Airing Dirty Laundry

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Come Hither, Crazy Creepazoids.

There is something about me that screams, "Crazy guys! Come here!" I am some kind of homing beacon for emotionally unstable men. It's amusing, yet also disturbing.

So many funny things happened this weekend that I will post about soon. I've been in Nashville with my mom, aunt and cousin. A girls' trip for Mom's 60th birthday. Last night, we went to Tootsie's to celebrate, and I met the sweetest, cutest guy. He looked exactly like Balthazar Getty with the same piercing blue eyes, but younger and without the gray hair. Dream-y! But also craz-y.

I gave him my phone number at 11:12 pm. He called once at 11:44 pm, and again at 12:07 am. Left two crazy messages.

Message #1: "Penny. Hey. I had fun tonight, glad we met. I miss you."

Message #2: "Pen-ny. Your message says you'll call me right back, but you haven't called. Call me."

I am a freak magnet.

I'm The Guy? No, I'm Always The Girl.

I hate it when I hear guys use the p- word or the c- word. I hate it because they're almost always using those words as insults. When I hear a guy use such vulgarity in my presence, the conversation usually goes like this:

Dumb Dude - Blah blah blah p- word

Me - You say that like it's a bad thing.

DD - Huh?

Me - It's not a bad thing to be a pussy. Don't you love pussies?

DD - [chuckles stupidly ala Beavis and Butthead]

Me - I love the pussy. Do you love the pussy?

DD - Huh-huh-huh yeah! Der! Huh-huh!

Me - Then don't insult the pussy. If you love the pussy and want to be near the pussy, you won't insult it like that again.

DD - Huh-huh-huh...you said p- word...huh-huh!

(Notice I did not give Dumb Dude spelling-out privileges. I will only spell out pussy when it is given the proper respect and adoration it deserves. In fact, that's not all I won't do if those conditions are not appropriately met.)

That scenario is particularly amusing to me when I don't know the guy well and/or we're surrounded by a crowd of people. By trade I am a teacher, after all, and I'm used to having a large group of students to impart my wisdom and knowledge upon.

Think about it, ladies. When you hear a guy call another guy a p- or a c-, it's an insult. Sometimes it will be blatant, and you'll actually hear a guy call another guy "a girl." Let me ask you this - why is that an insult? There's nothing wrong or bad about being a girl. I wouldn't be insulted if you called me a desk or a lamp (yes, Ron Burgundy, I'm just saying it because I see them). Apparently, it's degrading for someone who is not a girl to be called a girl. Hell. It can even be an insult when you are a girl.

"You throw like a girl!"

"You run like a girl!"

"What? Are you gonna be a girl and cry about it?"

Whenever someone calls me a girl, I tell them they're just stating the obvious. "Yeah. I know. So what's your point?" But what does it mean when someone calls you a guy or tells you you're acting like one?

Because something I hear every now and then is that I'm acting like a guy. I don't know what to make of this one. I'll be talking to a friend, or maybe even someone I don't even know very well, about a guy I'm dating or used to date. And they'll say it. "Sounds like you're the guy in the relationship." Then they laugh.

Seriously - what does this really mean? Is it good? Is it bad? Why is it funny? I just don't know. It comes from girls and guys alike, but who says it doesn't seem to change the meaning at all.

Goofer's told me more than a few times throughout our many years of friendship - "That's what you get for dating a guy who thinks like a girl," "He did what?! He's being such a girl about this." or "You're the guy. You know that, right?"

Don't get me wrong - I have put some thought into this. Usually it's when I'm complaining about a guy calling or texting me. Or I tell someone about a fight I just had with the guy that I don't understand. Or I'm talking about feeling awkward when he cried or confused when he got his feelings hurt. I get that, right or wrong, certain behaviors are gendered. But what I don't understand is whether my characterization as "the guy" is a good thing or a bad thing?

I'm turned off by guys who contact me too much or come on too strong. I can be fickle. I don't like things moving quickly and have commitment issues. I'm not going to have three dates with a guy and expect we're exclusive. I'm not going to date a guy for a month and think we're in a relationship. I get hella-annoyed when guys do these things because we're not in college anymore. I don't cry often or in front of anyone unless we're watching a sad movie. I get freaked out when guys cry in front of me. Especially if it's at a movie like Monsters, Inc. True story.

I get freaked out when meeting the family comes too soon. I hate it when guys are jealous of my guy friends or ex's. It weirds me out when guys are more sensitive than me and when they get their feelings hurt and have to talk about it. I don't do that unless it's big. I step back when a guy is more insecure than me. There's a healthy human amount of insecurity, and anything more is a problem. And I think fights are stupid unless major shit hits the fan.

Is there something wrong or bad about all that? Seeing it all listed like that makes me think I sound bitchy, but evidently, it makes me a guy.

I also love chick flicks. Grey's Anatomy is my favorite show because Sex and the City is off the air. I drink cosmopolitans, and pink is my favorite color. I like flowers and chocolate and had posters of cheesy teen heart-throbs like Jonathan Knight and Kirk Cameron on my wall growing up. I saw Titanic the night it opened. I love shoes and purses and own more than I have room for. I get manicures on bad days. I'm a romantic.

I love to cook for my man. I like writing sweet little cards and hiding them for him to find. I talk about my feelings. I like cuddling, laying out on the beach and love to host dinner parties. I talk to my mom every day and giggle with my friends. I have poetry books. There are pictures of friends all over my apartment where we have our grinning faces smooshed together the way only girls do, and I love my small, fluffy dog who sits on my lap and wears bows.

So what if I also love sports and quote Will Ferrell? Whatever people say, I'll always be a girl. And if I'm sure of anything, I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

"Girls can wear jeans
And cut their hair short,
Wear shirts and boots.
'Cause it's okay to be a boy.
But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading.
'Cause you think that being a girl is degrading.
But secretly you'd love to know what it's like,
Wouldn't you?
What it feels like for a girl."
- Madonna, The Ultimate Girl

My Top Ten Deal Breakers

Ok, now I'm answering questions posed by Date Girl and A Fair Fairy. Both great girlie blogs so take a peek.

My Top Ten Deal Breakers

I want to start by saying that I know how I want to be treated, and how I need to be treated, but none of that is listed here. I'm not high maintenance, I don't need a lot, but I know what is enough. I need enough. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

1. Tsk! Temper Temper!

I cannot be with a man with a temper. I recently told my aunt that I can't end up with a guy who has a bad temper, and she told me they all have them. I'm taking my chances and betting that isn't true. This is a major deal breaker, the number one deal breaker, but it's a hard one to spot usually. I mean, at first it's all lovey-dovey, honeymooney, "He can do no wrong," so you don't have your first fight or see the temper flare up until you're already in deep. But eee gads, once it does, I can't shake my mind off it.

The most important things I've learned about relationships in my sorted dating history is that I need someone who communicates in similar ways and who resolves conflict in similar ways. The reason I am single is that I have not yet met a man who possesses these two traits. X communicated like me, but didn't resolve conflicts in a compatible way. He's the closest I've gotten so far.

2. I don't do bald.

I'm 5' 6", and I've dated guys as short as 5' 4" and as tall as 6' 5". I've dated skinny, lanky, meaty, musclely, with a hairy chest, with a hairless chest, brown haired, blond haired, black haired, red haired, men with facial hair, men who couldn't even grow facial hair if their life depended on it...you get the picture. But bald is where I draw the line. Bald just doesn't do it for me.

3. I'd rather take a guy with a sketchy past than one with no past at all.

I've dated guys who were wild, dated crazy girls, had weird hangups about their ex's, whatever it is - I'm sure I've dated it. But when I meet a guy who hasn't had a girlfriend in a few years or yikes ever, I see flashing red lights and hear loud ass sirens. I see it as a warning of potential problems. I've got a complicated past, and I've had a lot of complicated experiences. I'm not looking for a fixer-upper or someone who's not into commitment.

