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!

Molecular Amore

Is it possible to grow to like someone, or it is always better when there is instant chemistry between two people?
This is a question I’ve been thinking about lately, given the situation with Bruiser*.

This guy looks good on paper. I mean, what girl wouldn’t want to bring someone home to good ole mom and dad who is a Seattle firefighter and former UW football player? Plus, the guy looks amazing in jeans and a t-shirt and kisses like a pro. Just imagine what he’d look like and how he’d kiss in that uniform. Furthermore, he’s nice enough and intelligent enough, given the fact that he has an international business major from the UW, and he seems to be interested. But something just isn’t clicking for me, and I really can’t place my finger on it.

I don’t know if I’m overtly annoyed because he’ll call me three times in one day, not leave messages, call me back 10 minutes after I don’t answer, call me back the next day when I don’t call him, and incessantly bug me to hang out. I’m a busy person, and his persistence comes across as slightly pathetic and a little needy. I mean geez, what do I have, beer-flavored nipples? Or maybe it’s the fact that my good friends Matt and Andres have nothing nice to say about him. Their comments keep tugging at my mind. What kind of relationship could I have where I had to keep it separate from a couple of my best friends? Do they just misunderstand him, or is their perception of him correct?

The fact is, I just don’t know if I’m into this guy. But what if my pickiness is causing me to miss out on a good thing just because outside factors are skewing my perception? So he doesn’t necessarily fit “my type,” and doesn’t give me that addictive giggly-girl feeling that I’ve always had in the past. Is this Just Cause for running in the other direction? Is that what it’s all about—feeling this instant chemistry, supressing the butterflies, getting excited every time you see their name pop-up on your cellphone screen and anticipating every single moment you get to spend with them? This is how it has always been for me. It happened with my first love in high school, and Jesse and I were crazy about each other within days. Can it happen any other way?

People fall in love and end up marrying their best friend after suddenly realizing they’re perfect for each other. They had to have years of being “just friends,” which means that chemistry would not have been involved. I certainly have a friend or two who I wonder about here and there (and by friend I mean male friend). But, I’ve always wondered how friends take it to the “next level,” and can two former friends ever have the passion or chemistry that comes with instantly being crazy about someone? Is chemistry something that can eventually grow, with time, to the same level as strangers who fall in love?

I don’t know. I wish I had all the answers. But, this is what being 24 and a serial dater is all about, right? Trying out all sorts of different situations to find answers to these questions so eventually we find exactly what we want, right? I do have a feeling that if I blow this one off, I could regret it later. Perhaps I’ll attempt to dabble, just a bit…nobody ever said that dabbling required chemistry.

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent because of Bruiser’s size and potential to out-bench anyone at the gym.

Currently Feeling: Fat and bloated.
Currently Anticipating: Going to drink in the beer garden after work with Kelly so I can make myself more fat and bloated. Awesome.
Currently Crazy About: Trader Joe’s frozen chicken Phad Thai bowls and ginger ale.

Only the Crazy Date Young—Or Online

While walking around Greenlake last night with Sarah and her mom, we started talking about available and single men in the city and the best age to date. Sarah and I have both dabbled with the occasional “older” man (by this I mean 30-something), neither of which were very lucrative, but fun just the same. We collectively agreed that 10 years is the limit, and her mom joked that we could date 10-years younger. This, of course, would mean dating a 14-year-old. While this was a joke, Sarah and I quickly agreed that younger, no matter how many years, is not the way to go.

It’s no secret that studies say women mature faster than men, both mentally and physically. And while some of us girls also could be accused of this, it is more common for men in their early 20s to have the “love them and dump them,” attitude. While once upset and heartbroken over situations with me ex, my dad gave me great advice. He said, “A guy in his 20s only is with the best thing he can get at the time.” In other words, if someone more beautiful or interesting comes along, a man’s attention wanes. Perhaps this is a slight insight into the fickleness of the modern male. Who knows; I know I never will. What I do know is that in the last year, I’ve come across a few early 20-somethings as potential love interests. For one reason or the other (mostly physical), I’ve allowed myself to be involved, intrigued and persuaded by them. The whole time, “Don’t do it Jeanna, he’s young, he doesn’t know what he wants,” incessantly tugs in the dark caverns of my mind. But hey, I’m single and 24, and sometimes being attracted to someone overrides all logical thinking. When it comes to dating these dudes, however, the common 22-year-old male never fails to disappoint me.

