Don't Get Your Knickers in a Knot

My 2010 Revelation

2010-01-12T00:47:00.000-08:00

I get bored quickly and with alarming ease. Yet the older I get the more I suspect this may simply be the natural order of things. Romance fades. Ambitions shift. Goals should be dynamic. Living life one pleasurable pursuit at a time becomes tedious, a fading and unsatisfying, static conclusion. Just because the things that once captivated your attention cease to inspire does not necessarily mean they've become invalid or obsolete intentions. You're merely accepting them for what they are. They are the constants in your life. They are your security. Your comfort. Your peace. No one ever claimed carnal pleasure or immense satisfaction in stability. No one ever promised irrefutable evidence of achieving ones correct, chosen path. Euphoria is fleeting. A high you will vainly attempt to fuel. And that high will consume you; for it will never cease to be satiated. Sometimes the truth speaks from a peaceful place. Sometimes that which brings you the most pleasure will ultimately breed the most pain. Be open with your heart but don't be blinded by its pursuits. Geographically speaking your mind is closer to God. This rudimentary fact must not be overlooked. So much as we have the capacity to love and to lust, we have the responsibility and fortitude to be diligent with our actions. Live your life as if some day all of your thoughts, actions and intentions will one day be known. Let your moral foundation be your compass, your intentions the fuel to act. Introspection is one of the most frightening and difficult tasks we face. And yet is the ultimate catalyst for change. Darkness feeds on apathy. Stand for something. Aspire to become something. Do not hesitate in your convictions. Do not yield to your insecurities. Know thyself. I truly believe everyone has been endowed with a gift to share and a purpose to be revealed. Although we may never live to see or become open to receive our fate, we must have faith in its presence. Strive for greatness, for the best is yet to come.

I need a break from the Sock Pooper

2010-01-08T08:16:00.000-08:00

It's vacation time again - Riviera Maya! A week away from the dogs, the snow and the limbo that is my current living situation. I travel quite a bit so calling a vacation "a vacation" is sort of a joke, but I think I really need this "vacation." I adore Cesar Milan, infamous Dog Whisperer, and he often notes that dogs sense their owners' moods and react accordingly. Based upon my puppy's reactions, I'm frantic, stressed and a real pain in the ass. A week away will hopefully do wonders for my internal psyche and send positive, sane, calm vibes to the little hellion.

Most recently, Judge has a real taste for socks. I know this because he's pooped out two of them this past week...in their entirety. I think my dog must have the cleanest colon in town. He's always passing large pieces of his toys that I'm certain have a wonderful scrubbing ability on their way out. It's like those pictures of gators with their bellies cut open, revealing human limbs. Except Judge has fluorescent colored toy arms, legs and heads shooting out. The things this dog eats never ceases to amaze me. As soon as I think everything's puppy proofed he goes ahead and attempts to pull the coffeemaker, knife block or printer off my counter tops. Soon I will be living with an additional 2,000 sq ft of space to cordon off. Still not sure how to accomplish this. I'm considering an indoor electric fence/barb wire combo.

Aside from packing to move I've been packing for Mexico. This involves throwing every article of summer clothing I own onto my bed, trying to piece together a cohesive wardrobe that doesn't make me resemble a sausage or snowman. Why am I still holding onto things I wore in high school? Not only are they not in style, they are potent self-esteem destroyers. I could be a candidate for that show Hoarders. Apparently my figure has um...shifted in the past 10 years. Not entirely for the bad. I would have killed for the boobs I have now when I was 15, but I could definitely pass on the um...shapeliness of my booty. It's super fun trying on summer clothes in the dead of winter, right after the holidays, showcasing the Christmas cookies and extra helping of pumpkin pie I figured would be hidden beneath puffy layers of sweaters for a few months. Seeing as I detest dieting and exercise my options for improving this sad state are quite limited. Plan of action: Upon arrival, keep drinking until I no longer care if my snowballs are bursting from my top or bottoms get wedged in an ass cheek. Fingers crossed my cousin M forgets her camera.

How deep my super love goes...

2009-12-22T10:03:00.001-08:00

So I officially kicked off this years' first round of Christmas shopping...yesterday. Somehow I managed to purchase an entire H3's worth of goodies (I'm serious, trunk, seats and floor space jammed with crap) and yet have not finished even one person on my list. In fact, I only got one half done and another half started. Apparently I was so overcome by the Christmas spirit that I spent all my time finding the perfect gifts for random friends and relatives. After making 2 separate trips to my car I was finally ready to begin shopping, for reals. Uh, what's that, the mall closed? Aren't you suppose to stay open until, I don't know, Christmas? All your little blue haired retail elves are so high on potpourri and hand-sanitizer they can't possibly need more than a 10-minute break.

Finally got home at 11pm, Red Bull really starting to kick in, actually looking forward to wrapping all my useless gifts. As I gathered my purchases and stumbled toward the elevator, ninja kicking the UP button I waited...and waited...put my treasures down...and waited. Then I noticed a little note on the bulletin board. Elevator needs new part, will be fixed Monday. Wait a tick, isn't today Monday? We apparently have enough in our condo reserves to have the carpets shampooed weekly, garage pressure washed twice a month, entire building facade painted when it looked fine and money for a new "library" (bookshelf in the lobby), but can't seem to have our one elevator serviced in a timely fashion? For heaven's sake, 90% of the building's occupants are elderly! I'm just lazy, but let's think of the old folks please.

After re-assessing the situation (read: debating whether or not I'd take any gifts out of my car until Christmas) I decided a little exercise wouldn't kill me, right? Right?! 4 trips back and forth up and down 6 flights of stairs and I'd have to reply YES, a little exercise would kill me. Not so much the sheer volume of items I was transporting, rather the untimely manner in which it took me to reach their new haven. As a responsible dog owner (hehe) I decided to allow my dog pack to accompany me. It would appear that 4 hours left to their own devices, elicits sort of a frenzy when unleashed upon the hallway and garage areas of their domain. The middle child has taken a new liking to barking frantically up and down the hallway when we leave unless he's on a leash. However, when he's on a leash the puppy torments him, gets bit, cries, then he barks. Sort of a lose-lose. When we finally get to the garage everyone has a favorite corner/car/service area they enjoy best. It's like two little rockets and lumbering bear darting about in every direction. The real treat was getting the door open to the stairwell while balancing as much as my sad little arms could carry, hoping everyone else was on board. 1 out 3 times this was the case. The other 2 times Judge was more preoccupied with eating a dead bird he found outside and Maverick wouldn't leave the side of my car.

Stayed up until about 5am wrapping gifts. Why so late? You try doing this little holiday task with a 3 month old puppy who has a taste for anything paper or plastic. Including but not limited to - shopping bags, wrapping paper, scissors, tape, Sharpies, bows, ribbons and boxes. And the gifts themselves, of course. [Judge found one of his Christmas gifts - Snuggie For Dogs - so gay, but made me laugh when I saw it at the grocery store. Besides, I'm stimulating the economy. After he opened the box and bag and inspected his prize he immediately tossed it aside in favor of a glass ornament.]

Upon further inspection of my purchases, I did in fact buy for pretty much everyone not on my list. Hopefully today will be a little more successful or my super loved ones (not the so-so loved ones I actually bought gifts for) will know how deep my super love goes. Somehow that sounded gross.

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Gross...

2009-12-17T12:07:00.000-08:00

Well it's that time of year again, where your mailbox is overflowing with catalogues you've never heard of and Christmas cards. As I eagerly opened all of the sparkly envelopes, bedazzled with special yule tide stamps and stickers, I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of letters this year. By letters I mean those sagas printed on gingerbread and Christmas tree adorned stationary, recapitulating the years events. I appreciate a well written update of loved ones lives, detailing big changes in careers, living situations, family, etc. What I don't understand are the holiday authors who feel compelled to elaborate on disgusting health issues, macabre accounts of the demise of family, friends or pets, or an overtly gasconade tone to unimpressive accomplishments. To be fair, I'm not really impressed with much. This includes not losing your job, not contracting a flesh eating virus, or not murdering your children to name a few. See my face? Not impressed.

Anyway, my favorite letter came from one of my best friends from high school. She epitomizes everything good in this world and has such a cookie cutter dreamy life, that I often wonder where the hell I went wrong? I mean we were best friends. Dressed alike, same friends, same interests. At what point did she veer off to Candy Land while I strayed toward the enchantment of a Ouija board? Her Christmas letter detailed the birth of her daughter and I swear on the wooden planchette of my dusty spirit board that I almost shed a tear.

After that heart warming missive I opened another holiday tale from a ~~couple whom I have not seen nor spoken to in years and am slightly concerned as to why they have my address~~ friend we shall simply refer to as Mr. & Mrs. Gross. At first glance everything was in order. Holiday vestiges upon the margins, standard formatting and font, let's begin... I didn't get halfway through the page before my stomach began churning and my expression was a combo of repulsion and consternation. Mr. & Mrs. Gross graphically described the symptoms, treatment and recovery of a malady I did not know previously existed, nor ever wanted to know. I won't go into detail because the bile begins to rise when I think of the whole yuck fest contained on one page. I almost feel abused. Mr. & Mrs. Gross took advantage of this festive time of year, coercing their victims with all the accoutrement's of a typical Christmas epistle, all the while injecting clandestine medical jargon. For the record, a Christmas card should NEVER include the following words: infection, drainage, contagious, or pustule.

Not one to dwell on the inappropriateness of other's (ha!) I decided I'm going to write my own Christmas letter...right here...

Dear Everyone,

The past year has brought many exciting new ~~disasters~~ changes. Maverick, Rebel and I welcomed a new addition to our family, thus solidifying my prestigious title of Crazy Dog Lady. My dream dog Judge, born August 20-something, 8 pounds and 2 hand lengths of pure Doberman exuberance. We are still adjusting to our new family dynamic as kibble and toys litter the floor, knit pants, socks and slippers have new ventilation holes, garbage cans reside on bathroom sinks and band aids are my new favorite accessory. Our new little bundle of joy is growing so quickly and eager to show how he can now reach kitchen counters and climb the spiral staircase to the loft, gaining a more advantageous post to bark and ~~destroy~~ play with things.

I look forward to the new year as I begin packing for the big move to the bustling metropolis of Oak Creek into my ~~failed investment~~ brand new house! Yard work, maintenance, 3000+ square feet of space to clean, barely scratch the surface of this exciting new change. I also anticipate a speedy sale of my condo in the dead of winter, that often resembles a warm and inviting doggy daycare. Though I will miss my fussy elderly neighbors, the middle aged ~~lesbian~~ enchantress directly beneath my condo will be the hardest to leave. Without love letters taped to my door, phone calls applauding my "heavy gait," or the sounds of Celine Dion or showtunes blaring into my windows until midnight, I know how much my heart will ache. The ninja stealth that I've developed in order to sneak the dogs down the stairs while in my most attractive pj's in the middle of the night will be an adventure sorely missed. Rounding up the troops ~~pulling Maverick out of a neighbor's open vehicle while Rebel barks at children and Judge pees on the garage floor~~ for an adventure will never be the same.

I have been blessed with another barrage of vacations. Most notably my family trip to Prague and Germany where I discovered the flow of beer rivals that only of Milwaukee and gay men in assless chaps are a thing of beauty. My upcoming travels include Riviera Maya, the Olympics in Vancouver, Oktoberfest in Munich and possibly a Caribbean cruise. Time permitting, I wouldn't hate another European adventure or backpacking excursion either.

Finally, this past year has brought many new faces into my life. Some made me smile, some made me cringe and some made me wish I had asked for plastic surgery for Christmas before entering the witness protection program. I have made wonderful new friends through a completely normal and not at all loserish venue of internet dating. After all, isn't that why one joins such sites? To make new friends with the false hope of finding true love and subsequently having the "just friends" discussion? Such a joy.

Happy holidays to one and all. God bless!

Can I buy a cryptex from Target?

2009-12-12T09:00:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile folks. Ah, where to start?

Last week Wednesday I got a text from DTabs - [The Ex] is having a procedure tomorrow. He might have testicular cancer.

WTF?! Attempted to reach the Ex, some weird message, no answer. Did he really block my number like he said he was going to? What a child. Sent an email and a text. Finally calls me back.

The Ex - Been having tests done past couple months, will find out if it's cancer tomorrow. Thanks for the concern, but don't worry about it. Go on with your life as if you never found this out.

Me - WTF?

Thursday I get a voice message from the Ex - Guess who has testicular cancer? It's me! giggle giggle.

Me - Waiting for the "just kidding" portion of this message.....WTF?

That weekend we went with a bus load of friends to the dog track, got Christmas trees, watched movies and basically went back to the way things were. Minus the cancerous mess in his pants, of course.

Monday he went in for surgery. Monday night I brought him back home. Of course not one doctor spoke with us before we left but we did have a very unhelpful nurse wheel him out while not explaining anything to us either. Seriously? Let me do a dramatic re-enactment of the days events for you.

Welcome to Elmbrook, I hear you have cancer let's just snip snip that out for ya. Now just sit tight in your room and watch your Radio Shack tv circa '83 until we figure out step 2. By the by, you're spending the night. I know we said you didn't have to but we like you. How about another test? What for? Oh don't worry your pretty lil head about these doctory matters. Zap zap test done! Now you can eat some slurry and wait til we decide what that test was all about....2 hours later slurry arrives...Guess what, we changed our minds. Leave. Now. Hmmm...okay.

Thursday we had a follow up appointment with the Emperor of Urology. Well, according to him at least. I'm the king of urologists, rah rah, I'm old so that means I'm experienced and wise, please no pictures, you'll probably die if you go to anyone else, rah rah. When the Magnate of Urine ripped off the bandage on the Ex's abdomen I thought security may be called as I saw a tentative hand fly near the offending Prefect's face. I get the whole rip the band aid off quickly scenario and applaud it's effectiveness, however this was a 5 inch bandage secured with what I can only assume was gorilla glue. Hmmm....looks good. 8-syllable medical terms, blah blah blah, hear how smart I sound, I own a medical dictionary and checked out WebMD before your appointment, blah blah. Meanwhile, I'm furiously taking notes trying to decipher the Da Vinci code of a prognosis. Made a note to buy a cryptex before future appointments.

The Ex - What's the deal with the stitch in my testicle? When or how is that going to come out?

Sovereign of Urinary Tracts - Hmm...dunno. Lemme see! Well maybe I'll cast an expulsion spell on it later, or maybe just cut it out another time.

So what's next? Find an oncologist and start chemo as soon as possible. Well we've got some recommendations for docs at X, Y and Z hospitals. Oh, don't go there. Then I won't see you again and you'll probably die because I won't know what they're doing and my methods are secretive and way better. Do you wanna die? Umm...no, but we're probably going to get a few opinions. Fine. I've got other reproductive organs to fiddle around with. Your funeral. Alright then, thanks for the anagrams and Jeopardy words, we'll have fun decoding this when we get home.

So that's where we're at. Meeting with oncologists next week, hopefully one with some information that makes sense to someone who did not spend a decade in Med school or study with the Knights Templar.

I haven't had time to process this whole situation yet and I think that's why I'm relatively sane at the moment. Everything just happened so quickly. I think cancer was about the only thing that would have brought me into the same room with the Ex's family (we have issues with one another). The fact that I wrote a whole effen post on finally letting go, then being thrust back into everything with a vengeance is almost laughable. Who would have seen this coming?! Cancer is a really crappy Christmas present. My focus is making sure he gets the best medical treatment and that he's comfortable and knows he's cared for. This sucks...

My puppy eats electricity

2009-12-01T10:58:00.000-08:00

Currently I'm up to my eyeballs in Christmas decorations. This little project started on Friday. I have the tendency to unpack all of my festive doodads and stare at them until inspiration strikes as to where they'd like to reside for the holidays. Apparently every counter top and table is on their list of places to hang until further notice. Wrestling garland and extracting glittery pine cones from a tenacious puppy is really getting me in the holly jolly spirit as well. I think Judge wants light bulbs most of all for Christmas. The fact that I will be listing my condo soon has become sort of a running joke (in my head at least). Is cluster fuck a new kitschy mode of decor? Because I've got it, and then some.

Anyway, things are looking up lately. Perhaps it's the perpetual Christmas music, cheesy Kay Jeweler's commercials, or sorting through my holiday decorations, but I'm feeling pretty content. Is my life sort of dancing between limbo and complete chaos still? Of course. But I think that is becoming the norm and I'm quite adaptable. After my come to Jesus moment I feel a new sense of peace. Life is not an emergency. I'm in good health, I've got a roof over my head, candy in my belly, and I think my puppy's brain is actually beginning to develop. Normally I'm not content with good, always striving for great, but I think I'll let this one ride for awhile.

I feel like God's testing my current serenity with little glimpses of things that might send me back into my typically neurotic state. For example, I was looking through a friend's photos on Facebook and stumbled across an ex...on his wedding day. My reaction? I smiled. I'm happy for him. The fact that his bride looked like a Barbie doll could have easily sent me into a tailspin, but my friends I'm still standing. Now I realize this may not seem like a big deal for the average guy or gal, but for me the relentless cynic, it's huge. It's also huge because I finally get what "letting go" is all about. The selfish internal part of me (that would never admit this) always wishes that whomever I've dated will fall into despair, move to Tibet, and renounce all women after me. Seeing as this has yet to happen, I figured I better grow up and start being a bit more positive.

Back to my "letting go" epiphany. As I was putting up my Christmas decorations I was dusting off some picture frames of my ex-fiance. Why do I still have them all over the place? Not for nostalgia's sake, it's far more practical and uninteresting than that. I didn't feel like taking the time to have new pictures enlarged and subsequently placed in the frames. At first I ignored the pictures (the pain, the horror, gasp!) but after awhile I sort of stopped noticing them all together. See, adaptable. As I was dusting a frame of my ex and I on our first homecoming (junior year of high school!) together I couldn't help but smile. We were so young. I didn't look at it with regret or sadness. We were just kids, with a whole lot ahead of us, and most of it we would do together. At some point things changed. Things always change. Not good, not bad, just different. I grew up with my ex, he was one of my best friends, and he'll always be in my heart. Right now we're not speaking to one another and it's probably for the best. Will we ever be friends again? It's hard to say, but I hope so.

He made a good point awhile back. He said that the only time I really reached out to him was when I was stressed or lonely, and he was right. He had been my sense of calm for so long, it was difficult not having him to lean on. I admit it. But isn't that what friends do? Apparently we're both on a different "friend" page, so I suppose it's not fair to him. It took me awhile, but I've managed to resist my urge to call him when I'm having a bad day. I'm a big girl, I guess I had to learn how to bottle up my emotions and shove down my problems in an unhealthy manner like every other adult sooner or later.

I think it's probably time to take the pictures down though. My life is moving forward. Plus, it's awkward explaining them to my ahem, guests. The truth is, the ex will always be a part of my life, whether he's physically in it or not. That's what happens after a decade of interactions I suppose. I guess what feels really amazing right now, is that I can think back on our relationship and smile. Just smile. Would I change a few things here and there, sure. However, everything that happened led us to where we are now and I think this is exactly where we're suppose to be. I think the hardest part of letting go is the fear of what will take it's place. There's an inevitable void. I think I've been too adamant about attempting to fill that void before I actually tried to co-exist with it. Maybe some things are not meant to be replaced. Maybe that little hole is suppose to stay empty.

Wow, this got a little too introspective. I'm gonna lighten the load for ya, with some pictures of my naughty and supremely ridiculous puppy, Judge.

He just got his ears cropped. Hopefully we'll be done with this nonsense soon. Such a pain in the ass. Judge is currently tipping the scales near 30lbs. I think 20 of it is hiding in his front paws. I can't tell you how many mornings I have to check the mirror for a black eye. He slaps me around a bit. I suppose I probably have it coming. Hehe...

Counting my blessings

2009-11-25T09:52:00.000-08:00

The past year has been an interesting one to say the least. The bad is usually more engrossing than the good, but there has been so much good bursting from my cornucopia (hehe...lame) that I thought I'd make a list.

What I'm Thankful For:

When my dastardly puppy nestles his head underneath my chin when he sleeps.

Big Daddy and his highly inappropriate text messages that always make me laugh out loud no matter where I am.

Every pair of Ed Hardy shoes that I own. I know I'm a sell out, but they are so comfy.

My Gramps being at home again.

My cousin Emily for helping put things into perspective for me.

Feeling peaceful after leaving mom's house.

My brother being home from Canada.

Maverick and Rebel turning out to be the best dogs ever.

Spending time on my dad's ranch.