4. Just Say No - to Sloppy Seconds.

I've never dated a guy who's dated one of my friends. The only exception to this in my 16 years of dating is that I dated a guy that Lass had one date with two years before I even met the guy. And I didn't know about that until I told her we were dating. I'm a big believer in girl code.

5. Get back, loud breathers and close talkers! You creep me out.

I don't even like to be around people who do either of these things. Gross gross gross!

6. I would never date a non-Christian seriously.

I've had a few serious relationships, and one thing I've learned is that it's important to date people who want the type of life that you want. When I meet their families, I'm thinking about what it would be like to share a life with this family and be a part of it. I don't want to marry someone who wants to move somewhere new every year or so. I don't want to marry a guy who wants to live way out in the country, far from a big city. And I don't want to marry someone who doesn't share my faith because I want us to share that faith with our children. And I want someone to pray with when things get rough. That's all part of the life I want, and I know I can't settle for less. Not to mention it's a part of who I am.

7. A Republican...sort of

The more I think about this one, the less it matters. What it boils down to is values. If someone shares my values, but votes in a different direction, I think that's ok. I just need someone who sees eye to eye with me on my core values, and as long as we share that foundation, I think we'll be alright. I think. ;)

8. Non-meat-eaters need not apply.

I love to cook, and I love to eat. Cooking is my therapy, and I love having someone to cook for. But if my guy is a vegetarian or even worse - vegan! - I have no freaking clue what I'd cook for him, and whatever it was, it wouldn't be as yummy as something with lots of meat and cheese.

9. Mama knows best.

I could never get serious about someone that my family or my closest friends didn't approve of or didn't get along with. Never. Period.

10. Please observe the No Smoking!! sign.

I could never date a smoker. Never. I watched my sweet everloving grandfather die slowly and painfully of lung cancer, and every time I smell cigarettes, that's what I think of. I think smoking is careless, weak and selfish.

* I had to add two more!

11. I wanna hold your hand.

Some guys are not into PDA, but I am big time. I'm all about some affection. I don't like slimey hand holding so if your hands are sweating, wait til they aren't covered with goo. Also, I don't like it when a guy puts his hand in the back pocket of my jeans. I was just trying to explain this to someone last weekend, and he thought I was weird. Maybe I am. But it makes me feel like a possession, like a dog being held by the collar, and I'm a wild, independent woman that you can't tame.

12. No love for football, no love from me.

I just think it's weird when a guy doesn't like football. And, like, what would we do on Saturdays in the fall if we were a couple? Do I have to explain the difference between offsides and false start to you? Do you have a real opinion about the BCS? I just don't get it, dude.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

I try hard not to censor myself on this blog. It’s important for me to have a space where I can tell silly stories, but especially to work out whatever’s on my mind at a given moment. It is important to have this outlet. Since my last break-up, I’ve been hesitant to write anything about it. It felt like I was censoring myself, but the boundaries were in my mind’s difficulty to make sense of it. I’ve spent the past six months trying to understand what happened and take it in.

I have worried and still worry that I won’t find anyone I connect with the way we connected or who will love me as well as he loved me. I’m worried he spoiled me, and I won’t have something that good again.

Sometimes I mention The X, and when I do, it’s usually a hint about “what went wrong.” I haven’t gotten too specific about that because it is complicated and also so close to my heart. The truth is I miss him. And I have missed him. I’ve thought about him every day since we broke up. He is a good man, and one I will always love and hopefully also one I will always know.

We were involved for three years. I wrote a post about it a year or so ago. Check it out – I was such a sap!

In August 2005, I got laid off from a job I hated. I wanted out of Atlanta, and I seized the opportunity to start fresh. Two weeks before I moved, I temped for a week as a receptionist. X worked there. I still remember the first time we talked.

I was trying to find a file on a computer, and someone was helping me. He stood close by and started humming, “Passenger Seat” by Death Cab for Cutie. I said, “Hey! I know that song. I love that band.” Months later, he confessed he was testing to see if I recognized a song by his favorite band. I am so clueless.

The last day I was there, he said he heard I was moving to DC. He loved it there and would be visiting soon. He asked for my number so he could call when he was in town. Again, oblivious me, I thought nothing of it. Until he called a couple days later, drunk after a long day of tailgating, and left the best voice message I’ve ever received.

“Hey. This is X. I just called to tell you I think you’re super cute. Super cute. I like you. And I know you’re moving next week, but before you go, we should get together and share some cold, domestic, light beers.”

It made me laugh a lot, and you know I called him back. How great is that message? It makes me grin just thinking about it. He’s such a straightforward communicator, and I was so attracted to that because I’m the same way.

I didn’t have any intention of seeing him before I left, but the guy I was dating at the time…well, that’s another story, but let’s just say things went south…so I thought, “You know what? I’m gonna call that guy who thinks I’m super cute and invite him to my going away party.” And I did just that.

We had fun, and at the end of the night, we stopped at a gas station and talked by his car. A homeless man asked me for money earlier when I was pumping gas, and I gave him a couple bucks. While X and I were talking, the same man came up and asked for money. I reminded him I’d already given him some, and X later told me it made him think I was the sweetest, cutest girl he’d ever seen. Aw. He said it made him want to kiss me, but he chickened out. What he did was give me Death Cab’s new cd and tell me it was a gift to remember him by. He was so cheesy, but you know me – I lapped it up.

We kept in contact with emails and phone calls, but nothing too serious. I just thought of him as a friend. Until one night, about two months after I moved, he called, and we ended up having one of those great, long conversations where you share everything about who you are. We talked for three or four hours that night. So long, my face was hot from my cell phone.

A few more super long conversations later, and we both bought plane tickets to visit each other. My weekend in Atlanta came two weeks before his weekend in DC. Riding up the escalator to baggage claim, my stomach was full of butterflies and nerves, and I saw him standing, waiting for me, holding a single red rose. Our first kiss was in the airport parking garage. In November 2005 – almost exactly three years ago.

It was a sweet beginning, but we later dubbed that “The Awkward Weekend.” He teased that I was a cold fish, and I joked that he had moon eyes. The truth was that I wasn’t ready for anything big or serious. I wasn’t over my last boyfriend. He really broke my heart, and it took me a year and a half to fully get over that and heal.

In that time, X waited, and we became close. He had a girlfriend at some point, I had a couple one-monthers, and every few months, we’d find ourselves pulled back together. There was something very real there that neither of us could let go of.

We had our problems. We didn’t work out. We weren’t meant to be. But I don’t want to talk about any of that. I don’t need another post-mortem. When I see him now, I don’t have the desire to kiss him. I don’t miss him that way. But I do want to hug him. I want to be near him. I want to have real conversations – something we were always able to do. I think we worked because we communicated. And we communicate in similar ways, which is near impossible to find.

We connect in a way I haven’t experienced before or, of course, since. We made sense to each other. He got me instantly. I never had to explain myself to him - he just knew me. In most of my relationships, that never happened. I've never been with anyone I could talk to the way we talked, never been able to open up in those ways or be totally intimate and vulnerable. One of my best friends told me yesterday that I seem like the most open person, but people who know me see that I’m not at all. With him, I was.

He's incredible - a writer and a firefighter with a master's in international affairs, such a Renaissance Man. We always have the best political discussions, and I miss sharing the Sunday paper over coffee. He always makes me laugh. We always have fun – it doesn't matter what we’re doing. We’re always comfortable. Everything's easy – no drama, no mess. I never felt nervous or that I had to watch what I said or did. He was my very best friend for three years. I miss that so much.

This summer was hard for me because I had to let go. Everything in DC makes me think of him. We only talked a few times a week. Text messages, emails. We talked on the phone just twice while I was in DC. It was too hard. When you share so much with someone, when there is so much love, it hurts because you know it can’t ever be like it was. Before, we told each other everything. We talked a couple times every day, which would normally annoy me, but never with him.