I don’t know what it is, but it seems around the age of 24 or 25, a flip switches in a male’s mind. Most of my guy friends lately have expressed to me that they are tired of the games, the dating scene, bringing random girls home from the bars—all the bullshit that includes using women, not returning their phone calls, “playing the field” etc. This does, of course, vary if the guy has had a serious relationship for most of his early 20-something years. However, I have had numerous conversations with my guy friends that includes them saying, in one way or the other, “I’m ready to have a girlfriend.” So, where are these guys around the city? The ones who are ready to give up their “player” ways. Return my phone calls. Call me to hang out when I want them to. Not sleep with me and someone else at the same time. Know if they like me and want to pursue dating me. Not be freaked out by successful, independent, smart women.

I certainly don’t have problems finding guys for potential flings or crushes. And don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me relenting into the world of wanting a boyfriend. But, it would be nice to casually date someone who doesn’t play all the bullshit games. Maybe this is what we get and deserve though when the bar and party scene becomes common ground for meeting significant others. Which is why I’ve lately begun thinking about other ways to meet men. It’s hard once you’re out of college—the swarms of guys your age aren’t interacting with you on a daily basis. And I spent all of my college years with one guy. While I would never change that, I would give anything to have the dating pool available to me now that was available during college. Us single, 20-somethings now are left with the hope that we’ll meet a “friend-of-a-friend” or someone in another department at work, right? Or maybe standing in line at the grocery store? At the gym?

Where is the one place to go, where you can take comfort in knowing everyone is looking for the same thing you are? Dare I say it, “online dating” seems to be the popular choice for the 21 century. Scary, and pathetic, I know. The idea of signing myself up for Match.com is probably more frightening than being that lonely cat woman whom all your friend’s children refer to as “Auntie.” But, it does seem to be lucrative for many people. From time to time, I will admit that I sometimes find myself trolling the profiles in The Stranger’s LoveLab at work. The ads are incredibly entertaining, and sometimes I just like to look at all the guys’ pictures and fantasize actually having enough balls to fill out one of the profiles and send the dude a message. Would he reply back? Would he think I was cute in my photograph and want to go on a date? Would my profile make him laugh while he’s sitting at home in his boxers, eating a bowl of cereal, and searching for that woman who can make him melt? Would we be perfect for each other?

I just might have found a guy who is making me contemplate biting the bullet. I can’t stop reading his profile. It’s funny, and endearing, emotional, honest, and humanly raw. He’s a writer and wants to go to grad school to be a creative writing professor. He lives in Queen Anne, and his favorite book is A Heartbreaking Work of a Staggering Genius—one of my all-time favorites as well. He’s 26, seems to love Mexican food as much as me, and believes good sex requires a lot of stamina. (Hello ladies.) He claims to have, “zero anger. I am, to steal from Fight Club, ‘as calm as Hindu cows.’” Reading his profile is like deciding I like what this guy has to offer before I even have to meet him and go through all the small-talk bullshit. And plus, I can’t help but to be incredibly impressed and extremely intrigued by his explanation of online dating:

I love how so many people pretend to be entirely cynical about finding love over the internet and yet they can’t help checking their profile every day. Typical excuses: boredom, too many e-mails and not enough time to open them all. But maybe, just maybe loneliness is making them a little bit crazy. Or more likely, a little bit of everything. Welcome to the circus: everyone’s putting on a show. No one wants to leave alone. But hey, I’m not trying to pretend I’m any different. I actually have fallen in love with someone I met over the internet before. To those of you who wouldn’t want to admit it if you did meet your match online: don’t hate. Elitist pretension is just sad. This is as human as it gets. What could be more beautiful? I think it takes pretty tough skin to continue hoping that someday you’ll receive an e-mail from that certain someone.

