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. :)

I feel fat...and other rantings

The thing about fat days, is that they aren't necessarily related to the actual size of the person who is experiencing the fat day. So, even tho I wear the size I wear (on the small side) I feel like a ginormo. I can feel my big fat thighs rubbing together, just below my big pregnancy sized stomach. And I've recently begun to lose all tone in my arms. Goo. That's what I am. Goo.

I am also upset about my job and the infamous corporate game. I hate the corporate game. And, furthermore, I hate living in near-constant fear that I'm risking my job over every little thing I do. Oh, you told a jackass attorney (who isn't your boss) that he was being a jackass (politely). You might get fired. Oooh, you told them to take their alleged diversity goal and shove it (also politely). You might get fired. Ooh, you don't ask how high everytime someone says jump. You might get fired. I HATE this game. And I hate it because it's such nonsense. And yet there is no way out. It's either this or not have a job. I knew I'd end up saying this -- but I miss retail. Too bad my old job wouldn't pay the bills. I wish I could be happy living with my parents forever. I'd move back home and go back to working at V.S.

In completely unrelated news, I saw a grown woman wearing a one-piece catsuit this morning. She was resplendent in her black synthetic fiber suit, with belt and zipper. Oy. She had to be older than me, but not inappropriately old to be wearing it. I can't even say she didn't have the body for it. But, honestly, who the hell puts one of those on in 2007 -- at 8 a.m. no less!! It was pretty appalling.

Science of Love

This week on NBC, love "experts" pick a date (both the woman and the activity) to help a pro-football player fall in love. Then they pit that date against one that the football player picked himself (again, the woman and the date). Aside from getting to watch the yummy Mark Consuelos for an hour, it was an interesting (albeit dubious) science experiment. The not-so-surprising fact was science picked someone completely opposite than Adam's instinct.

I would relish getting a date picked out by science. Not because I'm desperate (jerks). But because I'd be curious to see if my instinct is waaaaaay off. (Shut up - I can hear your eyes rolling from here). So honestly, I think the whole experience would prove a theory of mine right. This being that people date people they want to be attracted to, rather than necessarily picking who they're really attracted to. I mean honestly, why else would there be such an abundance of sketchy places to take the date you don't want anyone to know you're on?! (Not that I'd do that, of course.;})

Bad Friend, very Bad Friend!!!

I am not going to be a very good friend. Although I am not really close to this happening, I already know the truth. Once my friends are married, and start having children, the truth will come out. Ok, enough with the buildup. Here goes...I have a complete inability to muster up any sort of excitement for other people's children. Zero. Zip. Zilch. No, I don't want to see pictures. No I don't want to hear about Skyler's birthday party. No, I don't want to hear about Madison's dance recital. The truth of the matter is, I just don't care more than the cursory, required-by-polite-society amount. In reality, I don't care a lick.

I've been getting all kinds of practice around my office. Just about everyone in the office has at least one child. Some even have grandchildren. All they do is chatter about the soccer games, basketball games, and dance recitals (one that is particularly hard to dodge since it got out that I used to dance -- what?! I didn't know sharing that little tidbit would come back to haunt me). And then there are the older children, who get suspended from school, who won't do their homework, who are all around pains in the arses. ARGH. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I. DON'T. CARE. Don't parents have anything else to talk about?

On that same subject, there's a beach out in Lake Forest that has a 21 and up section. How awesome does that sound!? Hooray being on the beach without the kids and pails and shovels and screaming. Ahhhh, bliss.

And, I know I've said it a hundred times, but I realize in a few years, when my biological clock is doing more than blithely moving along, I may want a snot-nosed rugrat of my own. (Although I can't be certain about that). But until such time, can a girl hear something other than about other people's kids? Gah!

I'm starting to think that the same goes for other people's pets too. Although, I still want a pet. I'm also still allergic. However, I added a pet to the list of things I would buy if I were making more money. I also added language classes, incidentally. *Sigh*. What is it about sending my resume to martamack that is so difficult anyway? Well, there is the co-worker glitch. She already sent her resume, but hasn't heard back. I sincerely doubt that they would take two of us from the same place. So, I suppose I'm stuck....and broke. Meh.

Can You Keep a Secret?

Because everyone on my island is oh so discreet (snicker), I'm gonna tell you a secret. But if it gets out, EVERYBODY is ejected. And I wouldn't even tell, except that the thought is in my head, rattling and won't get out unless I push it out. So here goes....I miss the engineer. Wait! Don't freak out. Come back here. What I miss, is having a objective guy friend who will listen to the randomness that is pheebee's life and give me a poignant guy's perspective. I equally enjoyed hearing about his conquests (both failed and successful. Although the failed ones were more entertaining, because boys are sooooo clueless). Given that my law school husband is now married to a real-life wife, I don't really get the chance to talk with him anymore. And, of course, the ninja is permanently off the island (stop rolling your eyes. He is!).

So, now that I've done a decent job of finding some chick friends, I am now on the hunt for a couple guy friends. Both gay and straight. (Because every girl needs a gay boyfriend). And before you even think of suggesting martamack, allow me to point out the addition to his nickname...MARRIED martamack. He's married with children. Al Bundy does not an analyzer of randomness make. And, while I totally grant his general entertainment value, he would not be the welcome recipient of drunk dials. Nor would he have his own random stories to tell. And don't go suggesting 2DP either. He's so far above the randomness analyzer -- duh! See previous ode. So, the hunt for a gay boyf and guy-friend begins!

NBC Inspired

So, today I was watching N - B - C (read that with the ding, ding, dong), and I was duly inspired by to blog.

First, the show Age of Love. Is this a sign from the heavens that I should be open to older men? Shut up, that's a rhetorical question. This show pits cougars vs. "kittens"...a clever and hilarious comparison, I might add. Cougars are the ladies in their 40s. Kittens are the chicks in their 20s. Honestly, I don't know how realistic the contest is, given that the 40 year olds are slim and trim; and only a couple of them actually have children. But here's what is slightly lame. The producers of the show were a bit sensational with the age comparisons. They showed the kittens hoola-hooping in their suite; followed by a shot of the cougars reading and knitting. I'm not certain how I feel about this. I'm a kitten, by their terms...I should like to think that I wouldn't be standing about in a bikini hoola-hooping while waiting to meet the guy.

It's funny that the show was on today in particular. I went to Starbucks with MMM today, and apparently a really old guy was checking me out the entire time we were there. Ew. Anyway, what's a regular kitten to do when her looks go? I mean, clearly that guy was checking me out cuz he's old and I'm young -- and today I was looking rather adorable with shirley temple curls. But, what happens when shirley temple curls aren't enough to cover up whatever new flaws I have when I'm a cougar? Hmm...

