Love Quickie

At the bottom of my lovely little cherished Glamour magazine, I read this:

“Recent surveys show that being funny is the #1 way most men and women attract a partner.”

Which I’m totally attributed to this entire little dating mishap. Whew…now that THAT was solved, on to bigger and better things!

Currently Anticipating: Finally getting my hairs cut off tomorrow. My haircut has NO shape and has been driving me nuts!
Currently Feeling: Like I pulled something in my neck. Argh!
Currently Reading: The “Women’s Health” subscription someone anonymously and randomly purchased for me, sent to my attention at work. Are they trying to tell me something?

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.

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.

Important Highlights From My Weekend

FRIDAY: I attempt to replicate my night with the firefighters. Drank myself into oblivion while at Evo’s art gallery opening. Made ridiculous and embarrassing phone calls. Found out some pertinent, shiesty info about my current love interest. Had to take a taxi home at 11 because I couldn’t stand up or see. Woke up the next morning facedown on my couch with my bathrobe on. Don’t ask me why.

Conclusion: The bearded lover is out like yesterday’s trash.

SATURDAY: Up bright and early to go hiking with an old college friend. Drink lots of water, take three Advil, eat toast, eggs, and yoghurt in an attempt to feel better after my wine hangover. Drive two and a half hours to the Olympic National Forest to hike up to Lena Lake. Catch up with Noah about the stories we’ve missed from each other’s lives the past year or so. Jump in the lake, which is the coldest water I’ve ever been in. Sunbathe a bit. Eat beef jerky and drink warm red wine for lunch. Stop on the way back to Seattle in a cute little town called Hoodsport for dinner. Eat broasted chicken…not to be confused with fried chicken…and jojos the size of my forearm. Feel groggy from all-day hike and sunshine, but quickly changed to meet up with Sarah. Go to a new bar in Belltown called Amber. Designers are clever enough to put amber lights everywhere, and I’m impressed. Marvel at all the beautiful people and somewhat scandalous, bizarre outfits. Wrap the night up at Vanessa’s where I play drinking games with Mike-orita…a seriously disgusting margarita mix made by Mikes Hard Lemonade that has 9 percent alcohol volume.

Conclusion: I haven’t slept since 1998.

SUNDAY: Pick up Amanda’s boyfriend Luke from the Princess cruise ship port. Go to Buckley’s to watch the World Cup game. Drink a damn good Bloody Mary and eat a so-so breakfast. Marvel over the head butt incident and the penalty-kick finale. Drop Luke off. Drive to the east side to partake in some bridesmaid dress shopping with Jillian and her friend Alison. Marvel at Jillian in her wedding dress. Laugh at the fat brides trying ugly dresses on and the camel toe. Sift through hundreds of dresses, try on ten or so, finally agree on one that looks good, and then discover it doesn’t come in the color Jillian wants. Back at square one. Wrap up the evening at Las Margaritas where I practically fall asleep in my Coconut margarita. Finally make it home where I try to watch Syriana for five minutes before passing out at 8 p.m. Don’t wake up this morning till 8 a.m.

Conclusion: I’m rejuvenated for another three weeks of binging.

Currently Feeling: Eh.
Currently Anticipating: Finally cleaning my apartment tonight. I bought a bunch of cleaning supplies from Target, so hopefully that will motivate me. Possible movie night with Johnner…
Currently Wondering: What the hell is wrong with the male species.