A Movie, A Smoke and A Pancake

Monday morning. Hello! Hope everyone had a good weekend. Here are a few noteworthy pieces from mine:

• I saw Disturbia. It was okay. I’d give it a C+/B-. I definitely felt the suspense, but it was a little cookie cutter and wasn’t anything to shout about. I’m not sure if the movie was lackluster, or if I was just itching to get out of the uncomfortable theater and away from the screaming 13-year-old mongrels. However, I found myself fantasizing about the 18-year-old lead in the movie and realized that my spring fever has reached astronomical proportions, and it’s most definitely time to work on doing something about it.

• Patience and curiosity prevailed, and I finally ate breakfast at The Dish. I’ve heard wonderful reviews about the restaurant, and have numerously made a mental note to check it out. Located on Leary Avenue between Fremont and Ballard, the tiny breakfast joint always has chairs of people waiting outside, sipping the complimentary coffee and waiting for their names to be called from the list. I’m usually starving by the time I venture out for breakfast on the weekends, and normally just don’t have the patience for long waits at popular spots such as The Five Spot. However, Sarah and I finally went to The Dish Sunday morning to nurse our hangovers with coffee and grease. I’m always trying to expand my knowledge of Seattle-based breakfast joints, and certainly have more than a few favorites. The Dish, however, is probably not one I’ll be frequenting again. Sort of disappointing since I was expecting it to be spectacular. After all, it does hold a spot in Seattle’s Top 10 Breakfast Places for 2007, according to AOL City Guide. I did enjoy the low-carb black bean substitute they offered in place of breakfast potatoes. But, my eggs were a disgusting, watery consistency. Sarah ordered biscuits and gravy that were nothing special, and the two of us agreed that given the wait, it probably wouldn’t be somewhere we’d be dying to come back to again.

• I literally lived an episode of Sex and the City on Sunday. Seriously, that show is always spot-on to real life predicaments. I attended a friend’s wedding shower. And everyone at the shower, plus or minus two people, was married. It was, “my wedding dress,” this and, “on my honeymoon,” that. And I was the girl that everyone sort of pitied cause I was unmarried, single and living in “THE MOST HORRIBLE PLACE EVER”—Seattle. (They’re all from the eastside.)Marital status and location, combined with the fact that a whole group of them were talking about how they never drink much more than, “a glass or two of wine a week,” I fit right in. Let me tell you. I think I found all my long-lost sisters. And I couldn’t help but to feel like Miranda, trying to defend my singleness, or just joke about it. Cause I really didn’t know what else to do. I got a few, “Don’t worry it’ll happen when you least expect it.” Or, “If it’s any consolation, we waited five years.” And Jill looked at me and laughed and said, “Oh so don’t worry, you’ll be 31 by then or something.” OUCH. Because I felt like this was “that one episode…”, I made some crack about feeling like, “I didn’t have the marrying gene.” Wow. Let me tell you how good that one went over. They all just blankly looked at me, and I nervously was like, “You know. Have you seen the episode where Carrie, and then the wedding dress…and, uh, I’m just joking….” The whole affair made me realize that there’s more of a gap between Those Who Are Married and Those Who Are Single than I ever imagined. And I wish people would stop thinking it’s a tragedy to be on my side of the line. But, I did manage to enjoy a few cupcakes, and win the Toilet Paper Wedding Dress competition. So, take that. Us single girls do have a few tricks up our sleeves…

• I’ve been sick now for approximately two weeks, give or take three days. Me and Sarah’s apartment is like a freakin infirmary, or doctor’s office, or what-have-you. The two of us are hacking and coughing every two minutes. I can’t remember the last time I woke up without a sore throat or stuffy nose, and I’ve been eating cold medicine by the double digits. Really, we need to start burning our bedding or something cause I’m really tired of being sick…

Currently Feeling: Nauseous. I think the two Tylenol Daytime Cold pills, the swig of Diet Pepsi, the Cold-Eeze medicated cough drop, and the cup of coffee are a bad combination for the stomach.
Currently Anticipating: Picking Amanda up from the airport on Wednesday.
Currently Loving: The Craigslist personal ads. Seriously. If you’re having a bad day, read through those suckers. They’re hilarious!

