Archive for May, 2010

table for two.

May 27, 2010

I had a date last night.

Let me be the first to say that dating sucks.  It REALLY really sucks.

There’s all this pressure to pick out a cute outfit, there’s the awkward greeting (do you hug?) then there’s the awkwardness of who’s going to pay, then there’s the awkward goodbye (do you give him a quick kiss?  or does the situation call for a heavy duty make out?).  For this reason, I secretly envy my married friends for being free of this clumsy dance.

So last night I wore my quintessential “I look hot but I’m not trying too hard” date night outfit – cute black top, white skirt, black flats and met him at the bar.  I was there before him (damnit!), so I plopped myself down on a bar-stool, ordered a beer, and hoped it would give me courage.  He showed up and I immediately got butterflies.  He cleaned himself up for the evening and was looking ridiculously adorable clean shaven and polo-shirted.

The conversation was good (although I admittedly become less and less articulate with the more beers I consume).  He paid.  We left the bar and went to a diner for some late night food and more (drunken/sleepy) conversation.

At around 1am he dropped me off back at my car, and feeling brazen and unable to resist the crooked smile, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards me.  Let it be known: I will melt for any man that bites my bottom lip. (sigh).

So I went home, did a slight celebration dance alone in my room.  And now, the next morning, I’m doing the “omigod, does he like me? will he call again?” obsessed freak out.

See?  Even when it’s good, dating is bad.

Think he will call?

Q

dazed and confused.

May 24, 2010

This weekend went far too fast in a drunken sleep deprived haze.  I had a few too many beers and a few too many snoring boys in my bed (more on this later).  But all in all, I would call it a success.

I have decided that I may need to find a new “home base” bar.  Or at least lay low for a while.  It’s not so fun when the bartenders question and judge your dates (“Really, THAT guy?”) or attempt to step in while a cute guy is chatting you up (“You ok? this guy bother you?”).

Im FINE. Really.

But now, even worse, the middle age owner has gotten my telephone number and is very very very creepy.  I don’t know what I would expect the owner of a bar such as the one I frequent to be like.  But I don’t think I would expect him to text me at 9:00 in the morning about how he was going to do some, ahem, “things” while thinking of me.

How is one supposed to respond to that?

Um… Thanks?

A friend of mine wrote a pretty great article about women and sex that I just absolutely love.  Right on, sister friend!

Some things I just don’t need to know,

Q

worse than mary jane.

May 21, 2010

I am beginning to think that I’m like a gateway drug – a drug that leads you inevitably down that road directly to marriage.

All (well, maybe not all… but a solid 85% or so) of my ex’s are in serious relationships and very much in love, and all (again, maybe not ALL, but most) of these relationships are ones that they found immediately after dating me.  How does this happen?  Do they meet someone and think “Oh my god.  Thank Heaven! She’s so different.  I. must. marry. her. immediately”?

I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several days thinking about what could have been.  What if I hadn’t left?  Would that be me in her shoes… smiling while I pick out a dress? moving in? or half halfheartedly attending the family functions and still looking on as he chugs Jim Beam from the bottle?

I know playing these games with myself is useless.  I know I only did what I felt was right in my heart at the time.  I’ve always believed that if there is any hesitation at all, or any question in your heart, then it’s not “right”.  I only wish that someone could look into my future and tell me not to worry – I made the right choice.

I made a realization last night that nearly took my breath away:  The one person on this Earth that still knows me inside and out and better than anyone is someone that I walked out on and pushed away a year and a half ago for no better reason than simply needing “space”.

I needed space then… but now I just feel alone.

Such is the great irony of life.

Trying to smile,

Q

i am woman… hear me roar?

May 20, 2010

It always kind of cracks me up (and kind of makes me proud) to see a really feminine women doing rather masculine jobs or tasks.

Yesterday in the city I saw a full fledged no-joke police woman with 1″ long hot pink finger nails, pearls, 5 dangley bracelets, and Marilyn Monroe-esque red lipstick.    Granted, for all I know she could be a drag queen on the way to provide “entertainment” to a local bachelor party, but I really like to picture her chasing and cuffing a perp while rocking that get up.

The things I think of as being “grown up” or “womanly” are kind of silly and haven’t really changed that much since I was little.  When I was kid, I imagined that you just hit a certain age and you start wearing pearls, miraculously become an expert at applying makeup, and automatically know how to get in/out of a car while wearing a skirt without flashing your neighbors.   (For the record, I still haven’t mastered either of these things).

My friend “J” must be more grown up than me because she is so good at doing that thing that all Grandmothers can do – cook something amazing without even using a recipe.  (How do they do that?!)  She likes to throw her ideas into recipes for me, and they always crack me up…

For example (note how scientific she is! ha!):

Pre-heat oven to 400 deg

Chop up and mix together all or most of the following:

Ground Turkey (1 pound)

Spinach (I used half a bag of defrosted spinach).  Kale would also work.

Flax seeds (palm full)

Onions (half an onion finely chopped)

2 eggs

Capers or olives (wing it….)

Garlic (3 cloves)

Cup of quinoa

Salt (wing it)

Pepper (wing it)

Chili powder (wing it)

Pepper sauce (optional- wing it)

Make the balls (they will be ball-like, but probably flat on the bottom).  Plop them on a baking sheet (spray to keep from sticking).  Cook them for 10 min.  Move them around.  Cook them until they’re cooked.  Move them around more just for kicks if you remember.

After cooking, I used a homemade tzatziki (google, but it takes: garlic, lemon juice, greek yogurt, cucumbers, olive oil) as the sauce or just buy it at trader joe’s or other grocery store

I also threw some olives and feta on top of it all for good measure.  It might be good to mix these in the meatballs.

I’m considering adding peppers next time.

Wingin’ it,

Q

gravel under your wheels.

May 18, 2010

Number one way to ruin a good buzz:  Running into your ex boyfriend while he is out with his new girlfriend (particularly when you are looking far from your best… sigh).

After the fact, I can think of about 1289612 things that I wish I had done or said to him.

I wish I played his least favorite song on the jukebox and sang along.

I wish that I walked right up to him and introduced myself to his new girlfriend.

I wish that I flirted shamelessly with the bartender and was showing a little more leg.

I wish that I failed to even acknowledge his existence.

Instead, I did the only thing I could think to do:  I raised a toast (loudly) to “douche bags everywhere” and promptly left the bar, thankful that he’s no longer my responsibility.

Putting the “ass” in “class”,

Q

why my dog has a sense of humor.

May 13, 2010

I have been enjoying my dog’s hilarious ability to pick the most random and unsettling objects to poop on.  I think he gets some pleasure out of making it increasingly difficult (and unpleasant) for me to pick up his poo.

My personal favorites thus far:

1.  A thorny bush (“try sticking your hand in that!”)

2. A dead squirrel (which I didn’t notice until I was bent down and my hand was very sickeningly close to said dead squirrel.  ew.)

3.  Three foot high weeds.  I couldn’t even FIND the poop when he was done, let alone actually get down there to pick it up.

OR, are dogs capable of plotting an elaborate plan for revenge?  I wonder if this has something to do with the reindeer antlers that I forced him to wear last Christmas…

** This is my first post in the great big Internet World, and it is about Poop.  Just a taste of the many highly intelligent, awesome things to come out of my mouth (er- fingers?) for as long as I actually decide to keep up with this.

(I briefly considered doing an “about me” introduction thing, but then I thought more about it… and the more I thought about that, the more that sounded stupid.)

So, there you have it.  I chuckle at poop.

Fondly-

Q

(Can't you sense his misery?)