One night in June, a great date with a new guy was ending. As we walked past X’s old firehouse, the new guy asked if I wanted to spend the night. A million thoughts went through my head in that brief moment, but a big one was X. There was his firehouse. I even paused to glance at it. It felt like he was watching me. It’s a totally different thing when you’re used to looking into the eyes of someone you love who loves you than getting into bed with someone you hardly know. It ended up being a wonderful night, and one I don’t regret, but it was a tough first step. As moving on always is.

When my grandfather got worse this summer, there was only one person I wanted to talk to. And I couldn’t. A Friday night in August, I drove from DC to my grandfather’s house. His doctor visited that evening, and I sat on a bed in his house knowing that he was getting bad news just a few feet away. I cried. All I wanted was to talk to X. For a few moments, I wished we were still together because he would have been right there with me. And if not, he would have been calling and texting and checking in on his booger. Ha. He called me Booger, and I called him Goober.

When I saw him for the first time after my grandfather died, he asked lots of questions (he always asked questions, and I liked that because it made me feel like he cared). I answered them all honestly. But it felt different. It felt weird, I was guarded. I knew that as much as I wanted him to be the one I talked to about all that happened, he couldn’t be.

We’re seeing each other tonight, and I know it’ll be great. I always feel comfortable and safe with him. We still care about each other so much. As hard as it is to forge a friendship after a long, intense relationship, it is a necessity to both of us. I cannot imagine my life without him in it. I cannot imagine never knowing him. He helped me grow and change so much. He is a special man, and being a part of his circle is a special place to be. I am lucky to have known such love in my little life. I am lucky to call such a great man a close friend.

Grab That Net and Catch That Beautiful Butterfly!

Jerry Maguire was the Lord of the Living Room, and I am the Lady of Weddings. I joke that I go to weddings all the time, but I’ve only been to two in ’08. No, I am the Lady of Weddings because I’m really a Wedding Slut.

I always meet a guy at a wedding. If I’m going to a wedding single, I’ll either hook up with someone or leave having given out my digits. Or both. Last Saturday, my stepsister got married. I love her to bits, but see her every few years because she lives in Hawaii. I know, I know, I should visit, but tickets are damn expensive.

She and her now husband are both park rangers. They love the earth. And good for them. I love the earth too, but not enough to have a “green” wedding. Green as in good for the environment, but also green because it costs more money. I’d rather have a wedding with a big ass carbon footprint if it means more guests. Weddings are about people, people. So that’s my rant.

Everything was recycled. Everything was organic – even the alcohol. The cake tasted like a Nerf ball it was so spongy and flavorless. The funniest part is they had organic flowers flown in from California. I’m pretty sure all that jet fuel canceled out any good they were doing. My poor stepfather was confused because he thought all flowers were organic.

The wedding was outside in the beautiful Smokey Mountains at the Lily Barn. Evidently when they’re in season, the place is full of lilies. In October, it’s just friggin’ cold. The ceremony was beautiful surrounded by red and gold leaves, but eee gads the reception inside a log pavilion with just one wall was straight up chilly.

I didn’t know what to expect of the guests, but it was an interesting mix of people freezing their asses off in either Hawaiian shirts or Birkenstocks.

Before the wedding, a girl asked if I was at the rehearsal dinner. I said, “No, I couldn’t go because I teach in Atlanta on Friday afternoons so I wouldn’t have been able to get here in time.” Then she asked if I taught yoga. Strange, but I answered, “No, I’m in grad school so I teach at a college.” Her response? “Oh, I thought you looked like a yoga instructor because your body looks so alive.” Thank you? That has to be one of the oddest things anyone’s ever said to me.

My parents were quite productive at the rehearsal dinner, however. Saturday morning, Mom gave me the lowdown on who they determined to be the wedding’s most eligible bachelors. Bachelor #1 lives in Los Angeles and is 25 or 26. Uh uh. Bachelor #2 is originally from London (hot accent, great city) and currently lives in Greece. Seriously? I mean, I’m a big girl and can handle long distance, but I’m pretty sure dating a guy on another continent would have its challenges. Bachelor #3 lives in Hawaii and may or may not have a girlfriend.

“Thanks, Mom, but it sounds like none of these guys are date-able.”

“Well, you never know. They’re cute, and they’re single…well, except for maybe that one…and at least you’ll have somebody to dance with!”

As I sit down for the ceremony, I spot a good looking guy on the back row. He’s not next to a girl so I wonder if he’s one of the bachelors. He has hot mountain scruff and a good smile. I decide to keep an eye on him. I wasn’t planning on doing much dancing, but as cold as it was, I knew I’d need to stay in constant movement so my toes didn’t fall off.

The ceremony ends, and everyone headed up the hill to the reception. After sitting at my table for awhile, I realize I’m shivering and look over at the fireplace. To see my hot mountain man standing over there. I seize the day and walk over to him. Shaking my ass a little, I say, “Hey, move over and stop hogging the fire. I’m cold!” He laughs and says, “Ooo, you’ve got sass. Yes, ma’am!” I love it when a guy likes my sass. I like my sass.

We talk for awhile, and he’s completely hilarious. The guy has absolutely no filter, which is fascinating. And amusing. He also has the thickest, funniest East Tennessee accent that for some inexplicable reason I found adorable. He is, however, wearing flip flops so I have to tease, “Why exactly are you wearing flip flops? You do realize we’re in the mountains in mid-October, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. But it was either flip flops or my muddy hiking boots. I thought these were more wedding appropriate.”

I think to myself, It’s too bad he only owns flip flops and hiking boots. This guy can’t be my soulmate because he’d never understand my shoe habit. (Yes, occasionally crazy thoughts like that do run through my head.)

He tells me he’s sitting with people from Hawaii and is teaching them how to talk redneck. Two of them are giving a toast later, and he suggested ways to give their speech a little Tennessee flair. “I told ‘em they should end it with somethin’ like, ‘There’s a shitload of love here, y’all!’ or maybe ‘Hot damn!’ but I’m not sure they’re gonna take my advice. We’ll see, though, so just know if you hear one of those, it was my idea.”

Eventually, it’s time to eat so we head back to our tables. Where I find both my parents totally smashed. The food hasn’t even been served yet. My mother is giggling at everything, and my stepfather shares that he saw the Paris Hilton sex tape and was not impressed. I bury my head in shame and announce that I’ll be the D.D.

Once the dancing starts, I drag my stepfather out there to get our groove on. He and my mom took dancing lessons, and he’s actually pretty good. On our way back to our seats, we walk past Bachelor #1. My drunk stepdad tells the guy, “Now don’t forget, I might be paying you in peanuts, but I want you to dance with my daughter tonight.” #1 smiled at me and said he’d be happy to, and my stepdad looks at me and says, “I’m pimping you out!” Parents should not be allowed to consume alcohol in public.

Later, while I’m talking to the cute mountain man, #1 comes over. It’s uncomfortable because I’m thinking #1 is interested, but I’m not, and in fact am actually interested in the other guy. The two of them starting talking and Mountain Man asks #1 where he’s from. To which he replies, “Hollywood.” It took all I had not to bust out laughing. He then talks about his job and says, “It’s complicated, but basically, I do marketing for movies. I work in film.” Trying too hard, young one. Mountain Man pushes for details because he actually owns a marketing company, but ends up just getting a definition for marketing. My mom saves me by forcing me to jump for the bouquet. A tradition I loathe.

I eventually do dance with #1. It’s a slow song, and he spins me around so fast I actually get dizzy. Though the organic wine may have contributed. I spent the remaining part of the wedding skirting him. My parents have terrible taste. Not only was “Hollywood” hopelessly cheesy, but he lives on the opposite side of the country and is a few years younger. While Mountain Man is 33 and lives two short hours away from me, which with my schedule, is hardly even long distance. Not to mention he was smart, funny, laidback…

At the end of the night, I can tell that Mountain Man is about to ask for my number. And, of course, my parents walk up, telling me it’s time to go. Mom is grinning ear to ear and nodding drunkenly at the guy. While my stepdad interrogates him and stops just shy of inquiring after his intentions. I promptly gave Mom a death glare, and she dragged my stepfather to the car.