Really, sounds tempting, doesn’t it?

Currently Feeling: Like I need a haircut and color, but I have no money. GRRR.
Currently Anticipating: Going home to read my book. It’s sooo good. (Fools Rush In)
Currently Wishing: I had the will to stop eating like a pig that hasn’t been fed in a week

No Games Allowed–Okay, Maybe Just a Little

Yet another article on MSN.com got me thinking this morning about a topic that has come up in my life quite a number of times recently. No, I’m not talking about being single; I’m talking about playing THE GAME. We all know what I’m referring to, we’ve all played it, we’ve all lost to it, and we’ve all loathed it. I’m becoming increasingly more impatient with the whole hoopla the older I get and the more I date. I’m getting too old to pretend that I don’t like someone. Yet, I’m totally guilty of holding a double standard when it comes to playing or not. A question posed within the article grabbed my attention:

Can two people create a healthy relationship without game-playing, or is it a necessary evil to instill a little excitement?

The Brit didn’t play the game, and it was refreshing. He called me every day, asked me out on dates, and wanted me to meet up with him and his friends every night he was out. He was very open with the fact that he liked me, and I liked him, so things worked. It wasn’t a huge headache or too much effort. Why can’t everything be this easy? I’m curious if you only can get away with not playing The Game if two people are mutually interested and excited about dating one another. I think that if interest levels sway one way or the other, the one less interested is going to get annoyed if the other party reveals how much they like the other. Patience is a virtue here I guess, and when it comes to hanging out with someone I like…I don’t have any.

What a nice transition into the situation my bearded lover. I dug him, and he drove me crazy. I’ve never been so sprung on someone so fast—left wondering if he’ll call me, checking my phone every five minutes. I believe I was in hell on Earth. I never could get this guy. I didn’t know if I was calling too much; if he was too shy, and I should be calling more; if he didn’t want to hear from me; if he wanted to hear from me, but was playing the game back. The whole thing gave me an ulcer. And quite frankly, I’d rather not be involved with someone than worried 24 hours a day if they like me or not. I liked him, therefore I wanted to hear from him…but I wouldn’t call too often myself because I was conscious of The Game the two of us were supposed to be playing. The irony is there, isn’t it? I’m sick of The Game; yet, I’m stuck playing it so I don’t look like a desperate, psycho girl. Why is it so forbidden in modern-day society to let someone know that you dig ‘em?

But then there’s the problem of revealing to someone that you dig him or her a little too much. Case in point: guys who call too much. (Which is where I’m guilty of the double standard.) Recently, I met an ex U-Dub football player who was so huge that I referred to him as Bruiser. Bruiser and I started talking one night at a party with some mutual friends. He got my number so we could go to breakfast the next morning, and I shrugged it off, not knowing how drunk he was or if he really was that serious about calling me. Oh my God. If I only knew how serious he was I would have never given him my number. The man down and outright stalked me for days. For those of you who know me, you know that I pretty much answer my phone all the time. If I’m busy for one reason or another, I’ll call you back as soon as I’m not busy. Well, Bruiser didn’t understand that concept. The man called me over and over again…one day he called three times in a three-hour time frame without one answer or phone call back from me. Who does that? He even would call an hour or a half hour later after I already told him I had plans to invite himself or ask if we could meet up. He was cute, and we definitely got along the first time we hung out, but I was totally turned off by how forward he was. He came across as slightly pathetic. Does this make me guilty of wanting someone to play the game…just a little bit…not too much…*Sigh* I think in some sort of sick and twisted world, a small version of The Game is necessary, although, if drawn out too much, rather annoying.