Songs that I can listen to 100 times and not get sick of. (Aerosmith's Dream On)

The first cup of coffee in the morning.

Chanel and Dior beauty products.

Still being able to fit into my jeans from high school.

Joining the rest of our dog pack with Seany at Minooka.

Looking through pictures of all the amazing places I've traveled.

Talking to Aunt D. She always makes me laugh, think and prioritize!

Grams being sassy.

Clean 1200tc Egyptian cotton sheets.

When the weather is just right (no rain or snow, chilly) so I can wear my white goat boots.

Being blonde again!

Mr. Merlot

Mario Party, real estate tycoon board....awesome.

Packing for the next trip.

Being up-north with just my dogs.

Mom making faces in church and letting me snuggle against her shoulder like I used to when I was little. I wish she'd still let Jake and I lay down in the pew and take naps.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Count your blessings!

I'm sick of dating, ya hear that Nick Nolte?

2009-11-24T09:22:00.000-08:00

I'm sick of dating.

Would I enjoy a stable, consistent, impossibly handsome, humorous, employed, handy guy in my life? For sure. Do I want to actually go out and proactively search for him anymore? Not so much. At first getting all dolled up and hoping your mystery man didn't turn out to be Nick Nolte or rivaling a potted plant in conversational aptitude was fun. Hooray, butterflies and little dinosaurs (indigestion?) in my stomach! Now it's sort of tedious and inconvenient. It's one thing getting ready for a date that you're actually looking forward to, it's another story when you're planning your impending escape route before you've walked out your door.

I'm sick of dating.

Over the past year I've realized there are tons of great eligible bachelors. Good news ladies, there are plenty of smart, witty, successful, gorgeous men just ripe for the picking! Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed perusing the fields, but haven't quite found the one I feel like throwing into my basket. I have noticed that all this dating has become rather deleterious to my Christian inclinations.

Let's quickly go through the 7 deadly dating sins timeline:

While primping for a date - Pride/Vanity

Attempting to impress with clever banter and mundane facts about yourself - Envy (yeah, it's a stretch; I want to make you envious of whoever gets me if it doesn't happen to be you? Eh? Good?)

Consuming waaaay too much alcohol for that boost of liquid courage; or if you're sure there won't be a second date, ordering and subsequently shoveling the most expensive items on the menu into your smooch hole. - Gluttony

Being a giant sloot. - Lust

Wanting to be with someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with you. Sorry you blew it, let it go. - Greed/Avarice

Turning into a certifiable lunatic after your love interest moves on. Spurn love, opt for fury! - Wrath

Wishing someone would just arrange a marriage for me already. - Sloth

I'm sick of dating.

I was going through some Match.com profiles the other day and saw I had received an email from a handsome, Lutheran, successful, home owning, tall, blonde hair, blue-eyed, 37 year old....virgin. I shit you not. He boldly proclaimed this fact in his tag line, followed by "saving myself for my bride" in his profile. I'm all about unsolicited pontificating, but come on! What is a ~~horny~~ modern 21st century girl to do with that little detail?! I refuse to corrupt a seemingly cherubic man. In no universe would someone that um...what's the word...good? righteous? restrained? co-mingle with the likes of this frequently morally ambiguous gal. Not to say I'm the whore of Babylon, but I'm not exactly the blessed virgin either. Sorry mom, but I refuse to add liar to my list of transgressions.

I'm sick of dating...and exposing some not-so-fun facts to my mother.

Here's where I'm at. My come to Jesus moment has shifted my dating life from 6th gear to Neutral and I'm laying low for a bit. Should my anti-Nolte appear in the meantime, yippee for me. I'd love to skip the dating period and jump right into matrimonial bliss (I'm 98% certain this is an oxymoron. I'm 99% certain this is something you should not say on a first date...and of course, I have). I think I'm ready to be in a real relationship, I'm just exhausted from looking for one. Hehe...I've got a lot of quit in me.

Did I mention I'm sick of dating? I did? Just checking.

Am I still hoping Uncle Haru has an arranged marriage in the works for me? Absolutely.

At least I didn't steal any babies.

2009-11-22T15:45:00.000-08:00

I'm in the middle of a come to Jesus moment as I have recently been on a sinnin' spree! Seriously, one bad choice followed by an even worse action, rounded off with a really stupid situation. I'd love to blame it on the a-a-a-alcohol, but sadly I can't. Seeing as I'm pretty into my reputation and the way others perceive me, I'm gonna have to forgo the details of my ridiculousness. Let's just say on a scale of 1-dumb of how poorly my decision making has been, I'm dancing dangerously close to retarded. Hence, my come to Jesus moment.

Ecclesiastes has always been one of my favorite books of the ol' Bible, so I spent a good portion of my Sunday reflecting on its words. The book emphasizes that life from the human perspective - without the grace of God - is empty. Power, prestige, popularity and pleasure cannot fill the void. Ah, so true. I got a whole mess of void that still needs some filling.

Luther on Ecclesiastes: While in the first book [Proverbs] Solomon teaches obedience in the face of mad lust and desire, so in this book he teaches that men are to be patient and steadfast in obedience, in the face of unpleasantness and temptation, and ever to wait out the brief hour in peace and joy. What they cannot keep or alter, they are to let go; it will all work out.

Always a fan of Luther's lucid deductions, I'm hoping it does in fact all work out. I need to take a step back and shift my priorities a bit. The little Cosmo quiz revealing my quest for pleasure was not too far off. Ha! Cosmo you're so smart, I won't make fun you ~~anymore~~ next month.

I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure. My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor. Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun. ~Ecclesiastes 2: 10-11

Ever notice how stupid decisions lead to even more foolish actions that eventually compound themselves into a hot mess of consequences you brought on yourself? I even saw this shit coming! (Probably shouldn't swear in a post riddled with Biblical connotations. I am seriously the poster child for lack of self control.) No excuses, which sucks because I love finding someone else to blame my problems on. You're off the hook this time DTabs!

This week is going to be a little bit different. Here's hoping at least.

Attempt to refrain from jumping into situations that seem harmless enough, but could very well land you in jail or purgatory (if I believed in such a place).
Actually consider others' feelings. Selfishness is not a pretty color on anyone, not even me.
Take a moment to mull over the 5 minutes of fun you're about to have and how you will most definitely have more than 5 minutes of regret afterwards.
Just don't go out in public.

These cryptic confessions are honestly not thaaat bad. I suppose that's left to ones own interpretation, but I didn't murder anyone, steal any babies, engage in any orgies, and I haven't taken to necrophagia or black magic. So that's gotta be worth something, right? Silver lining folks!

Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgement, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil. ~Ecc. 12: 13-14

Cos-NO, NO, NO-politan #2

2009-11-19T13:05:00.000-08:00

Don't you hate it when you realize you've been singing the wrong lyrics to a song and wonder how many times you've exposed your deaf ear? DJ Khaled's "We Taken Over" apparently does not contain the phrase murder city attitude, rather one city at a time. Not even close, well played Khaled.

Anyway, I picked up this month's Cosmo because I was curious to know if "Stress is Turning You Into a Raging Bitch." Not to worry, they've provided some killer solutions. All I need to do in order to stimulate my "feel good hormones" is lock lips with someone, practice saying the word No, and skip the New Year's resolution. After all, that New Year's resolution really gets my cortisol raging. Phew, dodged a bullet there.

This month's anthology is filled with perfume ads from celebutards. I'm sorry Jessica Simpson, I'm sure your fragrance is lovely, but I have a hard time spritzing myself with Fancy Love and not feeling like a giant douche. Also, Mariah Carey's Forever ad is one of the creepiest photos I have ever seen. Sort of makes you want to buy that dangerous looking vile of kryptonite in hopes of supporting those afflicted with Bell's palsy.

Moving along, Turn a One-Night Stand Into an LTR (long term relationship for those of you who have not given up on complete English in lieu of Twitter/text/Facebook speak). The tag line - If you realize that Mr. In-Your-Bed-Right-Now could possibly be Mr. Right, you need to act fast! - is so sad on so many levels. It should read - If your slutty ass realizes that the lagoon creature in-your-bed-right-now could possibly be carrying various strains of VD, you need to get to a clinic fast! Seriously Cosmo? It's bad enough if you find yourself preparing for your sad walk of shame, let alone giving advice on how to draw it out. Little tip ladies, one-night stands don't usually lead to romance. You've already given up the goodies to a guy who was willing to sample the goodies before you've even learned one another's last names. Where exactly do you go from there? Uhhh...so, do you like, have a job? Oh, I see you collect toenails...interesting. I don't normally do this ::nervous laughter:: I'm just gonna grab my scrunchy and head out. Byyyeeee.....

In the Man Manual under Guy Truth, I had one of my most urgent questions answered: Can I ask my guy what's going on in his head during sex? I mean c'mon, is this query really worthy of publication? Does anyone wonder if this is an appropriate activity during sex? The other question I've been dieing to have some light shed on: This guy I met only talks about sex. Is that all he wants from me? No honey, he's Dr. Ruth's apprentice, it's just research.

Let's see, I learned Why Love is Harder in Winter. Answer - you feel gross. Solution - adopt a puppy together! WTF? Do you get rid of the dog when the earth thaws and you're done feeling gross?

I've taken on a new obsession - I plan on compulsively analyzing the way men hug me. What I've gathered thus far is that the sneak attack, the rub, and the waist wrap = good. The pat = bad. Although there's an exception to the sneak attack. "If your man almost always hugs you from the back, that might mean he craves a closer connection but thinks you're unavailable." Agghhh! How does one remedy this?! The investigation continues...

The Need to Know section really tugs at your heart strings this month in a little composition entitled Why I Got Rid of My Fake Boobs. Spoiler alert! Everyone stared at them and didn't take her seriously. I did need to know that.

Finally, the Cosmo Quiz, Do You Get Enough Pleasure? brought on the startling revelation that I am the Queen of Temptation: You're at a 24/7 pleasure party...but there's more to life than caving in to every instafun (if we find a great lack of authors, editors, or English teachers in the future I'm blaming Cosmo) temptation. Try ignoring your buzz-kill radar and riding out tough times (um, no thanks. You're on my buzz-kill radar Cosmo) you'll attain a deeper level of pleasure. I don't like the insinuation behind this, makes me sound like a harlot.

So that's this month's Cosmo for ya. I've got to go find some pleasure now and start a hug journal.

Check out my inspiration for doing a dating promo below at Talkie Time. Love. This. Woman.

A blonde's take on genetics...riveting!

2009-11-16T10:08:00.000-08:00

Webster's Dictionary defines patient as:

1. Capable of bearing affliction calmly. 2. Understanding: tolerant. 3. Persevering: constant. 4. Capable of bearing delay. Synonyms include: forbearing, long-suffering, resigned; adj. core meaning: enduring or capable of enduring hardship or inconvenience without complaint.

The only part of this definition that really resonated with me was the bit about long-suffering. Every year I expect to develop this little adult idiosyncrasy, but alas, it eludes me. In fact, my impatience appears to be blossoming. I want everything figured out and tucked neatly into place...yesterday. I absolutely abhor the phrase, "Just enjoy the ride!" I'm a roller coaster type girl. I enjoy the anticipation, inevitable stomach flip and abrupt ending. Onto the next! I don't have the attention span for the effen Tea Cups.

This is precisely the reason I'm not a huge fan of dating. When you meet someone you ~~want to see naked~~ connect with, it's difficult to muster Buddha's patience. I want to know what is wrong with you or why we will inevitably fail within a 3 date time frame. Is that too much to ask? When you dilly dally around playing nice, hoping to conceal the crazy, you're simply delaying the "it's not you, it's me" song and dance. Be honest! You're not going to change someone, so you might as well be upfront with your expectations. If you no longer ~~want to see them naked~~ connect, then you've wasted very little time, energy and emotional turmoil. Win-win!

Now I understand certain traits will not initially present themselves. Does your love interest harbor passive aggressive argument tactics? Horrible at karaoke? Suck at board or video games? Fart in their sleep? I suppose if you're still a passing interest to me, I can hold out long enough to discover some of these deal breakers. But not too long. I'm sort of an outta sight, outta mind person. I lose interest quickly (and by 'lose interest' I mean, forget that you exist) and don't enjoy the waiting around portion of dating. If I like you, I want to spend time with you. Now this attached-at-the-hip feeling is quite fleeting, but initially I do want to be near you, a lot. Whether we're physically together, or just talking on the phone, I need to know you're on the same page as I am. There is nothing worse than pursuing something that was never meant to be pursued.

After you finally get to know each other and evaluate the potential of spending more than the odd date here and there, then I'm as patient as Job. (Pick up a Bible if you don't understand that reference or know how to pronounce his name.) I like my life pretty much the way it is. I don't want a roommate or a Siamese twin. I want to spend time with someone because some activities are better as a dazzling duo. Video games (if you don't suck), tennis, walking 3 dogs, going out to eat, shooting darts and camping to name a few. Also, marriage and parenthood seem to work a little better with a partner, or so I've heard.

I certainly need to improve on my severely deficient patient gene (is that a gene? I'm gonna go with No on this one). I've probably passed up a few amazing experiences or people because of its absence. However, the one propitious aspect of this lack of patience is its undeniable filtering capabilities. I've been able to sift through a lot of nonsense, thus avoiding a lot of wasted time. Wasting time, now that's a gene I've housed in great abundance.

2009-11-10T08:56:00.000-08:00

I feel I've been a bit melodramatic lately my friends, so I'm going to give you a break and regale you with some of my new "Matches."

[Yes, the above picture was found in Mr. Mary Lou Retten's profile. Aside from the impressive pose I can't help but admire those teal trunks.]

This 80's icon describes his education as "went to the tech school," and his "ideal girl will be fit and well kept." Well by golly, I better dust off my apron and put a little rouge on!

Not to sound off color here but this guy looked like a terrorist until I gave him that jazzy bow tie. Also, this picture is either photoshopped or yet another failed Glamour Shots project. His profile indicates he loves a sensitive woman with feminine ability. I am seeking a lady who is take care of me, and well spoken...finish my work at work and give my girl its time as my partner in life. I like to participate her in everything...even in problems we must think together how to solve. I am also friendly, amiable and lovely. Just in case I was onto something in my initial pre-bow tie assessment, I'm going to let you make your own conclusions here.

I have never laid claim to being a master of linguistics, but I was under the impression that the description "athletic and toned" did not encompass man boobs or a belly button stuck in the wink position. Apparently this dashing fella, who claims to be a writer, does in fact think "athletic and toned" incorporates these attributes. There's a hearty dose of yuck for ya.

Hooray, Superman thinks we're a Match!

As I'm certain you've concluded, my dating life is really starting to take off. When I check my Match.com account, at times I have to eyeball the browser to make sure I didn't accidentally access Fail Blog. Sad, really sad. Have a great day folks!

Pee Wee's School of Drivers Ed

2009-11-08T22:09:00.000-08:00

Since my puppy has graciously allowed me some much needed rest I've been engaging in one of my favorite activities once again - pondering trivial dating ideals! In true Pee Wee Herman secret word of the day style, COUNTERPART (aggghhhh!) let's begin.

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What do you do when you meet your counterpart (aggghhh!)? Maybe not necessarily lifestyle, socioeconomic status, or career counterpart (agggghhhh!....okay, I'm done), but personality wise. What happens when your life converges with someone else whom represents your equivalent in future expectations, approach to relationships and fundamental beliefs? Is this a recipe for disaster or success?

Everyone loves the idea that opposites attract. Truthfully, I think this is a comfortable explanation for why you ended up with someone you never pictured yourself stuck with. At the end of the day, too many divergent attributes leads to discord and frustration. What may seem charmingly offbeat in the beginning, eventually becomes arduous. Your differing opinions may provide exciting banter in the early stages when you're ~~still trying to get laid~~ devouring each others words, but you'll eventually succumb to the fact that the other person is a disparaging idiot. To reference Sex and the City, Miranda and Steve would NEVER work out in real life. Sure the charmingly dimwitted Steve would provide a little amusement for the domineering, Type A Miranda at first, but a real world Miranda would find this exhausting and obnoxious after awhile. What does Steve bring to the table? Unless you're an oppressive maneater who delights in subjugating a weaker species, this match is destined to fail. Polar opposite personalities may be intriguing, but lend themselves to future discord. It's alright to have contrasting viewpoints such as James Carville and Mary Matalin, but their seemingly paradoxical relationship works because essentially they're passionate about the same things, politics.

The idea that two people with completely different ideologies, familial status, financial security or basic intelligence could thrive as a couple is ludicrous. Certainly you may have some analogous qualities like the desire to eat and avoid fire but there needs to be some fundamental similarities in order to progress.

So back to my original thought, what do you do when you've met your match? Your COUNTERPART...aggghhh! Couldn't resist. Someone who is used to assuming a particular role in a relationship, a role typically reserved for your expertise. Does one half of the relationship compromise? If so, which half? As a rule I'd say I am usually the driving force behind a relationship. Meaning I dictate where it's going and how quickly we get there. I don't think I've necessarily aspired to be in the drivers seat, I just end up there as I'm hopelessly devoted to dating student drivers. Perhaps I could be willing to turn the keys over to someone who exhibits proper U-turns and parallel parking. The problem that remains is simply this. I'm not sure I'm ready to be chauffeured around. I like having some control over my relationships as I feel ever so confident that my charming disposition and scintillating repartee will keep my heart free from collision. Allowing someone else to take the reigns feels as if I'm taking off my seat belt after hitting 80 on the freeway. Perhaps we could try the driver's ed car, at least allowing myself a modicum of control if need be. It might be nice for a change to have someone else direct the route of a relationship. I suppose if it's not, I can always pull the emergency break.

Another teensy-weensy matter of contention with finding your dating counterpart is what course of action do you take to ~~ensnare~~ court them? I've grown accustom to pursuing men that think I'm the bees knees (whoa, shout out to the 1920's). Who doesn't want to surround themselves with people that are easily impressed through very little effort of your own? So upon finding my counterpart, one who is also inclined to cultivate relationships with eager admirers, which one of us becomes the groupie? I can just envision two closet narcissists on a date, waiting for the other to kowtow to ones majesty. Seems as if someones gotta budge or you're going to spend a lot of time pursing your lips and giving creepy sly winks in hopes of breaking down the other's barrier. Hmmm....is this an exciting new challenge, or a Martha Stewart caliber recipe for utter disaster?

I suppose if the fawning never takes place but you both realize you're happy in each other's company it might be really fantastic. Who doesn't want to be with the adult equivalent of the prom king/queen? This of course based on the assumption you deem yourself worthy of such a prestigious title. I'm not one to quickly reveal my soft spot for certain attributes that make me swoon. Such attributes include: religious affiliation, height, good credit, mortgage toting preppies, and dog lovers. I'm also a sucker for anyone who is not completely appalled by my candor. Shhhh....let's remain a mystery.

Now if your counterpart doesn't exhibit some of the fundamental qualities that you need to feel secure, loved, or completely and hopelessly devoted to, then you're destined to fail. Simple as that. As much as I may be willing to attempt a supportive acting role in a relationship, I cannot compromise certain requisites...no matter how dreamy you were on prom night.

If you happen to stumble across someone that parallels your every dating philosophy, don't run back to your pimply student driver just yet. Put yourself out there. Of course you run the risk of being completely put in your place with a hearty dose of humble pie, but it could be fun. The higher you aim the farther you may fall. However, if you do secure that diamond in the rough just imagine the sparkly future.

More disturbing Pee Wee's Playhouse videos below at Talkie Time!

Dear Hearing Impaired Bobbleheads, I bid you adieu. Sincerely, Rumpelstiltskin

2009-11-07T00:04:00.001-08:00

Why don't men listen? Let me clarify, why don't men believe what I say unless it's exactly what they want to hear? In the past I think I confessed more to my journal than my actual partner but I've changed my ways! In fact, I've ventured to the opposite end of the communication spectrum and am lingering around brutal honesty. So why aren't things easier? Am I not using small enough words? Are my cleverly crafted phrases misinterpreted? Maybe I speak too softly? Perhaps I have a knack for dating the undiagnosed hearing impaired? I'm utterly baffled. It's as if I date bobbleheads. They nod their heads while I'm speaking, as if to convey the fact they are understanding what is coming out of my mouth but then are completely shocked when I follow through. For example - I'm not sure I'm ready to be in a serious relationship just yet. I don't want to commit until I'm certain I'm done playing the field. Why is this difficult to understand? When you stomp your feet, shake your little fist and purse your pouty lips because I denied you this exclusive relationship status, I can't help but think WTF is wrong with you? Did I not make myself clear before? I haven't changed my mind in a week! I think a lot of this bobbleheaded inattentiveness stems from complete denial. I'm not a girl whose mind is easily changed. Especially if you have not seriously engaged in ANY activity that would illicit your desired intentions for me. If I say I need space that means I need space until I tell you I don't need space. Not when you decide you're done giving it to me. If you can't abide by these rules than I guess I will bid you adieu.

