CHANGING ROOM

Those of you who know me are quite aware that I am a nut. Those of you who don’t know me may not be so aware of this fact, but it is true. My girlfriend Ali says that I am a “fruitloop” and it is exactly this reason why people love me. Call it what you will, but me and awkward, random situations go together like peanut butter and marshmellow fluff. (I don’t like jelly).. go with me.

So in another classic moment, I recently made an ass out of myself at work…

It all started innocently enough. I was sitting at my desk when my boss who was in from out of town came down to our cubicle corner during a break from his meetings. My coworker immediately asked him if he had “solved the big mystery?”, to which I of course asked, “What mystery?”. In some regards I am glad that I did, in others- I really wish I hadn’t.

They both instantly look at me with surprise, “you don’t know?!” and my bossman chuckles.. “Oh my God, you have to see this.”
He proceeds to his office, and like the good little work drone I am, I follow right behind. Before I even have one foot in the door, he walks out, flings his arm up, and there dangling in my face is a very pretty black and white and hot pink …. BRA.

It just so happens that it is MY Black and white and hot pink bra. Without delay, I snatch the bra out of his hands and run back to my desk and shove it in my backpack. All I could think was “I like that bra!”. The look of shock on his face was priceless, as was the look on mine, I’m sure. “Wait, its yours? What the heck was it doing on my desk?” he asks as I slink into my chair, covering my face.

Right on cue my other boss walks out of his office and says, “So, you’ve solved it? It’s HERS?”…

Apparently there has been an ongoing debate for the last 3 DAYS about said bra. Why is it in the bossman’s office? Who put it there? What does it all mean? Poor bossman thought maybe it was someone telling him he was getting fat and need a bro.

Nope- it was just that I was too lazy to walk to the women’s restroom to change my clothes for the night, so I decided to change in my bosses office.

I am currently a MORTIFIED fruitloop.

LOVE STINKS…YEAH YEAH…

So things with the Bartender didn’t work out in the long run- which I knew they wouldn’t but the end to anything is still disappointing. In the end we had fun together, but while our relationship wasn’t serious- when you spend that much time with someone, things become serious. It’s hard to meld your life with someone else’s and yet keep it causal. It is definitely for the best, and we ended things amicably …for the most part.

But I do have to say I am still a little miffed about how it finished. I thought at the age of 35 men had grown into their balls- knew how to just step up a bit, face the harsh reality of life and move on. Though, now in retrospect I realize this was a foolish notion. You’d think dating two 38 yr old cowards, er, men, would have taught me something… like; men never grow up.

The Bartender clearly has not grown up. He pulled the infamous- ‘maybe I’ll just ignore her for a bit and see what happens.’ They know this is an asshole move, and yet I think about 85% of men pull this crap. They are actually okay with being perceived as an asshole rather than stepping up to the plate and saying, like an adult- “I’m just not that into you”. Females clearly are the stronger sex. The best part is, they pull this crap, and as in my case, we -brave woman that we are, call them out on it- which inevitably leads to the end.

As I unceremoniously gathered my few belongings and made my way out of his horrible apartment, he had the nerve to apologize to me for making me be the one to raise the issue. When I got to the door, I turned, kissed him goodbye and with a slight smirk said, “That’s okay. I’VE got balls.”

When I got in the car, I felt triumphant, and yet defeated. Damn, ...

Love stinks.

IF AT FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED... SKYDIVING MAY NOT BE FOR YOU

I did it! I FINALLY did it. Plummeted toward the earth at a whopping 120 miles per hour, and then gently floated down under a billowing parachute for the last 1000 feet or so. I have to say it was the most exhilerating 30 seconds of my life...

When my boss suggested we go skyding as an unofficial team building event, I immediately responded I was in. I've had numerous people suggest it over the years, and have mentioned my desire to do it quite a few times, but it never actually happened, so I didn't really believe it would this time either. But then, other co-workers started responding with an excited "yes", and the next thing I knew our jump was scheduled.

