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!