This honest communication ruse I've attempted is about as effective as having my lips stapled shut. I might as well not even open my mouth as the words somehow get lost in translation, forever to linger in limbo. I naively believed my honesty would make dating progress more smoothly. If you lay your cards out on the table from the start, everyone has a clear picture of what's expected. However, if your honesty is not what your partner wants to hear, I guess it might as well not be said. Sure you can feel good about yourself but really what have you gained? This works both ways. I want to know your expectations as well as your limitations. If I can't deal with them then again, I will bid you adieu. This is not difficult! Believe what I say, because I WILL follow through. Stop casting me as the villain in every scenario.

I do not aspire to speak in riddle like the dastardly dwarf, Rumpelstiltskin. Perhaps I should provide cliff notes for all of our conversations, so you can quickly review what we've discussed. Confusion averted! I'm sure this wouldn't even work, as not all written word is believed to be the Truth (the Bible, ahem). Anyway, from this point forward I'm done feeling guilty, I'm done second guessing my vernacular, I'm done coddling your feelings. I will be fair and I will be honest with you. I expect the same in return. It's not a matter of protecting ones feelings, it's about understanding eachother in order to avoid hurt feelings. Relationships are difficult enough without the added headache of misinterpretation or complete denial.

One final point - don't pretend you care so much about me when you can't even respect me enough to listen. Don't pretend you want our relationship to work when you ignore what I'm telling you I need to make it work. Don't pretend you're the bigger person because you're ready and I'm not.

Rumpelstiltskin, out...

Age ain't nothing but a number

2009-11-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

...according to the late Aaliyah. To those who date outside their socially acceptable age group I'm sure these lyrics are inspiring. However, at what gap does romance start to become creepy? I've typically dated men 2-3 years older than me. As my love life began stagnating, I thought I'd expand my pool of eligible bachelors to the 24-35 bracket. Most women adhere to the notion that men mature more slowly so it's imperative to seek the older, more cultivated renaissance man. There's some merit to this when you're in your 20's because frat boys and recent college grads are just getting over their awkward growing pains. Being of course, the uncontrollable urge to comment or stare at breasts, thinking posters are an acceptable form of decor, affection towards Hooters ~~hooters~~ cuisine, and of course NARBs. I don't think the age matters so much as does the point you are at in your life. When you're 37 and your spouse is 48, does the age gap really matter? Of course if you're 15 and your boyfriend is a senior in college, there's bound to be some (legal) issues.

The youngest I've dated was about 3 years my junior, oldest would have to be 13 years my senior. Most of the women I know tend to stick in one specific age bracket. Whether they prefer the young, nubile stud or the seasoned gentlemen, there is usually very little deviation. Since my dating life has been pretty much a crap shoot, I thought I'd buck tradition and dabble in all brackets. Okay, minus pubescent jail bait and septuagenarians. Based on my rigorous testing methods (that being, try anything once) and precise analysis of my importunate research, here are the results.

The appealing aspects of younger men are as follows: they're eager to please, probably have not sustained too much emotional damage yet, and have loads of potential. Get him at just the right point in his life and he'll be an eager apprentice waiting for you to mold and guide him. I've attempted this route and although it's nice to be a part of someone coming into their own, it's also exhausting. You spend lots of time feeling like his mommy and I think we've already established I'm not exactly the maternal type. In his defense, the young guy is usually game for anything, doesn't have a lot of responsibilities tying him down (nice way of saying McDonald's cashier), and is unsure of what women want so he's willing to try anything to make you happy. He's also more apt to being impressed by things such as checking accounts, owning your own car or home, and if you can cook his favorite meal just like mom does. Young men are refreshingly easy to be around as they're always in search of the next adventure or slightly amusing activity. No pretension or underlying motives, they're simply happy to be with you for that moment. These are the guys that seem the most exciting to marry initially because you envision a life of carefree shenanigans that will keep you young and vibrant for years to come. The reality is that at some point they will grow up and become just as boring as you.

Moving along to men my own age. Problem with these fellas is that they're usually looking to get married and start families because that's what all their buddies are doing. They are also beginning to establish their careers. This is great if their career interests, inspires or impresses you. If not, then you can't very well expect them to change at this point. These men have begun to feel the pressures of adulthood and it shows. Commiserating about jobs, relationships and money are the new talking points at happy hour. Sure I relate to this age group on most levels, but the things I consider "issues" in my life are generally quite different and I don't like to wear my flaws on my sleeve anyhow. It's depressing and boring. No one has any meaningful advice or answers to alleviate these new grown up responsibilities so what's the point of discussing them? I believe most of these men prefer avoiding any sort of investigation into the root cause or possible solutions, because what would they have to discuss on a Friday night? Long gone are the days of college parties and hooking up with everyone you meet to inspire conversation. No more springbreak vacations or plans for the future. So what's left to talk about? How about pick up a freakin' newspaper! Sometimes it's interesting to discuss things outside of your own little bubble. There's a lot going on in the world and if you can believe it, most of it is happening outside of the greater Milwaukee area. So you see, this age group has grown somewhat tiresome for me. Call me a traitor, facts are facts.

Finally, the trickiest of all age groups - older men. To clarify, I'm considering 10+ years my senior the "older man." Here's where things get a bit dicey. For starters, I'm in the prime "cheat on your wife" age group for older men. All the tawdry tales of middle aged men diddling their 20-something year old secretaries, yep these are my peers. By societal standards, older men are simply in pursuit of the next hot young thing that makes them feel virile. After all, what could you possibly have in common? I'm not a fan of this stereotype because a) I'd like to believe I have more than a wrinkle free face and non-drooping boobies - maybe not making a great case for my maturity by utilizing terms such as boobies, eh - to offer an older man, b) maybe they still want children and mother nature can be a real bitch when it comes to women and their reproductive time frame, we're talking pure science people, human longevity and the survival of the species...riiight... and c) men unfortunately tend to age more gracefully than women and often feel years younger than their drivers license would have you believe. 20-something year olds have a different mindset when it comes to their "problems" and relationships compared to older women. This can be good or bad, depending on what you're willing to put up with. Our issues deal more with superficial desires and are easily appeased by a supportive partner whom rivals their mom in the pick-me-up speech department. We're still rather idealistic and don't cling to past wrongs so moving forward is usually pretty painless. No offense to older women, but you tend to get a little bitter especially if you're still single and no one likes a spiritless spinster (bonus points for alliteration!).

Most younger women are easily seduced by the maturity and apparent stability of older men. However, you must compete with their set ways and may indeed find yourself taking a backseat to their needs. You have to wonder whether or not they take you seriously or simply humor you because you titillate their dusty parts. DTabs made a valid point the other day. She said older men are appealing to younger women because they have what we long for. That sense of self and their place in the world. As we struggle to figure out who we are to become and what path will take us there, these men seduce us with their stoic confidence. Yet one day (similar to the young men growing up to be your boring counterpart) we'll figure it out and find our own sense of calm and purpose. So where does that leave our unwavering rock of an older man who no longer impresses us with his assuredness? Just old I guess.

So there you have it - men come in all different packages at any age. That revelation was free of charge my friends. Some of the old may be the most juvenile, whereas some of the young may be years ahead of themselves. Each individual is different in their needs and expectations. So basically, yet another dating cliffhanger. I swear at some point I will provide you with a valid lesson of some sort. Okay, ~~definitely~~ maybe not but at least you know I'll vouch for you if you find yourself dating anywhere along the creepy age gap continuum.

Turn up the Enya and hide the razor blades

2009-10-26T10:24:00.000-07:00

Why is that everyone born after July 28, 1983 (that being a monumental day in history as the world welcomed the enigma whom you have grown to know and love...me!) insists that I cherish my 20's, as they are the best of days that I will look upon fondly as I grow older (and no doubt) less charming. I almost feel guilty for resenting this period of my life. A period that has brought a lot of discouragement and confusion. Sometimes I wish I could fastforward a decade or two and figure out what I am suppose to be doing because for the life of me, I don't have a clue at the moment. Most people think fondly of their 20's when the monotony of daily life becomes irksome. Some miss the anticipation of what drunken debauchery the weekend may bring. Some miss not having a spouse, children, in-laws, or boss to answer to. Some may miss the thrill of what's to come. Youthful optimism of what path your life may take, unencumbered by the fear of failure, driven by puerile certainty that you will succeed. To those whom affectionately reminisce upon their 20's, wishing for a moment they could recapture that bold excitement, allow me remind you of what your 20's were really about. A period when your life comes to numerous crossroads and your crutch (college, friends, financial support from mom and dad) no longer cradles your juvenile impulses. Decisions need to be made and responsibility beckons you from every corner no matter how hard you resist.

Throughout high school and college, everything lacks urgency. There's always more time to make important decisions. I'll figure out my passion later. I won't worry about my debt(s) until I'm done with school. Of course my friends will always be around to entertain me. Mom and dad will keep paying my health insurance and giving me beer money. Then one day you wake up and realize that you can no longer rely on your friends to split the rent 5 ways, eat from the cafeteria on your meal plan or expect mom to keep doing your laundry. The 4 years you spent ~~partying~~ studying landed you with a piece of paper that proclaims your expertise in some chosen field. For me, I apparently am an economics guru. I remember walking across the stage on graduation day, reaching out my hand for the coveted slip manifesting my genius, and feeling like a complete fraud. What did I know about economics? Sure I sat through a few classes, passed a few exams and read a few books, but to think I was at all prepared to take on a job requiring these skills was absurd. I only chose econ in the first place because it sounded smart and was about the only subject that didn't bore me to death. Not exactly what fuels ones future passion when entering the workforce.

At this point, most 20-something year olds get a job that either pays the bills or has potential of becoming their desired career. No one lands their dream job right out of the gate. Now you may wake up at 40 and realize you're still in your post-college entry level position but you didn't consciously decide that was going to be it. Somewhere along the way you may have missed an opportunity, life may have thrown you a few curve balls and you may feel like a failure, but you made your bed so deal with it. Throughout college (the ambitious types) dream of what exciting and profound career they may one day profess on their business card. Supreme Court Justice? Can't wait! Nation's leading heart surgeon? Where do I sign! Titan of industry? Yes please! Of course, no one actually achieves these coveted positions at 21, but isn't it fun to think of all that potential your professors and parents have been feeding your ego all these years? No one tells you how morally crushing it is to be rejected by a small firm that has typos in its Jobs.com ads and polyester clad HR drones. No one clarifies that your "earning potential" is just that, potential. You may have the fortune of making that bank decades down the line but don't think you're getting that great health plan and bonus package with zero experience. No one rewards you for your efforts with concrete affirmation of grades, diplomas or smiley face stickers. Sure a paycheck may be considered a reward for your attempts at being productive, but when you see the paltry amount that barely covers the gas it takes to get to work, it feels more like a cruel joke.

So while you're feeling particularly nostalgic about your 20's, remember how disappointing, stressful and degrading it was to realize you're not as "special" as your parents and professors built you up to be. Think back on that first despondent memory of rejection. Whether it's an internal defense mechanism (I haven't run the diagnostics on this theory yet and I only minored in psychology) or the capacity to remember stressful times dissipates with the aging brain, people tend to remember only the carefree carousing of their 20's. Somehow they seem to have forgotten that epiphany whereby one realizes they're most likely NOT going to reach that elusive "potential." Coming from the generation of entitlement, this is a particularly difficult reality to grasp because most of us are not equipped with the necessary skills to cope with our own shortcomings.

In your 20's it's hard to imagine the people you once played beer pong with while taking breaks to do keg stands will one day run off and get married and produce offspring. That girl who spent every Friday night clutching the toilet, mascara running down her face, drunkenly sobbing over another rejection will actually ~~dupe~~ find some dude to marry her. When you hit your mid-20's most of these friends will inevitably be engaged or married, while you sit and blog, waiting for your chance. Friendships change as lifestyles change. If you're single, your newly married cohorts tend to associate with other newlyweds and begin looking at you with pity or disdain. It's even worse if said cohorts begin procreating. What could you possibly have in common then? My single species is dwindling. Every week it seems as if another friend gets engaged or finds a little demon seed in her belly. I can no longer muster my false enthusiasm for such news. I'm actually beginning to resent most of these people. Not necessarily because I'm bitter or jealous, but because I truly enjoy scrutinizing other's relationships and finding the flaws for them. You're welcome. Not callous enough to point them out, I silently reassure myself that by the time they realize the hasty decisions they've made and plan their matrimonial escape, I'll be well on my way to wedded bliss. Ha!

However, those of you who've made it through your 20's with a little grace and sanity, and do find yourselves married (happily or not) be thankful you fit the norm. It's not so great on the other side. When your love life is floundering, it's difficult to be constantly surrounded by a bunch of newlyweds. They're like a plague of locusts sweeping over your self-confidence, leaving very little behind. Making more of a spectacle attempting NOT to speak about their upcoming nuptials around those who have none to speak of. Especially around the girl who called off her own wedding. I'm either the basketcase who couldn't make it down the aisle, or the spoiled brat who didn't see the value of making it down the aisle. So, be thankful if you're in this elite group of couples and stop bitching about missing the good ol' bachelor days. Sure it's fun to have the freedom to look, but not so fun if no one is looking back.

Still miss your 20's? Miss all the insecurity and doubts? Miss feeling like the outcast or that you're falling behind? Miss the eagerness of what may lie ahead only to discover it's pretty bleak? The only period of my life I've look fondly upon, were the days I was free to poop my pants. I guess by that token, I'm really looking forward to my 90's.

Van Buren Commie Lofts

2009-10-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

I almost lost it 2 days ago. And by "lost it", I mean lost my dog after hurling him off the balcony. Not literally, but tip-toeing the line of very literally. Between the barking, biting, peeing and circling my legs all day, I checked my condo rules to see if it would be "unsightly" to have a dead dog on the neighbor's balcony below. Speaking of condo rules, I recently found the new 14 page packet outside my door. As my heart started racing and little beads of sweat began to inhabit my brow, I knew it. They found out about the 3rd dog and now I will be driven from VBCL by an angry pitchfork and torch bearing upscale elderly lot. After briefly running through my various escape plans (one of which includes the great Mylar balloon diversion/hide in the attic plan but first I must find an attic) I realized all the neighbors had new rules outside their door. *Phew* I'll admit I still tentatively flipped through the pages, anticipating a few highlighted sections or specific "Unit Owners Named Rachel Rules" but found none. After going through all 14 pages of restrictions I couldn't help but wonder why the hell I was paying so much to live at a place that is beginning to feel like a Soviet Gulag. Okay, that might be a little overly dramatic but I'm not what you'd call a fan of rules, regulations, restrictions or any other "R" word that limits my impulses or causes heart palpitations.

The rules that really irritate me are all the "unsightly" elements that one is to avoid. An entire page is devoted to balconies. Although the rules are prefaced by "The balconies, while for the exclusive use of the unit to which they are attached," [alright, I paid for and own the balcony so...] "impact the appearance of our building and can pose certain safety concerns." Final summation - Your $9000 taxes, mortgage payments and condo fees do NOT omit the fact that you live in a condo and not a house, and therefore must succumb to the whim of the almighty board as if you still live under your parents roof. Some of the balcony rules that I found to be particularly Commie in nature include the following:

Children are not permitted on balconies except under the supervision of an adult. (Although the average age of residents at VBCL is 76, I don't really foresee grandchildren hurling themselves off our tiny balconies being a serious concern.)

No unsightly tables, chairs, grills or other items will be permitted. (I've looked at my neighbor's balconies and have to seriously question who determines what is unsightly because I'm seeing a lot of random foliage and faux Roman statues. Also, could this pertain to people? I find my freaky neighbor below, to be quite unsightly.)

Balconies may not be used for shaking rugs. (Why? Not that I shake my rugs anyway, but if I did I can't imagine that so much debris would be strewn about as to become a hazard or blemish on the facade of the building. A little dust and bits of kibble should eventually blow away, am I right?)

Residents may not drop items or pour liquids off the balconies. (Okay, this makes sense but it's the equivalent of saying "Don't make toast in the tub.")

No signs or banners shall be displayed. (Commie bastards.)

Residents may place a reasonable amount of flowers or other plantings on their balconies. (WTF? What is considered a reasonable amount? Is there a formula to this? A ratio of petunias to marigolds that must be followed? How many marijuana plants am I allowed? Again, I want to know who is setting these standards as it looks like the freakin' Milwaukee Domes on most balconies.)

Balconies may not be used for drying laundry. (Way to go Green guys! Personally I think this is a dig at Chinatown's all over the world. Who doesn't want to see what clothes I spilled wine on the night before?)

As I've mentioned, there is also a 2 dog per household limit. Why only 2 dogs when the city of Milwaukee allows 3? Couldn't tell you, other than I suspect there's been some sort of elderly dog fighting issues in the past. The new rules also include the ramifications of any sort of deviant and felonious behavior. These include - a written reprimand (which I've already received a number of times for various infractions), a fine not to exceed $250, plus admin costs of $20, plus $15 per day the malevolent conduct persists. By my calculations I owe the board roughly $800 for the Judge already. Oh, and loss of use of the Association's recreational facilities. That being a pool table in the lobby. Drat!

So you see, I'm not cut out for this type of bastille living. I'm a real maverick who's not afraid to live outside the law. I've got to find a new place of residence that doesn't restrict my renegade lifestyle. Some place where I can flaunt my unsightly patio furniture, throw decorative objects and various paraphernalia outside my windows on a whim, stomp and shout down the hallways, let my canines run rampant and children hurl themselves off the balcony if they so choose.

Sure I like living downtown for the nightlife and convenience, but Judge has made those shining qualities a thing of the past. I think my overwhelming desire to never interact in a neighborly fashion with anyone inhabiting my zip code eclipses my love of 18' ceilings and Cream City brick walls. I just need to get out of here before the KGB discovers all my dastardly deeds and eats away my ~~handbag and shoe fund~~ savings.

Shark vs. Jets

2009-10-21T08:13:00.000-07:00

You know how people say that after you have a baby it's hard to think of a time before you had baby? I finally get it! I'm having a difficult time remembering what it was like to sleep for more than 3 consecutive hours, have all the skin on my hands intact, walk through my condo without tripping over toys and smashing kibble. I think I used to wear clothes other than sweats and shower on a daily basis. I vaguely recall a time when my vocabulary consisted of words and phrases other than - NO, don't bite, don't bark, don't nurse off the other dogs wieners, and what the hell is wrong with you?! In fact, I believe my brain is actually starting to atrophy. Problem solving, grammar, and a general working knowledge of civil functioning is beginning to dissipate. I've already raised 2 puppies so I figured, how hard could a third be?! I've got this! Not the case. A Doberman puppy does not exhibit the same qualities of a teeny Italian Greyhound puppy. For example, Doberman puppies latch onto your flesh with the determination of well, a Doberman. This attack/guarding quality would be impressive and noble if I could harness this madness and redirect it at burglars, felons or bad dates. In fact, my little guy already has the strength and stamina to drag a suitcase around my condo. Doberman puppies are not timid at all. At least not mine (the vet actually said he was very "self-confident" which I believe is code for "good luck, this dog will annihilate you"). Nothing scares him and he has yet to back down from any apparent challenge, including my authority. Most people bring their undisciplined, under exercised, unsocialized dogs to the dog park. This results in a bunch of crazy ass dogs running wild with little to no respect for space, puppies, small dogs, or nice apparel.

[Sidenote to any reader who has a dog such as this: DO NOT bring your dog to the dog park if you haven't walked it already, taught it basic commands or socialized it with a variety of people and other dogs! It's not fair to the rest of us to have your stupid dog get poopy paw prints on our clothes, bang into us, harass or teach our dogs bad habits. Some disgusting, grunty little gremlin looking dog was humping the daylights out of my puppy and within about 10 minutes my pup embarked on his humping spree. Not cool.]