Gas Station Lovin’

I’ve officially regressed back into my man-retarded ways. I was getting good there…picking them up left and right, dating, smooching, flirting, laughing and loving. Then I think the last one just exhausted me, and ever since, I’ve been a little A-sexual. I need to snap the hell out of it though. Monday, I ruined a perfectly good chance that just about came and slapped me in the face…

The summer Amanda and I lived together; we were always running about, meeting new people and partying with neighbors or randoms that we picked up at Golden Gardens. One particular random sticks out to me because I Amanda and I have a photo taken with him and he has a bright red t-shirt on with a fishhook on the front and some clever saying about hookers. I ran into the said random approximately six months ago while grocery shopping at Safeway on lower Queen Anne. The two of us caught eyes a couple times until he finally came up to me in the meat department and said, “If this grocery store is a meat market, you must be the prime rib…”

Just joking. He didn’t say that. But he did ask me if I went to Western, and we had a small chat about hanging out a couple summers back. I small-talked with him for a bit, then we parted ways, and I really didn’t think anything of it.

Monday, I was coming home from work and stopped to get gas at the Chevron station on way south 99. I pulled into a stall, and the guy pumping gas at the stall in front of me was the same random guy. Except this time, he looked a whole lot cuter than I remember thinking he was. I smiled at him while seductively throwing away the garbage from my car. (Come on! I’m just trying to make this gas station pick-up story sound more sexy time.) “Did you go to Western?” He asked again. I’m glad I did, otherwise I think he’d run out of pick-up lines. I chatted with him for a bit, but was honestly in a hurry to get home, make dinner and go to belly dancing. Flirting with someone was the last thing on my mind. I had just come from sitting in front of a computer screen for eight and one-half hours. Obviously, human interaction was not on my list of things to accomplish that day. He asked me if I lived with a roommate or a boyfriend, and I replied, “I live with a Sarah.” He full on laughed at me, “You live with A Sarah?!”

God. I’m such as idiot. He kept talking, telling me that my car was cute and it suited me. He was clearly flirting with me. But, I could barely form words out of my mouth. I eventually walked away mid sentence and said, “Have a good night!” He looked a little crestfallen and walked into the mini mart to pay for his gas.

I got into my car and kicked myself all the way home. Why did I act so retarded. Why didn’t I get his number, why didn’t I casually say, “We should hang out some time,” like I always do?! Shit. He was the cutest, most normal boy I’ve interacted with in a long time.

I even tried to stalk him on MySpace when I got home. But, to no avail. Damn! I was SO prepared to tell people when they asked, “Oh. We met at a gas station.”

Next time I run into him, I’m throwing myself at him completely. Better start practicing…

Currently Feeling: Antsy to get off work and drive home in the sunshine.
Currently Anticipating: Gossiping with the ladies over dinner tonight.
Currently Hating: That I spent a big chunk of the only money I had at Trader Joe’s last night. That place is SO addicting!

Screw Hallmark, Hollywood and Harlequin Novels

Another Valentine’s Day come and gone. Thank Jesus. I hate to be cliché and everything, but the holiday is just damn depressing. I feel like each year I’m either bummed because I don’t have a date, or bummed because the night was sub-par and didn’t live up to the romance and over-the-top display we all feel we deserve and need thanks to Hallmark, Hollywood and Harlequin novels. (Except for that naked dinner I was cooked once, thanks for that, if you’re reading…)

This year Valentine’s Day snuck up on me since I’ve been so busy with the apartment hunting and packing. But, I still couldn’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of my mind—no matter how much of a good mood I was in—that I didn’t have a dinner date, no one to call to tell, “I love you,” no one to pamper me and send me flowers. Why is it that 364 days out of the year, this doesn’t make too much of a difference, then all of a sudden, it comes crashing down on you on this one little dreadful day in February? Needless to say, February 14th is probably my least favorite day of the whole year.

So, this year, I took Valentine’s Day by the horns and did and got exactly what I wanted. Screw feeling sorry for yourself, sulking or bitching about past relationships gone awry. I’m over it. I did pledge 2007 to be all about Jeanna, right? Well, last night was not disappointing, it wasn’t sub-par, and I was happy and content, and I laughed. And I smiled. I’m telling you, there really is something to this whole “single” thing.

I started out by treating myself to the perfect Valentine’s Day dinner. I say, “Screw the diet for one night! This is all about me!” I bought myself a huge barbeque pulled-pork sandwich with roasted onions from Metropolitan Market. I think that pulled-pork sandwiches have surpassed pizza and hamburger gravy as my top favorite things to eat. I topped it off with a side of au gratin potatoes—so not South-Beach approved. And then I enjoyed a romantic little dessert for one—a box with chocolate covered strawberries, caramel-filled fudge brownies and rose petals. The whole affair cost me $20, but hey, I love myself.