We flirt a bit longer while walking slowly to the parking lot. Some guy I haven’t seen in ten years stops us and blabbers for 15 minutes so by the time we get to the lot, my parents are in the car and waiting anxiously by the exit. Subtle, folks. Mountain Man nervously laughs about feeling sixteen and says he’ll call soon. Which he did yay.

* For those of you who missed the reference, the title of this post is from the movie Wedding Crashers. Probably the best wedding movie ever. Crab cakes and football! That's Maryland!

What I Know So Far About My Partner in Crime

Folks, I've been dating for roughly...16 years now. And I think I'm getting close to figuring out my mystery man's identity. My first date was with a guy named Trey, and we went to see Wayne's World. Ohhh yeah. And in the 16 years since then, I think I've done a good job of ruling out the bad qualities and sorting out the good. Bit by bit, I'm narrowing in on this elusive man of my dreams. Tonight, I had an epiphany that takes me one step closer, and I'd like to share this bit of sacred knowledge with you.

There are some things I know already about my P.I.C. (get it? And I'm pick-ing him...I'm so lame). Here's a sampling to get you up to speed. In high school, I learned that my guy...

• Knows Nirvana could beat Pearl Jam in a battle of the bands to the death! (this became null and void after Kurt Cobain took himself out of contention in 1994 and my coming to grips with the fact that I am not nor ever will be a grunge chick)
• Doesn’t smoke pot (my high school boyfriend did, and I wish I learned my lesson then because that would have saved my living room from being burned down)
• Likes cats…which really translates to likes animals because evidently I’m allergic to cats
• Is taller than me (a quality not as tough to find now, but at 14 it made for some awkward school dances)
• Has his own car (this was crucial for my social life at 16)
• Likes football (some things never change)
• Drives a truck (some things do)
• Makes me mix tapes
• Buys me one of those roses for Homecoming that the Key Club delivers during 3^rd period

As I grew up and matured, my list became more complex. Now I know that my guy...

• Makes cheese omelets for me for breakfast (though I'm still a big fan of the mix tape, I'd prefer to have my coffee first)
• Tolerates my dog who is really a cat that gets very excited when you come home
• Likes football and beer
• Can arch his eyebrows - how cute is that?!?
• Knows how to work my lady parts (less important when I was younger cuz I was such a sweet little angel but hella important now)
• Loves to travel and have all sorts of adventures
• Remembers to buy me something for gift-giving holidays (surprisingly tough to find)
• Does man things like drilling holes into walls and fixing shit I’m too lazy and impatient to learn how to fix
• Grabs my ass in public (I love that. And yes, a quick smack will do.)
  
• Takes me to Graceland because he loves me, and as wrong as it is, I’ve never been
• Always does the f-ing dishes after I slave over a hot stove for his slack ass
  

So you get the drift. I’m getting close, I can feel it!

I have high ambitions for this hunky man I've yet to meet, and I'm pretty sure he's also smart and successful. And, of course, I'll be there to help him realize his full potential. This I've always known. But tonight, I know what my P.I.C. does for a living. He is a writer for either The Daily Show with John Stewart or The Colbert Report. Those shows are so clever and funny, my soulmate just has to work for one of them. He'd be perfect at it. Yet. I'm definitely making a dent in this lifelong mystery. Any day now...

* Alright. So maybe my family is right, and I am too picky. My partner in crime at least watches those shows and wishes he worked for them. Geez. Lowering my standards already, and I'm not even finished with this post.

Why Dating is Like the Gong Show

I drove in the rain tonight from Atlanta to Knoxville. I’ll be on the road a lot over the next couple of months so I might as well get used to it, but ugh. Driving in the rain sucks. And, of course, almost no one I called answered. My friend Brad did talk to me for awhile, which was nice because conversation is always good with an old friend.

Brad and I talked a little about what it is to be excited about someone that you’re dating. I think it’s rare. And usually dwindles with time, though that’s not how it’s supposed to work when it’s right. It’s damn hard to find anyone exciting, but it’s always something that I think you can pick out in the first few moments you spend with someone.

I told my mom once that it’s gotten to the point where I have such a good idea of what I’m looking for, I can tell almost instantly. Remember that old children’s book about the bird that falls out of its nest and is looking for its mother? It was called “Are You My Mother?” So I told my mom I feel like that little bird except my book would be called, “Are You My Boyfriend?”

Like when the little bird finds a bulldozer and asks, “Are You My Mother?” and, seeing that a bulldozer doesn’t have wings or feathers, it realizes instantly, “No…you’re not my mother.” I meet a cute guy and think, “Are You My Boyfriend?” and then he asks if I’m for or against global warming, and I instantly think, “No…you’re not my boyfriend.”

So that’s one way to describe it. Another is that dating is like The Gong Show. Because, honestly, aren’t there more circus freaks and variety show acts out there than anything? You meet one such clown, give him a few moments of your valuable time, and then he shows his crazy and GONG! Next contestant, please!

I had a bad date Friday. Bad. Horrible. Top of the worst list. I didn't really know him, but we talked on the phone a few times, and he was really funny. Funny will trick you every time, girls! We agreed to meet at a local brewery for some beer and then grab dinner after. My best guy friend, Goofer, sent me a text that day inviting me to meet him, his girlfriend and a couple friends at the same brewery. Total coincidence, but I thought it was funny and at least if the guy turned out to be a tool, I’d still have fun.

To protect the innocent (or not so innocent), I’ll give the tool (cuz he did turn out to be one) a nickname. I dub him “Captain Awkward” for obvious reasons – he was the captain of awkward. I get that it’s hard to be a dude. It’s hard to ask a girl out, and if you’re visibly nervous on the first date, you get a pass in my book. But Captain Awkward exhibited awkward behavior before we even stepped out of our vehicles.

I parked first and called him. We figured out where to meet, and then he awkwardly laughs and says, “Uh…huh huh…so when you see me tonight, I’m just gonna go ahead and apologize for the way I look.”

“Oh…um, what?” I am totally confused.

“Huh huh…well, yeah, see I kinda had a beard for a week and it was itching, and when I shaved it just now, I figured out why it was itching huh huh.”

“Oh…um, what?”

“It’s all broken out and stuff. There are these huge red bumps, and I guess that’s what was itchy. So huh huh just know that I don’t normally look like this.”

“Oh…ok…well, I’m sure it’s fine…so I’ll see you there then.”

Immediately, I hang up and call my mom to tell her this latest development and that I am now worried I’m going on a date with a dude who has hives all over his face. Could I catch them? But when I see Captain Awkward, he looks fine. Cute even. Sure, he has a couple red spots on his chin, but they clearly look like razor burn and needed no explanation.

We get our beer, he’s nervous, I smile sweetly and ask him questions about himself. He mentioned that he lived with his brother so I ask about that. He awkwardly adds that he also has an older brother who he doesn’t talk to at all. Then laughs uncomfortably (huh huh!) and adds that I probably don’t wanna hear about that. Oh no, I do not. No need to make this conversation even more awkward.

We see my friends and say hello. They invite us to come outside on the patio with them, and we agree we will later. After several more minutes of dull chit chat, my friend passes us again and extends the same offer. I’ve already downed two beers, and this guy is not getting cuter or more interesting so I suggest we go hang with the group.

We talk together, and I feel better about Captain Awkward. I give him the benefit of the doubt (when will I learn my lesson about this?), and after the third beer, decide that he’s probably a nice guy who’s just nervous. He makes a couple bad jokes no one gets and starts to get moody and…dare I say it? More awkward! Alcohol cannot even salvage this date. Then he says something that I think means he’s racist. Oh double no.

Admittedly, a few minutes do go by with me talking to one of my girlfriends and Captain Awkward talking to Goofer. And admittedly, it cannot be easy to have a girl’s best friend crash your first date. But adults should know how to play well with others, and any dude that wants to be my dude is gonna have to hold his own with my friends. It’s a necessity – period. And a task that Captain Awkward is not up for.