Ok. So, let’s analyze this rambling blog.
I’ve had:
1. A successful dating situation with a man who didn’t bother playing The Game, therefore we always saw each other and things moved along quickly without any sleepless nights. (Well, sleepless nights attributed to missed phone calls at least.)
2. Someone who played The Game, or wasn’t interested, but sort of acted interested, so I didn’t act too interested, or was dating someone else, therefore only called me when he wasn’t with her, or liked me, but couldn’t call me cause he had to figure out what was going on with the other girl, or used me for a little fun, (I’m still confused about what happened there, so can’t draw a final conclusion, but can still state that The Game was necessary in this situation.)
3. A guy who didn’t know the slightest about what it’s like to play The Game, but because I wasn’t that interested in him, it miserably backfired, and I haven’t talked to him since the last five phone calls he gave me.

What can I conclude from this? I suppose as exhausting as The Game is, it is necessary to play it just a bit…if that prevents someone from calling the other over and over and blowing their chances. Although, I’m not going to model my dating life after it. The longer I’m single, the better I’m getting at flirting and being forward with guys. I’ve realized that it’s usually the only way you’re going to get what you want.

SO…Friday I met someone. Again. (Hey, get off my back, it’s summer-fling season!)We chatted a bit. He got my number, and I got his. I dig him. A lot. If he doesn’t call like he said he would by Thursday—I’m calling him.

No games.

Currently Feeling: Like I’m craving some sort of physically grueling activity. I’ve been slacking and partying too much lately. Time to get strict again.
Currently Anticipating: You know the answer—a phone call from Kelly.
Currently Listening To: Pearl Jam of course, to prepare myself for the concert this weekend. Fuck yeah.

Better Off Single

I’ve now found confirmation that my life is worth getting up for everyday. Not that I didn’t know that before, but it helps to have it reiterated every once in awhile. If you (you being whoever’s reading this) or someone you know complains about being single, please refer them to this article. According to MSN.com, a few reasons single people’s lives are better (yep, I said BETTER) than people’s lives who are in a relationship are:

1. We look better. It’s true. People in relationships tend to “let themselves go,” while us fabulously single people work at looking good and staying that way—you never know when you could meet a potential.
2. We do what we want with our money. Including vacationing to Mexico, buying a new car, and the latest jeans and shoes.
3. We are rested and smarter—not sleeping with someone in our bed (my laptop would be so proud) makes us well rested and more alert for the day. On average, couples lose 49 minutes of sleep a night when snoozing together.
4. We have better friendships. Those in relationships spend, on average, two-thirds less time with their friends. Single people have the greatest sense of friendships and community, a lot more people in their lives, and a greater sense at social responsibility.
5. We have better sex. Ha. It’s true. People in a relationship might have more sex than single people, but studies show that it tends to be more boring and less satisfying than the sex single people have.

So to all my single friends…chin up. We’re the greatest.

Currently Feeling: Surprisingly ok after John’s birthday last night.
Currently Anticipating: Hanging out with Gen tonight and Vanessa’s cabin this weekend
Currently Loving: The new Razor cell phone I bought today…my other one kicked the bucket

Make-Out-City, U.S.A.

I made out with a gay man last night.
I don’t know how it came about…I don’t know what came over me.
The even weirder part is that I enjoyed it.

I believe the trouble started after I met up with some friends, quite a few hours after their start time. In a frenzied attempt to catch up to them, I finished most of the drinks that kept getting plopped into my hands because my friends were all too inebriated to finish them. Apparently beer, tall Greyhounds (my new favorite drink), vodka Redbulls, double tall vodka diets and beer is a bad combination for a stomach that is nearly void of any nutritional substance. However, I did find it to be an excellent combination for riding the train to Make-out-City, U.S.A. Ever been? Apparently, my train made a small stop off at three towns along the way…

1. Friendyou’dneverthoughtyou’dkissville
2. Friendyou’vekindawonderedaboutbutneverkissedville
3. Gayfriendwhoyou’vecertainlyneverwonderedaboutville

Luckily, I jumped off just in time before I reached the “Weirdgirlwhowantedtomakeoutwithme” stop.
Have you ever kissed someone and had it be A-sexual, yet a turn on at the same time?
Let me tell you how bizarre that is.
Perhaps I should focus on kissing heterosexuals if I ever want to find “the one”….
Seems like good advice.