After finishing my Valentine’s dinner, it suddenly occurred to me that I had a pack of Marlboro Reds in the back of my desk drawer. (I had found them a couple months ago at a bar, and stuck them in a drawer for a desperate day.) Technically, I’ve quite smoking—haven’t bought a pack since January 18th—but since last night was “all-about-me” AND the pack just-so-happened to be red and white, I figured it was a Valentine’s Day gift that was meant-to-be. Thank you St. Valentine for placing those little ciggies on the floor of the bar, filling my brain with the idea to store them in the back of my desk, and then for the little epiphany I had that allowed me to discover them again on Valentine’s Day… and some of you don’t believe in fate. Pshaw!

I capped off the night at Sunset Bowl with some of my bestest friends, where I enjoyed approximately 45 minutes of Dance Dance Revolution, the shittiest game I’ve ever bowled, and Doug and Kelly singing karaoke together. Wow. What a pair. I’ve never heard a better rendition of “Summer Lovin’.”

Okay, who am I kidding? I was going to leave it out…but I actually ended my night at Peso’s where I was stared at by some creep-a-leeps, grabbed and molested. God, I love that place! My favorite Valentine’s Day pick up of the night—“I love red.” Because I was wearing head-to-toe red, (I liked to either refer to myself as a walking Valentine or Waldo, you take your pick.) I replied, “Uh. Thanks. I do to?!!?” But, I’m pretty sure he lied and his favorite color was green because he barely came up to my boobs and FOR SURE could have passed for a Leprechaun.

Long story short—I survived. And I’m very, very happy to say…
HAPPY NON VALENTINE’S DAY!

Single and Fabulous, Question Mark?

While chatting on the phone last night to my somewhat newly Single and Fabulous friend, Larisa, she posed a very interesting question. “Why do all of you guys always talk about how it’s so great to be Single and Fabulous, but you always have to have a guy on the side?”

Sheesh. Talk about calling me out. I was taken aback for a minute. I mean, she comes to me about all the dating and single advice because being single for the last three years, I’m somewhat of an expert. I guess. At least some of my friends like to think so. But, big shocker here ladies—I don’t have all the answers. And I certainly didn’t have a quick answer for this one.

I immediately began contemplating Larisa’s question. Why do I claim that I love being single, but I am always on the prowl for a new love interest? I quickly turned to Sarah for her opinion. Being just a big of a supporter as Single and Fabulousness, but clearly as boy-obsessed as I am, I value her opinion greatly. I mean, I could turn to the biggest and greatest Single and Fabulous source—Kelly Wyatt—but she’s anti-men, so that doesn’t really help me out.

Sarah and I discussed this dilemma to cover our butts for when future questioned from newly Single and Fabulous ladies. What does it mean to be Single and Fabulous, and where do dating and guys fall into this supposed wonderful existence? Does being Single and Fabulous mean that you avoid interactions with men completely?
Sarah concluded that, “the definition of single and fabulous is misconstrued sometimes. Like, just because you are single and fabulous you have to hate men and not date at all. But really it just means that you are independent enough to be single and not perpetually have a boyfriend. Or something.”

She didn’t have a clear answer either. And then she posed an even more scary question, “What if we have it all wrong?” What if?

What if being Single and Fabulous means simply loving being single and not wanting company from a member of the opposite sex?

What if being Single and Fabulous is just a way to make ourselves feel better that we don’t have a plus one?

What if being Single and Fabulous isn’t really all that great, and all of us single ladies are just counting the minutes until our next boyfriend?

Makes it all seem like sort of a farce, eh?

While there never really is a cut-and-dry answer for everything, Sarah finally summed up what I feel is the epitome of being Single and Fabulous:

Single doesn’t mean not dealing with men, it means not having to deal with a boyfriend and having the freedom to date and play around with as many men as you want! It means you are ok being alone, and because of that you are ready and open to the possibility of meeting the right person. But to do that you have to get out there and date without falling too quickly into relationships out of boredom or the need to not be alone. This perfect balance makes someone single and fabulous.