He leans over and asks, “So are you gonna go eat with them?” Because they invited us both to join them all for dinner.

“Yeah, I think we should, it’d be fun!” I smile sweetly. I am trying to conquer his awkwardness with kindness.

“Well, I’m not gonna go.”

“Oh…ok.” I say, while still smiling.

“And I think you know why…”

“Oh…ok.” Still smiling…not wanting to talk about why…

“And I really am sorry about the way I look. Like I told you, I normally don’t look this bad. So I just want you to know that.”

Wha-huh? “No…you look fine!” He really did look fine. Cute even!

“No, it’s ok, I mean, you can tell me. I know it’s my looks so, I just want you to know I normally look better than this.”

“No. Really. It’s not your looks. You look fine.”

“You keep saying that, but I know you’re just being nice. I know I look bad. I don’t usually look like this so…”

“Honestly. You look fine. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“Well…so what is it then?”

I blink.

“It’s ok, you can tell me, I mean you say it’s not my looks so then what is it? Just tell me.”

“Actually, you were really nervous before and then that made me feel nervous and…I don’t know what to say.” Patience is wearing thin.

“Nervous?” he asks while laughing nervously, “Huh huh…I wasn’t nervous, I mean, nervous? Really? Huh huh...”

“I thought so. Yes.”

“When? Like just now?”

“From the beginning, I thought you seemed really nervous. Which is ok, I mean…”

“I wasn’t nervous.” And now Captain Awkward should be crowned Captain Defensive. “I mean, you can just tell me what it is. Really, I want you to.”

“And now you’re making me feel really uncomfortable with how you keep talking about something being wrong with the way you look.” Oh yes, she can be honest!

“Well, you’re making me feel really uncomfortable by being standoffish.” Mayday! Mayday! At this point, I start pinching the girl standing next to me. And eventually she turns around and starts talking to me. Phew. After a couple really awkward!!! minutes, Captain Awkward turns to Goofer, and says, “I’m gonna go get another beer.”

As soon as he walks away, I start laughing and say, “He’s leaving! He’s leaving! He’s leaving, and he’s not even going to say anything to me!”

Goofer says, “What? No, he’s just going to get a beer. He’ll be back. He told me.”

I am hysterical now like nothing has ever been funnier and cackle, “No! Look! He’s leaving! There he goes!” I point as we watch him jump the balcony and walk down the stairs. Thankfully, one of the girls is smart enough (and kind enough) to tell me to stop laughing so he doesn’t see and then asks what happened.

Before I can explain, we see him angrily rip off his collared shirt (he had a t-shirt underneath), throw his hat off and then stomp through the parking lot like he was having a temper tantrum. GONG!

Ya Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs...

I am now in Charleston, South Carolina. The last stop on what I told a friend a couple nights ago is my Tour of Peace. Yay.

I was in the car for…almost 7 hours today. Which is awful - it was raining so it was extra long and boring. I had lots of random thoughts to keep me alert and awake, though. For example, I counted how many boyfriends I’ve had in my little life. I mean actual relationships, not just one or two monthers. Since I was 16 (13 years ago for those keeping track), I’ve had seven boyfriends. Is that a lot? I’m not sure. Most have been six months or so. A few long ones in there. I like to think I'm a tough catch, but that seems like a big number. Oh well. 7 it is. As I was trying to think of their similarities, I actually came up with a list of differences.

I think dark hair is the hottest, but have dated quite a few blonds. Even one redhead. I also prefer blue eyes, but the majority has in fact not had blue eyes. Maybe that’s a sign I should stick to a dark haired, blue eyed boy since that’s what I like best, and it hasn’t worked out veering away from that image. Dark hair is hot too because guys with dark hair usually have hairy chests and scruffy faces. Hot and double hot.

None have been bald. And most have played the guitar. In fact, I’d say most of the guys I’ve dated period have played the guitar. I don’t know what that’s about. It’s a popular instrument.

So then I started thinking about all the guys I’ve ever dated, not just the boyfriends. Because ooo there was a one monther that was in a band. He wasn’t particularly hot, but really hot in the bedroom ooo ahh. Looked hot on stage too. Hands are something that first attract me to someone. Hands are a big deal. And guitarists usually have big, strong hands and know how to use them! The last guy’s room I was in, I remember walking in for the first time and seeing guitars and thinking, “Uh huh. Of course you play the guitar.” I seem to have a knack for seeking them out. Or maybe some kind of secret siren that attracts them to me. I do love the guitar, though, so guilty as charged.

And as far as I know, I’ve never dated a guy that played any other musical instrument. Definitely gotta find me a harmonica player. That's right up there with a tongue ring.

I figured out today I’ve dated two anarchists. That’s an odd one, don’t you think? Two Jewish guys, two Catholics…well, no, probably more Catholics than that, but with the others it just never got to the “what religion are you” conversation. Probably more atheists than I’d like. One of the anarchists was atheist. Oh! And the other was Catholic so that’d make three total. Sorry, now I’m categorizing them. I don’t mean to sound callous or diminish them to a bunch of boxes to check, but it was an entertaining driving game. Hard to play the license plate game alone, you see, so please don’t think I’m being insensitive. They’re all complex, caring, interesting people who have been good to me, and I think we’ve had a lot of fun too.

All had straight hair but one. I also don’t think I ever went out with anyone from California. Or Texas. In fact, I think they’ve all been from the East Coast. I did date a guy from Reno, Nevada. He was really into Reno 911, but I think Super Troopers is way funnier. That guy was actually strange. We ate at an Indian restaurant, and he made a big deal about how he wasn’t going to buy me any Naan. I was paying for my own meal anyway, but he got all weird about the bread.

I had a few dates with a vegetarian last summer. Meat is good. I love to cook, and what would I cook for him? Bor-ring. I’ve never dated anyone who has been married or has a kid. Those are adventures I want us to have together for the first time. Athletes…a few guys who played football in high school. No college athletes. Ooo well a soccer guy. Soccer guys are the cutest. The cutest guy I dated in high school was on the soccer team. Aw I had one boyfriend who played football in high school, and I still wear his Catholic Football t-shirt! It’s comfy. I love stealing shirts.

I’ve dated princes and paupers. A few guys had lots of money. One kept trying to buy me things so that freaked me out. I would honestly rather go to Taco Bell on a first date or his favorite dive bar than a four star restaurant. It's more genuine and relaxed. I’d just rather date someone who’s making his future than one who’s already living it. I’m making mine now, and I like the idea of us making one together, answering life's questions and figuring things out together. I think that goes back to my old dream of being poor, traveling the world and living off of peanut butter sandwiches and sex.

Jobs. Ok, I’ll do a run-down of the big seven first, and I’ll tell you what they were when I dated them because that makes the most sense. High school student. College student, college student. Pothead/Video store clerk. Accountant. Music agent. Journalist/firefighter. See? Runs the gamut. Ok, so jobs of guys I’ve just dated. I went out with a guy once who works at the Pentagon and writes Congressional testimony. Yikes. I’ve dated lawyers, but never a doctor. Never a teacher either, and that’s too bad cuz I like teachers. Two firefighters actually, but never a cop. A few investment bankers...snooze. Paralegal. Assistant minister of music. Cigar bar owner. That was interesting, and he introduced me to cigars, which are so yummy with college football. Caterer. Rock star! Ok, so he wasn’t a star, but I did tell you he was in a band.

My aunt teaches psychology, and she’s big on birth order. Did you know that the most successful match ever is between either two youngests or one youngest and an only? I’m an only. Though also kinda a youngest, and evidently, my personality matches the youngest. Out of the seven, there were…three onlies. Three oldest. And one youngest. Actually, the last boyfriend was a youngest, and I’d definitely say he’s the closest to what I’m looking for so maybe that’s why. If I ever make a pre-date interview, that’ll be a survey question. So see? This is helpful. Dark haired, blue eyed, youngest. Who plays the guitar because that seems to be cosmic and out of my control. And a hairy chest because it's just hot.