Currently Feeling: A little hungry, a little tired, a little sheepish, a little restless, a little nervous, a little impatient.
Currently Anticipating: The sunny and warm weekend! Going to go on a couple boats…attend the beer festival…perhaps get around to cleaning my apartment….nah.
Currently Reading: The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. (Another Best Book of the Summer from Amazon.com) Check the list out…I’ve already read three and they’ve been awesome!

Shallow Sally, Meet Army Sam…

My boss is setting me up on a blind date. Is that weird?

Yesterday as I was leaving work, I ran into Lesley in the parking lot as we were both walking to our cars.

“How is everything…how’s the boyfriend?” she inquired.

“What boyfriend?” I responded.

I think the last time I spoke with her about any “boyfriend” I had just met Dylan, and he was taking me out for Valentine’s Day. My do the times change.

“Have I ever told you about my friend Sam?” she asked me.

Friend Sam? Now, my boss is beautiful, out-going and intelligent…but she’s 38. I’ve done the whole mid-30s thing, and I don’t think it’s quite my style. Not to say that I don’t love thirty-somethings, but 35 was pushing it, and 38 is even older. I’m thinking that I draw the line now at 32. Or at least I’ll tell myself that, but who really knows?

She went on to describe Sam to me, who, by the way, is 24. He’s a Captain in the Army…not really my style, but hec, I didn’t think that 35-year-old divorcees or bearded men were my style either, and I continue to surprise myself. Since my outlook lately has been to date as many different types as I can—that’s the only way you find what you’re really looking for, right?—I think I’ve decided to give the ole Army thing a chance. According to Lesley, he has an amazing body (most of those military boys do) and a great butt. I’m definitely a butt person. And seriously, if only caring that the dude has a great body and a nice butt is shallow, then call me Shallow Sally. And Shallow Sally would love to meet Army Sam…hello lover.

So, she sent me a picture this morning, and I suppose she’s going to discuss the whole “blind-date” deal with him. Now, I don’t really know what I’m getting myself into here, but I know there must be certain stipulations that go along with dating someone your boss hooks you up with. For instance, I probably shouldn’t sleep with him on the first date. (DAMN!) And it probably won’t be like the blind dates on TV, where we mud wrestle and wind-up our night in a steamy hot tub or sauna. (SHIT! DAMN!) I also have to be a little careful about how many of my personal views I discuss with him, since I do work for a seriously Christian corporation, and he’s probably expecting some straight-laced Christian girl. (Dare I divulge the “real me.”) But then there’s also a multitude of issues if it doesn’t work out. What if I think he’s a total dork, or not so cute, or he has back hair. Normally, us respectful women just don’t return any phone calls and leave the poor sucker to figure out for himself what he did wrong. But this guy is practically family to my boss, which brings up a potential for disaster. Will I actually have to tell the guy that, “I just don’t think it’s going to work out,” or “I’m actually not ready to date anybody seriously,” or “Well, you’re going bald, you don’t know what “conundrum” means, your breath smells, and quite honestly, the idea of kissing you grosses me out.”

Here I am, already anticipating the demise of my Army-boy relationship, even before I’ve even met the guy.

Either way, I suppose it would be nice just to go out on a date…plus, it’ll probably make fodder for an excellently entertaining blog. Shallow Sally will keep you posted.

Currently Feeling: Happy after the conversation I had with Jesse last night. I’m glad things are ok between us again.
Currently Anticipating: This weekend. I have so many fun things planned…art gallery opening at Evo where I get to see my bearded lover…Mariners game on Saturday…girl’s-night fondue party and seeing The Breakup on Sunday. Sounds like a super sweet line-up to me!

Our Big Beach Adventure

On Saturday I traveled to the Washington coast with my British lover. For me, nothing sounded more romantic and fun than taking a mini road trip to the beach with a man that I would love nothing more than to be cooped up in a car with for six hours…or anywhere else for that matter. For the Brit and I, this was going to be the longest amount of time we had spent together, and I relished in the fact that he was all mine for the entire amount of Saturday. No loud and noisy bar. No quick dinner before having to rush off to bed before work. No outside distractions besides me, him and the hum of the car.