Couldn’t have said it better myself. I know there’s a reason I keep her around. Now, if I can only remember to explain that to my next friend who is asking me why she should stay away from the jerk she was dating. I think if I have my story straight, I’ll seem a lot more legit. Or something…

Currently Feeling: So super duper excited for my birthday party. Can’t wait to celebrate with all of you!
Currently Anticipating: Getting everything straightened away and planned for tomorrow: baking cupcakes, making jello shots, buying the balloons, decorating, etc.
Currently Listening To: Junior Boys. They’re fabulous! If you’re a fan of The Postal Service, you’ll love this band.

The Pot Calling the Kettle Crazy

I did it. I took the plunge. Last night I went on my very first Internet date.

I’m almost too embarrassed to talk about it. But then I figure, nah, why not be open and honest? Hell, I am about everything else.

I’ve previously written about the possibility of dating someone from the Internet, but up until now, I’ve never actually done it. I was just sort of tossing the idea around in my head. It can’t be worse than trying to hit it off with a drunken agro male at a bar, right? However, I’ve always felt that all these negative connotations come along with it. I feel like I look sort of pathetic for doing it. I mean, it’s how old widowed people meet their second life partners, right? Not 20-somethings who still have tons of fun, intelligence, bone and muscle use, and perky tits left in them, right?

I’ve been really tempted to lie each time one of my friends or acquaintances asks me where I met the young gentleman who I went on a date with last night. Couple times I’ve told the truth, couple times I’ve come up with a little white lie or skirted around the truth, and a couple times I just flat-out made a story up. But, I’m the world’s most terrible liar and it makes me feel guilty and sketchy afterward. So, while I’m a little embarrassed about it, there’s nothing like just putting the truth out there on the Internet for all to see and read.

Long story short, I met *Internet Boyfriend* on The Stranger’s Lovelab. For those of you who haven’t checked it out, it’s endlessly entertaining to read people’s profiles. Especially if you’re looking for something to entertain you while at work. The Stranger strives to be a very witty and edgy paper, so of course their dating site is witty and edgy. Instead of “What do you like to do in your spare time?” the site hosts questions such as, “What songs would be on the soundtrack of your life?” “I consider myself an open-minded person, but my deal breakers are…” and “The last time I made an ass out of myself, I…” And of course, everyone in Seattle is witty and edgy, especially if you live on Capitol Hill. Because how could you not be witty and edgy if you wear skinny jeans and carry a messenger bag? And witty and edgy people try to portray how witty and edgy they are in their profiles. So, it’s pretty entertaining.

Well, I ran across Internet Boyfriend while reading the profiles for fun, and I thought he was hot, hot, hot. Completely someone I would pick out of a crowd. So my type it’s almost scary. So I sent him a message. Of course, you have to pay to send messages. Here I am admitting to the whole world that I’ve paid for someone to date me. What’s next? I can’t wait to find out…

Internet Boyfriend and I have now been casually messaging back and forth since the early part of December. He was on a trip in Asia for the whole month of December and would send me his travel stories. Finally, he wanted to get together sometime this weekend, so we agreed on Sunday evening. Now, if you think blind dates are bad, try setting yourself up for a blind date without the okay or approval from a friend. Just blindly meeting up with someone who you have no idea is going to be a super freak, creepy, stupid, have an extra leg, or look like Quasimodo on crack. One million and one things were racing through my mind all day Sunday…what if we have nothing to talk about, what if he doesn’t look anything like his pictures, what if he doesn’t think I look anything like my pictures, what if he’s weird, and I’m stuck talking to a complete weirdo, what if he roofies me, what if, what if, what if…

But it went great. It was actually one of the best dates I’ve ever been on. He looked just like his pictures. He was charming, nice, adorable, intelligent, a wonderful conversationalist, easy-going, we had a good amount of things in common, and we like to do the same things. I’m not sure if he approved as much as I did, but he promised to fill me in on all the details after his trip to Vegas this next weekend, so I suppose that’s somewhat promising. Now, let me analyze why I think this worked out so well: when finding someone on the Internet, you’re finding someone who is looking for the exact same thing you are. Timing isn’t such a huge factor, they’re not trying to fuck around or screw someone over. For the most part, people who sign up to Internet date, are ready to find someone special. Furthermore, you can read all about the person before you contact them, so you know if you guys will have enough in common to get along. ie: I run far away from any man who admits he’s a huge Star Wars fan and likes to hunt. I also pay close attention to what their political leanings and religious views are because I’m very particular about how I feel.