The one common denominator in all of them is that none are dancers. I love to dance and have never, ever dated a dancer. Maybe one date. I’ll give the one date wonders the benefit of the doubt, but nobody I've ever really dated. And I definitely want a guy that dances. It’s silly, but important to me. I hope I find one.

I don’t have a body type. I’ve dated tall, short, thin, stocky, athletic…I don’t even know what I prefer. Tall. I definitely prefer tall. Tall is hot. Though hard to find and not being bald is a higher priority so I’d sacrifice tall for hair. Ok, now it just sounds like I’m ordering take-out! “If they’re out of broccoli then no Kung Pao Chicken, Spicy Garlic Chicken instead.” Aw but if it were that easy, think of all the fun we’d miss out on. And all the mistakes we’d make too. We don’t know what’s best for us. Sometimes what we think we want, we don’t really like at all. Or don’t need.

That’s the whole process and purpose of dating, I guess - figuring out what you’re looking for. But it's actually just a way of getting us to where we need to be because we don’t really know what we’re looking for until we find it and it fits just right. So I may end up with a bald blond with green eyes and two left feet, who’s an oldest. I don’t know. It’s a mystery. But I sure have had fun adventures with some great guys along the way.

Red Flag!! Warning!! Alert! Alert!

Last night, I had dinner with a good friend. We laughed a lot. I'm still laughing, in fact. And between the two of us, we've had many many bad dates, failed relationships, failed attempts at relationships, stalkers...you name it. And all of those left us with hilarious stories and clues for the next go-round.

It all started because she was in a relationship recently where there were plenty of red flags just screaming at her, but she ignored them all. I told her not to worry about that because we've all put blinders on at one point or another. We talked about how sometimes the flags have been obvious, like loud blinking sirens, but other times we only noticed them with our 20/20 hindsight. I do it on purpose sometimes. I see the red flags, know what I'm getting into but do it anyway because I want to and then I'm prepared for what happens.

Eventually, we listed the classics, and here's what we put together. I had 1-13 and A wrote 14-26. We make quite a team, and together may actually be able to avoid having loser boyfriends ever again.

Red Flags

1. He doesn't have friends. If no one wants to hang out with this guy, then I shouldn't either.
2. He double fists on a first date. Drunkeness is so not hot.
3. He lies for a living.
4. He doesn't clip his toenails or fingernails. Any man who can't groom himself needs a mommy, not a girlfriend. And honestly, if he can't groom something so visible to others, how does he attend to what's less visible?
5. He picks a fight with a stranger. Anger management much?
6. He professes his love for you or proposes marriage before you've even agreed to have dinner with him. Seriously, what is a first date like after that? Picking out china patterns?
7. He's wearing black sweatpants and a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Trust me, it happened. I'm from Tennessee.
8. He asks you out in a text message...and in fact only communicates via text. Uh...any dude who's too scared to man up couldn't handle a sassy, independent woman like me.
9. He proudly tells you stories about being so drunk he slept on park benches and on a roof in a thunderstorm. This is especially alarming if he's currently consuming alcohol. You worry he's going to sleep on your front stoop.
10. He doesn't like to leave the house. If he has a reason he can't be seen in public, you should probably worry about being alone with him.
11. If he only wants to talk about himself, he's just not that into you. And let's face it, if he's selfish in conversation, he's not gonna be a giver in bed...
12. He cries during the date. I'm all for sensitive men, but I prefer dudes with hairy chests sans sobbing.
13. He doesn't like comedy. Anyone who's against laughter is probably a terrorist.
14. While in the middle of a relationship, he cries, but no tears actually come out.
15. His daily interactions with you seem eerily similar to advice given in a book you picked up once from the sale rack in Borders.
16. He doesn't watch TV. Is he a communist?
17. He claims he doesn't drink, but then gets very excited at the prospect of Belgian beer.
18. When you first meet, he tells you he's from Portland. Upon further conversation months later, you discover he is actually from Atlanta.
19. He hoards boxes of muscle enhancing pills that have previously been taken off the market. He tells you they are not steroids, but you know better.
20. He doesn't know who Paris Hilton is. Seriously, is he a communist?
21. He tells you that he's slept with an absurd amount of people. He is proud of this.
22. He is a Republican.
23. He is a Libertarian.
24. Because he is so high-strung, he honestly needs to smoke pot "to relax." And then he burns down your apartment. Not a fitting punishment for ignoring a red flag, if you ask me.
25. The only thing he does on your first date is tell jokes. Bad jokes.
26. He is noticeably disgusted when you pass a billboard for Dove's real beauty campaign. He prefers fake beauty.

She Give Me Love, Love, Love, Love - Crazy Love

There are a lot of fun songs about how wild love makes you feel. Aerosmith, of course,with "Crazy." There's "Love Her Madly" by The Doors. I really like “Laid.” I think it’s one of the greatest songs about crazy love. You’re making me crazy! When are you comin’ home?? Great line. Just a sidenote, but that song also has the greatest third line of any song ever. Think about it…yeah.

I think all the good boys and girls can agree that the all-time greatest crazy love song is (duh) “Crazy Love.” My all-time favorite Van Morrison song is “Tupelo Honey,” because, let’s face it, I am as sweet as tupelo honey. But “Crazy Love” is tough to beat. In fact, I'd definitely put it up in the top five greatest love songs of all time.

It’s a rare and beautiful thing when you find someone that you’re “crazy” about. That makes you wanna do crazy things, makes you feel like you’re losing your mind, someone that you think about incessantly because that’s just how crazy-wild that love is.

Whenever people tell me that I’m gonna find someone, I smile and thank them. It’s something people say, and you let them. It’s really nice actually. Like they’re saying they want all good things for you and believe because you deserve it, it will happen. But a couple of times when someone has said that to me, they’ve told me they know that when it happens for me, it’ll be “big love.” Knock-me-off-of-my-feet, take-your-breath-away big love. Thank you, I’ll take that.

I want crazy love. I want the first week to last for all of time, and I want to feel invincible. I want someone to say, “Yes, of course” when I suggest driving to the beach to see the sunrise…even if it’s six hours away. I want surprises. I want to know that even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, it’s the only thing that makes sense to us. I want butterflies and giddy grins and hands that can’t stop groping and feeling. Aw. I’m such a sap.

But seriously. Shouldn’t love be that way? I think there’s something wrong when it isn’t. For me, anyway, I know that if I don't feel it in every part of me, if there's no passion or fever, it's not working. It’s one of the ways that I can tell instantly whether something’s gonna work out with a guy. Does it register on the crazy meter? If not, I might still date him, hoping it will change or fooling myself into thinking it doesn’t matter, but in the end, crazy is where it’s at for this one.

I love watching my friends find love. There is nothing more wonderful to me than to see such special people find happiness. And they all have done some crazy wild things for that love. Love has no rules, as I always say, but there are some that most people agree on and when those are broken, crazy love is the culprit.

I’ve seen quite a few long distance relationships with happy endings. As a matter of fact, the majority of my married friends had a portion of the relationship that was long distance. Random. One of those was especially crazy. They met for dinner once (he’s the cousin of a friend), and then spent a month together. Just hanging out all day, makin’ out, learning each other. Then she moved to Florida. He lived in Vermont, and after a few months of phone calls, moved down there with her. And they just hung out. Worked at restaurants, went to the beach, had a blast. Then they move again. She to Tennessee and then DC, him back to Vermont…and then to DC. Cuz he couldn’t get enough of that crazy love.

Another friend met a guy, fell for him instantly, and by the third date (THIRD!), they both agreed they were soulmates. A little spooky for me, but yay for them. My cousin met her husband at a happy hour. He told his friend she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and the friend told her. He fell so hard for her that he started calling her all the damn time and scared her off. She starts ignoring his calls, and finally he gets the hint. Until he sees her 3 months later and recognizes “his blond.” They talk and end up finally going out on a dinner date. Where he gives her the cork to the wine bottle they shared, writes the date on it and tells her to save it because he’s gonna marry her one day.