He picked me up at 9 a.m. Saturday morning. I don’t remember the last time I woke up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday, but with the anticipation of our day trip ahead, I bounded out of bed and got ready with a smile on my face. (My mind was so happy that it even forgot to think about the hangover it should have had after Friday night). Of course, after a week of sunshine and 60-something+ weather, it was gray and drizzly outside. However, we packed sweatshirts, rain jackets and tennis shoes. The Brit was bound and determined to see the Pacific Ocean no matter what the weather. (Living in Denver, the Carolinas and Kansas has provided him with a significant amount of time since the last time he saw the coastline on the West side of the nation.) On the car ride down, we took turns listening to our iPods—hooked up to the radio of course—and sang along to the tunes. The car wound its way through the small little no-name towns along the coast. For me, it was nothing new since I’ve lived here all my life. The Brit on the other hand, made comments about every little town, how cute this house and the other was, how green the moss was, how dense the trees were. We had a fun game where I asked him to pronounce all the Indian-named cities such as Chehalis, Puyallup, Hoquiam, Sequim…and he pronounced every single one wrong, which made me laugh. It was interesting to see Washington through the eyes of someone who hasn’t lived here everyday of their life for the past 24 years…

We continued on down toward Long Beach, with me smiling every time the Brit said something such as “Wow. Look! Cows!” and we both were dorkily excited to see a cranberry bog along the side of the road. Finally, we reached the main strip of Long Beach and the Brit excitedly headed straight to the beach even though we were both starving for lunch. “Do you mind if we just go see the beach first?” he asked me. How could I turn down the childhood excitement this grown man had for the simple idea of seeing the beach? I bundled up with layers upon layers and tightened my jacket around my face as the wind whipped the sleeves of my jacket back and forth. It was cold! We walked along the beach, poking at half broken shells, and watching the seagulls try to fly against the wind and little birds scurrying quickly to get away from the edge of the tide as it came in and went out again.

After our big beach adventure, we ate lunch at a tiny local restaurant. Of course, no beach adventure lunch is complete without clam chowder. We then poked around the shops, admiring the intricate details of the kites in the numerous kite shops and finding refuge in a small used bookstore where we both picked up a couple books. Since it was raining and early in the beach tourist season, we left town and drove up to a state park where we walked through some trails, wandering down to a lighthouse and eventually back to the car. By this time, our clothing was soaked. The rain had penetrated through my jacket, the last four inches of my jeans were wet and muddy, and my fingers were numb. We decided that our five-hour beach trip in the rain was probably as good as it was going to get and both agreed that it was time to head back to beautiful Seattle. While it was nice to get out the city for a day, we both remained true to our love for city life and jumped back into the car to head back to what we considered home.

Our trip back provided one last stop in our beach adventure. The Brit is a connoisseur of ice cream, and the whole ride back we kept trying to find a place where we could stop to eat ice cream, drink coffee and hot chocolate and flip through our new books. (Yes, we’re a couple of nerds.) Most of the ice cream shops we came across were closed due to pre-season, so we finally had to settle on Dairy Queen Blizzards. We pulled into the parking lot and ordered our ice cream. Luckily, I had packed a bag with some sweats and a change of socks. I couldn’t wait to get out of the jeans that were uncomfortably soaked and stuck to my legs, and my jacket that kind of smelled like a wet dog after being damp for five hours. I changed in the bathroom, jumped into the Brit’s car and curled up on the seat in my fuzzy sweats and sweatshirt. The heat was blasting and the windows were fogging up as I licked the ice cream that was running down the side of my cookie-dough Blizzard because of the humidity in the car. We sat for a minute, warming up with ice cream (go figure), and as he reached over and squeezed my hand, I thought to myself…I could sit here with this man forever.

Currently Feeling: Sad that tonight is our last Lucky Strikes bowling night.
Currently Wondering: What the hec I’m going to do all week and weekend. Currently Anticipating: Sarah coming home because I don’t have a week-time buddy.
Currently Reading: A Prayer for Owen Meany…another John Irving recommendation from Luke.