So there you have it. Straight from the crazy 20-something’s mouth. Internet dating is not such a weird and creepy thing. It actually makes more sense than picking someone up at a bar. It’s less random and less risky. So, I want all of you to go out there and do it! Sign yourself up. Peruse the men on Lovelab. What do you have to lose? You couldn’t look any more crazy than I do. Besides, it’s always better to have two people on the boat than one. So, jump on!

Currently Feeling: Hopped up on caffeine. I’m trying to tie myself over till I can get home and make dinner.
Currently Anticipating: My birthday party this weekend, I can’t wait!!

Gasp. The Next Step.

Big updates in Jeanna’s life this weekend—I met the parents.

I think I’m incapable of denying anymore that this “whatever it is” between Tre and I is a little more serious than I’ve been letting on to. The gasp and, “Wow!” accompanied by a, “That’s major!” everyone gave me after hearing my weekend plans is probably pretty indicative to the gravity of meeting someone’s parents. However, I don’t know why…this just felt, different.

I honestly think that meeting a significant other’s parents in one of the top five worst things ever. It psyches me out big time. I’m a social person, I can carry a conversation, and I’m certainly not self-conscious about who I am and what I have to offer to a member of the opposite sex, but it’s just so freaking nerve wracking. Especially meeting the mother. I’ve come to realize that mothers have this incredible attachment and deep under-lying judgment for anyone associated with their sons. Up to this point, I’ve been lucky enough to date boys with wonderful mothers, however, there’s always a first for everything…

So, I headed to Tre’s parent’s house with him on Saturday. This time it was casual, and not a formal “come to dinner to meet my parents,” which was nice. Perhaps this is what made me a little more relaxed about the situation. Tre mentioned Friday night that he was going to go to his parents house on Saturday and asked me if I wanted to come along. Of course I accepted, even though the whole concept freaked me out a little bit. I mean, we’re just barely coming up on the two-month mark. Is that premature?

Maybe I was a little freaked out because it’s been more than five years since I’ve been “that girl.” I remember feeling like my stomach was going to drop out of body when I met Jesse’s parents for the first time. And it didn’t help that I had to drive four hours to do so, analyzing what I was going to say and what they were going to be like the whole time. This time, however, I was a little more nonchalant and relaxed about it, and I can’t really place my finger on why. It did make the situation a whole lot easier to swallow though.

Tre’s parents live in Maple Valley. We headed out the winding country road around 1 o’clock. (Seriously. What is it about me dating these country boys? It was really hard for me to believe that Tre was a product of this environment. He’s a skateboarder/snowboarder/surfer, an artistic photographer, a scruffy, hip-hop loving, trend-wearing city boy. Where did all this originate?)

When we pulled into the driveway, it was, well, different, then what I expected. Maybe it was my misconceived perception about Maple Valley, or the comments Tre has made about not having a good family life, but I was not expecting the beautiful, cozy house with a sprawling, open layout. I wasn’t expecting the huge lawn and acreage, the two dogs, the peacock farm, the garage with a special room for Tre with couches, a drum set and an electric guitar. I think I just expected something different, and what I got, was way nice. I think it allowed me to like him just a little bit more…is that good or bad?!

Unfortunately, Tre had to spend a lot of time working on a photography project in the garage with his dad. So, I was forced to entertain myself for the majority of the day. For a while this included playing darts in the garage, until I broke a tip off in the dartboard and figured I better do something else. Then I played soccer with Tre’s dog for a little while. That’s right. I’m not joking. Apparently, Tre played soccer for 10+ years and used to practice outside, trapping and dribbling around the dog. Well, she got good at it, and can block you, then pushes the ball back to you with her nose, and when you kick the ball in the air, she’ll hit it back to you with her head. I’ve really never seen anything like it, and it’s beyond entertaining.

Finally, Tre’s mom came home, and I sat chatting in the kitchen with her for over an hour. She was super nice and incredibly easy to talk to, so it wasn’t as awkward as I thought it was going to be. Overall, I feel like I made a pretty good impression. At one point, I mentioned that I didn’t get to meet her older daughter in the proper way because I felt like to her I was “just another one of Tre’s girlfriends.” And his mom said, “I don’t know. Tre’s pretty private. He doesn’t bring girls around very often…” Hmmm. Interesting. Here I was the whole time feeling like Tre’s a serial dater, and I’m just another one of the 10 girls he’s brought home to mom and dad—this year. Perhaps I could have been prejudging him just slightly.