Anyway, for some reason I've noticed a lot of people own boxers, huskies and a variety of hunting/working dogs downtown. For those of you who know anything about dog breeds, these are generally not the best condo or city dogs as they require a lot of exercise. Letting your dog frolic in the park for 20 minutes ain't gonna cut it. These are the dogs that knock you and your dogs over with no inhibition. My pup unfortunately bears the brunt of a lot of crazy dog energy as they plow into or paw at him. They're too rough and I get irritated when the owners of said crazy dog don't reprimand or at least call Cujo back to them. Take the time to socialize your dog with puppies you irresponsible idiots! Then I get to "protect" my future guard dog. Last week a boxer kept running over him and pawing at him too roughly. At the time my little guy had the coordination of a severe alcoholic after a 2 week bender. He'd flop over, cry a bit then march right back up to the boxer and stare him down. Of course he'd get pounded on again, but he kept getting up and facing his assailant. I'll admit I was proud. He's either extremely brave or extremely stupid. The jury is still out. In a few months, I look forward to having them "play" together and I will take a cue from the boxer's owner and not reprimand or control my dog either. Hehe.

The first week or so the Judge (oh, that's his name by the way) slept like an angel and I was patting myself on the back for having found the perfect dog. Within a couple days sleeping through the night transformed into brief naps throughout the day and a hearty appetite for flesh. Seeing as he's so young, reprimands and misdirection register about a zero in his brain. I now know why God makes puppies so adorable (to look at). It's so you don't throw them against a wall, which I will admit I've seriously considered. Having this puppy makes me realize what an unfit mother I'd truly be. I have absolutely no patience for shenanigans or tomfoolery. I also try to reason with the unreasonable which then turns into swearing at the unreasonable. Thank goodness dogs never learn to speak or Judge would sound like a Tourettes sufferer. Since he's a Doberman everyone's warning me that I 'must be firm.' I need to remind myself that I 'must not drown him.' It's not difficult to be firm with a dog who bites your face as soon as you shut your eyes or takes a steamy poo in your hand. I wish I could fast forward about 3 months when his brain starts to develop past fetus status. I'm happy I got to see him all cute and tiny, but I'm over it now. Scary thing is, he gains about 3lbs a week and I'm almost certain none of it can be attributed to brain mass.

Another neat discovery - my dogs hate him. Maverick wouldn't look at him for the first few days and Rebel snaps every time Judge touches him. I'm hoping the Italian Greyhounds work on their attitudes because Judge is going to decimate them in a couple weeks. In my head this little scenario played out differently. My beautiful IGs frolicking about with their spunky new little brother. Taking naps by the fireplace, forging an unbreakable bond. *bloop! imaginary bubble bursts. It's like the Shark (Judge) vs. the Jets (Mav and Rebel), but without the neat choreography and snapping.

Animal Kingdom BEWARE - DTabs Dominion of Death

2009-10-06T11:23:00.001-07:00

Sorry I've been MIA lately, it's just that I've been trying to keep a secret for the past week and I didn't trust myself not to blab it all over the Internet. I did however blab it to numerous family members and friends. I guess my future in safeguarding national security secrets is out the window. I seriously talk a lot, no water boarding necessary. The secret that I've (sort of) kept the past week was that I've added a new addition to my family and brought my title as crazy dog lady one step closer to fruition. I got another puppy! Yes, that now brings me to 3 dogs. However, my other 2 are equivalent to one medium size dog and display the characteristics of a fat old house cat so I'm considering this little guy my first "dog." So, why the secrecy? DTabs is not a fan of canines (or any living creature for that matter). Sure she tolerates my pups in small doses, but I'd never trust her alone with them. For example...In college I had a bunch of pet mice. Sort of gross but I've always liked having some little creature dependent on me, sort of a god complex. Well DTabs was to watch them (literally, just watch them and drop some water in their cage) over the weekend. Seems simple, right? When I returned home I couldn't find my beloved disease-ridden rodents.

"DTabs, where are my darling pets?"

"Oh, I burned them."

"You what?!"

"They started losing their fur and looked nasty so I burned them in their cage."

[wondering if my mother isn't in fact beginning to show the tell-tale signs of a serial killer]

"Um...okay, thanks for ~~incinerating~~ watching my pets. I've got to go back to campus and pray for your soul."

Example number 2:

DTabs was having a leisurely afternoon of gardening when she thought she spied a mole corrupting her lovely flower beds. So what does DTabs do? Grabs a golf club and smashes the thing to death, of course! Oh wait, she doesn't stop there. After desecrating the first little "mole" she spots a few more offenders and proceeds to go on a Tiger Woods inspired killing rampage. When the dusts settles and her blood shot, crazed eyes regain focus DTabs realizes that the carnage was not in fact aimed at the dastardly mole species. Rather, she MURDERED A NEST FILLED WITH BUNNIES. Yes, little hippity-hoppy sweet fuzzy bunnies. All of them. Not one sole survivor to warn the rest of the animal kingdom to steer clear of DTabs dominion of destruction.

So you see, DTabs is not a lover of animals nor does she see any of the finer points of pet ownership. Meh.

Vaginas and VD: Another trip to Michigan

2009-09-21T10:26:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend visiting my cousin M in Michigan again. We had a wonderful time (as always) but I had to share her briefly with the new man in her life. Seeing as I'm a bit selfish, I'll admit I had more fun when I had her all to myself. Here's the weekend wrap up.

Friday night I arrived to an empty parking lot because M and Silas (what I've named her new lova, since I thought this was his real name the past couple weeks...not even close) were having a "quick bite." By quick bite I'm pretty sure they skipped the sorbet and after dinner drinks of their 12 course meal. "Hi Silas, I'm Rachel." [Insert some inappropriate discussions about bodily functions, my dating experiences and profanity which I can't seem to wriggle out of my vocabulary.] "Nice to meet you Rachel." *shakes my hand then secretly wishes he had some hand sanitizer.

We get ready and M calls a cab to come get us...30 minutes later a party bus arrives. As the 3 of us pile in, I can't help but wonder if M anticipates picking up a dozen hitchhikers to party with? I had called a friend to meet up with us at the bar so I could avoid the third wheel scenario I had envisioned. Thankfully he showed up and the 4 of us spent the remainder of the evening dancing, drinking and wondering why M was in the bathroom so long. Hehe...

Saturday I woke up to an empty apartment because the lovebirds had flown the coop, leaving me just enough time to struggle with a NASA engineered coffee maker. The remainder of the day M and I went shopping. Most notably, our experience in Armani Exchange. Or as I like to refer to it, Armani Lite. We tried on our clingy fashions, sweating in the same fitting room, oblivious to the fact we were not in a soundproof cubicle, for about an hour. I'm pleased to note that if you spend enough money in this store they will not ask you to leave even if you insist on walking around the fitting room hallway with your pants around your ankles or discussing vaginas. At one point I felt M and the sales clerk were in cahoots because she remained in the fitting room agonizing over camel toe inducing skinny jeans while I was left to "browse" the displays near the register. I use the term "browse" lightly, because I just fondle the baubles for a moment, if the weight and texture is pleasing in my grasp it goes on the counter with all of my other purchases. The sales clerk was rather crafty about stashing my bounty behind the counter so I could not mentally keep track of my ever growing pile of goodies. That is, assuming I would mentally keep track in the first place. Not my style. By the time we left it felt like Christmas, as I had no idea of the contents in my bag. I'm pleased to announce that when I did open my presents, still giddy with excitement, I found that the only questionable purchase was a black leather cuff that would only fit a large strapping man. Note to self: find a large strapping man before Christmas.

We ate dinner at 10pm and finally went out to the bar at midnight. In all of Lansing, we happened to be at the same bar as the married cop who had handed M the phone to speak with his wife a few months back. [See Tolls and Trunk Pizza: My trip to Michigan post]. A rather bold (read: sloppy drunk) joined us for a bit towards the end of the evening. He introduced himself and I asked the obvious, why was he wearing his wedding ring on his right hand? "Oh, thish riiing? Myyy mom gavsh it to meh." Umkay. We're talking thick platinum band, diamonds, the whole nine yards of wedded warranty. Fellas if you're going to try this slick maneuver, at the very least, put the ring in your pocket or wallet. Eventually you'll get busted anyhow, but a woman might at least flirt with you a few moments longer. That is, unless the woman is a VD-toting hussy who doesn't care what finger or pocket your ring is on or in at all. To this woman, I say, best of luck with the inflammation and rigorous ointment application, you model citizen.

As M and I were discussing highbrow topics of hair, makeup and fashion, we were treated to a Britney Spears look-a-like crotch peepshow. I'm talking full on crotch shot. This young ~~skank~~ girl was attempting perhaps a yoga split on some dude's lap in a dress that barely covered the offending crotch even if she had been standing. He seemed to sort of prop her up in his lap as she drunkenly slithered towards the floor. Her ~~skanky clone~~ girlfriend beside her was molesting another dude while standing and trying to wriggle her own dress (maybe dress is an overstatement, long-ish tee perhaps) up another few inches. Not even subtly I might add. Just grabbing the hem and yankin' it up. Sad thing is, these girls were very attractive in an overly processed, Girls Gone Wild-inspired sort of way. They didn't need to get sloppy drunk and rub their VD all over the place. Alas, I'm sure they'll make some middle-aged banker very happy for a few years before their faces crack and their greatest assets look like little Ziploc bags of pudding. This sort of behavior makes me re-think procreation. If I ever had a daughter like this I'd be looking into underground clinics that specialize in aborting 22 year olds. To date I have never seen anyone protesting this particular brand of abortion so I can avoid the awkward fetus posters (see, I'm definitely becoming a closet optimist).

Does Colonel Sanders have a ring in that coat for me?

2009-09-16T10:42:00.000-07:00

Apparently Colonel Sanders and I are a match. I've also been approached by a diamond collector (which I believe is code for burglar), a man with freakishly small hands (I wouldn't doubt if his mother was Thumbelina) and a guy whom I've already dated that didn't recognize me...ouch. I feel as if I've been duped by a couple of matches that only post group photos. Usually there's one attractive fella in the bunch and I'm 0-4 that he's the one whose profile I've viewed. One of my eHarmony matches posted a picture of himself in Sponge Bob pj's eating cereal out of a giant mixing bowl in what appears to be his mother's basement. (eHarmony actually protects its patrons, so I couldn't copy the photo.) I'm starting to feel as if I'm on the brink of discovering my true love. So many qualified candidates, which one to choose?!

I've noticed that men think a good ice breaker is asking why I'm single. As if this is some sort of character flaw of mine. I don't even know what a good response to this question would be? No one can tolerate me? I have a mystery rash? The photos I've posted don't reveal my peg leg? I suppose the truth might work - I've chosen to be - but that's got a somewhat bitter and egotistical ring to it. I suppose that by merely joining these dating sites I've implied that I'm looking for a relationship. I should probably change my tag line to "Not interested in a serious relationship, just bored." Now that's catchy. More than anything, I'm just curious to see what's out there. If I stumble across the one while hanging out with everyone minus the one, I guess I'd consider changing my tag line to "Toying with the idea of commitment, still bored."

Another one of my many unfounded theories is that the right person will come along when you're actually ready for them, not simply because you think you are. Have you ever noticed that when you're desperately looking for love and romance all you find are the Colonel Sanders' of the world? Perhaps the right man or woman has been in front of you for some time, but until you're ready to really "see" them you're not going to be content with just anyone. Again, this theory is merely another idealistic fantasy of mine. I'm comfortable with being single right now, but I cleave to the notion that the perfect man is going to appear at my doorstep some day and I'll actually be ready for him. In this little fantasy of mine he's also bearing an obnoxiously large bouquet that even his rippling biceps struggle to grasp, the white/rose gold Princess cut diamond ring (I won't be so frivolous as to request the carat weight but let's just say it rhymes with "poo" or maybe "pee" carats - wow, that's mature) safely tucked into his cashmere suit coat, and a twinkle in his baby blue eyes as introduces himself. Why is there a diamond ring ensconced within Mr. Right's luscious cashmere when I've clearly described a first encounter? I don't know, I like the idea that he's prepared to fall in love with me in an instant. Plus, assuming I'm not actually ready for Mr. Right, I'll at least know he's standing before me and disregard all my previous blather. I mean come on, who's going to justifiably pass up this fab fella? You think this scenario seems highly unlikely and I shouldn't hold my breath? Then I say ~~shut up Debbie Downer!~~ to each their own, whatever helps you get through the day.

"Winks" from weirdos

2009-09-15T09:35:00.001-07:00

[One of my potential suitors. At least he's got pretty baby blues and has an eye for photography. Who doesn't look great with a dartboard backdrop?]

As previously mentioned, my favorite aspect of Match.com is its search engine. You simply type in a word and hundreds of eligible bachelors appear. For example, I've searched for: physician, chef, engineer, chemist, pharmacist, military, Italian Greyhound and psycho. I've gotten hits on all of these, including psycho. Just the mere mention of the term in your profile sets you in my sights. The downfall of this little stalking adventure is that paying members can check to see who has viewed their profile. This in turn gives the wrong idea to anyone whom I've casually clicked on. Then we go down the awkward road of, "Uh geez, I was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's and my hands flailed about, accidentally clicking on you. No I'm not judging you because you've got 4 kids and you're only 25. Don't be silly." To any woman who has joined or plans to join, be forewarned - DO NOT impulsively click on random profiles. Your email inbox will be bursting at the seams with "winks" and provocative emails like, "Saw you checked out my profile. Did you likey? Call me 1-800-PEDIPHILE." Alright, I'll admit I changed the number to keep my Match's anonymity.

I've also informed my family about this new ~~prowling for men via cyberspace~~ hobby of mine. Aunt D is convinced I'm going to find an obsessive lunatic. I informed her that's what restraining orders are for. She also notified me that most of these men are probably married. (Do you see where I get my optimistic outlook on life now?) I'm not entirely sure how to determine whether or not someone is in fact married (unless they pick me up for a date in their mini van cluttered with child paraphernalia), so I'm going to trust them at their word. Along the obsessive lunatic lines, I've already enlisted the help of a self defense guru. I highly recommend you do the same.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6uESVttFKc

My other fail-safe dating technique is to only pursue men smaller than me. If we decide to throw down, I'll always have my number one ninja move. That being my palm to your forehead, keeping you just far enough away to comically swing wildly at me. I might do this even if things are going well because it's always a crowd pleaser.

Just for fun, here are a few of the emails I've received.

*Read your profile...and thought to myself "damn, this girl is almost as direct as me"...then I saw that you lived in Milwaukee :( - He's from Chicago. I love a man with a lot of quit in him.

*Hello, my name is ~~Rachel will never contact you~~. I am an african american male,age 38, madison. I like to workout,dance,travel,shoot pool and darts. - I imagine if I had responded to this intriguing email, it would have looked something like this - Me too.

*PRAGUE!!!! - Yep, that's all he wrote.

*I like to see that you love to travel because I do too. I've only been to Cancun but I'd really like to see other things. - Awesome. I went to Cancun when I was 15. I bet we'll have loads of travel tales to share.

*You have a gorgeous smile, do you think mene is? I hope some day to met you. - Who doesn't love an illiterate narcissist?

Emails that I actually respond to have 3 things in common: they make me laugh, they ask me questions and they are punctuated. So far I think I've received 4 that fit the bill. Upon further investigation I usually find that they're single fathers, unemployed or geriatric. The search continues...

Dr. Pepper and Dots

2009-09-14T08:42:00.000-07:00

Match.com vs. eHarmony? Match.com would win in one round. TKO. Rachel, you're just being impatient. It takes more than a week for eHarmony to send your trivial questionnaire into cyberspace, find its equally trivial counterpart and then email your ~~not even close~~ perfect match. Seriously Dr. Warren? If it were up to you I'd be waxing the head of a bald, short, paunchy, middle aged, unemployed (no joke, I've gotten 3 of these winners already) cat lover. I can't help but wonder if my 47 cosmic dimensions of compatibility aren't trying to tell me something. I felt I answered all 200+ multiple choice questions honestly, so why is it that my responses seem to illicit matches of those whom I'd NEVER consider dating?

Personally I'm starting to feel as if Dr. Warren (whom I suspect went to medical school with Dr. Pepper) is having a great belly laugh as he runs to TJ Maxx to buy himself a new polyester wardrobe with my $40. I think what I resent most is that it is not even mildly entertaining. As I've mentioned, you're not allowed to search yourself. It's like being 5 years old again in a candy store and your mom insists on picking out a tasty treat for you. This usually results in a dismal selection of chalky antacids (commonly known as PEZ) and those dot paper candies (you know the rock hard drops of compressed sugar gorilla glued to paper? When you finally pry one of those little buttons off you end up eating a disproportionate amount of soggy parchment. Yum. Bonus - you walk around with yards of transcript paper, which is fun if you want to look like a court stenographer). Wow, got a little off track now didn't I? Anyway, adding insult to injury, you realize the "Free" Match.com trial provides more access to singles than the full bananas of eHarmony. WTF? Going back to the candy analogy (I can't let go of those wretched dots) this is the part where you morosely scan the faces of delighted children clutching their gummies and yards of licorice ropes. *sigh Since I'm a greedy little 5 year old, I subscribed to Match.com as well. I wasn't going to let those chubby little kids steal all my gummies. However, eHarmony is one of the only things I've been able to commit to recently so I figured I'll wait out my 3-month membership and continue to let Dr. Warren make me feel worthy of dot paper.

Voodoo Dating

2009-09-10T12:13:00.000-07:00

So I'm officially a dork. The jury has been debating this conclusion, but the verdict is now in. I am indeed a dork. Why? I signed up for eHarmony...no joke. Let me explain. I don't particularly enjoy meeting men at bars, it's tacky and doesn't lead to an interesting, "how I met your mother" scenario. I don't enjoy being set up on blind dates because they're awful and make me wish I were literally blind. I also don't enjoy meeting men on trips because I've realized I'm quite lazy when it comes to making an honest effort. So where does this leave me? eHarmony! To be honest I started poking around these dating sites out of morbid curiosity after having numerous friends vouch for these webby cesspools of men. Most of them you can search for free which is highly entertaining and I completely recommend doing if you're bored. Most of the profiles are hilarious and you'd be shocked to see some of the photos people actually post. One such photo was a dude carving a pumpkin with a serial killer smirk on his face. Super creepy. Also, I was amazed to see how many men are "easy going, don't like drama, like to have fun." How original. No matter how cute you are or what your job may be, if you put generic lame ass descriptions about yourself I would never poke, nudge, wink at, or whatever these sites utilize for garnering attention.

Now the difference between eHarmony and Match.com is that eHarmony pretends its magical personality profile matching voodoo questionnaire is somehow going to find you the love of your life because you've both managed to answer a bunch of silly questions similarly. Match.com on the other hand, does not really care about your personality or interests, rather your location and looks. The site allows you to custom order a man of your choosing and then bombards you with a bunch of selections that don't remotely relate to your search. eHarmony is more like the Democratic party that feels you are unqualified at finding your mate, thus takes away your ability to search for them on your own and tells you who your match is. So far I think the men on eHarmony tend to be a little more clever or serious, whereas Match.com seems like a booty call pimp page. I ended up subscribing to eHarmony for 3 months because they don't allow you to look at photos or chat with potential ~~stalkers~~ soul mates without a monetary commitment. Since I'm impulsive and have very skewed judgement when spending my money (I justified the subscription fee by silently negotiating a no new shoes/cheaper wine for the next few months deal), I thought what the hell. I have no expectations, I couldn't care less if I don't find "the one," and I'm happy to join yet another stigmatized group of singles. Hooray. If I make a friend, great. If I have a few laughs, better yet. If eHarmony makes a commercial about me and my "dating since September 2009" match, super!

So far I'm having serious doubts about Dr. Neil Clark Warren's patented Compatibility Matching System and its accuracy. For starters, Dr. Warren has found 5 men that I would never remotely be interested in. I thought we were suppose to match on 29 cosmic dimensions? Based on my "matches," the only dimension we are compatible on is gender. Why am I getting profiles of 5'8" balding 34 year old entrepreneurs? Apparently my questionnaire did not take me seriously when I said I valued looks. I don't care if that sounds shallow, it's simply a preference of mine. (To be fair, I do read the profiles before I look at the pictures.) I'm "communicating" with a couple of them out of curiosity and just trying to figure out how the system works. By "communicating" I mean we send each other pre-written questions and answers, do a little multiple choice selecting and wah-la, deep communication on probably 17 dimensions (so stupid). Also the profile questions get really personal, like - things I'm thankful for - surprising how many men are thankful for family, friends and their job. Boooring. I want to be matched with someone who is thankful for "So You Think You Can Dance" starting earlier this season, babies who don't cry or poop on planes, mad Guitar Hero skills, regular bowel movements or fancy cheese. Everyone is so uninspired. How are you expected to find anyone interesting if everyone puts the same freakin' answers that sound good? My answers sound pretty scary and uninviting but we'll see if Dr. Dubs and I can't shake things up a bit.