In related news, NBC is also airing the alleged historic interview with the princes. My only comment to that is why am I supposed to care? Honestly!

The iRack

This is hilarious. The punchline is extended, but completely unexpected. Enjoy!

Mo' Money

My co-worker (who doesn't have a handle yet) and I were fantasizing about getting a BigFirm job someday (hopefully soon) just so we could make more money. We were also speculating whether it would be worth it for the impossible number of hours we'd be required to work. Given that my company currently pays about half what BigFirm does, but also requires half as many hours, it really is a tough call. In the topsy-turvy world o' j.d.s, you have to make a choice. Quality of Life vs. Quality of Paycheck. Thus, this is a common debate among j.d.s everywhere. (To be honest, what probably sparked the whole debate is martamack's attempts to convince us both to come to his BigFirm).

Anyway, I could just imagine all the things I could do if I was making twice as much money. For starters, I wouldn't have to budget my money so tightly -- the past 8 years of being so frugal has given me a mind to be sensible...but extra money would sure go a long way on the weekends. For instance, I wouldn't have to choose between going out downtown on Friday or Saturday. I could go BOTH days!!! Imagine the possibilities...Not having to be worried that it costs $20 roundtrip in a cab to get downtown.

And of course, there are the shoes. *Sigh. I'd finally get the Christian Louboutins I've always wanted. And I could pay off my car. Boy oh boy. I could just imagine. On the other hand; would it be worth it to lose another 40 hours a week to the office?

Face Time

Technology is often accused of being the death of face-to-face contact. I can see where critics are coming from. So many of my friends are far, far away; and instant messenger makes it easy to stay in touch, and stay close. But, it makes it slightly more difficult to get close to people I meet in real life. Not so much difficult because I don't trust them, but because they can't stand up to my close friends who are far away. (Of course, the SiQ and Mr. 2DP do set the bar quite high -- {that's a mini-ode to you guys!! pheebee luvs ya!}).

Although, I will say this, technology may make personal connections less necessary than before, but certain emotions are just not as effective through type and txt. Thus, I challenge the critics to remember the last time they were REALLY ticked at someone, and note that the person never would have known just how ticked off you were, except for the fact that you were standing 4 inches from their face and telling them. For that one time alone, I am positive that technology will never actually replace face-to-face contact.

And honestly, what woman is accepting a marriage proposal over txt? Although, I guess there are people who do what is essentially a jumbo-tron text don't they? Note to y'all: when my future spouse is looking for proposal suggestions, that's a bad one. :}

Tick Tock

Dude. Remember back in October or so when I was having wicked uncontrollable mood swings? I feel those happening again. Gah! How do women put up with this every month?! And how do I reverse whatever it is I did to start getting them?!

I need a Bulls connection

I've decided I'm going to try out for next year's Luvabulls team. There is a woman on there now, who's from my home state, went to my alma mater, was born 2 days after I was, and is 3 years older than me. Basically, she is pheebee in three years. But, I can't figure out when try-outs are. All I know is that I missed them for the '07-'08 season. Anyone have any idea how I can make it happen for '08-'09?!?!

Mother Nature's Last Laugh

As we all know, there are excellent benefits to having a pet. I've always been a cat person myself (propelling me even further into old-maid status). But I've recently taken up a liking to dogs. But, sadly, it is not meant to be. For, I developped allergies in my freshman year, and I am allergic to both. And then, to cement my fate, I moved into an apartment that doesn't allow pets.

I guess these are obstacles that could be overcome. I think my landlord just used a standard form lease, and I could probably talk them into letting me have a cat. And, I know people with allergies to pets generally, who aren't allergic to their own pets. But, I don't think it is to be. Honestly, I couldn't live with the wheezing in my own house. *sigh*. Hmmm. Any leads on a hypoallergenic pet (that's pet-able and fun)?

Happy Birthday pheebee

I felt that I should write something profound, or exciting today. But I've got neither. Perhaps that's a commentary in and of itself. Don't know what that comment could be, but, what're you gonna do?

I'm going to a going away party for a friend of a friend tomorrow. Maybe something exciting will happen then.

Starter Marriage

I met my friend Chrissy's neighbor last night. And, we were discussing marriage for some reason. I forget how we got on the subject (oh wait, I remember, I was telling Chrissy about the ninja pic episode - and determining whether I was shallow enough to do something about it [no, I'm not]). Anyway he told me his master plan, which I found hilarious.

Basically, it goes like this. His first wife is going to be the mother of his children. His second wife is going to be eyecandy, a trophy wife. His third wife is going to be his soulmate for his golden years.

Study after study has shown that people are living longer and longer. And as a consequence people move more often, people are switching careers more often, etc. So, is it cynical to assume your marriage is going to end? Everything else seems as though it's ending earlier these days. Although, really what's happening, I think, is that careers and homes are lasting just as long as they always did, it's just that people have time left over. Therefore, they go ahead and find a new home, a new career, whatever.

Here's the other thing. How can he assume that he'll find 3 women that want to marry him? I'm not saying he's unattractive or unpleasant or anything like that. But how is it possible, that he can assume there will be 3 available women that he wants; when many women I know are having difficulties finding 1 man. Oof. Statistics are a sonuvagun aren't they?

Flora and Fauna

You know what I love? Flowers. So, I've made the executive decision to send myself some for my impending birthday. What I can't decide is what kind to send, or where to send them to. Ideally, I'd like some at home and some at the office. But I can't be bothered with spending all that cash, when I have an illegitimate shopping habit to feed. I imagine the most economical thing to do would be to just get up and go buy some, and put them in a vase. And then, I'll hint to people to send them to my office. And by people, I mean my parents, since they're really the only people interested in sending me flowers.

Although, to be fair, the SiQ did send me a rather fabulous tshirt that says "I'm Tight Like Spandex". HAHAHAHAHA. That shirt will def. be making an appearance when I go out -- although I'd better be careful where I wear it. I don't want people getting the idea that it's ok to wear spandex out in public when not working out. Maybe I'll just carry around a fashion disclaimer: "This shirt is for comic value, not fashion tips". :)

Last Time I do that

Ok islanders. You are officially off the relationship expert panel. I'm not taking any of y'all's advice anymore. As you know, I attempted to cut off 'bux boyf. As you also know, he was none too happy about being dismissed. But you all convinced me this was the proper course of action. Well allow me to disabuse you of that notion.