Does this mean it’s my turn?

Currently Feeling: Like my life is complete now that I finally saw the Star Wars trilogy for the first time. *sarcasm*
Currently Anticipating: Going to the Coho show tonight with Davie.
Currently Dreading: Driving home in the dark and rain. This weather fucking blows.

Going Out With A Bang

I had an amazing night last night. I know I’ve probably said that a million times before—but last night was up there with some of the best.
I decided to leave work a little later than usual yesterday, and as I was walking out the door to my car, T-Ray McDougal called me.

“How soon can you get to Qwest field?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“I don’t know, 20 or 30 minutes, why?” I replied.
“Because I have free tickets for The Rolling Stones concert tonight.”

Oh my gosh. The Rolling Stones. While I’m not their biggest fan, I definitely am a fan to some degree. And, come on, they’re pretty much the biggest rock show left. Definitely legendary.

Well, they did not disappoint. Labeled, “A Bigger Bang,” the concert was the most amazing show I’ve seen to date. With Pearl Jam, Radiohead and The Rolling Stones knocked off the list, I now can officially say I will die a happy concertgoer.

The most amazing part of the show was the theatricals, by far. A 300-ton, 20,400-square-foot stage was located at one end of Qwest field, with the roof open, clear skies, and a view of the city skyline and Space Needle in the background. The 2,450-square-foot “video wall” stood nearly seven stories high, and on either side of it were “two multilevel structures resembling neon-illuminated hotels on the Las Vegas strip.” Throughout the show, the lights were synchronized with Mick’s movements and the beat of the music, fire shot out from the top of the structure and fireworks exploded. It was super hard to not be impressed.

As if the special effects weren’t impressive enough, 63-year-old Mick Jagger danced and sang his way across the huge stage with more energy than half of my 20-something year old friends. That man has more stage presence and willpower than anyone I’ve seen. He truly is a rock God, and I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to see him live before he kicks the bucket one of these days. Because we all know it’s bound to happen soon with all the drugs, drinking, and sex he’s experienced.

Out of pure curiosity I asked T-Ray McDougal how many women he thought Mick had slept with.
“At least one at every concert,” he replied.
So, I calculated with another friend at the concert exactly how many shows The Rolling Stones might have played…we guesstimated approximately 1,500 on the low side.

That’s approximately 1,500 women. I think that’s more vagina than a gynecologist sees during his or her career.

I danced with thoughts of sleeping with Mick myself as he shimmied and shook across the stage to “It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll, a “Let It Bleed” duet with Dave Matthews, “Start Me Up,” “Brown Sugar,” “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” and my two favorites—“Paint it Black” and “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.”

All in all, the show was amazing. The only thing I regret is not being able to say, “I’m stoned at The Stones, dude!” But hey, maybe my chance to catch The Stones in concert for free will come again…

Anything’s possible.

Currently Feeling: Excited, scared, nervous.
Currently Anticipating: The Project Runway season finale party tonight, hosted by The Stranger. Who’s it going to be? I can’t freaking wait to find out. This is, only the biggest event of the fall season!
Currently Loving: T-Ray’s huge clue.

Which is Worse?

Men—can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

It’s an interesting paradox we’ve all heard a million times in life. A little cliché, perhaps, but true. How many of us jaded, single women have sat around complaining about the opposite sex and all the things that we can’t stand they do? How many times have you been fed up and sworn off men forever? Yet, we always find ourselves out again every weekend, dressed in something cute and sexy, searching for the guy who just might be the next greatest thing since sliced bread. Isn’t the night just so much more fun when you have a cute guy to flirt with? I know that I’m always on the prowl. I’m sure it gets a little old to my friends, but I can’t help it; I love the male species. I love meeting a cute boy, love the attention, the anticipation, the feeling in the little space right below your rib cage but above your stomach, love the flip-flopped, twitterpated, flutter-hearted, good-old-fashioned infatuation.

I can’t live without it.

You all know by now that I love being single. Way more than the average girl. But after two years of living on Singlegirl Island—you know, the one where you drink so much from going out all the time to find guys that Friday doesn’t make a difference from Tuesday, where your laptop is the only thing getting any action in your bed, where you max out your credit cards from all the clothing and booze you need to keep up your single and fabulous lifestyle, and where you finally break down and buy a cat cause you can’t stand the thought of another night alone at home with not a living thing to talk to—I find it way more entertaining to have some sort of love interest.