In all, only 5 of us could make it, but it was a perfect 5 to do so. We had all sorts of personalities, dipostions, ages, it was a random group with a great dynamic. We drove up to the field together and upon arrival started filling out our paperwork. At this point, my excitement for jumping out of a perfectly good airplane started to wane as I read about the 19 ways in which I could possibly die, and that it wasn't the skydiving companies fault. Because afterall, my parachute was packed by a human, and as we all know humans make mistakes. Oh and p.s. "we don't have insurance." After the first few pages, I just stopped reading all together...blind faith.

After a quick 10 min video about the 3 rules of skydiving, a demonstration on arching, and all of a sudden they were reading off the names of the first group. Of course, we were the selected guinea pigs. We met our tandem buddies out near the field and they suited us up in some rather attractive jump suits, complete with leatherhead-esque helmets.

The next few minutes were filled with the whirl of the plane engine, some nervous laughter, last minute instructions and one final prayer. Though my prayer was cut short when the beat from AC/DC's "She's Got Balls" over took my mind. Duh duh duhn nah...duh duh duh duhn nah...

We opened the plane door, and I watched as my boss slid over to the doorway, nervously. He grabbed on to both sides of the exit to steady himself and then apparently had second thoughts. Next thing we all saw was his tandem instructor prying his fingers off, one by one, and away they both went.

I was next. I slid over to the door, wrapped my feet under the belly of the plane, took one second to flash the i love you sign to my dear friend, and according to the rest of the group, proceeded to scream at the highest pitched level they had ever heard.

Falling from 10,000 feet is nothing like you think it will be. The initial roll out of the plane is simply terrifying. There is that second when all of a sudden you realize you have just jumped out of a plane, for no reason other than you think it may be fun.... But then it just becomes exhilerating. There is no loss of gravity, you don't feel your stomach in your throat, you just kind of float with the wind racing by your face and filling your ears with a gentle roar.

We spun around a bit, taking in all 360degrees of the beauty that is the Northwest. I could see 3 cities, 2 mountain ranges, multiple bodies of water, and 3 large mountains. It was breathtaking. Literally. I had to remember to smile and breathe through my teeth so I could enjoy what I was taking in.

Upon safely landing, all I could do was grin from ear to ear, and wonder when I could go up again. I will never forget that feeling- and am so happy I once again proved, I've got balls. God I love my life.

A GOOD BARTENDER IS HARD TO FIND

The evening of the broken pinky incident I decided to stop into my local watering hole to drink away my pain, garner a little sympathy for my swollen digit (hello, it’s ME- don’t act surprised!), and to see My-Pal-The-Bartender who I hadn’t seen in months as I was somewhat avoiding the place . Not really sure why exactly I was steering clear, I just got sick of being “that girl”. It isn’t that I didn’t talk to people, I did, I was pretty sure they all liked me, but it got boring after a while walking in there alone time after time, so I took a little break from the neighborhood pub. But then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named mentioned to me, in text of course, that he had seen My-Pal-The-Bartender and we both have him in common. That got me thinking of My-Pal-The-Bartender, so I walked into the bar that Sunday evening and things have taken an interesting course since...

I always knew My-Pal liked me, we just clicked immediately. But I never got an overpowering romantic feeling from him, just the ‘You-are-a-cool-girl’ vibe. So when he kissed my finger to make the pain go away, I was a bit surprised. When he suggested I come down to the other bar where he worked so he could introduce me to eligible bachelors, I was confused, and when he suggested we go out for drinks I was even more perplexed. But, I’ve always liked him, so why not enjoy his company for a happy hour drink or two? Well happy hour turned into a full fledged date- romantic dinner, awesome conversation, a meet up with his buddy, after dinner drinks, live music and dancing, and ended with a passionate kiss on the sidewalk! Talk about coming from left field… I did not see this one at all! BLIND-SIDED. And now I’ve seen him numerous times, and can’t get enough. He is the complete opposite of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, in more good ways than bad. And while I don’t really know what I am doing, it feels like exactly what I need right now. FUN.

I’m starting to see life in a different light as I age. Ready to slow down and learn my lessons before jumping into something that ultimately is not what I want. I can admit it- I am 30, and still have NO CLUE what I want, but I’m okay with that.

Sometimes you have to just go with things and enjoy the surprises. Unexpected things are around every corner…or in this case, the corner bar.