So there you have it. I'm a dork. I'm looking for a cosmic voodoo love connection based on irrelevant criteria and having a few chuckles while doing it.

The Trivial Pursuit of fun up-north*

2009-09-02T09:32:00.000-07:00

I've recently noticed that some of my pals stopped blogging due to their...what's that word I'm looking for? You know, that thing people wake up grumbling to go do...um...tip of my tongue here...ah, yes - a job. If your employer really has enough down time to Google you in the middle of the work day, I can only assume your job is not that secure. Besides, unless you're writing about suspicions concerning your boss of diddling the mail room chick or insider trading, I think you're in the clear. Having little to no concern for my current employment status, I will freely admit that the 2 ~~burglars~~ bosses running the joint are tip-toeing the line of most poorly managed firm in the greater Milwaukee area. I'm pretty sure they are aware of this so it's not really malicious libel, right? Look at it this way, if blogging gets me canned there's another job opening for you! Uncle Haru gave me some future employment suggestions anyway. I'm suppose to be looking into gas station management and the exciting world of solar energy. Considering my qualifications to take on either of these endeavors is on par with my aptitude for bio nuclear engineering, I think I just found my dream job(s).

Plans to go up-north this weekend. (Up-north being my house located north-ish, less than 3 hours away.) I don't particularly enjoy these weekends since we built the house. We used to have a trailer on the land, thus forcing everyone to find entertainment in the woods. As Swiss Family Robinson as this sounds, I prefer the rustic creativity of events. When we were little we would catch grasshoppers and recreate their natural environment in a giant cardboard box filled with dead leaves, a stuffed animal for entertainment and usually a shallow dish to ~~drown~~ swim in. Sometimes we'd play pioneers and I'd make delicious meals of questionably poisonous mushrooms and berries. Long walks to the lake through tick infested woods, thus ensuring a good hour spent "tick checking" afterwards. Hell, we even had tick races! (Rules: Draw a circle, pull a tick off your neck and place in circle. Whichever tick leaves circle first gets burned with a match.) Now we tend to sit indoors and watch movies, play games and isolate ourselves from nature. I always find myself wondering why we drove 3 hours to do what we could have done in our own homes? Seems pointless. We rarely even have campfires. Well that's not entirely true. I make campfires every night, but no one feels compelled to join me in staring at my wondrous creation. This gets boring rather quickly as my mind turns to bitter thoughts towards the band of city slickers in the house, ultimately forcing me to abandon my efforts and join them in Trivial Pursuit. Which by the way, is one of the worst games ever made. I'm not a fan of activities that highlight my lack of obscure knowledge or my first grader level of patience. (I used to swallow the little pie pieces when I was 12 little so that no one could win.)

I do enjoy spending time with my family, but no one wants to sleep in tents anymore, so we all end up on top of each other in the house the entire weekend. Our house is a moderate size, but we're cramming an entire little league team's worth of people in there. Not to mention, this weekend there will be 8 dogs, 6 of which will be in the house. I'm a dog lover (not really, I love MY dogs) but we're kenneling a band of unstable misfits with emotional issues. My dogs are as picky as I am in choosing friends and will completely shun any canine that doesn't conform to their high standards of doggy excellence. I know for a fact one of the dogs vehemently hates most people and smells funny. Seany's dog is the largest and has the uncanny ability of making you feel bad about yourself (Aunt D swears she gives her dirty looks). She's still a pup but has the capability of taking down a lion. Should be interesting in a house filled with dogs the size of large gerbils. The other 2 dogs are up in the air, but I'm pretty sure my dog Rebel once made them both cry. I'm envisioning a poop filled weekend of finger pointing and UFC level brawling. Thankfully my dogs are the quickest, so I'm not too concerned. There might be some tears and mental breakdowns though. Standby.

*I agree, this title is both clever and capable of inducing a hearty groan. Your welcome.

What does Lisa Nowak, Bill Nye and Kahlil Gibran have in common? Chemistry!

2009-08-26T07:57:00.000-07:00

I thought I had a breakthrough a couple months back when I decided that I was going to summate my entire failed relationship to one key component: chemistry. Ah yes, that's it. We had no chemistry, no wonder things didn't work out! Satisfied with this conclusion, I decided that from now on I would pursue only those whom I felt this dizzying, potent chemistry with. Seems like a plausible course of action, right? As I began this Bill Nye the Science Guy approach to dating I realized I don't have a freakin' clue what this chemistry is suppose to look, feel, sound or smell like. Is it that nervous, sweaty palm, stuttering, fidgetiness that takes over your normally cool demeanor when you're talking to an attractive guy? Or maybe that exigent burnin' in your loins that activates your clever use of sexual innuendo and pelvic gyration? As a general rule of thumb, I do not prefer feeling out of control, flustered or as if something is out of sorts in my pantaloons. In fact, I usually avoid scenarios that induce such inner turmoil. I like being surrounded by those that make me comfortable and that I find to be amusing. So what does this mean for me? Well, if I'm accurate in my assessment of what chemistry is, I'm pretty certain that I intentionally avoid those I may have chemistry with. Seems problematic.

Unsatisfied with the conclusion that I purposefully avoid these dastardly chemical responses, I thought I might delve a little deeper and figure out what the hell my body is suppose to be feeling and why. Warning: The following assessment is neither helpful nor relevant to dating (in my opinion whatsoever) but I ~~Googled the shit~~ painstakingly researched the info and felt I would share it anyhow.

Phenylethylamine (or PEA), the "love molecule," is described as the infatuation inducing stimulant. Already, this sounds like something I would seek medical treatment to have removed. Well, this PEA needs a dash of dopamine and a smattering of norepinephrine, simmer for an hour and you've got yourself a hearty dose of euphoria and uncertainty. Now, lets not forget the endorphines that serve as the catalyst of this insatiable desire. These little instigators trigger cells in the midbrain to produce dopamine and PEA. Thus, igniting a coup among these powerful natural amphetamines, forcing the brain to select a plan of action. At this stage of the game, you better hope your dopamine and PEA levels are adequately supplied because they are important in balancing the excitatory hormones (the previously mentioned norepinephrine) and providing enhanced emotional stability. If your body is slightly out of whack and your love molecules are misfiring you may end up in a diaper on a cross country road trip. When you're "high" on the physical responses to these chemical reactions, your common sense and good judgement may be compromised. Hence, confusing lust for love with the wrong person. Um okay, so what are you suppose to do if your body incites a mutiny against your brain? (Here's the part where my warning really shines.) I have no idea. Prior to this investigation I did not even know what PEA was. Now that I know what it is, I have no clue what to do with this knowledge. No wonder I fell asleep during chemistry almost every day.

Perhaps my PEA was DOA in my previous relationship, but the fact that it's alive and well in my current dating life is proving to be equally problematic. Sure I've got the euphoric, frenzied, happy pants feeling that had been missing, but I'm still unsatisfied. I guess I need the Kahlil Gibran "spiritual affinity" part of the chemical response. In Broken Wings, Gibran discusses a doomed love with the beautiful Selma. Initially he describes her spirit and beauty as an insatiable desire, to which he is inexplicably linked. Through Gibran's poetic verses, one can feel the lust, the passion, the chemistry:

In her white silk dress, Selma was slender as a ray of moonlight coming through the window. She walked gracefully and rhythmically. Her voice was low and sweet; words fell from her lips like drops of dew falling from the petals of flowers when they are disturbed by the wind. But Selma's face! No words can describe its expression, reflecting first great internal suffering, then heavenly exaltation.

Gibran ultimately concludes that true love only occurs on a deeper level. When two beings are spiritually connected through the heart and soul. In some ways, this is described as another form of chemistry. The initial understanding that you're in the presence of something more meaningful than simply physical attraction.

It is wrong to think that love comes from long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of spiritual affinity and unless that affinity is created in a moment, it will not be created in years or even generations.

I guess what it all comes down to is that physical chemistry, though intoxicating, is not enough for a sustainable relationship. At some point, there must be a deeper more spiritual connection. A foundation of trust, mutual respect, friendship, warmth, contentment. Is it possible to find both, to find one's Selma? The embodiment of both physical and emotional chemistry?

Selma's beauty was not in her golden hair, but in the virtue and purity which surrounded it; not in her large eyes, but in the light which emanated from them; not in her red lips, but in the sweetness of her words; not in her ivory neck, but in its slight bow to the front. Nor was it in her perfect figure, but in the nobility of her spirit, burning like a white torch between earth and sky. Her beauty was like a gift of poetry.

Oh Gibran, you certainly know how to make a girl swoon. I'm fairly certain no man has ever looked at my figure and admired the nobility of my spirit within. Meh. The older I get, the more my priorities seem to change. For a long time I was content with the emotional chemistry part of the equation. Then I woke up and realized this was mind-numbingly boring when you're in your early 20's. Shifted gears in pursuit of the physical chemistry we're all familiar with and realize that this too is inadequate. So my current options are boring stability or emotionless passion. Awesome. I'll go with option C, Mr. Merlot and a steamy romance novel. Let's see how my PEA reacts when it's swimming in a sea of alcohol. Off to the ~~bar~~ lab!

There's a new Pollyanna in town

2009-08-19T10:27:00.000-07:00

When I graduated high school my mom made a book for me filled with her encouraging stories, inspiring quotes, and cautionary advice for the future. I was looking through this little compendium of expectations the other day, and realized "holy cow, this woman is delusional to think I may actually have this must potential, and what the hell did I do to provoke this deception?" I thought I had made it pretty clear that I had little ambition and no intention of making the world a better place. Where did I go wrong? With that said, I find myself in a real pickle. My mother's stubbornness is rivaled only by my laziness. If she insists that I (at the very least) attempt to be a productive, contributing member of society I find this course of action will be easier to achieve than dodging her despondent gaze. The woman is relentless.

Excerpt from the book:

There will always be reason to find fault with someone. Keep it to yourself. You will even find someone who will share your opinions, but to what end? Becoming bitter and renown for your acerbic wit will gain you an audience for sure. People will gravitate to the outrageous, wishing they had the gall to "tell it like it is," but be careful. You will never know when your haranguing will become tiresome, your words, once spoken, will define you. You may become an embarrassment to the people you love most.

What are you trying to say mom?! *chuckles, because she used "acerbic wit" instead of "bitchy and obnoxious banter."

Crestfallen and dejected I'm going to try something a little out of the box - being positive. Bear with me as I stumble awkwardly into the world of cheerful optimism. A little shaky on how to go about doing this, I thought I'd start with a familiar format, a list. Maybe I'll even work up to a conversational level of good cheer at some point. But let's not rush things.

Things that make me grin, giggle or shake violently-tears streaming down my face-little pee running down my leg-fit of joy:

When my Grandpa insists on pronouncing Saskatchewan as "Sass-a-ka-toon."
My 12lb dog humping Rottweilers, Great Danes, Labrapuggledoodles, or whatever hybrid mutant breed he encounters.

My brother's spelling - chocolate may come out as "chalklet."

When my Grandmother refers to someone as a "Maverick" or a "scamp."

Insisting that every trip taken with my best friend is our honeymoon in hopes that we get upgrades even if we happen to be staying at a hostel...with my brother.

Mystery Science Theater 3000

The Platinum Dancers of the Milwaukee Iron Arena Football team. Favorite memory - when the chubby one tripped while running off the field. I know that's mean, but you would have laughed too. Don't judge me.
Fanny packs, mullets, and zooba pants...especially flaunted all together.
My cousin taking time out of her conversations with me to either dance because "her song" came on, or give me a creepy inappropriate wink.

My dog who enjoys dragging himself along the floor by his front paws in what I suspect is an attempt to wipe away that little lingering drop of pee.
When my mom refers to someone as a "twat." Typically she cringes at words like "piss" or "vulva," but for some reason "twat" just (warning: gross pun ahead) rolls off her tongue.

Reminiscing on the tales of my dad who tried to convince us he was from a planet called Diamondo where he ate diamonds brought by sexy alien women. [How I managed to avoid therapy throughout my adolescence I'm still unsure of.]

Watching the mayhem that ensues after I call the cops on drunken idiots outside of Victor's bar. Most recently, dude passed out in the middle of the street in front of the bar. Cops show up to wake him and he starts throwing haymakers.
Fail Blog
Uncle Haru telling me, "You're brilliant, but really inefficient." He also calls me Rat-chel, a bimbo and a floozy.
My cousin the Frontier Legend.

Clever blogs - A Crown of Thistles, Yellow Trash Diar ies, Wait in the Van

When Seany is "doing it." And no, this does not refer to sex.
When my brother reveals his creation of a Halloween costume.
Old men skin flapping in the wind while riding mopeds.
Playing the board game Moods with my brother. [Mood: flirty] *Tucks his chin into his shoulder, bats his lashes, and says, "That's a funny little cigarette."
You Tube videos of drunk people.
When you put one arm in your shirt and tug the empty sleeve up and down, while simultaneously making the tucked in arm punch frantically. (Can you picture this? Maybe I'm not describing it very accurately but it makes me laugh whenever someone does it.)
Giving your loved one (or your dogs) a Dutch Oven
Locking your friends outdoors after you've convinced them to jump in the snow naked.
When someone farts in an elevator and pretends not to notice even if there's no one else around.

Proud Parent of a Blogger

2009-08-18T08:51:00.000-07:00

Let me set the record straight - I DO NOT prefer assholes. I've been accused of this in the past, typically by nice guys that I'm not interested in that need validation for my rejection. When said nice guy accuses me of this I can't help but think - you're destined for a life of disappointment, resentment and possible restraining orders. Sure I'm enamored with a sweet fella who sings my accolades, cherishes the very essence of all this crazy, and reassures me that telling my dogs about my day is totally normal. The problem with this situation? That's what I've got my mom for. She's been feeding my ego since birth. When I was rocking multi-colored leggings, eight scrunchies, a hearty dose of electric blue eyeshadow and some pre-pubescent "baby fat," she unhesitatingly told me I was pretty. As I refined my musical prowess, furiously puffing into my flute while balancing 6th grade music sheets in my lap, my mother assured me the lightheadedness was normal for musicians of my caliber (Mom: Honey, you're doing so great and I love your commitment, but why don't you try practicing in the closet. I think you'll find the acoustics quite something in there.) My confession of wanting to be retired because I had really envied my Grandparent's lifestyle when I was 9 years old was just another one of her daughter's cute witticisms (and in no way indicative that I would become a habitual afternoon napper and stuff Kleenex up my sleeves). So you see, with a fan base like this, additional commentary on my aptitude is hardly necessary. Thanks mom, for all the grandiose delusions of my beauty, talent and charm! Moving along...
I'm going to go out on a limb and say most little girls' fantasy of Prince Charming does not include such attributes necessary for a man to be considered an asshole. Such characteristics include:

CONDESCENDING - Which really just proves you're not only an asshole but also insecure; perhaps harboring gay tendencies or a baby dill.

THOUGHTLESS - I don't expect you to remember the time, location or weather pattern when we had our first kiss, but I don't think I'm demanding too much when I ask that you momentarily pause to reflect on whether or not I want to fall into the toilet. I'd almost prefer sitting down on a few renegade droplets of your pee than frantically swim in the entire bowl of your kidney's secretions you forgot to flush.

SELFISH - This would encompass bedroom behavior, willingness to share financial expenditures, and your time.

MAN-WHORE/FRAT BOY INCLINATIONS - I expect you not to grope, fondle or say perverse things to me in public. Ogling and disrespectful commentary of other women will also not be tolerated. You sound/look ignorant and childish. If you feel compelled to stare at the tits of every woman that passes by I suggest you subscribe to Big Jugs or similar publication to get it out of your system and allow you more freedom to act like a grown up in public.

I did not add "physically abusive" because this does not make you an asshole, this makes you an abhorrent felon. The aforementioned asshole characteristics are obnoxious yet tolerable in small doses. The only place I will make an exception for tolerating physical abuse is from Bubba in cell block D when he practices his brand of love on your little butt star.

So there you have it. Of course sometimes we find ourselves in the presence of such assholes, maybe seduced by their ~~arrogance~~ confident charm, but most self-respecting women eventually see through the bullshit and move on. If a woman continues to indulge the asshole she's chosen then she's an asshole too and that's 2 less assholes to worry about getting stuck with. That's just basic Advanced Algebra/Trig...which I happened to pass in the 10th grade...which confessing, now makes me an asshole too. Dammit.

Now that I've undoubtedly convinced you that I DO NOT prefer assholes, let's explore the opposite end of the spectrum - the nice guy.

The nice guy is the one your mom immediately envisions you marrying and producing a soccer team of little nice tots with. The nice guy probably has been in 2 or 3 serious relationships that ended up breaking his nice little heart. He feels justified in being overly sensitive because after all, he's the nice guy and some ~~girl who justifiably thought he was a pussy~~ tart damaged him. The nice guy is apt to bouts of weeping, commentary on sunsets, and is proficient at spewing nauseating doggerel from his personal poetry collection. Indeed, the nice guy is what most little girls desire. The man whose sensitivity and kindness reminds them of their favorite childhood kitten. I applaud you if the nice guy is the man of your sugarplum and rainbow dreams. For he is not mine.

I get bored with nice. My 3rd grade teacher was nice. My mailman is nice. Hell, even my freaky neighbor can be nice in an awkward, I'm going to start taking the stairs, sort of way. I like someone who's a little rough around the edges. I want to feel that I'm as lucky to be with you as I know you are to be with me. (Ha, there's that inner asshole again.) Of course you still need superb manners, flawless delivery in your tasteful compliments, the ability to turn your clandestine sycophant on when appropriate, and the expert application of making me feel needed without making me feel utterly responsible for your well-being. So...be nice, but not tooo nice.

I'm the type of girl that if you give me an inch, I'll take a mile. I can walk all over you if you let me and I probably will because I like having things done for me. (ie. I've been known to ~~hold against their will~~ snuggle my dogs in my lap simply so you'll have to get me a soda, the remote or my Sudoku because I couldn't possibly disturb the little angels.) This is not one of my more endearing qualities but we're friends right? And I can tell you these things in full confidence that you won't judge or expect me to change, 'cause that's what friends do! [Silently hopes I didn't rush into this whole "friend" business too quickly. Must remember to play it cool in the future.] I like a man who takes charge and doesn't require constant monitoring. It wasn't an accident that I didn't pursue teaching, nursing or any other trade that requires patience or TLC. If you haven't been in a coma since birth I expect you've had a life before me. In fact, I expect to see some indication of this. Like some shelter to live in, maybe a means for providing food for yourself, an interest or hobby of sorts, perhaps something you've done - I think they call these "life experiences." You know, anything that shows me you might be interesting if I happen to be around you sober.

I'm not your mother, your banker or your life coach. (To add to the list of things I'm egregiously unqualified for.) I told you, I'm not very compassionate, I pay someone to take care of my finances and blogging seems like a worthwhile activity to me. I will however, be your companion, sounding board, play date, and comedian. You can even ~~guilt me into~~ get a few personal chef experiences and throw out your stash of nudie magazines. Basically, on a survival level I need you to take care of you and I will continue to take care of me. In between, we can take long strolls along the lake at sunset while you recite sonnets about my beauty. Er, I mean we can drink beer and play video games. Either works for me.

Choose Your Own Adventure

2009-08-17T07:23:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple years my ~~illiterate drinking buddies~~ friends have graciously informed me that owning books, reading them and subsequently looking for someone to discuss them with has not been deemed cool. Booo literacy. Being the maverick that I am, with my latest find proudly tucked beneath my arm, I shout hooray for bestowing this disquisition on your ass during a bar league softball game. Who doesn't want to discuss Tocqueville's Democracy in America while dodging erratic fly balls, imbibing warm beer from a plastic cup?

With that said, I believe your personal collection reveals a lot about personality, interests and intellect. If you do not in fact have enough books to be considered a collection by your 20s, then I'm going to have to assume you are intimately familiar with your local library or you detest knowledge, personal growth and stimulating that part of your brain which enjoys thinking. Maybe that's not an entirely accurate assessment of personal intelligence, but as I've stated before, I don't require much proof or logic to support my theories. Truthfully I hope my theory is dissuaded, otherwise I've insulted a disproportionate number of my acquaintances and highlighted the fact that I'm drawn to a benighted lot. Oh, and I'm an exasperatingly pompous, book toting, parvenu. So back to me....