But I can’t live with it.

I’m a constant stress ball when I actually like someone. It’s like everything I’ve worked toward in the last two years just goes right out the window. Independent, what? Sometimes I feel like I’m floating through all the fabulous plans in my life and just passing time until my phone rings and his name flashes across the screen. And I feel like I literally have to sit on top of my hands to prevent myself from calling him. What’s one night off, right? Yet, I’m in a constant state of analyzing—I know you’ve all done it. Girls are famous for it. Does he still like me if he does/says this? Will I blow it if I do/say this?!…Why is it so quick and easy to become dependant on someone or something that you certainly didn’t need for the last 730 days and nights?

Why?
Because I like him. And despite how much I tell myself that I don’t need a guy to be happy and that there’s nothing more fabulous than being single, love is what makes the world go round. And even though things don’t work out nine times out of 10 and I know I’ll be happy no matter what—it’s the possibility of love that keeps me going.

Currently Feeling: Flip-flopped, twitterpated, flutter-hearted, good-old-fashioned infatuation.
Currently Anticipating: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah concert tonight for Luke’s birthday celebration. Seriously. Soo excited!
Currently Loving: All my girlfriends who support and listen to all my trivial woes and tribulations. I know I must get tiring. Thank you.

My Perfect Guy

I figured this survey would be a little shorter than providing a long and drawn-out list, albeit spot-on, like Sarah did:

Hair color? Dark.
Eye color? Meh.
Height? Taller than me, which isn’t hard. Not too tall.
Six pack? Sure, but hope he doesn’t expect one too.
Long hair or short? Long and curly.
Glasses? Love nerdy sheik.
Piercings? Sure.
Tattoos? Love em!
Eyebrows? Hope they have them, but they’re groomed. Really, who puts eyebrows in a category?!?
Big butt or little? Big butt! Flat butts are gross. Bubble butts are effing hot!
Chest hair? I like chest hair. It’s manly. I find it a little disturbing/gross when guys shave their chest hair and you can see it grown back in prickles.
Buff or skinny? Somewhere in the middle is preferable. Skinny is gross, but meatheads are out.
Teeth? Good teeth and a fantastic smile are my weakness. Seriously. I think that might be the root of all jerks I’ve dated.

Section 2

Funny or serious? I’m completely hooked if they can make me laugh.
Party-hopper or more stay-at-home? Party, party, party! I love social guys, but also could use a couple nights in every once in a while.
Should he be able to bake or cook? Someone who cooks would be nice cause I’m certainly not going to be a wifey. Cooking together is super fun!
Does he have a best friend? Hopefully many. Once again—social.
Is it okay for him to have a lot of female friends? I hope he does. I have a lot of male friends and he absolutely has to be ok with that.
Out-going or shy? Outgoing
Sarcastic or sincere? Sarcastic sense of humor. Sincere in the necessary parts of life.
Does he love his mother? Well that would be weird if he didn’t.
Should he watch chick-flicks? A little give and take. If I go watch some sport or crappy action movie, he better be in all the way for the next Kate Hudson flick.
Would he be a smoker? I don’t care.
How about a drinking? He wouldn’t last two days with me if he didn’t like to drink a little.
And swearing? Meh. I swear like a sailor, so it’d be fun to have a swear-off!
Would he play with your hair? Weird. His fingers would probably get tangled.
Would he have more than one girlfriend at a time? Oh yes definitely. I would be number three on my dream guy’s list.
Would he pay for you when you’re on a date? Give and take. I’m mostly a 50/50 type of gal, but being taken out on a date every once in a while is nice.
Does he kiss on the first date? Hopefully if I want to kiss him, and well! If he can’t kiss, he’s out!
Where would you go for dinner? Anywhere as long as it’s in the city. I like places with unique food and a good atmosphere.
Would he buy you flowers? Sure. Flowers are the most played-up, yet always appreciated gesture.
Would he lay under the stars with you and spout random philosophies? I’ve done this. It sounds incredibly cheesy, but when you love someone…everything is fun.
Would he write poetry about you? That’s a little over-the-top.
Would he use endearments? Sure.
Would he hang out with you and YOUR friends? Abso-fucking-lutely.
How about you hanging out with him and HIS friends? See above.
Would he walk you up to the door at the end of the evening? No, hopefully he would just peel around the corner and let me hop out while the car was still moving….seriously. I don’t really care.
Would you hold hands? Yes. Yes. Yes. Holding hands is so nice.