KARMA- SHES A BITCH-BUT THAT’S WHY I LIKE HER.

Since I know that nobody other than a few of my closest friends read this- You wont be surprised to hear that Karma has served me up another slap in the face.

So, my MATCH date, the one that was a total FLOP. Well one of the things that turned me off about the guy was that as it turns out he use to play on the same flag football team that I now play for. I know what you’re thinking…”flag football, that’s perfect for you.” Except that he gave up playing because he got hurt too many times. Broke a few fingers, his elbow and a couple other injuries. Of course, being the bitch that I am, I made fun of him for these injuries when I rehashed the date with my coworkers. I mean really, who gets THAT hurt in flag football??

So Sunday I played flag football. I subbed for a team (the one he used to play on) and we had a great game, beating a team with a stellar record. Then I had a game for my regular team. As were warming up, I went for a low thrown ball … and possibly broke my finger. Yup, I am now wearing a very sexy robo-cop style splint on my very fat, very purple, and very ugly pinky finger. Damn that Karma!

FLOPPY

Flippity floppity flop flop FLOP. My MATCH date was a royal FLOP. It wasn’t a bad date, but definitely a blah date.

First off, my friend Kate was right, at least in this case, I knew within the first 2 seconds whether there was potential. There was none. It wasn’t that he wasn’t cute- he was in a super- skinny- kinda- quirky- guy way, and he definitely was the same guy from his picture. However, I am pretty sure his picture was taken at least 10 years ago!! WTH? In addition, his shirt looked like it came from about 20 years ago. Button down teal. Bright, 80’s Miami Vice-ish teal… So we were not off to a good start. I was feeling a bit deceived.

The conversation went okay, but there was a lot of pompous selling, to be expected from a salesman on a first date I guess. But I wasn’t buying what he was offering, in the least bit. Then to top it off, after I had politely refused placing another drink order with the waitress, he took the liberty of ordering me a drink while I was in the restroom… Uh, thanks but I’m a BIG girl, I know my limits, and am more than capable of ordering drinks when I want one. Shady!!

Thankfully the date ended shortly after I refused the unauthorized drink :). The next day was the kicker though. After rehashing the event with my coworkers, it turned out that one of them knew him. And apparently I was right to feel deceived. She is pretty certain he is a good 3-4 years older than his profile states. Not that I care about age, but I do care about lying.

Next please.

JACK BE LIMBO, JACK BE QUICK!

I have a date tonight. It’s a MATCH date, so I admit my expectations are pretty low. Really low. Given all of the bad dates I’ve been on lately, dating feels almost like a chore, isn’t that sad? But can you blame me? There was the bowling strike-out (described below), the Stutter-er-er, the Energizer Bunny, the Lazy Eye, the Cheapskate, the Aggressive Grabber, and then the guy who took me to a very trendy, posh restaurant where he knew the whole staff. The service was great. Food, excellent. But I felt like I was on display more than the eccentric pairings of the renowned chef. A-W-K-W-A-R-D…..

But now I am all confused. Low expectations? It’s hard to get excited when the expectations are low. I prefer to have HIGH expectations of people, situations, etc. I keep my standards high-( some may say too high and it’s why I am still single- thank you mother) I’d rather like to keep them there though. But given my current circumstances, I’ve entered the world of lower expectations. Now what? Does that also mean lowering the bar? Is that what it’s gonna take? Ok then. So where exactly is that bar supposed to be placed? In fact, what the heck am I using this bar for? Is this the high jump, or the limbo? Somebody help!

B-I-N-G-OH YEAH HONEY…

I’ve decided that focusing on the dating scene may not be the best use of my time. It’s exhausting, time consuming, and I’ve had enough bad first dates recently to want to give up on men all together. Seriously, there are some creepies out there!

Instead… I think I’m going to work on the ladies.. No, I’m not switching teams, just my focus!! I’ve realized it’s time to make some girl friends in this city. Now don’t get me wrong I have some of the most fabulous girl friends in the world. Seriously, not to knock your friends, but the ladies in my life are some rediculously exceptional women, whom I love dearly. But I don’t ever see them. :( Some are half way across the country, others a ferry boat ride away. I can’t just call them up last minute and show up at their house with a bottle of wine on a Tuesday.