As you know, I told him I just wasn't feeling him, yada yada yada. So, I continue to talk to him here and there, offering the obligatory olive branch of friendship (note: HIS idea). You know how that's going? Miserably! I can't even stand to chat it up for 10 minutes or less anymore. The last few times we've talked, he's given me a guilt-trip. As in, "well, before you did what you did, I was going to give you a free drink coupon." And so on. Gah! I mean seriously. Man up already! I'm pretty sure I'm off the hook for talking to him...but how can I ever go to that Starbucks again? I have no desire to endure the stupid puppy dog eyes and pouting. *Sigh* I am beyond done with the young bucks.

In semi-related news, the ninja and I are on the speaking side of the pendulum that is our post-break-up relationship. Naturally, he and his g/f are having difficulties -- or so he says. Anyway, I was forced to reconsider the ending of our relationship. He sent me a cell phone pic of his sexy sexy abs. Knowing full well that I am like Pavlov's dogs when it comes to abs. (Grant it, he's always had a nice body, but dang it if he didn't put on about 20 lbs of muscle). Remind me, why did we break up again? Oh right, because of his inability to return phone calls. But....after all that hard work in the gym, shouldn't he be rewarded with the privilege of my company? Moreover, am I really that shallow?

True Calling

Like most of my contemporaries, I am wondering if I picked the right professional path. Frankly, if I thought I could keep myself in the lifestyle to which I intend to become accustomed, I'd definitely be doing something other than insurance defense. Mostly because insurance defense is not nearly as exciting as you think.

So what would I do instead? Well, what are the things I heart dearly? I heart talking about fashion and dancing. So really, I should be either a dance costume designer, OR a fashionista tango dancer. Unfortunately, I don't see either of these happening....so, law it is. Bah!

Mothers Day

Happy Mother's Day pheebee's mom! Today was a classic Hallmark holiday, and my mom totally milked it for all it was worth. For the last few years, I've been allowed to give a simple card, sometimes flowers, but generally that's it. This weekend, however, pheebee's mom celebrated in style. There was breakfast after church on Sunday; then there was viewing the musical Chicago on Saturday, and shopping on Friday. It was good times had by all this weekend.

My mom is an excellent shopping buddy -- except when she's left to her own devices. However, she's not shy about telling you that something makes you look fat. In fact, sometimes she does it without anyone actually asking for her opinion. (And you wondered where I got that from).

Anyway, as I was saying, we were shopping on Friday, and we made a stop at Ann Taylor Loft, which may be my new official fave store (for work clothes). Ann Taylor Loft (n.k.a. ATL -- the good kind) must participate in vanity sizing. Have you heard about this? Stores and brands the fashion-world-over have taken to re-sizing their clothes, so women believe that they now wear a full size smaller. Women are so easily flattered -- they believe this even though they haven't seen the inside of the gym since those first 2 weeks of free membership.

Why do they do this, you ask? Because they can, and because it works! I can't tell you how many articles of clothing I've purchased because they were a full size smaller. (Yes, I am just that vain. Any inhabitant of the island should know this by now).

Aside from a fabulous purchase, (thanks to vanity sizing), I also met a fabulous sales associate, JanHan, and official new island inhabitant. Aside from having excellent taste in shoes and bags, she's a handbag designer. Now, I checked out the site where her handbags are sold, and I am giving it the pheebee endorsement. (I feel so cool for knowing a real designer -- other than the ninja). For those who are more into handbags than I, I recommend you proceed to this site (www.fashionflat.com) immediately. And I'm not just saying that, because, frankly, I'm not that nice. (Another fact island inhabitants probably already know). I particularly enjoy the striped shopper, but that's just me. You form your own opinions :). And no, there's no island discount. Cheapskates.

Pimpin' ain't easy

Ok, so I attempted to break it off with 'bux boyf today. I think I was unsuccessful. Here's the problem:

So, I bite the bullet, and tell him that I don't think it's going to work. The reasons I give is because it's been too hard to connect, and I don't think we have anything in common. We discuss this for about 20 minutes. He gives a few rebuttals, none of which I find convincing. But I tell him that we do have enough personality connection to still be friends. (Remember, when he first started talking to me, he said that if we couldn't date, he just wanted to be friends).

Despite my efforts to be a big girl and end things, he mostly rejected my peace offering. He asked for another date! How do I get rid of this guy? Honestly?! *Sigh. You'd think this was a desirable problem....but it's not.

Beautylicious!

Today's blog title is brought to you by Jenyne M. Raines, author of the same titled book. The book is the fabulous black woman's guide to more fabulousness. A total recommended read.

What made me think of it, aside from the fact that I'm on a habitual read of the book, is my trip to the airport today. While attempting to make eye contact with a cutie waiting across the gate from me, I noticed a glamazon. She was so fabulous, with excellent hair, makeup and clothing. I will say she wasn't of the "I woke up looking like this" variety, but I was nonetheless impressed. Incidentally, I saw another woman walking from the eL the other day who was so fabulous I couldn't stop looking at her. She was epically stylish.

So that got me to thinking, these two gals were oozing style from their very pores in a way I've always wanted to do. With the caveat that I want to be of the "I woke up looking like this" variety. (I've seen some of those too, they are extremely few and far between). But, despite the ridiculous number of books dedicated to the subject; I find most women reach for this level of style, but fall short. So, is it hopeless? Are you born with it, and if you're born without the style gene, you're just out of luck? Or, is it something you can grow into?

I ultimately decided that it is something that you can grow into. And, I've also decided that I will be growing into it shortly. Case in point, I don't think it requires money, but money certainly helps. Allow me to sketch a picture for you: Think back to the days (as in, mere moments ago) when you last saw someone who was ghetto-fabulous. Not that girl from down the block, but more like 50 Cent (aka no-talent hack). He has more money than is decent, given his complete lack of talent and social responsibility, and yet has a complete lack of taste. A second example, you may remember my shameless obsession with the Real Housewives of Orange County. If you look back in the archives, you'll read a section where one Housewife was trying to get "CZs" put on her Hummer's (it was pink, if memory serves) rims. Also, not oozing style.