Ooo one girl I knew in New York was a total urban legend. She met a guy at a dance club, brought him home, had wild one night stand sex and then dude got on a plane and flew back to London where he lived! Less than a year later, she moved there too and now they’re married. Wha-huh?

You know what I just realized? In all of those stories I just shared, one or both of the people involved knew instantly that they’d found their soulmate. I can get spooked and am so careful with my heart I could never admit it if I thought a guy was the one, but it is nice when a guy thinks I am. It's safe at least. Though anyone who has said something like that to me, I've said "Thanks." and then been right when it didn't work out.

These are just a few of my favorites, but every love story is good. My story will be great. Sonnets will be written about it, birds will spell out words in the sky and flowers will bend towards us. Haha. I know what you’re thinking: This girl’s a little bit crazy. Yes. But don’t you think that means I’m perfectly predisposed for some major crazy love? Or at the very least, some damn fun rides.

Ooo Ooo It's In His Kiss...

Kisses. Kisses are stories. There is so much in a kiss, so much can be felt or seen about the past, the present, the future. And their power is often underestimated and abused. For a brief (brief!) time, I had the nickname of The Kissing Bandit because I thought it was fun to kiss strangers in bars. Oh yeah, I was that girl.

Last night, I went to see Pete Yorn at the 9:30 Club. It was tough to see the stage from where we were standing so I spent a lot of time watching the crowd. We stood near a couple who looked a few years younger. Their body language was interesting. He was trying to get closer, she was pulling away. In a flirty way, but still away. Twice it looked like he tried to kiss her, and she gave him the edge of her lips, though never full on. They were cute, holding hands, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was more into her than she was into him. And did he know it? Did she? You can tell a lot from a kiss.

I remember a lot of first kisses. I remember THE first kiss. Not so good. Sloppy, awkward, wet. I didn't like it. I remember my next kiss, which was four years later. That one was much better. More genuine. Sweeter. I was seriously crushin'.

I remember last kisses too. Most of the time, you don't know that a last kiss is going to be the last, but every once in awhile you do and it's sad. I remember a passionate kiss, hands everywhere, arms tight. We were standing by the door. And we couldn't stop ourselves. It was after the breakup, a total mistake and we knew it, but we savored that last moment, and it will always go down as one of the best. I remember my first kiss with that guy, and it was just as hungry. Those kisses said a lot about our relationship - not a lot of substance or depth, but damn, we did have passion.

Another last kiss indicative of an entire relationship was a few days before I moved here. I wanted to make the most of the last moments, to lose sleep doing naked things and talk until the sun came up. He wanted to go to sleep. And he wanted me to leave him alone. He was mad at me for leaving.

I kept trying to kiss him, but his lips were tight, refusing entry. Eventually, I told him off and left. I am so proud of myself for walking out that door and never back in. The whole relationship was my needs not being met, me wanting more than he did or was willing to give. Such a mess it made of me. Such a mess I let it make. But never again will I fall into that trap.

I love Joni Mitchell, and she has a lot to say about kisses:

"Young love was kissing under bridges
Kissing in cars, kissing in cafes
And we were walking down Main Street
Kisses like bright flags hung on holidays
In France they kiss on Main Street
Amour, mama, not cheap display"

"I want to talk to you, I want to shampoo you
I want to renew you again and again
Applause, applause - life is our cause
When I think of your kisses
My mind see-saws"

"He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees"

I know so much about kisses now. I know what to expect, what they should taste like. As I've matured, I've learned that I really hate wasting them. Recently, I went on a few dates with a guy and couldn't take any more - he was a terrible kisser. Lacking in both style and form. That kiss told me what I already knew, that we were incompatible.

What will my next kiss be like? What will it tell me? What will it tell him? I'm hoping for see-saws, naughty love, weak knees and not some cheap display. One full of passion but also substance.

Out There in '07

Around the first of the year, I decided that maybe I wasn't putting myself out there like I should. I felt like I was clinging too much to failed relationships of the past and unrealistic expectations for the future. And I came up with a little slogan - "Out There in '07!"

It kind of goes along with the new year's resolution of a good friend so it's something we shout out to each other, a kind of call to action or mantra. Usually slurred out loudly around closing time, but also serves as a reminder to keep the faith, keep putting in the effort.

I think in some way this attitude change has really helped me. I think I'm sending out a different vibe, and it's working. I've been on a lot of dates in the past few months. Even dated one guy for a month. A couple days ago, I had a first date with a guy I met two weeks ago. We'd talked on the phone a few times, and I could just tell that I wasn't into him. I was really grumpy the day of the date, didn't want to go, knew I didn't like him, plus it was snowing and I just wanted to stay home. But my friend, my spotter if you will, told me I needed to give him a shot and not make up mind so quickly, a good pep talk, you know. Then I started thinking maybe I was give guys the ax before giving them a fair chance. So I went. And it was a disaster. And I wish I'd stayed at home.

I learned a lesson from all of that, though. To trust my instincts. I'm not as messed up as I might think I am sometimes. I'm not trying to shoot myself in the foot - sometimes I actually do know what's best for me. And also, being "out there" doesn't mean going on a date with every guy that asks. I can get rid of that rule now. And stop wasting my time with guys I'm not interested in. I'd much rather be curled up with my sweet puppy than out on the town with some weirdo dude.

"Out There in '07" is a state of mind. Not a required set of actions. And I am out there. Dangit.

Bread Feeds the Body, But Flowers Feed the Soul

I broke up with someone the day before Valentine’s Day. We didn’t have plans, I don’t like to celebrate it. I find it so insincere. A forced expression of affection is never heartfelt. It’s always so disappointing, such a letdown because it has these huge unrealistic expectations of passion and romance – two forces that cannot be predicted or controlled.

I broke up with someone because again, I am in a place that he is not. He’s not ready. He has shit to sort through, things to figure out. He needs to grow up!!

Why do they tell children they’ll find someone and get married one day? What do “they” know? Only like 50% of adults in this country are married. “They” don’t know shit about my future. Or yours. It all seems so arbitrary and coincidental. You can’t plan for it – you’ll go crazy if you try. I mean, really, what are the odds that you’ll find that one person in the world who’s just right for you? They’re not in our favor.

I just want someone to show up. To fucking have it together and be ready. But I want the grand gestures and all that passion and romance too. I’m tired of always being the muse. I’m tired of always being the teacher. I just want a partner. Or to be fully satisfied without, which is entirely possible.

I wish someone never filled my head with all the fantasies and fairy tales. I want to tell kids the truth:

“You might get married, you might not. You might stay married, you might not. But no matter what happens in life – be enough for yourself. That’s all that matters.”

I’m tired of feeling bad for being stable and strong and together and strong. Fucking strong. When other people aren’t, I should feel bad for them and stop punishing myself for someone else’s inadequacies or failures.

When I was in college, my good friend, Fun Robbie (totally the most fun person ever) told me I was the Free Fallin' girl. He said I was the girl guys want to commit to and want to marry, and that then scares the shit out of them so they run for the hills. That has been the most common scenario of my love life. Guys not ready for me, not ready to commit, scared because they're not ready for the feelings they feel for me. Geez, it's friggin' lame. Aren't you dudes too old to still be pullin' that crap? Grow up already. You're missing out on a lot of fun.

And this most recent guy told me that I had my shit so together and was so sure of who I am that it was intimidating and made him realize he had to figure his life out. Yeah, it was obvious from the start he wasn't the one, but it was fun to have someone cool to hang out with. After someone says that, though, what choice do you have? Peace out, yo, good luck. This Valentine’s Day, I just want someone who knows what they want and who they are to just show up.