So this weekend I accepted an invite from my co-worker to attend Gay Bingo with some other local straight ladies. It was a blast! And I have to admit, I was a little nervous to show up to this group of already established friends- in costume no less; I am a girl I know what bitches we can be, but everyone was so inviting and welcoming I was blown away. It reminded me just how important the female network is. Plus, as I pointed out to my mother- whose current goal in life seems to be to marry me off, increasing my friend base of both single and married women only increases my odds of meeting an eligible bachelor- and it is a hell of a lot more fun than hanging with some first date losers. Hey, sometimes you’ve got to whoop it up with some drag queens to lead you to Mr. Right…

UH-OH SPAGHETTIo'S

Is it weird that every once in a while I still wonder what my ex is up to and try to answer that question by digging around on facebook? I think that makes me a stalker…. crap…

DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE WOMAN…

Did you hear about the woman who went on 100 dates in 6 months? Really??? Have you ever tried going on numerous dates in a week? I once had 4 back to back ‘first date’ nights and thought I was going to need a straight jacket- or maybe just some serious drugs and wine to erase the horrible memories…. And the exhaustion- it’s hard being cute and charming and your ‘best self’ night after night. Sheesh. This woman did 14!!! Bless her soul. But I have to wonder.. .. Did she really give these guys a fair shot by meeting them for what couldn’t have been longer than an hour? Or is my friend Kate right, it only takes 2 seconds to know if the potential exists???

EQUIPMENT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SKILL

I had a MATCH date last night. I met him at a popular wine bar before we headed up to the hip, trendy bar/bowling alley for a little friendly competition. Hey, I’m not one to sit on the sidelines, I like to play. So bowling on a first date sounded perfect.

I walk into the bar and he's seated having a drink already. Strike One. I ordered a red wine and we made small talk. Somehow it came out that he was a divorcé. Not an issue for me. At 29, with a thing for older and wiser (ok, ok, not necessarily wiser, but one can hope!), I’m use to the divorced crowd- I can handle it. So I casually ask, “Oh you were married, what happened?” expecting to hear a simple “it just didn’t work” or “we went different ways”. Instead, no joke, he says “ I was afraid of coming home to a pool of blood again.” dramatic pause. “ Or that the EMT’S would be there, or maybe this time she’d be dead.” another dramatic pause. “She was suicidal.” Strike Two.

internal voice: “WHOA BUDDY! This is the first date! This is the first drink on the first date! Didn’t anyone teach you about censoring???“ Once I got over the initial shock and awkwardness, made even more awkward by the hot bartender who so clearly saw that this was a bad first date… I suggested we move on.

Now we're at the bowling alley parking garage and as I make my way to the entrance he is reaching into the trunk of the car. That’s right, he brought his own ball and shoes. He then turns to me and nonchalantly says “Equipment has nothing to do with skill.” Which he then proved as I proceeded to kick his ass! 5 out of 4 games I won! The schmuck could barely break 100. Strike Three.

Lesson to all you men out there, if you are going to bring your equipment on the first date, you’d better be prepared to demonstrate proper use of it, and KICK MY ASS. Otherwise, leave it at home.

IT'S NOT YOU, IT'S ME. I THINK...

I’m single; I’m dating. I hate dating.

As soon as I think I like someone I start doubting it, too tall, too short, don’t like the way they laugh, or how they eat spaghetti- it’s like a repeating episode of Seinfeld…. and then inevitably someone close to me, or even someone I barely know, can make one comment about by new amor and I am convinced they’re right, he is not the guy for me. I send them packing with a “better luck with the next girl, buddy.”…

To say it is predictable doesn’t even come close. It’s like clock work. Two weeks, 5 dates, whatever come first… bam, I’m done. Too scary, too much effort, you’re too into me, you’re not enough like my last boyfriend (who I guarantee you I tried to send packing in week 2), I’m done... I have done it ever since I was 16.

I even warn potential boyfriends I am going to do it, but they just don't hear it. They don't heed the warning signs, and BAM! I'm spooked. I like to think that it isn't me, that it's them, and I 'm just reacting to red flags. but deep down I kinda know that's b.s. so now what?