So, what we learn from this is that oozing style does not require money. But, money definitely helps you make a completely necessary purchase without feeling guilty about those total praise-worthy effen pumps with a red sole from Nine West (which were COMPLETELY worth the near 3 figures I dropped). We have also learned that what women believe is true...we really only dress up for each other....no man can properly appreciate what oozing style really is. :)

Top Ten Reasons

The title of my blog is "The Book I Keep Promising to Write." I have decided to give you the top ten reasons why this is an empty promise:

1. Because, my blog is only funny if you know me personally.
2. Because, I can't turn my blog into a coherent book.
3. Because I know someone who attempted to shop her blog as a book to publishers, and they told her that it was too blog-y and not book-y.
4. Because, I don't have any connections in publishing.
5. Because, if we take out all of the randomness, there's probably only 9 pages of book text here.
6. Because I attempted to write a fiction novel once, and it really wasn't that thrilling.
7. Although, that failed attempt was an attempt at a romance novel; so maybe it was a failed attempt because I wasn't writing from experience.
8. Because I don't have any ink in my printer.
9. Because I don't know anyone who would purchase it, except my friends and family, and that's really not enough people to support publishing costs.
10. Because I said so...until further notice. :)

Ok, I didn't say they'd be good reasons. But they're reasons. Of course, they're subject to change.

Alert Level: Mandarin

So lately, people keep asking me why I'm single. My answer is usually "how should I know?" I mean really, I can tell you why the relationships I've had have ended...I can't tell you why I don't get asked out. Should I take a poll the next time I pass some guys on the street?

At any rate, all the questions were starting to make me paranoid. (For roughly 18 hours). But, I'm over it, because in the grand scheme of things, I don't necessarily want a man right now. (I mean, I've had my reasons why they're useful...) But, what I want right now are chick friends. With whom I can discuss various chick things. Ok, let me clarify, chick friends who are nearby. Sorta the down side to being all kinds of cosmopolitan -- many of my friends are out of town...Some in fabulous foreign places, one jetsetting to Lebanon. Crazy huh? How cool is it to say you have a friend who's living in Lebanon?

Meanwhile, things in the C are picking up. I may even be attending a fashion show tomorrow, barring it being cost-prohibitive. If I go, I'll be all over the updated posting. Although, I was meant to be going to a fantastic girls' night event at a bar downtown -- but couldn't find anyone who was free. So, we'll see how tomorrow turns out.

Ridiculousness....

From the esteemed -- although estranged -- martamack:

http://www.macspoofs.com/2006/08/10/ps3-vs-wii/

Enjoy!

Personality Traits

Have you ever attempted to change your personality? When I was in Thailand, one of the guys (a former camp counselor) started a game called "what would you change about your personality." What would be your answer?

I'm not really big on the self-evaluation questions. Because, what kind of people lie to themselves? Really deluded people. And I'd rather not be really deluded. So, I end up answering the question, and then I am saddened by whatever horrible trait I'm unable to fix. My particular trait is the complete lack of ability to be romantically confrontational. I talk a big game, but I feel really bad telling someone who really likes me to bugger off. Now, don't get it twisted, I actually kind of enjoy blowing off a guy who is a total jerk, or THAT guy in the club. But others, such as 'bux boyf, and the Christian rapper -- wildly more difficult. As it turns out, I actually DO have feelings. (Something I'm not actually big on admitting -- which is another trait I should probably admit to wanting to change, but I'll reserve that one).

And really, how arrogant do you have to be to assume that turning someone down will hurt their feelings? Honestly, I'm not that arrogant. But I do think it's unpleasant to hear from someone that they just aren't that into you. And I'd feel terrible creating that unpleasant feeling. So, instead, I prefer to be all kinds of passive-aggressive. Thus far, it's worked splendidly, in that I can just stop answering phone calls, or I can force that person to stop calling me. (The classic reverse breakup). But, now I've gone and trapped myself with 'bux boyf. Either I confront him, and feel all icky; or I am stuck with him. Either way, I'm not entirely certain how I could ever go to that particular store again.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel....he's thinking about quitting. AND he had an interview with the Real World. Maybe he'll hit it big and move away to LALA Land.

Fashion Update

And now, for the spring update, an addendum. I forget whether I've already mentioned metallics being in, I think silver specifically....I've heard conflicting reports on whether silver will dominate gold or vice versa. Yellow is also the new hot color.

The exciting news resides in the shoe department. Apparently, the new hot shoe is the "skimmer". Skimmers are the lovechild of the ballet flat and the tennis shoe. Some lean more toward the tennis shoe side of the family; while others lean towards the ballet flat. Essentially, they are a very minimalist shoe. Probably very comfy. Also, they often have "toe cleavage". Incidentally, who decided "toe cleavage" is a legitimate term? And who decided that "toe cleavage" was sexy? Honestly, I've actually read that it's sexy. Which I find slightly distressing. The shoes, however, I find incredibly fabulous. They are colorful, comfy, and generally fun. And, as we all know, I'm completely on board for additions to my shoe closet.

Now, I rarely have updates for mens' fashion, but that's because I'm not as good at it -- mostly because I date metrosexuals who don't need my help. However, I've heard and observed that the 3rd part of the 3-piece suit is so in. But, it's a fashion accessory. Please refrain from wearing all 3 pieces at once, you'll look like the monopoly guy. Instead, from what I understand, you can wear just the vest and pant combo, or wear the vest with jeans, and other amalgamations. Basically, keep it casual. A word of caution, this is more a euro-style accessory, and therefore should only be worn by men who look good in a european cut. Think Justin Timberlake. (Pause to think about the hotness....*sigh*).

First Date Update

On Monday, I will have my 3rd first date in 2 months. I am sad to say, that it is with 'bux boyf. I feel like I owe him, as he's certainly put in the time and persistence. But, my patience is waning with this kid. And I do mean kid. He's so pesky. And, so far, he hasn't said much by way of substance or coherence. I fear the time I've promised him may wear on my nerves after 15 minutes. Wish me luck. And particularly by way of keeping a positive, open mind.

By way of update, I never did hear from my potential wedding date. Therefore, I won't be able to finagle my way into a trip to Italy. Sad.

I did hear from the Christian rapper, so to speak. The day after our date, he didn't call until 1045 p.m. Which was wholly unacceptable, and so I didn't answer. I did eventually forgive him, I suppose, because we shared a couple text exchanges. Then, he called 2 days ago. But I didn't answer -- I forget why. I think I legitimately missed the call. But, I haven't returned it. On the one hand, I'd like to, because he owes me dinner. On the other hand, there was a complete lack of spark -- so would free dinner be worth it?

Happy Birthday pheebee's mom!