Every time, I have a dinner party, I buy myself flowers. I love flowers. Daisies are always my favorite. And white roses for special occasions. I buy myself flowers for Valentine’s Day, my birthday and any ol’ Tuesday when I need a pick-me-up. Because if I don’t, who the hell else will.

I like flowers. I want flowers. And that’s something I can give myself. I can’t satisfy all my wants and needs. But I believe it’s time to prepare myself for a lifetime of finding ways to feed my own soul.

** I wrote this several hours ago and just posted it now. In between, I went on a date with a nice boy who just doesn’t really do it for me. I’m not going out with him again, but he did bring me flowers. Just goes to show you how arbitrary it all really is…

We're Just Looking for Our Lobsters

As I’ve grown up, I’ve noticed, especially in the past couple of years, that I’ve gotten more sure of what I want and asserting myself has gotten easier. I still struggle with a lot of the trials of my youth – insecurities, fear, doubt – and I’ve started to realize that those I may never outgrow. Those might just be part of the human condition.

Being more certain of my wants and finding it easier to demand them has led me, and my peers, to a predicament. I know what I want. I’m not afraid to ask for it. And I’m not going to settle for less. But what happens when what you want can’t be found?

And so you’ve got this dilemma. What you want, you can’t find. You made a promise to always assert yourself…but those unfulfilled desires and urges are getting stronger. Which gives in first? Do you settle for less because your hunger pangs got worse? Or do you stand strong in your principles and live each day with unsatisfied longings? And who says it has to come to all that anyway? Why can't it just work out?

The movies say that people can live happily ever after. The passion of a sonnet lasts forever. A musician sings a beautiful love story. And Ross ended up with Rachel in the end. Cuz she was his lobster.

But the wait to find that crustacean is long. Some kill time by adding to what they want, to that long list of "qualifications" and "requirements" without even meaning to. Because you’re learning more and more each day, and you have nothing to apply those concepts to and no ways to test those theories. Others find themselves settling because they’ve waited for so long, they've reached their limit and cave in desperation.

I made a promise to my uncle that I would never settle. And it’s a promise I intend to keep. It’s a promise that all the strong-minded, independent women I know have made and are keeping. So right now…when the waiting is becoming unbearable…we’re fighting hard not to give up hope that holding true to our principles will eventually give us great rewards.

After all, we were taught all those fairy tales, and the goodies were always rewarded in the end. But before that, Snow White had to hibernate, so did Sleeping Beauty. While Cinderella was slaving away and Rapunzel was locked away. Those gals went through hell. Maybe that’s the lesson we were supposed to get out of those stories to begin with…go through hell, get your prince.

Even Ross and Rachel had a tough time before they ended up in each other's arms...or lobster claws.

We can never give up.

The Ghosts Still Haunt Me...

I remember the tears. I wonder if I could count them all. I could probably come close. I remember all the lonely nights, the days spent wondering, worrying. I remember feeling worthless and invisible. I remember wanting your love and never feeling it. I remember always being unsatisfied, wanting more, needing more and putting in more than I got out. In the end, the love just wasn't enough, and I had to get out. I had to run far away so as to never go back to you again.

And here I am, 17 months and 700 miles away, and yet it doesn't feel that far. It feels like you're here and it feels like it all happened yesterday. I feel haunted by it. It follows me into restaurants, movie theaters, down the street and in my bed at night. They say the past can haunt you, and baby, our past is haunting me.

Is it because my love for you was so strong? Because the relationship was so dramatic and intense? Because the connection we had was real? Or because the pain was so scarring, the cuts so deep? I don't really know why. I think if I fall in love again, all the ghostly whispers will be silenced. That's what I think and hope. I don't want the ghosts to keep me from love, that's for sure. I don't really think they will because I know I am brave.

But this is really awful. So unhealthy. That after all this time, I'm still gripped by it. We had such good times too, which I think makes it harder to reconcile what happened between us. Every guy I meet, every guy I date I compare to you. I expect the worst from men. I expect all men to behave like you. It's a constant struggle to tell myself each one is not you. He's not you, he's not you, he's not you.

Though the memories still come to my mind, I feel better knowing I did get away. I did not fall back into it. And I was able to get out. I still believe that you can be the person I always saw in you. I still care for you. And will always want good things to come your way. But I'm healthier and happier now that I'm away from all that drama, even if the past still haunts, a ghost isn't real.

Send/Receive

Send/Receive. Send/Receive. Send/Receive.

It sounds like a game of fetch, and in a way it is I guess, but technically it's that annoying little button in my email program that I fanatically worry isn't doing its job. Do guys obsess over that button? I know a lot of girls who do - this gal included. And we time how long it takes them to respond to our emails. Right now, I'm at almost two hours. The official count is one hour, 47 minutes. I love email flirting. It's almost as cute and fun as text flirting. But who am I kidding? I just love flirting!

Again, it goes back to the song Tracing. "Always staring at the score, to figure out who's barely winning." I feel like if I wait two hours to write him back, then I'm ahead in some pathetic, trivial way. Who likes who more. Is that the game we're playing? It's certainly a game.

My good friend, A, is right here with me. Timing emails. A's guy waited two whole days. We were convinced that was it, their relationship was over before it even started, but then, out of the blue, the poor guy responds, mumbling something about being busy at work, and asks her on their next date.

We'd already written him off, gotten angry at him for not giving her a fair chance and then made our peace with his decision to blow her off. Maybe it's just not meant to be. Maybe he's still getting over his ex - you don't want to deal with all that excess baggage. Maybe he's just not that into you. Fine! Let him be that way! He's such a jerk!

But no. It turns out, it wasn't that at all. He was just busy and important, focusing on his daily tasks and probably innocently and absentmindedly let two days go past without an email. Having no idea that his actions (or lack thereof) were having such an effect.

And it's not that we don't also have very important tasks in front of us. Because we are smart, successful girls. Who also like a little email flirting. And where's the harm in that? That we like constant reminders of their feelings? And affirmations that they like us?

It all sounds ridiculous, but guys have their pathetic moves that they overanalyze also. Maybe it involves trying to figure out when is ok to go for second or third base. But we all have something we obsess over in the beginning. It's what makes it exciting and keeps us interested. They call it a game because it's fun.

One hour, 56 minutes...Send/Receive, Send/Receive, Send/Receive...oh, he's good...ooo ooo! One hour, 58 minutes. Gotcha. Aw, honey, you're all mine. Tee hee!

The Sum of All Parts

You never know where it's gonna hit the hardest. Sometimes you feel it in your stomach. This topsy-turvy, flittery, twisty set of knots. Like riding a rollercoaster, when you know that big scary drop is coming up fast.

I think the stomach is the most important. It's the most inexplicable, that's for sure. I used to call it 'making my stomach jump.' I don't know what to call it anymore; I've seen so many variations. Sometimes it flips and flops like that to tell you that you like this one, he's someone you want to keep around for awhile. But it can also bunch up and squeeze you from the inside out. That's a warning that there's something to watch out for, something that just isn't right, doesn't sit well.

The heart and the head, everyone knows about. The head is the guy who looks good on paper. The guy who fits the list. The heart is the depth of feeling and the white hot heat of the emotional core.

The tricky thing is finding the right combination. You gotta have them all there or it just doesn't fly. I've had the head and the heart without the stomach. That was a hard lesson because it's easy to forget the power of the stomach when it's absent. I thought that maybe it didn't matter that much or I could fake it or it could be forced. But love is not easily fooled.

I had the heart (oh and did I) and the stomach too - the good and the bad mixing up together so tightly that it was tough to tell the difference between the two - but the head just wasn't there, could never be reconciled.

What I'm quickly learning is that despite knowing the ingredients, I don't really understand the recipe. I'm just trying out what I can, seeing if it comes out right or sinks down in the middle. I feel like after being in the kitchen for as long as I have, I should have things figured out by now. But I don't. I'm just as clueless as I was at 16 when all this started. I do know that all the parts have to fit together somehow. So in a way, I guess I do know what I'm looking for. Something whole. And complete. In all its mystery.