Section 3

Does he play soccer? Why the hell not. I love the bodies of soccer boys.
Baseball? Anything really, as long as he’s active. I’ve played on an intramural team before with an ex in the past cause I used to play softball, and that was fun and provided for moments of bonding.
Football? Not gonna lie. Not a huge football fan.
Basketball? Meh.
Water polo? Maybe if he’s from Britain.
Golf or something equally boring? No. No. No. Golfers suck.
Does he surf? Sounds kinda hot.
Skateboard? Sure, but was way cooler in high school and seems a little juvenile now.
Snowboard? Of course. We could go up together…
Can he sing? LOVE it.
Play the guitar? LOVE it even more…every boyfriend I’ve ever had has played the guitar. I guess you could say I’m a sucker for it.
Play piano? Sure. I did for 10 years.
Play the drums? Rawrr. If he plays drums in a band, well that’s just tasty.
Can he keep his room clean? Clean, but comfortably messy.
Is he an artist of sorts? Creativity is sexy. Writing…design…art.
Does he write his own music? Once again—effing hot. If you’re a male, play an instrument, sing and write your own music, you have it made.
Does he have pets? Not a big dog, but has to like animals.

Section 4

Does he use the word dude? Who cares.
How about tight? When referring to my butt.
Would he watch the sun rise and set with you? Once again, love is great no matter what you’re doing.
What kind of car does he drive? Well, this is just shallow. I don’t use this as criteria, but any male who drives a VW gets me hot.
How old is he? 24-32. Although, I LOVE me some older men.
What’s his name? I don’t know yet…

Didn’t I pick you up in the grocery store? ‘Cause you’re hot like salsa!

This morning I was browsing through Seattletimes.com in my usual morning coffee/Internet surfing ritual. In the Living section, I came across this link: Tips on picking up a fresh item at supermarket Singles Night , and immediately my interest was peeked. A Singles Night at the grocery store? Sounds interesting, fun and a possible way to snag a hottie. I know the grocery stores I frequent in Queen Anne are constantly swarming with good-looking men—especially Trader Joes—but, while they say the grocery store is a good place to pick someone up, how does one go about doing this?

I’ve certainly caught eyes before with a dark-headed type in the produce department, or lingered a little bit longer in the soup isle. But, when does one step over the line from just eyeing someone at the grocery store, to actually making a move? How do you know that they aren’t shopping for a romantic dinner with their gorgeous and fabulous girlfriend?

I clicked on the link in the hopes of discovering the Seattle-based grocery store that could be so genius—immediately ready to add the date to my calendar. I was overwhelmingly disappointed though to discover that a journalist for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, in Milwaukee, wrote it. Boo. Why can’t a grocery store in Seattle, better yet, Queen Anne, hold a Singles Night? I mean the idea is freaking brilliant. The night goes a little like this:

Singles just show up. It’s free. Each person gets a number to wear and a nametag. A disc jockey will play tunes while you wander around and pretend to shop as usual while sampling chocolate-covered cherries, pastries, shrimp mini-kabobs, baked Brie and sparkling wine.

If they see someone they like, they can add the opportunity to connect to their carts by telling the video date wrangler to post a message on a large video screen near the windows of the liquor store. Here you’ll also receive messages from those who have a hunger to meet you.

Sounds fun, huh? Now who wouldn’t want to meet someone hot at the grocery store? Makes for a better story than an Internet site, in my opinion. The article suggested a few pick-up lines to use:

“Nice wheels.”
“Any idea what kind of wine goes with ahi?”
“What is ahi?”
“How can you tell if these are ripe?”

And certain ones to avoid:

Where’s the pickled herring?”
“How many boxes of extra large, instant macaroni and cheese do you have in stock? Mom and I eat that every night.”
“Which way to the pharmacy aisles? I need something for this rash.”
“Oh, darn, that’s the last bottle of Beano. I need at least two.”

But, I prefer something a little saucier that goes right to the point, so I’ve compiled these:

“Do you eat lots of Lucky Charms? Because you look magically delicious.”

“Pssst! My piggly is wiggly.”

Happy Shopping!