I was reading an article today, in the local free paper. Apparently, blogs are on the way out. Well, they're generally out already. They were talking about popular bloggers, who were just so over blogging...and these people had hundreds of readers or more. Meanwhile, I have all of, what -- 4 readers? Well, 10 if my mom's co-workers are reading. If those people are falling off the blogosphere, what hope is there for me?

On the other hand, as you all know, I am extremely lazy most times. I'd hate to have to tell every ridiculous story (and random thought in my head) over and over again. And I find blogging generally cathartic -- it's sort of like having a diary, without actually having to admit anything. (HA!)

On a completely unrelated note, I have been having a terribly difficult time this week. First, I attempted to send my mom a birthday card. I bought it early, addressed it, stamped it, and...well, that's it. I completely forgot to mail it. As it turns out, it's a good thing I didn't, because the card that I'd signed "Have a happy birthday, Love, pheebee" was NOT my mother's birthday card. It was the sympathy card that I'd bought for my IM boyf. Sad isn't it? Good thing I discovered it before I actually mailed it. Otherwise, my mom would've gotten a card that said "My prayers are with you" in text; and "Have a Happy Birthday!" in handwriting. Now that would've been bad, wouldn't it?

On top of that, I went to bed one night, with my front door unlocked, and a carton of milk and eggs sitting in the hallway outside after grocery shopping, because I forgot to bring them in. I'm scared to leave my apartment tomorrow -- for fear of what may happen. Yikes. Time to go to bed, and start over (next week).

Make up to Break up

Recently, I met a guy (don't get all excited, he's married w/children). He and I have gone out to lunch a few times, and he's, how do I say this? Nosy, but in a good way. :). Anyway, said guy, n.k.a. martamack, is one of these married people who loves to be regaled with stories of the single life. I have a sneaking suspicion that he likes to hear them so he can be amused while looking smugly down his nose at his poor singleton friends. (As all married people do).

But I digress. This post, aside from introducing a new character to the island, is about sketchy breakups. I was telling martamack about how the engineer had dumped me without an actual relationship. I was telling martamack about how I could think of no acceptable reason why someone you're not dating can dump you. But, you know the story. The moral of the story, is that martamack was defending him. And I can find no logical explanation for that other than gender loyalty. After I spoke to him about it, I realized that the ninja and I often broke up without actually dating. Of course, he and I had actually dated at some point, making it a completely different situation.

So, this makes me think. If a dude can dump a chick they aren't dating, is it therefore true that men are never "just friends" with women? And if so, does that mean when they say they're your friend, they're just waiting for the right time to swoop in and drop some game? Things that make you go hmm...

On a related note, I was also dumped by the married hoosier. Or rather, the married hoosier recently stopped calling. A fact I am sorely disappointed by -- minus the disappointment. But, that's a post for another time.

Possessed

So, the SiQ posed a question last night, which I am ill-equipped to answer. Therefore, I'm posing it to you, as I find it to be a common occurrence -- well among the two of us anyway. So, here's the deal. There's this guy, we'll call him Lester, that she works with, who's nice and entertaining enough, but not on the list of potentials -- although not for lack of trying. He's just not on her list. So anyway, she still jokes around with Lester, because that's what cool chicks do. Apparently, earlier this week, she was joking around with a different guy, we'll call him L'il Bro. So, L'il Bro was being a smart-arse, cuz that's what little brothers do. Apparently, Lester asked the SiQ if L'il Bro was bothering her. To which she said "yes". Bear in mind, that this is a group of smart-arses who are accustomed to joking around. The next sound we hear is L'il Bro's body being slammed up against the wall (albeit gently) and L'il Bro saying "sorry man, I didn't know she was your girl". Please note, at no point in this post did I declare Lester and the SiQ a couple.

Now, slightly similar situations have happened to me, and certainly to other women. Thus laying the foundation to the question. Why are the men on the not-potential list so darn possessive? And how do you tell these men that they should lay off -- particularly if you don't want to hurt their feelings? And, given the numerous Dateline specials on psychos, how do you determine if the possessor is psycho and avoid being stalked? Any ideas? Anyone, anyone? Bueller? Ok, I'll be waiting for your answers. Thanks. :)

Twitter-Peated

So, I've been meaning to blog. I even attempted to do so last week. BUT, blogger.com was under service. So, I'm going to attempt to get my blogging in properly over the next couple days. First up, is a blog on, what else? men. But not how you think.

As you may have figured out, I'm pretty much convinced that all men are sex-obsessed and irritating. I have since determined that this is true across ALL species. Recently, I watched some birdies, specifically pigeons. (For the record, the pigeons here are like the squirrels were at my alma mater -- they run the world). Anyway, the first time I noticed it, there were two pigeons running around. Literally, running. A boy pigeon, we'll call him Nick was chasing a girl pigeon, we'll call her Daisy. They were running around and around in a circle. What made it so enetertaining is that Daisy was incredibly uninterested in Nick's antics. So much so, that at times she'd open her wings to put some distance between herself and Nick. Much like in human life, the boy was quite persistent. I must have watched this for a good 5 minutes. I'll even bet that the other people around me thought I was a bit touched in the head.

What was so hilarious, is that while I was watching this amusing exchange, there was a 3rd pigeon that they were running around (literally). And all this pigeon could do was watch. Moreover, I couldn't help but compare the situation to the standard club-scene nonsense. You know, when the creepy creepy guy is chasing around some poor girl who never should have accepted the free drink in the first place. What doesn't make me feel better is what this means -- there's no escaping the persistent guy who has set his sights on you. *Sigh*. If I forget, remind never to accept a free drink from THAT guy -- because I don't have any wings to help me escape.

2DP

Well, this weekend was quite a weekend. 2DP, my good friend from my hometown, was down to my new town. I was all kinds of worried about how I'd keep him entertained for 2.5 days, but as it turns out, he is easily amused.

It was his very first time on a train, and other various forms of public transportation. I was happy to provide the experience. And, it was the birth of his handle. 2DP, for the uninitiated stands for 2 Day Pass. It does NOT stand for that other kind of DP -- perverts.

But I digress. On Friday, I was finally able to make a stop at a fabulous little basement bar near my (landlord's) condo. Trust me, any resto that serves fried sweet potatoes is a fabulous restaurant. AND there were $5 martinis. Now, he and I partook of some alcoholic beverages both before dinner and afterwards. I think they may have gone straight to our heads. We had a summer camp moment of sorts after returning to the pad. As some of you may or may not know, my (landlord's) condo is loft style, so I have a split level. 2DP was sleeping on the bomb sleeper sofa that is in my living room, and I was upstairs in my bed. Before falling asleep, we chatted it up over the balcony rails, naturally. However, 2DP may have had a bit much to drink. (To be fair, those Long Islands were practically clear). He went into a 20 minute tirade about paper plates.