While ~~searching for the Starburst I dropped~~ dusting my bookshelf and perusing the bindings, I'd have to say my collection affirms the following characteristics:

I am a 20-something year old woman. [British Chick Lit - Anna Maxted and Sophie Kinsella are some of my faves.]
I travel often but don't know anything about my destination because all of my travel book bindings are uncreased - further reveals, I'm quite absentminded. [3 books on Peru that I forgot to take with me, then forgot to care about reading when I returned home.]

I seek inspiration from war heroes, politicians and titans of industry whose lifestyles and pursuits are nearly impossible for me to replicate, thus ensuring I cannot feel too guilty for falling considerably short. [General Tommy Franks, Clarence Thomas, Jack Welch]

James Rollins captures my sense of adventure as I try to strategize my own escapes from page to page. However, he's far more realistic as my solution usually involves some sort of flying device, poison or grenades.

I'm still trying to figure out what it is exactly that I was suppose to have learned in college. [Numerous books on economics.]

I thought I was going to law school. [Why am I still holding onto 6 LSAT prep books?]

Can read more than 200 pages. [2 of my favorite books are Anna Karenina and Atlas Shrugged]

I probably should have taken more theology classes in college. I'm still interested in discovering how religion shapes society, what I was suppose to learn in Sunday school, and techniques for really subjugating my Christian values upon others. [The Contested Public Square, by Greg Forster ; The Cost of Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer; Concordia]

I believe analyzing any and all stages of relationships is a worthwhile endeavor, albeit ineffectual. I have such titles as Before You Get Engaged, 10 Conversations You Must Have Before You Get Married, The Proper Care & Feeding of Marriage, and the ever popular Toxic In-Laws. I have read all of these bestsellers cover to cover only to find myself more perplexed than ever. In purchasing these books, I think my goal was to find some answers or reassurance. What I ended up discovering was that I'm a lousy, selfish girlfriend and have been harboring a lot of resentment. Looking back through my notes in the margins, I also have proof that I'm ~~a compulsive liar~~ not entirely honest about the state of my relationships. I'd like to believe that I communicate effectively, am selfless when it comes to my partner's needs, an advocate for monogamy, realistic in my expectations. All these stupid books just highlight the fact that I'm quick to throw a hissy fit if I don't get my way, my sharing skills rival a kindergartners, I like painting myself into the picture of someone in possession of a more glamorous/exciting/passionate life, and I may in fact envy polygamists.

I suppose depending on your genre of choice, books can offer a means of escape, intellectual stimulation, a few laughs or bragging rights. Why then, do so many stop reading after grades no longer matter? I truly believe that those who hate reading (why someone would freely admit this is beyond me) simply haven't found the genre that suits them. Hell, try a choose-your-own-adventure book! They're quick, written at a 3rd grade level and usually entail some sort of space odyssey, lost treasure, harrowing escape or time travel. Edward Packard and R.A. Montgomery really nailed this brilliant literary category. Once you get your feet wet and a taste for all the trappings of bookish delight, I challenge you to make a genuine effort at expanding your personal collection. If not for the sake of knowledge and a proficient use of the English language, then for simply the shallow pleasure of impressing ~~someone you're trying to sleep with~~ your colleagues.

What is the point? I have none.

2009-08-14T06:49:00.000-07:00

While I was in Berlin, my Uncle's niece who happens to live there, joined us for a few days to show us the city. This woman has led a pretty incredible life. She's backpacked throughout the world, can speak at least 2 other languages (one being Mandarin Chinese), has a degree in Chinese medicine, moved to Germany not knowing a soul, and has landed a job with a high end touring company. She's thoughtful and inquisitive, open-minded and patient. She carries herself with the quiet confidence of a woman who has experienced a truly dynamic life. I enjoyed meeting her because I am none of these things. I relish the opportunity to witness firsthand what it's like to live without judgement or fear holding you back. Will I ever backpack through India or Morocco? Live amongst anarchists and ex-pats in a building tagged with headless mermaids and puking aliens? Date street performers and acrobats? Probably not, but the fact that I know someone who has gives me the unmerited notion that I too am an open-minded, adventurous soul.
Yes,this justification is baseless but I've discovered that I need very little foundation to support my theories. What was the point of introducing this lively character to my blog? Ah, yes...the discussion we had about dating.

As the Niece and I were watching a band of street performers after dinner one night I decided to regale her with my relationship history and future outlook on the matter. No, she did not initiate this dialogue as we were still essentially strangers, but after a few large Pilsners at dinner social decorum flies out the window. I'm pretty blunt about my beliefs and unapologetic of my severely abrupt opinions. At some point I've got to activate the filter that most adults seem to not only possess but actually utilize, that prevents your brain from allowing your mouth to rant about sex, bodily functions, and other inappropriate topics. Sometimes I feel as if the words just tumble out of my mouth before I've even had a chance to form a proper sentence, thus ensuring the angry baby blather I often find myself reciting. So after the uncomfortable "called off my wedding" speech (I've really got this diatribe down to under 5 minutes) I begin my lament on dating. To summarize: What's the point?

Niece is almost 40, has never been married and is currently in a 2 year relationship. I bring her up to speed on my dating discoveries, disasters and disappointments (my impressive aptitude for applying alliteration when deemed completely unnecessary is another one of my many unmarketable skills). I ask Niece if she plans on ever getting hitched? *shrugs shoulders, she's "Not sure." [cue interrogation]

I've always held the belief that at a certain age the point of dating is to get married right? I mean that's the goal if you've decided that marriage is in fact something you want. As I reveal this maxim to Niece she unhesitatingly replies, "Is it?" Again, we are essentially strangers but it seemed to me that she hadn't completely ruled out matrimonial bliss so I was completely shocked that this goal I've adhered to may not be on everyone's radar. Always eager to find some new theory to dissect I began questioning what really is the point of dating?

Let me preface my conclusions by stating that I have not validated, surveyed or run logistics on any of these findings. Here goes...

I think women fall into 2 dating categories: those who want to get married and those who don't or are unsure. For those women who want to get married I believe they approach relationships like job interviews. What qualities does this man possess that may reveal his aptitude for fathering children, providing stability, epitomizing the perfect husband fantasy? Is this method fair or reasonable? Probably not. I think relationships (healthy ones at least) continue to evolve and change based on circumstance. Someone who may appear to be confident and stable may crumble at the first sign of distress. After the passionate honeymoon period of any relationship begins to wane, do you find one another interesting enough to continue? What are the true tell-tale signs of a potentially good husband or father? I suppose this is where you take a leap of faith and trust your instincts. I don't believe anyone who is honest with themselves can definitively say they are 100% certain they've chosen their "soul mate." Bleh, that term is so cheesy. For the record, I DO NOT believe in soul mates. I think it's a concept born of delusional women and hopeless romantics. If this offends you, hit that little X in the upper right hand corner of your screen and get ready for your poetry slam. I digress... Without a doubt I have fallen into this category for the past few months. If I couldn't see myself marrying you within oh, a 3 date time frame I was moving along. The truly deluded part of this scenario is that I'm not really even interested in finding a husband at the moment. I think my brain has been wired for so long to pursue that Biblical dream of marriage, procreation and good, clean living that it forgot to have a little fun. I want to date! I want to experience what it's like to be every other 20-something year old making mistakes and falling down occasionally. Although I did a brief stint in a Human Resources department, I have zero qualifications for finding a good "husband-type." So what's the point? One can choose to live their life in pursuit of their Biblical duties, maybe even attaining a modicum of their initial fantasy, but doesn't this course lend itself to a lot of disappointment and frustration? From personal experience I'm going to go ahead and answer that for you - Yes it does.

Dating category #2 - women who do not want to or are unsure of whether or not marriage is in the cards. I would like to chastise this group for being liars and fools because all women want to get married and they are simply in denial! Am I right?! Truthfully, I am silently envious of their uncomplicated approach to dating - of course I'd never admit this. When unencumbered by a mold with which to size up every person one dates, I've got to believe one is more inclined to enjoy themselves and others. When you write someone off you may miss their best that's yet to come. But what if we're not all destined to be husbands or wives? Any participant in modern day society is aware that there are certain rewards attached to those who choose holy matrimony over a solo existence. Whether it's tax breaks or simply the benefit of not having married acquaintances wonder why you couldn't find/hold onto/convince someone to tolerate you for the rest of your life. But is getting married simply because society dictates that this is in fact the proper course of action for everyone enough justification? From personal observation I'm going to go ahead and answer this one for you as well - No, it's not.

So, what is the point of dating? I have no clue. Hehe...you didn't think I'd actually arrive to any valid conclusion did you? That's clearly not my style. I think perhaps the desirable end result could manifest itself in 3 ways though. You either find yourself a spouse, a friend or a lover (for those of you with keen judgement, maybe even a combination of the 3!). On the other hand, you could just as easily find yourself an archenemy, stalker or pregnant (perhaps a combination of these as well). My advice, go with what brings you the least amount of stress, tears and my personal favorite, effort. I truly am destined for greatness.

WTF is a Water Closet?

2009-08-13T02:34:00.000-07:00

So happy to be back in the US. After two weeks in the company of Europeans I am unbelievably grateful for my American citizenship. For starters, I cannot fathom why Hollywood's elite insist that Europe is the hub of all creative, cultural and civilized activity. When one has to pay for the "water closet" (this term for bathrooms still eludes me) that smells like an outhouse and provides an unforgiving strip of sandpaper with which to scrub your nether regions is far from civilized. The fact that Europeans still have yet to master the art of American coffee. Not cafe Americano (espresso with hot water), but actual coffee straight from Mr. Coffee's $30 glorious carafe (found at your local Wal-Mart). Then there's that tricky subject of hygiene. How can a nation that produced such brilliant talent from the likes of Leonardo da Vinci, Albert Einstein, Michelangelo, Johannes Gutenberg and Ludwig van Beethoven not yet discover the elusive deodorant stick? I admit, I'm not very mature when dealing with body odor infiltrating my nostrils (yes, I will walk around with my nose pinched, a scarf over my face and/or make mock gagging noises near certain prime offenders). In fact, my Uncle Haru insisted I was an "American snob" when I jammed my fingers up my nose at the top of Petrin Hill Observation Tower which happened to be enclosed on a humid day with numerous odoriferous - fun word right? It's on the garbage bin in my garage further indicating the pompous nature I've often suspected my neighbors of - perpetrators. My reply, "I'm not a snob simply because I've located, purchased and mastered the application of antiperspirant." I will not claim to be an expert on deodorant sales or its global market penetration, but I'm fairly certain that most countries can gain access to Speedstick, Ban Roll-On, Degree and maybe even Secret for women. Perhaps I'll look into this. Basically, I agree that Europe has many artistic and cultural contributions to marvel at. Sculptures and paintings that bring tears to your eyes, churches that take your breath away, museums that bring an amazing past to life. However, as far as the "I'm more dignified, enlightened and refined than you American dolts" attitude goes, I'm not buying it. I'll take my loud, coarse, innovative, eat meals in under 2 hours, hygienic, don't-have-time-to-sit-and-ponder-art-at-a-cafe-all-day-because-I-have-a-job, American brethren any day. To those pretentious Hollywood types, misguided hippies, and arrogant Europeans - I'll take crass over class if it means I'm smellin' sweet, my ass is not raw and my coffee does not come in a Smurf sized cup and taste like tar.

With that said, I do in fact love many of the aforementioned artistic and cultural aspects of Europe. The architecture is breathtaking, the museums and galleries are astounding, the churches are indescribable, eating becomes an art form, shopping at its best. My recent trip included Prague and various cities in Germany (Dresden, Potsdam, Berlin and Hamburg). Here are some of the highlights from each location.
PRAGUE: The architecture, cobble stone streets and beautiful people reminded me of Rome. The city is absolutely stunning. Due to the fact that I cannot remotely read, speak or make sense of the Czecher's language I do not recall half of the names of the things we saw. What I do remember is that we went to a beautiful church called St. Vitus I believe located within Prague Castle (I could be way off), the Senate building, Lenin wall where we left inspired messages (I wrote my name, Aunt D wrote beside a large IMAGINE - Imagine if you were an American. I love the USA), Old Town with some old clock that we stared at for 20 minutes waiting to for it to chime and creepy little figurines to move, the Vlatava River, some church by some palace, I almost knocked over a guard while embracing full tourist mode and posing next to him for a photo op, a weird gargoyle wall with hidden creatures I identified as King Kong, the lion from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, a kitten and a vampire that was next to a random cage filled with owls. Wow, I should write a travel book I am so detail oriented. Watch out Lonely Planet, seems as if you've got a new editor. I noticed that Prague is filled with odd street signs as well. For example, this little fellow may have indicated Caution: tourist jamming ahead. The walk signs were also quite endearing. The little person portrayed to be crossing had a very dapper hat on and if it's possible to depict in a street sign, actually appeared to be sauntering.

The city is also very clean but I think it's mainly attributed to the plethora of bums who enjoy digging through the trash for treasures. Sort of like garbage spelunkers. The beggars were also interesting. I was a little taken aback when I realized that after strolling through the streets of Prague I was more sweaty and dirty than the so-called "bums" in their freshly pressed clothes and brand new sparkling white sneakers. Frankly, I think they were just tourists looking for some extra cash to buy the whimsical marionettes that seemed to inhabit many of the shops. I found their approach to begging quite dangerous though. They just lay down bent over holding out their hands or a hat, looking as if they're kissing the ground or practicing grade school tornado drill techniques. At first I thought they were perhaps Muslims praying. The danger comes from the fact that it's quite easy to miss them and consequently quite easy to step on them. Also, I imagine their legs get cramped so if I were compelled to snatch the coins from them I could get away quite easily while they try to get the blood flowing back to their get-away sticks.

What else? Oh, my cousin got her purse stolen right in front of us at a cafe. Let me paint you a picture of my alarming disregard for my surroundings. The group is eating lunch with my mother and I seated across from my cousin, the victim, of a heinous robbery attempt. Suddenly, interrupting what was sure to be an insightful yet humorous dialogue initiated by me, a 50+ year old ninja woman hands the victim back her purse. At this point we notice the perp walking casually away as the ninja shouts what I can only imagine were foreign obscenities in his direction. So as I was holding court, my cousin had been so enthralled by my conversation that she had her purse casually snatched, then aggressively snatched back, then heroically handed back to her. All the while I was staring directly at her, completely unaware of the crime. Uncle Haru, the victim's father, then proceeded to yell at her for having allowed her purse to be snatched in the first place. Oh, classic Haru.

We also ventured to some pilgrimage area (again, sketchy on the names) which included a library, an ugly little chapel that supposedly contained a rotten board from the Virgin Mary's house, the St. Wilgifortis altar which exhibits a crucified, bearded woman (story being, she was a Portuguese maiden who prayed for a masculine appearance in order to preserve her chastity), and a church filled with cherub sculptures that Aunt D said resembled "sexual deviants."

DRESDEN: Home of the amazing Zwinger palace. Augustus the Strong wanted a stunning abode that rivaled Versailles in the 1700s and wah-la, the "Zvinger" came to life. With its spectacular courtyard and impressive museums (art museum included an extensive collection of Rubens and Raphael's 'Sistine Madonna,' and we went to the most comprehensive Armory I think I've ever seen) this place was amazing.

We stayed at the Art Otel which showcased an anatomically correct stick figure man that appeared to be flipping you off. Our room included a bathroom with a window strategically placed in view of the toilet. When you flipped a switch the window would blur out but still induced paranoia as shadows and movements were still visible from outside.

The city was destroyed during WWII and is still in the process of being rebuilt, but the remaining historical buildings were amazing. Behind a large bronze statue of Martin Luther that survived the bombings was the most gorgeous Lutheran church, the Frauenkirche (or Church of Our Lady), I have ever seen. The interior of the church was like a little girls fantasy. Pastels and gold art upon the altar and balconies invoked a light, ethereal quality. If I ever take Aunt D's advice and just "give marriage a try," I would seriously consider a destination wedding to Dresden simply for this church. However, restorations of the city will probably take another oh, 5-10 years so I've got some time.

We also watched a Blair Witch style black and white slide show video of pictures from Dresden's past. I briefly fell asleep then realized my English headphones were broken. Had them fixed, broke again shortly thereafter, watched the remainder of the video set to the hip hop beats courtesy of 50 cent on my iPod. Spent less than 2 days in Dresden before heading to Berlin. Overall impression, the city is stunningly quaint, I really enjoyed it.

BERLIN: Absolutely loved this city! We stayed at the Park Inn which I think may be the tallest building in all of Berlin, making it nearly impossible for me to get lost. Again, our hotel room was a little bizarre. The sexy shower in the middle of the room really was a plus considering my mother and I were sharing the place for a week. I noticed at this location that my mother is indeed a horrible roommate. She snored every night, she never closed the sheer privacy curtain all the way on the sexy shower, her shoes stunk up the room so badly I made her put them in the hallway and she stole my room key, thus forcing me to walk down 13 flights of stairs. If she hadn't funded this little excursion, I would have seriously considered writing her a strongly worded letter (in keeping with my lack of courage at confronting people).

While in Berlin we went to the German History museum that I devoured in 6+ hours. I'm fairly certain I know more about Germany's history than America's right now. Sad. Anyways, we went to the beautiful Berlin Cathedral (church by the Lustgarten) and took a ridiculous, overly informative audio guided tour. Walked past the Brandenburg Gate which is situated opposite from the Hotel Adlon - made famous by Michael Jackson who dangled his 8-month old son Prince from its window. Saw remnants of the Berlin Wall and the Holocaust Memorial which was awe inspiring. The Pergamon Museum (which showcased the Pergamon Altar, the Ishtar Gate from Babylon and a lengthy tribute to the Greek god of wine, Dionysus), Checkpoint Charlie, the Reichstag building, a university where Einstein taught, the Hackeschen Markt and a cafe called Titty Twister were just a few highlights from Berlin.

I loved the street performers. On two different occasions there were break dancers, one group destined for So You Think You Can Dance? the other, to remain Berlin street performers. A multitude of musicians. One day it might be goth weirdos playing bagpipes, the next a string quartet. At dinner we were entertained by flame eaters, giant bubble blowers and mime-ish clown antics all for the pleasure of a few solicited euro. I could people watch all day. Everyone is so diverse and comfortably casual. The goth population is thriving and well in the streets of Berlin for those of you who may have wondered where they went after 1998. Even the legalized prostitutes don't seem to put on airs as they hustle the pitiful middle aged men and curiously misguided teenage tourists. According to strict dress code, the midnight madams are easy to spot as they are required to squeeze into a corset accentuated by an impossibly sexy, yet practical fanny pack. I say kudos to you Pretty Woman, you may sell your body to the masses but you're a law abiding, tax paying citizen dammit! Anyway, Berlin is eclectic, modern, interesting and a very realistic/easy place to picture yourself living in. Loved it!

POTSDAM: Took a day trip here to see a couple palaces. Apparently Frederick the Great was a real show off, needing not only his Neues Palais (New Palace - built after the end of the Seven Years' War to prove Prussia was still in good shape economically), but a summer palace -the Schloss Sanssouci (meaning "Free of Care")- located a couple miles away.

Aside from the palaces, Potsdam was kind of a bore. The little town reminded me of the Dells. Not sure if I'd ever go back, but it's worth a 2 hour trip at least once.

HAMBURG: Our band of merry travelers parted, leaving Aunt D, Uncle Haru and I to explore Hamburg. We took the Gravitrain (super fast train that I imagined would cause Gravitron type centripetal force that would smoosh our bodies into our seats or walls) to Hamburg and were greeted by throngs of Hamburglars lining the streets. Turns out it was a Christopher Street Parade. What is Christopher Street you may be wondering? Gay pride! (Prior to my trip to Hamburg I did not know this. I quickly figured it out as the rainbow arch of balloons and assortment of drag queens and techno blasting buses filled with gyrating boyfriends took center stage. Upon further investigation when I got home, I now know that Christopher Street is an actual street in the West Village of New York, that served as the center of NY's gay rights movement during the '70s. Hooray for Wikipedia). I should first mention that I'm 87% sure I witnessed a junkie OD right before the parade started. Anyway, the parade began and we were treated to an assortment of fabulous queens, middle aged men in assless chaps, lesbians holding boobs, a bus load of ridiculously fit "sailors," with a brief interlude of some S&M freaks dressed like horses pulling the Dominatrix(s) in carriages. It was all fun and games with the jazzy gays doing dance routines, throwing out condoms and squirting me with a squirt gun that I suspected contained seminal fluids, but those creepy horse people really brought the vibe to a new level of discomfort. Worth mentioning, as the vehicles passed many of them had heart pounding bass thumping music that Aunt D was convinced would illicit a sexual frenzy. Considering there was a lot of groping and PDA around town after the parade I think she may have been right. Welcome to Hamburg!

