Thursday, September 22, 2011

Who Goes Left?

I was at a dinner gathering last night. The usual chit chat and food ensued. Later in the evening the herbalist began herbalizing and that was my cue to skidaddle. Yes I used the word skidaddle and am dang proud of it.

I was doing my rounds, saying goodbye, the uncomfortable hugs with particular individuals was required.

My last few goodbyes were lined up, including this one guy I met earlier in the evening; he was odd looking but an interesting conversationalist. He had a scraggle tooth and as he spoke all I could do was look at this tooth and wonder why his parents did not fix it? I missed out on half of his witty banter doing this.

Scraggle puts his arms out, I hesitated, then decided it was rude not to reciprocate however I wanted it to be brief. HE WENT LEFT! Who goes left? When you hug goodbye your head goes to the right it does not go left. This is standard hug goodbye etiquette. For a millisecond I thought he was going in for a kiss and I recoiled and announced with a rancorous tone, "Who goes left, you're going left, I feel awkward." We bobbed our heads back and forth and I finally gave in to the left headed hug goodbye.

It is creepy.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

How do I pick up on a man?

I am assuming that the image on the right is not a particularly awesome way to get a man interested in you. Then again I am a rookie so perhaps when all else fails.....
I was recently dumped by a man who I have supported for the last three years. When I tell people my boyfriend dumped me they take a moment to digest this fact and double check my story, "Wait, he dumped you? Huh?" But yes, the boyfriend dumped me for reasons of needing to find himself. My response, "Thank you Lord, I am finally free."

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

What is the exact location of my head in my ass?

As I've stumbled through my life there have been occasion where I might have made some bad decisions. I like to think of myself as perfection in motion but what I want to think and what is real don't always match.

Take today for example. I entered in approximately 4000 lines of data into a spreadsheet. Upon completion my numbers did not add up. Surprise, surprise. **said like Gomer Pyle** I should have done a better job at spot checking along the way rather than waiting till I was finished.

I sat back, sighing aloud with disappointment, preparing to find my errors and said to my self , "You really had your head up your ass on this one."

That phrase made me giggle for a moment then spiraled me into a tangent to divert myself from addressing the priority work at hand. I pondered at what exact location did my head reach inside my ass? It definitely pushed its way past the rim but didn't quite reach the inner sanctum of the bowels. I say it sat somewhere between the two sphincters.

Pausing for a moment to remove the visuals this line of thinking was creating I decided to get back to work before my head reached breakfast.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Fatbook Kimmie, It doesn't get more unattractive

There are those who are naturally photogenic, the lucky few who can't take a bad picture. I see thier photos all the time and I am in awe at how they know how to smile or hold their head. Is it the shape of their face? Is it their natural beauty? I on the other hand would be shunned by society if it wasn't for Photoshop.

I dread someone taking my picture because I know I will have three extra chins from the way I pulled my chin back into my head, or the sunlight will be dancing off of my wrinkles playfully exaggerating their depth.

Just the other day I sent an un-doctored photograph of me to my sister and immediately she warned me never to do that again.

I decided to take a personal photo challenge as a way to prove my theory that I wasn't decrepit looking in reality. I printed a recent photo of myself and took it into the bathroom, stared into the mirror and compared the face I saw versus the face in the photo. I moved my head in as many directions and positions as possible to replicate the person in the picture, noting each position that I should never do in public.

I then decided to check myself out in the elevator lobby mirror to see if lighting is a harmful factor in picture taking. Nay, nay to ever doing something like that again. First I was caught doing it and during my explanation to the sneaky bastard I only came off as a narcissistic psycho (who has since been obviously avoided in the lobby). Second and lastly I felt like an idiot for spending this much time on a pointless project.

I have come to the conclusion that the camera is an evil enemy that has taken away the joy of capturing memories for me. This whole stupid investigation has caused me to now wear scarves. In a picture taken of me last weekend it looked like a Shar Pei was attacking my neck with all the wrinkling and sagging that mean camera added.

Damn camera. I am going to stick to Fatbook images from now on, at least people will laugh with me and not at me.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Listening Skills Better Learned Young

Have you ever had something tip toe past your taste buds so delicious that you gobbled it up like a prison inmate on cake day? Or how about a moment that was absolutely amazing you over thought it into a memory, fully ending what could have been enjoyed much longer if you just let it happen and shut up? We have all said things that we can never take back and swim in the sea of regret for longer than needed.

I have recently given up my need of controlling my brain and am allowing it to roam freely in the mind fields of others perceptions. My brain has diligently relied upon my education and experiences that have served me well these last 44 years. I am grateful for all that my brain has soaked up in this time.

Though recently in a semi sober state I was conversing quite freely with my boyfriend about various non- consequential topics when a memory popped up that had radically changed my life at the time it happened. I did one of those long awkward pauses that made Santiago think I was listening to him and was pondering his subject deeply. As I shook myself back to the present I had to explain to him that I had left his conversation before it started and was off in my own world. I don't think he appreciates when I do that.

When I was in 3rd grade my class took a field trip to the San Diego zoo. I am pretty sure it was a great day for me because on the bus ride home I was laughing with a group of boys and was feeling good about myself. The girl sitting next to me then said to me in a tone only girls use with other girls, "You are so weird. I don't like you." Even typing this now makes me shudder the same way it did when she said it.

My goodness that little vixen really did a number on me with that comment. I remember not allowing myself to cry until I was safely out of sight of all the other kids and in the safety of my mother. I am sure she said what I needed to hear, and most importantly what I know now, but just like I do with Santiago all the time, I probably wasn't listening to her but to my own brain.

I think up until the other day that comment has affected my whole approach to my social life. It seems so pathetic now but for the last 4 decades it has been a part of who I am. If I had only been able to understand at the time she probably didn't have fun that day or was jealous because I might have been laughing with a boy she liked that comment would not have affected me for so long.

As I recounted this tale to Santiago he began telling me of a similar situation in his life, I think, I was kind of listening.

I have decided as of last night to start listening and understanding where the perceptions of others are coming from and why they believe what they do. Maybe throw in some questions instead of just assuming my perception of what they are saying is gospel. My dear late Francis was constantly badgering me with, "The things people say come from their perspective and are not always about you." I wonder if he meant I wasn't a good listener and was selfish? I don't know, I rarely listened to him for long.

I checked out miss Jenny L. on Facebook and she is still pretty, seems happy and is doing alright for herself. Crap! I was hoping she was a large, greasy mess.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Seriously, that is what you were expecting?

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.