It all started when he asked me if I ever used them, or if I was a more real dishes girl. So, I am actually a real dishes girl, but there are paper plates in my cabinets left over from my last apartment. And thus began the 20 minute tirade. Why, oh why, would you not only take up packing space for paper plates, but waste the gas to transport them across one great state and into another? he asked. Well I don't know! Why would I throw them out? Honestly, oy! But, the kicker here...after several minutes of discussing the gas money I wasted and the packing space I utilized, he asked if he could have them. Now, I beg you, which is less logical. Packing them along with kitchen things when moving, or visiting your friend and then packing them in a backpack next to your laptop and toting them along in public transportation? Ok then. I thought so. So, phooey on you 2DP.

Anyway, we also visited a baby beluga, and purchased a khaki hat. The final destination on Saturday was to an improv show (something you gotta visit me to see!). On Sunday, we had a cozy night in....separate beds, followed by breakfast delivery. 2DP being the future husband, and smoothe operator that he is, surprised me with flowers. (Insert awwwwwwwww here). I've gotten more flowers in this condo than I've ever received at my last apartment. Man! This must be the lucky condo.

All in all, it was a darn fine weekend. Oh, and 2DP also wanted to play a hilariously inappropriate joke. I won't reveal it here, because it may still happen. But I will say, it may involve electronic messaging and tracking. HA. Stay tuned...

Why Chick Lit is so true

Yesterday, and the day before, I realized just why Chick Lit, Sex and the City, and Chick Flicks are so popular among the girly girls. Often, they're topic of choice is men, and why they are necessary. On Monday, I had some major difficulties at work; and no one who I could complain about it to. Even if I did complain to the boss, he's friends with the bastard who caused me the troubles. On Tuesday, I came down with a major cold. In both of these cases having a suitable "c***holder," as one of the aforementioned books called it, would have been useful. You just need someone to snuggle up and pretend to be concerned. Now, I'm not saying that friends and family weren't sympathetic and listened to me whine as much as I could. What I'm saying is, that no one was home at my apartment ready to rub my back and cuddle. And fetch me various sundries from the grocery store.

So, what have we learned from this? Well, nothing really. I was just pointing it out. In quasi-related news, one of the people I whined to over the telephone was the Starbucks boyf. Now, this 'bux boyf is new. And he has confirmed my tendancy towards the young. However, I'm starting to question that tendency. Now, we all remember my brief exchange of pleantries with the aptly named young'n, who was 21. That ended, of course, because I wasn't putting out. The 'bux boyf, however, is even younger. YOUNGER! I've taken the cradle robbing to a whole new level. And I can't say I'm all that proud of it. Ok, I'll stop stalling. The 'bux boyf is 20. The aspiring singer/actor/rapper/model/whatever is freakin' 20. The only reason I gave him my number to begin with is because I wanted free coffee. Yes, I admit it. I was totally using him for his barista skillz. But, that was before I found out he was under 21, and unable to purchase me a beverage. Now I'm all kinds of stuck with him. The boy is harder to shake than the common cold. And, I can't figure out how to let him down gently, because I don't want to hurt the poor guy's feelings. And dang it, the coffee is expensive. *sigh*. How do I get myself into these things.

I do have a sneaky alternative. I had a great first date yesterday. Hopefully, I'll be able to get a relationship out of this (and a trip to Italy, but that's another story for another time) and then shake the 'bux boyf. I'm so undercover !:)

Unrelated note

On an unrelated note, my mother inquired as to whether I'd emailed someone. Ok, I'll stop being coy. She asked if I'd emailed the engineer. The answer, of course, was not. But it was odd, she asked the question not a day after I'd considered doing it. But I remain stubborn. For once I'm listening to my guy friends rather than the girls. The girls all say, give it another chance. Maybe he really meant it. All but one of my guy friends say it's just a ploy. (The other guy just didn't know what to say, so he chose not to comment at all). I'm inclined to believe the boys on this one. On the other hand, they may be just screwing with me because these are the type of friends that I have -- cynics and sarcastics. Makes sense -- like attracts like doesn't it? At any rate, just in case anyone else was wondering the answer is still no. No email on my part.

Clocks, hormones and the Bible

So, the SiQ and I were talking the other day (shocking, I know). We were discussing why the somewhat sudden onslaught of hormones and boy-craziness. I found it strange that all I could concentrate on lately were boys, given my usual take 'em or leave 'em theory. With the exception of those times when I need a date for a particular event.

Given her scientific genius, she hypothesized that it was because the biological clock was ticking. I countered taht I wasn't particularly in the market for little kiddies. To which she responded that my personal preferences are not at all related to my biological inner workings. (I swear, she has an answer for everything). Which got me to thinking....

If we're pre-programmed to start husband hunting, and we have biological clocks that start ticking when it's time to start looking, and I am ill-equipped to fight that urgent need (unlike flowers, which procreate all on their own), then why is premarital sex a sin? And moreover, if it's a sin, why aren't men graced with that very same biological timer to start picking up wives? In the alternative, are they just better at ignoring said clock? Or is it that they're always thinking about sex, and therefore they don't realize that it's time for them to start cherry-picking wives? And why am I thinking about it anyway, since under no circumstances am I ready for children and marriage?

Clearly, I am overthinking this, but this is what we lawyer people do. Ok? So leave me alone. :).

Leprechauns and Shamrocks

On St. Patty's Day, everyone here beats a heart of green. Well, everyone but me, apparently. If it wasn't so noisy outside my window, I would have been satisfied to stay home yesterday. Not because I don't enjoy a nice beverage or two, but something about this holiday brings out the worst in people. It brings out the angry, obnoxious, drunk, rather than the friendly, happy, alkie. Maybe this is what happens when the beer is dyed green.

Ironically, last night was the first night that I went to a bar and saw a significant number of black people. I didn't know any of them, but I made a point to say hello. Ok ok ok. So the men were hot. The really hot one was wearing a wedding band (bastard). The next hot one was with his girl (who was hatin'). The next two just didn't measure up after I saw the first two. And true to my pattern, they were ALL younger than me. That's it. I'm officially a cradle-robber. (Although the young'n still holds the title as the youngest cradle I've ever robbed). Just call me Mrs. Robinson.