We stayed at a beautiful old hotel, the Kempinski, complete with a number of old fancy guests. We didn't get the dress code memo. Apparently you were required to match your party, old people are cute. Saw St. Michaelis church and St. Nikolas memorial. Walked through the Fish Market which was vaguely reminiscent of the WI State Fair. Took a boat and bus tour of the city. Checked out the gorgeous Parliament building. Had fun shopping and walking along the many rivers throughout the "Venice of Germany." Not sure the title fits, but the city was very charming.

Took the Gravitrain back to Berlin for our last night. Early flight from Berlin to Brussels, then Brussels to Chicago. Long day. Body and brain still not functioning properly due to the 7 hour time change. Looking forward to the next vacation with my crazy wonderful family.

Final note - As our trip progressed I realized I had in fact executed all 7 deadly sins.

LUST - I want a palace with the works.
WRATH - I decided I will become enraged if I don't get my palace.
PRIDE - thankful to be an American who speaks fluent English.
SLOTH - rested upon every grassy knoll I came across because I've got a lot of quit in me.
ENVY - insatiable desire to own some of the artwork and armory at the Zwinger museums.
GREED - coveting my new Roberto Cavalli and Burberry watches.
GLUTTONY - I think I consumed roughly 5 kegs worth of beer on this trip.

I should have been an FBI interrogator

2009-07-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

I was planning on writing something alarmingly witty, obnoxiously charming and with just a hint of my incontestable pith. However, I've chosen to regale you with my new found discovery. I may or may not be, but definitely am NOT ready to be seriously dating.

For those of you who have had the [mis]fortune of socializing with me the past few years (alright, decade) know I was in a serious, committed, marriage-bound relationship. All the bells and whistles. Everything I knew and everything I thought I wanted. I called the wedding off because I am absolutely confounded by everything that marriage entails and no one could give me a cogent answer to any of my questions. What makes a marriage last? How did you know they were the one you could spend the rest of your life with? What actually changes after you put on those matching rings? Why do some marriages fall by the wayside and end bitterly in divorce, custody battles and lawyers deciding who gets the ugly china? If anyone has any answers to these questions, I beg of you, speak up! I haven't had the best examples of wedded bliss in my lifetime so I was not so easily drawn (or dragged) to the aisle. Calling off my wedding was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, because my feelings for my fiance hadn't changed, but my fear of the future won out. We spent the following year attempting to right our wrongs, alleviate our apprehensions, and find some common expectations. As I am single now, you can see how much we accomplished. I'm still not sure whether we were in fact not the right match or it simply wasn't the right time, either way I'm writing this blog about dating (or rather not dating) new people. Eh, such is life.

Now that we've got some of the background issues out of the way, let me expound upon my theory that I'm not ready to date. Okay, I'm ready to date, but not date. Glad I cleared that up. As previously mentioned, I had a lot of down time from the point my wedding was cancelled, to the point we decided to go our separate ways, to the point I felt I was ready to finally let go and move on. Let's call this the Trial & Error period. I'd like to say I spent the past couple years really soul searching, discovering the real Rachel. What does Rachel really enjoy or detest? What really defines Rachel or gives her strength? Why does Rachel refer to herself in the 3rd person when asking pivotal questions? At the very least, I was hoping to provide validation for the poignant aphorism - Know thyself. You may be wondering what was I actually doing? Having a riotous pity party for myself while hugging my new boyfriend, Mr. Merlot. I suppose I just needed time. Retrospectively, I probably should have been a little more productive. Maybe I could have learned to play the Australian didgeridoo, perhaps developed a conversational level of Farsi, or even mastered Mohobelo African dance. Alas, I did none of these - nor did I really think of them until now. These will be added to my Bucket List. Where Was I?

At the cessation of Rachel's (okay, I'm seriously done with creepy omniscient blogging) Trial & Error period, I decided it was time to embark upon the new chapter...dating. Slightly out of the loop on every social and global refinement of this stupid verb I threw down the proverbial gauntlet. Never one to shy away from a challenge (this is a bold face lie but I like how it sounds) I let some people set me up and began what would prove to be a tiresome, ghastly, nauseating chore. For starters, those of you who arranged dates for me with men who are questionably: sane, heterosexual and done nursing, I wish ceaseless incontinence upon you with a hint of restless leg syndrome. Anyway, amidst these mutants I did happen to stumble upon a pretty great guy all on my own. No thank you to any of my abusive friends whom I suspect are harboring some deep grudges against me. Of course since he's my type - not psychotic, has a job, no felonies, literate - I immediately assault him with "Fantasy Future," the absurd game I've erroneously disclosed in another post. So instead of enjoying his company I immediately try to fit him into my future plan. Granted, I only knew the poor guy a couple weeks and no one could possibly fit into this restrictive plan, I persisted nonetheless. Fast forward a few weeks, everything seems to be going great (almost too perfectly) and then I decide I'm terrified of this new found happy relationship status. The second it started feeling comfortable and familiar I completely shut down. This was alarming for two reasons: 1) Can I really not maintain lasting emotions or interest in someone because they don't fit perfectly into my mold; and 2) Is he yet another wrong guy? Either I'm destined to a life of loneliness or I have terrible judgment and need to be more cautious. Great. *cue Mr. Merlot*

I think everything just happened too quickly. I'm so used to jumping to exclusivity and the abhorrent "where is this going?" conversation. I can never just enjoy the moment, go with the flow, let the chips fall where they may and all that jazz. Truth is, I really like this guy and do enjoy our moments together. I'm just not sure I'm ready to face my compulsory need to have everything fit perfectly into place. I need time to figure out not only what's out there in terms of men (as it's painfully obvious I have no clue), but what I actually need and what I may want with someone else. I'm gaining a better understanding of what doesn't exactly work for me, but am far from nailing down what does. Until I learn how to engage in normal unobtrusive conversation as opposed to my barrage of typical first date questions - how many kids do you want? sexual partners you've had? mental illness? will you convert to my religion? who'd you vote for? do you live in your mom's basement and does she iron your jeans? where do you see yourself in 5 years...literally, what location, in what condition, at what point of spiritual comfort? - see, this is why I should not be allowed in public. Truthfully, I will probably never abandon my overly aggressive interrogations of potential suitors, but here's hoping that I may learn to space out some of these preemptive investigative techniques. *removes ninja death grip on Mr. Merlot to cross fingers*

Milwaukee: Wisconsin's thriving metropolis

2009-07-21T15:43:00.000-07:00

Astute geographical scholars can typically recognize 3 places in Wisconsin - Madison, Milwaukee and of course, the Dells. I happen to be living in the largest city in all of Wisconsin, ahem, Milwaukee (in case you still have no clue what region I'm speaking of, check out the big mitten near the Great Lakes). So I guess this makes me a legitimate city girl! Which is precisely the label I was seeking when looking for condos. How else would I put into practice and mirror what I had seen on Sex and the City (primarily seasons 2-4)? After calling off the wedding and letting the full weight of my bleak suburban existence take its toll, it was time for a change. Fortunately HBO had been playing re-runs of my 4 Sexy mentors so my decision was clear. Milwaukee, prepare to be dominated...for real this time. You see, I did live in Milwaukee when I was in college but I may as well have stayed home since that's where my boyfriend was. Yes, I was that girl. Home most weekends and a dismal college 'experience.' Still slightly bitter over this, at least it kept me from failing out of school and/or getting knocked up. Way to find the silver lining, where was I? So I grew up in the suburbs and have owned a couple houses in equally mundane neighborhoods, but now I'm back. Okay, not 'back' but it sounds more dramatic.

I didn't go quite the whole struggling writer in a crappy apartment route because frankly I was fortunate enough to not have to. So I bought a sick condo in a nice area and waited for the adventures to begin. Hmmm...you mean I actually have to leave said sick condo to find these adventures? This does not lend itself to my favorite activity of dormancy but I guess we've all got sacrifices to make. First goal was to find some friends. I know what you're thinking - wow, she really sounds like an anti-social loser and yes, I would agree, but my ex got to keep the friends in the break up. Small price to pay really. Unfortunately around the time I moved a few of my best friends decided to as well. The bastards just up and left the state, as if they didn't want to partake in my new Sexy adventures. So yes, I needed to find some new friends. How does one go about doing this when you don't have the benefit of structured activities? In school it's easy to meet people with similar interests simply because you've chosen the same classes and you may need them for notes or idle classroom chit chat. If I had a 'real' job, coworkers would have been another easy route. However, I pride myself on not being held down by The Man and have yet to find a job that fits my criteria - 3 day work week from the hours of 10am-3pm with a 2 hour lunch/shopping break. I'd also need a flexible vacation schedule, full benefits and I'm told at least a 6-figure income to support my lifestyle, but that's another story. How about hobbies? If naps and reading count then I've got some, but these are typically solo activities. Without my own personal set of dysfunctional, misguided, overly dramatic girlfriends I knew my whole Sex and the City episode might be a bit lackluster. Ultimately my trick was to contact old friends, make them introduce me to their friends then become the new friend burglar. Hence, multiple circles of people to choose from - mission accomplished!

There's a few more glaring instances where my Sex and the City experience falls apart. For starters, I'm in Milwaukee. Where the hell are my black-tie gala events? Of course NY is far more exciting, but I figured there would be a little more going on than drunken outdoor summer festivals. Seriously, how am I suppose to rub elbows with socialites, blossoming artists and captains of industry while drinking out of a plastic cup? I live in a very convenient area. I'm within walking distance of the lake, nice restaurants and bars, boutiques and markets. Yeah for me? No, yeah for everyone else who ventures to the city for a night out then insists my condo equates a Motel 6. I'm all for house guests, but don't call me after bar time because you need a place to crash and then puke all over my lobby or kitchen sink. As imagined, this bothers me for 2 particular reasons-one, the smell of puke makes me want to heave until I pass out and I'd rather sell my place than clean it up. And two, you live in a crappy little town 30 minutes away and I will never be crashing at your place. Where's the win in this for me? I also do not have a home conducive for such elite activities as beer pong or flip cup. I'm not opposed to these college exercises, but I have grown-up possessions now. Such possessions include: wood floors, white furniture, a mortgage and elderly hostile neighbors. It's one thing to have beer splattering all over your basement floor or linoleum kitchen, but I no longer have access to either of these. I can't have renegade beer soaked ping pong balls whizzing around my Waterford crystal and paintings. Does this make me anal and out of touch with my fellow 20-something year olds? Probably. Would I rather have nice things to worry about than the approval of my 20-something year old friends who live in their mother's basements? Absolutely.

Then there's my dogs. I used to have a yard big enough to necessitate an invisible fence. (For awhile I actually thought this was an accomplishment of sorts.) I traded this electric luxury for 3 flights of stairs and a tiny grassy knoll next to the road that my dogs refuse to set foot on. Never a big fan of responsible dog ownership (ie. walking them) I find myself begrudgingly heading toward the lake to deter their frantic furniture leaping episodes. This is all well and good, having access to the lush green fields near the lake, but I'd much prefer opening the patio door and letting them find their own adventures. No one wants a chaperon after all, right?

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love living here. There is no place I'd rather be, but I forgot to add bitching as one of my hobbies. The benefits of my new zip code? I can watch fireworks from my balcony during the summer months; I never have to worry about parking or driving home from the bars, in fact taking horse drawn carriages home are one of my favorite perks; watching people dig their cars out during the winter from my window with a cup of coffee in the morning or watching people attempt to parallel park, subsequently bumping both cars around them as if this is an acceptable form of driving; feeling like you're doing something even if you're still in your pj's because there's always someone hustling from one place to the next and their enthusiasm is contagious; and finally, nothing beats the view from my balcony at sunset. Makes me thankful every time I see it to be living here. So maybe my Sex and the City experience has not quite lived up to my season 2 expectations, but I'm getting there. Got the whole tortured writer scenario down, didn't I?

Footless belly socks, jorts and CK one

2009-07-20T13:58:00.000-07:00

Things that annoy the shit out of me (in no particular order):

Girls that wear footless belly socks (more commonly known as tube tops) to Milwaukee bars any time between August-June. We live in Wisconsin. It is not warm here, ever. The lukewarm summer months do not support this tube top nonsense either seeing as it's still not warm at bar time. How about we just retire the tube tops ladies, indefinitely. MTV's beach party will not be filming your scantily clad ass in the Mid-West any time soon.
When relationships end and one party vehemently adheres to the notion that the other must be sleeping with someone else. If you can only justify your relationship ending due to the fact you dated a sloot maybe you should redirect your anger at something more productive, like synchronized swimming or armed robbery.
My weirdo neighbor who I think silently engages in a staring contest when I get trapped in the elevator with him.
Animal print clothing or accessories, especially in unnatural hues such as electric blue and tennis ball green.
When I meet a guy who asks my sign then leans back and sighs, "Ahhh...I could tell you were a Leo right away. You're so...blippity bloppity bloopy blah." I stop listening because anyone who follows astrology and feels compelled to chalk my entire personality up to a weird little squiggly sign is not getting anywhere near my little Leo.
Guys who wear long white athletic socks with any type of footwear if pants are not hiding them. This means no long white sock/sandal/cargo shorts combo unless girlfriend-less dork is your fashion statement. Exception obviously would be athletic shorts, but I still think ankle socks are the way to go. Just reminds me of my crazy old neighbor growing up who wore his socks jacked to his knees slipped into some open-toed sandals, while wearing boxers and a wife beater roaming his 20 square foot yard on the walk to elementary school. So creepy.
When people bike down the middle of the road thus, holding up traffic. There is no way you can pedal faster than my car, get on the effen sidewalk!
Any stranger who asks for money without providing a service. I will not give you a dollar unless you entertain in one of the following ways: musical instrument such as rusty trombone or stringless guitar, on the spot improv, awkward mime antics or lyrical dance would suffice.
Men who own homemade jorts (jean shorts) especially when showcased in a beach setting.
Confessions of infidelity. You know in advance what their reaction will be, so what has your confession gained? Is it so that you can walk away saying you have been honest? Is that really what you have been? You should know better and I don't want to hear about how your "honesty" did not set your dumbass free.
People who use the phrase, "It must be nice." You sound like a jealous, bitter idiot.
The following smells: CK one, vanilla candles, marijuana, my ninja turtle shoes and Buffalo Wild Wings Indian diaper sauce.
Taylor Swift's squinty eyes and scrunchy face.
Guys who order wine at sports bars.
Having to pay all my mortgages in a timely fashion and for the full amount. Sometimes I just don't feel like it, alright WSBank? Love it when they deliver the statements and give me 8 minutes to send payment before I get late fees. Slick guys, real slick.
Getting a new Chanel face compact and promptly dropping it, shattering the powder into a fine dust then watching my $60 product blow away.
Finding out your house guest used your expensive face lotion as body lotion. Can you really not read and do you really think I purchase body lotion in 1-oz quantities?
When people karaoke to slow songs or romantic ballads as if there's a record label exec in the audience scouting for talent.
Hitting my head on all the cabinet doors I leave open, then wondering a) do I have a concussion or open flesh wound, and b) why was I moving with such lightening speed vigor?
Men who offer to spot or assist me at the gym. As if I can't manage to control my burdensome 15 lb weight. Also, unless I'm attempting one armed push up's precariously on the stairmaster, keep your unsolicited advice and work out tips to yourself.

86% sure I should make PuppyFinder.com my homepage

2009-07-19T09:22:00.000-07:00

I told my dad in Alabama I might just buy a bunch of dogs and call it day. He told me I was going to be one of those crazy old ladies who dies alone and is found decomposing 3 days later after her companions start nibbling at her decaying extremities. Nice thought, thanks dad. He might be onto something though. I'm not entirely convinced that I'm cut out for the whole marriage, babies, mundane lifestyle that everyone else seems to so eagerly pursue. I suppose that's not fair. I'm sure most people don't say, "When I grow up I want to be in a loveless marriage, miserably working in middle management, and come home to 3 kids that despise my existence!" Yet, this is what typically transpires. For some, I think stability and comfort go a long way. For others, the fear of being alone and eaten by your dogs is all it takes. I on the other hand, have ridiculously high expectations for my future and am beginning to think I may have set the bar a bit too high. Please friends, come join me on my fantasy future...

Let's start with the husband piece of the puzzle. I've decided he needs to be at least 6 feet tall with broad shoulders, defined legs, a little bit of a booty, strong jawline, and at least a few veins running through his forearms. Too specific? Just wait. He's got to be driven and inspired by something, have some sort of values he adheres to, a good relationship with his family but not too close to his mother, be well read or at the very least have a good working knowledge of grammar and syntax (don't know what syntax is? need not apply), and finally, an appetite for travel and maybe an accomplished musician of some sort but let's not split hairs. Also, I insist that fantasy future husband adore children, and not in the 'I think they're amusing but don't really want any prolonged contact with them' (this is my line of reasoning and I believe this is not a good recipe for a functioning family unit; I assume someone has to interact with the children). Mr. Rachel Ksobiech must acquiesce to the following: realize I have a very limited concept of the value of money. I will unhesitatingly put down $1200 for a Burberry coat but complain about the price of movie theater popcorn. I am a beauty product junkie and need 92% of the bathroom cabinet, counter and drawer space. If you tell me "No" or I can't do something, you bet your ass I'm going to do it even if I didn't really want to in the first place. I can't speak to you before I've had a cup of coffee, preferably one that you've made. I expect you to pretend to be interested in my take on the Federalist Papers and Anna Karenina. I need specific compliments. Not "you look pretty." We're talking, "I really love how you managed to match your eyeliner to the detail in your high waisted pencil skirt." Some may say that an observation such as this would indicate you're gay. I prefer to think of it as an overly acute sense of your wife's fashion, but you can't say such poetry in public. Fantasy future husband also thrives on yard work and car maintenance. He absolutely adores these activities. Passionate? Romantic? Chivalrous? You bet! Some days he comes home from work early to make dinner (while doing some ironing and light dusting) then doesn't even bat an eye as he rids the floor of it's hastily strewn dinnerware from the fit of passion that transpired after his homemade baked Alaska. Okay, maybe that's a bit much. On to fantasy future tots!

After securing this diamond in the rough husband, we decide to have some well-adjusted, exceptionally bright, impossibly attractive children. Now, I'm willing to compromise on the number of little nippers but they must still fulfill their duties as I've destined them. I need at least one professional athlete, preferably football so I can get great seats and try my hand at soup commercials. Fantasy future husband and I also need a medical professional to take care of us when we are old and decrepit. I'd prefer some sort of surgeon, but general family practice would suffice. Let's throw an accomplished musician or artist into the mix so we look like a well-rounded and inspired bunch. I wouldn't hate the idea of some sort of scientist who's researching a top secret project that can only be described in 6-syllable words. This of course would have to be pursued by our little prodigy who happens to be the least well-adjusted simply because its (I'm not going to be gender specific) brain functions at a superior level than most of its peers. Poor little moppet. Finally, I'd like a war hero who turns its adventures into best-selling memoirs. Your father and I are very proud. I think that about covers it on the...wait I need to come up with one more synonym for child...tadpole (I got nothing) front.

Now do you see what I mean? Perhaps 14% of this fantasy future could be attained. Am I okay with relinquishing the other 86%? Especially after having spent the time committing it to words? It would almost seem like a failure and I refuse to let my imaginary unborn tykes down. Hence, my inevitable future as a dog collecting spinster. In the meantime, I'm not opposed to dating all the wrong guys. I mean lets be realistic, I've got quite some time before I need to succumb to my medley of canines.

Last thought, how appealing would this be as my Match.com profile? Maybe I should just stick to PuppyFinder.com

Tolls and Trunk Pizza: My trip to Michigan

2009-07-18T11:48:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Michigan, oh 2 days ago, and now feel my brain cells have started regenerating and perhaps can put together a few sentences. I left my condo at about 3pm on Tuesday so I could make sure I didn't miss the exciting Chicago rush hour and the insanity that ensues while merging across 8 lanes to get to the solitary cash toll lane. Seriously, I live in Wisconsin. I do not, nor will ever own an IPass. I pay taxes so I don't have to pay tolls. Either the Illinois (as a living entity) is a real pill or has a twisted sense of humor, watching an inattentive Wisconsinite maneuver a Hummer past whizzing Chicago assholes whose cars were not equipped with turn signals. When I finally made it to the cash only toll I really had a ball digging out $.80 seeing as I spent all my cash at the Brewer game and Bastille days when my brother was home. $.80, really? Why not $.93? It's just enough to screw up your quarter collection reserved for bar games, not to mention I realize I can no longer recognize nickels (when did the government change the doodle on the back of those and why was I not made aware of this?). I've also decided that dimes need to be retired. I believe they were designed with midget or children hands in mind and they make me feel like a giant when I'm fondling them. My fingers do not rival the capabilities of a pair of tweezers and I'm pretty sure whoever buys my truck in the future will be $1.20 richer. I turned the numerous tolls into sort of a fiendish game, whereby I handed Tollbooth Willy a diabolical assortment of coins that may or may not have equalled the appropriate amount. Usually he simply raised little red hurdling bar before counting his metallic treasures, most likely due to the lack of mathematical faculties necessary to completing such a transaction. Also enjoy the Willy's that actually want to flirt for the 26 seconds they're holding you hostage. As if maybe I'll slip a $.04 business card their way as well. Alright, enough about tollbooths.

