Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
I have mentally been out of that relationship for about a year. I tried to make it work and talked myself into sticking it out but in the end he did me a favor. I am so ready to be in the dating world I feel like a kid in a candy store.
My history of dating is one that could make an Emmy winning sitcom. The guy who pooped his pants on our date would be the pilot. So this time around I am going to do it right and have a heck of a lot of fun in the process.
However, I am a grade A rookie. Drafted into single A status and wanting to make it to the majors. There are several things I need to get a handle on:
1) Texting: when is it appropriate and how does one accept respond to these little messages?
2) Giving out my number: I can thwart any undesirables on this one but how does one go about getting it to a man you are interested in?
3) Where do I start? Seriously, I am too old for clubs and I am not going to hang out at bars every weekend. I say nay nay to internet dating, not an option and am not going there.
I was texting the hot guy on the 20th floor today regarding supplies for the pub I am building on my deck. He was very helpful and offered to order items I wanted through the supplier for his restaurant. Does this mean he is interested or just being a good neighbor?
It is clear I need a lot of help but in the mean time I am completely comfortable with trial and error.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
My sister, brother and I get a daily email with an SAT question. We correspond throughout the day on if it was easy, lame or challenging. The English lit questions are no-brainers. The math questions are time consumers because I absolutely have to get it right. Sister and brother are math illiterate and this is the only arena I can stick it them. We once broached the question, “Why do we waste our time with this?” but that conversation was short lived and we continue to this day. We are so competitive with each other and compete on the dumbest things just to be able to taunt the others.
For years now we have had an annual cooking contest. We choose a dish like mashed potatoes, egg salad, spaghetti, or whatever one of the siblings is claiming they are the best at that year. My brother still balks about not winning the mashed potatoes contest 3 years ago and claims the judges (my dad, my brothers mother in law, my sisters three kids) were in cahoots and purposely did not pick his. He bragged too much prior to the cook-off about how his sisters didn't stand a chance. He did it to himself. (My sister won with her secret ingredient: her kids.)
My sister called me last week to confide her addiction to angry birds. I let her know how over it I was because I had already mastered all levels. She didn’t believe me and I had to photograph the results on my ipad as proof. She then pointed out I had not yet downloaded Carnival Upheaval and until I mastered that level I was a fraud.
Those fighting words had me hit the update button faster than a speeding bullet. I am on level 8-6 and for the life of me I can’t get three stars. I went on line and checked out the walk through, which I follow to the T. No luck.
I played level 8-6 over 50 times last night and could only accomplish 2 stars. Dang, dang, dang, dang.
Why do I do this to myself? The Mr. Giggles game is a lot more fun for me. I simply have to master Carnival Upheaval. I will send my sister a text immediately after I do, “Mastered, take that and stick it on a perch and sling it.” It is already typed and ready for the send button to be tapped.
Tonight is the night; I feel it. Those stupid monkeys are going down!
Friday, July 22, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I enter the elevator anticipating the usual non-eventful, perhaps brief and polite conversation, ride down the five floors to my garage. The big silver doors begin to open as I am standing in the
elevator waiting area slouching and picking at the remaining dog hairs on my sweatshirt when whoa nelly I see a tall, handsome, not before seen since I moved here three years ago, stud of a man. My immediate thought was, "No way, not fair, you can't ride the elevator with me when I am not prettied up prepared."
I immediately search my brain bank for something witty to say but I am dry as a bone. I finally take notice of his helmet blatantly held in his hand and ask moronically, "So are you going riding?" He apathetically smiles and responds yes. I then tell him I have a Hog myself in the garage, noticing he is getting off at the same level as me (I also catch a sneak peek at the ring finger - EMPTY!).
He seems truly interested at this point and as we exit the elevator I ask him if he would like to see it, he is very motivated at this point, large hunky smile the biggest indicator, and enthusiastically answers to the affirmative. I drag him the 50 feet to where my 200 cc Scooter is parked. He is visibly disappointed. In an attempt to save the moment I mention it is freeway legal. He laughs somewhat genuinely and tells me to have a good day.
Good day indeed sir. I am now fantasizing about our first date. As I recount the story to my friend over coffee I am now planning our first double date with her and her husband. By the time I return back to the pad I announce to the security guards that I have met my future husband.
I was quickly informed that he is a good guy, owns the penthouse and most importantly is single. Good golly Molly, this is my lucky day. Then in the usual fatherly manner my security guards treat me with, they proceed to inform me he has a drinking problem and a very bad temper. A few stories are revealed, including how he slashed all the tires of a person who parked in his spot. They sum it up with they don't think I should marry him.
Bubble burst. What was I thinking? I do have a wonderful boyfriend after all. I just can't help myself when I see God's artwork prancing around in front of me, tempting my brain like I was a hand puppet. I have since seen problem stud and he always says, "Hi Scooter girl." I half smile back and kind of laugh as I envision the devil horns on his head and think, "he is not really that hot" even though he is.