But I digress. I've never been all that color-specific. I'm content to hang out with any cool person, so long as s/he isn't green -- because that's usually an indication of some sort of illness. But, since moving, all I see when going out are white people. Now, my dear white people, you're very nice, but can you please play nice with others? One night, not so long ago, I was out with some of my Asian friends. That's a lie, they were all half-Asian. Anyway, my one friend LeAnn were discussing this very subject. And she referenced that night, pointing out that I'd seen a hot --black-- guy. (Although he could quite possibly have been mixed). To which I responded "I shouldn't be able to count the number of people of color!" Between our table, that guy, and "THAT guy" there were maybe 6 of us. Hooo Ahh.

Ok, so all of that ranting to say that I ironically spent a better portion of my Irish night with the least Irish people I could find. And, I must say, despite my eye-rolling toward the general idea of St. Patty's, it was quite enjoyable. Even if the hot one was wearing a wedding band. That was particularly sad since I got chills when he touched my leg. AND he was a metro. Dang it. Ah well, as the SiQ reminded me, the American Homewrecker's Association went bankrupt. Jerks. :)

So my ex-fiance and I weren't so off

http://coaches.aol.com/wellness/feature/_a/sleeping-apart-from-your-spouse/20070312110709990001
Just in case you can't access this program, it basically says couples the world over are choosing to sleep separately because they sleep better that way. Thank you, thank you, thank you. A great big I told you so to all of you!

Why does everything taste better after midnight?

A question posed in the IKEA commercials. I'd like to offer a few theories:

1. You can eat guilt-free, because no one's going to see you eating.
2. Because calories absorbed in the middle of the night don't count against you.
3. Because you can evenly spread the Points as necessary to help you stay in your w.w. limit.
4. Because nobody saw you, they can't prove anything.
5. Because you have the entire following day to make up for it at the gym.

In other news, spring has nearly sprung. *Sigh. Time to start contemplating bikini season. Not that I'll be wearing one, since I don't swim. But less layers means less covering. Rats.

Fall Fashion Week

And so, Fall Fashion Week was a few weeks ago in Paris. (For those amateurs with us, that's the week designers show Fall fashions, not a confused expression of what season it actually is). Here's the update:

Curvy Girls continue to rejoice! Wide leg pants will be with us for yet another season. Buy them up while you can because goodness knows that they may be but a fleeting dream. As you should know by now, the wide leg pants should NOT be paired with big, wide, flowy tops. Keep it fitted girls. Show that purty rack of yours. (ha! I'm so politically incorrect).

Not as joyfully, we have another season with those spawn of Satan skinny pants. In spite of living with them for 2 seasons now, I still have no idea who is meant to be wearing these pants. Sadly, many a women continue to attempt and fail. But, if you happen to be toothpicked sized, then I have a question and a piece of advice. Question -- why are you reading this blog? Advice -- pair it with the tunic, or the wide flowy top. Goodness knows you need something to fake a figure.

I've starting paying more attention to dresses, now that I have officially decided to become a more "girly" girl. And, there are a few new styles to be introduced. First, the shirtdress. Generally, it's a button down dress with a full-flowing nature. Unfortunately, this appears to be a style that can go very very right OR very very wrong. This is actually a spring style, but just an FYI for you. :)

Belts are going to be hot again for the season. This is likely to cause a shopping fetish for me, the way it did circa 2k1 when the fringe belts were in and I ended up with half a dozen too many. This season we're looking for wide, waist-cinching belts. Look for patents, bright colors, generally any funky belt that will bring attention to your fabulously narrowed waist. (Even if you had to fake that waist, a feat infinitely easier thanks to the wide belt).

As for color, I'm seeing purples and blues. Hooray for the cool tones, making you an even cooler chick. Speaking of being too cool for school, don't forget your fab sunglasses. Apparently, they are one of the "it" accessories for fall. It's a good thing, because that darn ozone layer isn't getting any thicker.

Basically, we're seeing a fall season that doesn't fix what ain't broke (skinny pants notwithstanding). Buy now and wear later, because it's probably on sale right now. And if you're like me, and the pants are (finally) starting to fit, then buy often. The wide trend may fade, but well fitting trousers are always in style.

Hormonally Challenged

Ok, PMS is a long-standing butt of many - a - jokes. I've been blessed that as a normal course of business I don't suffer from PMS. Now is not one of those times. This year is the first time I've ever suffered such horrible horrible fate. Now I know why it's so hysterical to watch. I have watched myself (in horror) as I was unable to control my own emotions. Mood swings for no apparent reason is not such a hot time. Plus the low periods and the spikes of happiness, boy-craziness, munchies and self-esteem is really quite taxing. Not to mention tiring. I've had little desire to do much other than sleep.

Frankly, I think it's nothing a good box of cookies and caramel corn couldn't cure. Hear that out there? Get on Harry and David's catalogue and start ordering! I'm not seeing any point and clicking. Darn it. Why are all my friends, family and co-workers of family broke or not the present sending type? Hmm, I guess this is why everyone told me to get my own job. :)

Generation Gap

So, the SiQ and I have been mutually commiserating about being single gals with no prospects. Something the people living in our parents' generation don't seem to understand is that our generation is all about getting laid. Although everyone isn't easy, everyone does expect to go all the way sometime before the deep and meaningful relationship begins. In fact, the new generation is all about fulfilling the total body of a relationship. Thus, when you are on board the abstinence train, finding a significant other is significantly more difficult. Apparently, there's a vibe you give off. The SiQ has been told that she's the marrying type, while standing in a bar. And normally, that's a compliment; but for the fact that said guy is not looking for a wife. He's looking for a do it in the Burger King bathroom type.

Before I decided to hi-jack the SiQ story, there was something else I meant to blog about. Another single gal problem, which is the phantom hot guy. I see him all the time. Have you? You're walking/standing/riding about, minding your own business, and you see this uber-hot guy. And then you turn around, and he's gone. Where'd he go? You didn't get a chance to wink at him! He didn't even look your way. Dang it. He's gone. Guess that virtuous vibe scared him off. And before you say it, yes this can happen at church. Know why? Because church guys are either creepy weirdos or trying to get laid (or both, as it happens). That's right. They're no different than your average joe on the street. Sad isn't it?

D'ah well. You can always go back to your ninja ex can't you? So what if he drives you to drinking? What's alcoholism in the face of getting some on a regular basis?

Flowers & Love

So, today there were many many women toting flowers home from the office. And I gotta say, I was impressed. I love surprises, and I love flowers arriving at the office. Valentine's Day is the perfect day for me. Or it would be if I had a man.

