Rubix cube had no shot. Bummer for Rubix cube. But, at least he got a good nickname out of it.

On that same note, I've been attempting to plot a way to find Afro-guy so I can make out with him. He works at a bar up the road, but I have no valid reason to go up there. And he hasn't called me. I'm thinking I've officially gotten the blow off, but, since I don't actually want to date this guy, I see no harm in continuing my quest for a makeout. :)