But this is not a post to whine about how sad Valentine's Day is when you're single. In fact, there were tons and tons of single-friendly options around town. I didn't do any of that though. Instead, I watched a chick-flick while sitting on my fabulous couch. 2 women at my office got a dozen red roses, and they were really pretty. But they were nothing compared to the bouquet I saw on the train today. A guy was carrying a huge bouquet filled with lilies, baby's breath, roses, violets, and anything else you'd expect to see on the front page of a bouquet catalogue. They were GORGEOUS. Oh wait, I didn't mean to be gushing.

Anyway, aside from my movie, I didn't do much else. The thing is, I've never actually been dating someone over Valentine's Day. And therefore, it's never really bothered me that I don't get to do anything. So, the moral of this post is, is to get off your duff and do something fun for yourself -- or nothing at all. Just quit yer bitchin'. And don't forget to hit up the sale chocolate at Kmart. :)

On a related note, the young'n called and txt'd me last night. I didn't bother to answer the phone. But it was interesting. I hadn't heard from him in quite some time. Wonder what he wanted? Hmm...

A Floral Post

These are purty, even if they don't look like what we ordered.

Eewwwwwwwww

So, when I woke up this morning, I thought I'd have a regular average day. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary. I woke up, got dressed, and left for work. Upon arriving at the platform, I missed the first train because it was so crowded. So, I was standing around on the platform, looking around at how crowded it was. And what I saw was horrifying....I saw a perfect stranger with his pants and underwear down around his knees. That's right, full frontal nudity from the waist down. Gross.

eL Hussy

So, I had yet another torrid affair today. It was even shorter lived than the one yesterday. This time, I saw a guy at the stop. Actually, I've seen him before on the very stop. Both times that I've seen him, he's had on very nice shoes and very stylish pants. However, he also had on a 'do-rag under his backwards-turned cap. That part, I was not big on. Anyway, I noticed him, and that was it....or so I thought. He got on, but he ended up looking back just after the doors closed; and winked! I smiled, and waved as they pulled off. Honestly, I blushed because I'm pretty sure he noticed me noticing him. Hmm. I wonder if he recognized me from before too? Anyway, thus ended my 2nd torrid love affair in as many days.

I also had a very profound lesson of the day. Unfortunately, I have discovered that I am a clotheshorse. And not even a covert clotheshorse. Sadly, I have been working for just under a month, and I already have the reputation of being quite the shopper and having tons of clothes. Ironically, I haven't bought all that much by way of clothes since I started working. And, I've definitely already repeated an outfit or two, because I don't yet own that many suits. With this in mind, I was definitely protesting my reputation at the office. However, I've been forced to re-evaluate, because I noticed myself observing the coats of several women. I already own a couple coats. Do I need another coat? Of course not! But I still nearly resolved to start looking for one. Nuts.

OK I get it!

Alright, alright. All (3) of my faithful readers have admonished me for not blogging often enough. So, here is your official update of my life.

I have moved to a new state and a new city. In that vein, I have had good times decorating my fabulous (and overpriced) apartment. Grant it, the apartment is in the price range of the rest of the neighborhood, but it's still quite the sticker shock when you're coming from student housing.

Anyway, since my last entry, I have divorced my backup husband, broke up with my IM boyfriend, and had a torrid (yet short) love affair. Here are the details ~

Backup husband: The engineer and I began tentatively talking again. And he offered to be my backup husband in 7 years. I don't remember accepting his offer, given our differing opinions on children (me: opposed, him: for). But anyway, we've since gotten a divorce because his current g/f (yes, the very same one) made him break up with me. He literally told me we couldn't talk anymore after I sent him a very risque txt. Ok, it wasn't risque. It said "I hate traffic". And it was in lieu of a phone call I was supposed to return the day before. And I don't actually have proof it was the g/f's fault. I mean, maybe he was insulted that I didn't take him up on his offer to fly in to my city and be my booty call. D'ah well. I guess I'll never know. Since he made the decision to divorce me, I can't very well be expected to be bothered with finding out why. I've got better things to do...such as dump my IM boyfriend.

As you may or may not know, I was deeply involved with my IM boyfriend. But alas, this weekend, when reality nearly collided with IM-ity, we were forced to end it. Ok, we all know we're getting back together because I want him to take me to the alumni banquet. But for now, we're broken up and I'm shopping for a new IM man.

My torrid love affair happened just earlier today. I boarded the local public transportation at the same time as the love of my life. I looked at him, he looked at me. And for the next 10 minutes, we were giving each other side eye. And by this, I mean I looked at him out of the corner of my eye for the entire ride. Then my stop came up, and thus ended our love affair. Sad isn't it?

There may be a prospect at my local bank. I'm wondering if I should approach him or not though, because he gave me his number rather than asking for mine. I read in a book (he's just not that into you) that usually a guy who does this is just being lazy. It's been a week today. Wonder if there's a statute of limitations on how long you can wait to call? Hmm..

Ok, I hope this satisfies my blogging requirement. I'll try to do better. But I've been busy turning my apt into a home rather than a refugee camp. Give a girl a break why don't you?!

Soundtrack to My Life, another response

So, a new fangled idea on facebook.com is to post a "note." Essentially, this is blogging on facebook. Well, all 3 of my readers don't have facebook, so I'm going to go ahead and post my response here. Basically, you're supposed to create the soundtrack to the special events of your life. I don't know if you're supposed to gain insight into my personality or what, but I thought it'd be kind of a fun project, so here it is:

1. Childhood: "Wonder" Natalie Merchant
2. High School: "Girl Next Door" Saving Jane
3. First Love/First Engagement: "Kiss Me" Sixpence None the Richer; "Don't Forget About Us" Mariah Carey
4. Single Life: "Single '06" Natasha Beddingfield, "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" Shania Twain
5. Dating: "Fallin'" Alicia Keys, "Smooth" Santana feat. Rob Thomas
6. Love and Marriage: "Crash" DMB, "So This is Love" From Disney's Cinderella, "Le Big Bang" Gabrielle Destroismaisons
7. School: "Independent Woman" Destiny's Child
8. Anger Management: "Karma" Alicia Keys
9. Praise and Worship: "Dance Dance Dance" Mary Mary
10. Kids: "Oops! I Did it Again" Just kidding. I have no idea what song would go here, because I rarely contemplate kids long enough to have any particular feeling.
11. Retirement: "Feelin' Good" Nina Simone

Ok, that's all I got for now. And I've done some checking, a soundtrack album should really only be around 10-13 songs anyway -- and I'm def. over that limit :).