Arrive at my cousin's apartment where I'm promptly greeted with a glass of wine - my most favorite of greetings. We get dolled up and hit the town. Upon arriving at our destination we hear, "Nice hat!" Yes, I was wearing a hat and yes it was a nice one. Kudos to the astute gentleman at the bar. As we're ordering our drinks, said gentleman and friend stagger towards us. Before I continue it bears mentioning that Mr. Nice Hat is an extremely attractive fellow whom I've decided resembles Gabriel Macht's identical twin brother. I say this because everything else that followed most likely resembled Gabriel Macht's "special" brother and I put up with it simply out of respect for my eyeballs enjoyment. After chatting a bit we grab our drinks and declare we're sitting down. Wouldn't you know it, they joined us. Apparently an invitation would have been too formal, so commandeering the spaces next to us and blocking both exits seemed more appropriate. The gentleman my cousin was fortunate enough to sit by seemed slightly less drunk (we're talking maybe a BAC of 2.4 compared to Gabriel's 3.8) but had a ridiculous pitch to his voice. I'd like to say it was a martini induced squeal, but some qualities can not be so easily written off. A few highlights of my experience with Gabriel. He said I looked like Gisele. No not a gazelle which may have been more accurate, but Gisele as in the supermodel, Bundchen. Whatever beer goggles Mr. Macht had on that evening I wish I could patent and disperse to the masses. What a beautiful world we would live in. As I'm basking in the glow of this brilliantly adept man, he began what would result in an hour long hiccuping competition with himself. For all you gentlemen out there who find yourself with uncontrollable hiccups while attempting to engage in a conversation with a woman, either excuse yourself until you're done or have someone kick you in the throat. I was opting for the latter but channelling my inner-Gisele, I thought it best to sit and look pretty while slamming a few more martinis. When 40 minutes into our experience together I asked him what my name was and that it rhymed with "Bachel," he simply shrugged his shoulders in confusion, that's when I knew it was love at first hiccup.

We ended up getting back to my cousin's apartment where I proceeded to finish an entire bottle of wine in a solo experiment determining whether or not my liver might actually have the capability of crying. Around 8am I decided maybe a couple hours of shut eye would greatly improve my chances of surviving my first night in Michigan. We woke up promptly at 3:30pm and I emptied a bottle of Advil into my martini hole. As I attempted to get ready for dinner and another night of debauchery I found it quite an exciting challenge to put on make up and manipulate the various enclosures of my apparel. Who knew getting ready could become an all out battle against one's internal equilibrium? So fun.

Dinner was touch and go for awhile as I felt the effects of my beloved Advil wearing off and noticed my cousin drifting off into slumber, but we forged through. Were a little slap happy when we arrived at the bar, especially when the lead singer of the band playing began bouncing frantically on his little stool. I'm always amazed at the turn out on weekdays at a bar. It's as if everyone has as little responsibility and self-respect as I do. The place was soon packed with a drunken assortment of police officers who hopefully left their firearms in their golf carts (they were in golf-attire which I thought may be the fashion rage in Michigan at the moment, but was later informed of an actual golf outing). Again, no invitation necessary, two 40+ year old cops decided our booth looked far more appealing than the rest of the open ones surrounding us. When the cop talking to me finally got his car keys out of his pocket (that I can only assume contained some sort of medieval bear trap based on the difficulty this maneuver appeared to be), I asked the obvious, "What happens when a cop gets pulled over for drunk driving?" His slurred response, "Same as a civilian, get out and run." I'm not endorsing this advice, but it might work. Let me know. My cousin gets stuck chatting with Officer Feel Good who happened to be married. It is men like this who reaffirm my belief that being a spinster is choice and not an unfortunate outcome. I asked him what his wife would think if she knew he was hanging all over a 25 year old. His ingenious response was to whip out his cell phone and give her a call. Not only to tell her what he was doing but to have my cousin speak with her. In what alternate universe would this result in anything other than divorce papers? Needless to say Officer Feel Goods bravado quickly dissipated after the phone was handed back to him and he got to hear first hand what his wife thought of the situation. As this little predicament unfolded another officer joined us and was actually quite charming and better yet, decidedly sober! When we left I asked him to pretend to arrest me because a) it seemed exhilarating and b) who doesn't like being slammed against a wall? Face jammed into the adjoining building without the mobility of my arms I was really on cloud nine until a good Samaritan stopped and asked if I was alright. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just practicing for my future crime sprees. Don't worry, my cousin is keeping an eye on me." This is when I turned around and noticed my witness eating pizza off the back of her trunk, eyes closed, completely oblivious to my false arrest. We made it home safely, stuffed our faces with the remaining trunk pizza and went to bed fantasizing about future altercations with drunken law enforcement. This my friends, is the stuff little girls' dreams are made of.

Goodbye bush, hello 'burbs!

2009-07-10T08:16:00.000-07:00

My brother is coming home today! He's leaving the "bush" (as they say in Canada, which still makes me giggle a bit) to spend a week in the 'burbs. True to form, he has given no timetable for his arrival so I'm anxious like a fat kid in a candy store. I'm going to Michigan on Tuesday so I have less than 96 hours to monopolize his time. When my brother is around nothing gets done. Nothing productive or meaningful that is. This is precisely the second best reason for him coming home. The first being that I have my favorite person to pal around with once again. When he's home it's like a free pass to play video games all day, go to movies, ball games and talk about nonsense until you feel your plans of creating a warehouse playground actually seem like a bright idea. Even my mother ceases to nag for a short while. Her firstborn, perfect, blameless, remarkable, wunderkind is home!

Things my brother has missed since leaving for the bush:

1. Death of Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Mays, Steve McNair, Ed McMahon...wow.

2. Bernie Madoff sentenced to 150 years in prison, of which he will serve 10 because the dude is old. Gives us enough time to ransack his wife's loot and return what was stolen from our mother. Bastards!

3. My cousin's new dog, Zoey.

4. Charles in Charge who lives across the street and has taken to stalking our mom. He's very sneaky. Charles uses his shitty little chihuahuas to gain access to her yard then makes small talk while hinting at running away together for just the perfect length of creepy. By the way, he's about 20 years younger than her, although he doesn't look like he's progressed a day over 1984.

5. My dog Rebel getting bit by said shitty chihuahua.

6. The beginning of God's greatest gift to mankind - So You Think You Can Dance?

7. Drunken Summerfest antics.

8. The Milwaukee Iron winning a game and Fan Man really letting loose.

9. Trip to Alabama to see Dad's new piggies, followed by a nauseatingly memorable 16 hour drive home.

10. This bitchin' blog.

Welcome home! ...maybe he should have stayed in Canada.

"They say that breaking up is hard to do"

2009-07-09T08:27:00.000-07:00

Ah, the Carpenters and their melodramatic lyrics. "You tell me that you're leaving, I can't believe it's true. Darlin' there's no living without you...Don't take your love away from me, don't you leave my heart in misery. Cause if you go then I'll be blue. Cause breakin' up is hard to do..." Lamenting over love lost in a melodic soft rock groove can soothe any broken heart, or so the Carpenters' Grammy shelf would have you believe. Personally, I find myself downloading more upbeat 'suck it' tunes.

Now, some of my friends have ended their relationships (long term relationships in some cases) and seem to bounce back effortlessly. I admire their resilience as well as their ability to move quickly onto the next phase, broken heart be damned! My nosey, inner anthropologist forces my curiosity and I insist they tell me - what is your secret! How do you go from being deliriously in love to 'ah, it wasn't working so I called it quits' in a matter of moments? Most frequently the response has been - I knew it had been over for quite some time, I just didn't want to call it off right away because I didn't want to hurt him/her. (or) I thought we could work things out but [insert partner's shortcomings] so I knew it was over. - I have thoughts on both of these scenarios.

The first, knew it had been over/didn't want to hurt them strikes me as somewhat selfish. Is it not more hurtful to find out that the person you've been 'in love' with has been feeling nothing towards you for quite some time? So when they finally do decide to leave your oblivious ass without so much as a tear, aren't you left dumbfounded and hurt by the fact that you didn't even get a chance to fix things? I have indeed been guilty of this. It's easy to check out of a relationship while you're still in it, so that by the time something better comes along parting is effortless. This is probably cruel and cowardly, but happens quite frequently nonetheless. There are two people in a relationship and both of them should be aware their relationship's health and status. It's so much easier to say than do this - I'm such a hypocrite, ha! On the other hand, I've got to believe that no one is so ignorant that they didn't truly see it coming. There's usually at least a few subtle signs. Dwindling or routine sex. Poor communication. And the biggest sign - minimal arguing. When you stop having disagreements or fighting, only a fool would believe it is due to your maturing love. I believe arguments are a key indicator that you still care about growing and learning from one another.

The second break up scenario - tried to work on things, partner failed. I am also guilty of this. When you convince yourself that you've tried everything in your power to make your relationship work and yet it still remains miserable it can only mean one thing, your significant other is a lazy schmuck. Right? Let's be honest, did you really do everything or anything differently? Did you really commit to change? Did you really attempt to right your own personal wrongs? I doubt it. I know I liked the idea of changing and fixing things, but I didn't exactly tackle my own shortcomings first. It's easy to point the finger, easy to blame someone else for either your deficiencies or the sad state of your relationship. Sometimes a relationship has just simply run its course. Not necessarily anyones fault and that's okay. Relationships are hard. We all know this. But when your relationship becomes so difficult for so long that you forget why exactly you fell in love with eachother in the first place, it's time to re-evaluate what it is you're working so hard for and whether it is in fact worth it.

For a long time I believed that I was the type of girl to fall in love quickly. Now I realize I just wanted to believe I was 'in love,' projecting all those mushy relationship feelings onto some poor sap when the moment suited me. When I finally became cognizant of this false relationship and all of its shortcomings, I had no trouble terminating our 'love.' When it takes roughly a week to get over someone, I've got to believe you were never really that enamored to begin with. I became painfully aware of my inability to let go or get over someone after my last relationship. I'd say I spent a good year and a half mourning the loss. I realize now that I let my disappointment and fear hold me back for far longer than was really necessary, but I needed time to grieve. It wasn't merely the thought of losing my best friend, but losing my future plans that scared me the most. I had everything mapped out and suddenly it was as if someone destroyed the only blueprint of my future, leaving me to frantically search for the memory of what I had so long been striving for. Alas, my recollection eluded me and ultimately forced my hand - we were done. There's no governing rule or standard by which we cope with the loss of a relationship. No right way to grieve, no wrong way to proceed. If you need a day or a week or even months to feel miserable, go right ahead! If you need to cry or scream, let it out! No sense holding back or hiding, you deserve to feel or not feel anything. I'm not embarrassed that it took me so long to let go. Honestly, I probably haven't yet completed this whole moving on phase. Some days are better than others. I'm emotional, I'm overly analytical, I'm neurotic, hell - I'm a woman! It's probably not fair to bring someone new into my life at the moment but I'm trying to keep an open heart. I don't want to miss out on something that could be amazing simply because I'm clinging to some ridiculous notion that I'll 'be ready,' just not yet. I'm not going to wake up to a 'vision' showing me that anything's changed, encouraging me to put myself out there. Although this would be ideal, I tested my Spock intuition recently and found it to be non-existent. Guess I'll have to go the old fashioned route and join Match.com.

My hero, Bob Vila

2009-07-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

Most women have a vague sense of the man they desire or at least some of the necessary qualities conducive to holding their attention. For me, it's two simple attributes - I want a hero, and I want someone who rivals Bob Vila in the handiness department. I feel that these expectations are neither unrealistic, nor overly ambitious. It's really quite simple.

I want a hero. A man that makes me feel secure, protected, puts my needs before theirs, whispers impossibly romantic things, and takes charge. Some of my favorite movie heroes include: John Cena in The Marine. Don't judge me. When he first comes home, scoops his woman into his arms and carries her effortlessly to the bedroom, sigh. Not to mention he's frickn' ridiculous chasing down her captors through the woods...hero! Then there's Troy. Forget the ridiculous love story of Paris (Orlando Bloom) and Helen (Diane Kruger), it's the passion between Achilles (Brad Pitt) and his captive Briseis (Rose Byrne). Aside from Achilles' macho antics and astonishing physique, his tenderness is unparalleled towards his little prize. Finally, the legendary Scot, William Wallace (Mel Gibson) of Braveheart. The initial plight of Wallace to avenge his wife's brutal murder is very touching and admirable, but it's the tryst between him and Princess Isabelle (Sophie Marceau) that infiltrates my lusty thoughts ::breathe:: What does this mean for the men out there who do not possess the necessary skills to wield a longsword, nor find their beloved captured by sinister forces? Well, to be a 'modern day' hero, one must simply make their woman feel as if they would step up if ever a challenge arose. We're not talking some wild west showdown rather, troubles of every day existence must be combated. Compromise, listen, patience, reassurance, passion, keep these at the forefront of your ambitions and you will be a hero!

Bob Vila. I've loved this man since Bob Vila's Home Again and various guest spots on Home Improvement's - Tool Time. [For serious Vila votaries, you will also applaud his cameo on Hot Shots! Part Deux] Who doesn't admire a hybrid of Martha Stewart/MacGyver in the home? This man could do it all. Although this is the ideal, what I ultimately desire, I'm willing to settle for someone who merely knows how to get things done. Whether or not you know how to reconstruct, revamp, rebuild, or restore anything is beside the point. You simply need to figure out a way to get it done! I think nothing less of a man who calls a professional in to fix a problem, or fix your mistake. Just get it done! I don't ever want to know how my plumbing works. I don't ever want to know how electrical wires connect or generate energy. I don't care. If you want to take a stab at my electrical work and end up blowing every appliance and electronic I own, fine! So long as you tried and you write me a check. I don't want to know what words like torque, conduit, jig or chassis mean. I'm not saying I will sit idly by (collecting buttons) while you take care of everything, all I ask is you to do the things I detest. I enjoy cooking and cleaning, laundry and shopping for household items. If we can strike a balance where you pick up my slack and I yours, we're golden!

A "Lesson" on letting go...

2009-07-06T19:06:00.000-07:00

We're suppose to think fondly upon our previous relationships as great lessons in life and love. But what happens when your 'lessons' are simply reminders of how foolish you were or how much time you wasted? What is the value in that? Everyone likes to think that when one relationship ends, you can chalk it up to a great learning experience. You've grown, matured, somehow this person who no longer is suppose to matter really helped you discover yourself? Not sure I buy this. On some level we do learn new things from our past relationships. For instance, I learned that a man who invites you to random locations, doesn't really let you into his life, and seems to disappear for lengthy periods of time is not sexy and mysterious. Rather, he may just have a girlfriend (with a child) he's stashed away for 2 years. That was a really valuable lesson. Huh? I suppose I could hire private investigators and stalk someone in order to better 'understand' them and make sure they don't necessarily have a back up gal waiting in the wings, but how exactly is this a feasible solution to my lesson learned? Another little gem - when a man consistently tells you to "not think so much" it is not because he's concerned for your cognitive health but rather, he is an idiot and you're using too many big words and/or ideas. Again, I'm pretty sure I'm always going to continue to think, probably a lot. Perhaps the day I decide to relinquish my "thinking so much" faculties and pursue a life of button collecting I will find my perfect man? Me haves doubts.

So I find myself wondering whether these "lessons" do more harm than they're worth? Personally, my previous relationship woes did not lend themselves to a triumphant epiphany or life altering course of action. They were constant admonitions of my short-sightedness and willingness to abdicate my self-respect. Why then would I hold on to these "lessons?" We are fallible creatures, destined to repeat our mistakes. It's just the natural course of growing up. I'd like to believe that past relationships are in the past for a reason. Something was amiss. Someone didn't quite fit the bill. Somewhere you lost your way. I'm not saying that it's even feasible to completely disregard your previous relationships, but it's detrimental to hold onto them. If you want to move forward, you've got to let go.

I constantly find myself comparing potential boyfriends to ghosts of the past. Badgering details out of them concerning their previous girlfriends. Why? Is it because I'm looking for clues that this will turn out like our anterior affairs? Relationships are dynamic. By their very nature they are not easily replicated. Whether or not your new 'love' is a polar opposite of the previous, your situation is different. Your pasts are different. When trying to compare the new to the old or remember the cautionary lessons you've learned, you're inherently compromising your chance for growth with this person. I'm no Matlock, I misread clues and overlook obvious plot twists on a frighteningly regular basis. At some point you've got to let your past go. Forget the "lessons" you've supposedly gleaned from the experience. They should be regarded simply as reminders of how far you've come. Not everyone is meant to teach you something. Not everyone is capable of shaping your future.

Embrace the pragmatic effects of your relationships. Don't dwell on the "lessons" you've learned in the past because your future relationships will never perfectly resemble one another. Be happy you've moved on or at least found yourself in a place where you're strong enough to begin moving forward. Holding onto your "lessons" only empowers your past faults. Start with a clean slate, keep your heart open and expect nothing less in return.

DBBF

2009-07-05T12:06:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine recently found out that her new boyfriend is having a tough time...deciding whether or not he wants to rekindle the flame with his ex-fiance or continue dating my friend. Hmmm...poor guy. Aside from the obvious WTF elements to this dilemma, I can't help but wonder when exactly did men decide that they ever get a choice? In anything. Let me be clear. I'm all for equality and sharing duties and all that other women's lib BS but at the end of the day women basically call the shots or at least need to feel they are. The key component that men need to remember in this equation - pick your battles. You need to let us win just a few more than you or we get real 'difficult.' When DBBF ("douche bag boyfriend") actually confesses that he's having a tough time deciding which woman he wants I can't help but feel compelled to jam a few of his nether regions in a vice. Seriously?! On what planet does ANYONE feel they are so superior that they just get to pick and choose whomever they please, whenever it suits them. We are not concubines, and you are no prince. During your highschool-college years this may fly. Break up with boring boyfriend because you meet someone more exciting, they get boring too, go back to old boring boyfriend, and repeat. Where I draw the line is when DBBF has logged almost 4 decades into his dating regime and still feels this is an appropriate course of action.

Let me paint the scenario for you. DBBF starts dating my beautiful, charming, sexy, witty, caring friend. I'm bombarded on a weekly basis about their amazing sex life. Everything's going remarkably well until DBBF has a few minor hiccups in his life (ie. moving) and has a total meltdown. Again, 4 decades of tools to deal with lifes dilemmas, total meltdown. My friend is confused, slightly hurt at his sudden withdrawal from her and I can't help but think there's more to this saga. Sure enough! DBBF's ex calls him out of the blue (apparently knew he was already involved with someone else) and wants another go at things. Ladies, I am as conniving and selfish as the rest, but this has got to stop. Men are gullible and need their egos stroked constantly in reassurance of their manliness. It's not a fair fight. What DBBF should have done was tell the ex he's moved on, happy, life good, the end. Instead he wants to 'hear her out.' As if she perhaps put together a PowerPoint presentation highlighting why she's the better pick? That way he can make a really informed decision. What kind of an idiot even puts himself in that position? What did he think was going to happen? Again, not a fair fight, DBBF needs his little ego stroked. Meanwhile, my friend gets to wait for him to make up his mind? Since when do we have to prove ourselves? Prove we're worth your time and energy? Women want to be with men who feel blessed to have them. Privileged to be seen with them. Honored that they were chosen. Responsible for our happiness and security. That's what a REAL man does.

My advice to her - you make the choice for him. What woman wants to be any man's second pick? Even if DBBF has a revelation that maybe his ex is not quite the winning choice, what woman would choose to stay with a man who actually had to mull over it and then tell you he was doing so? We are insecure, fickle creatures, but men like DBBF need to learn that we will not tolerate this childish bullshit. I don't care if your body rivals Michelangelo's David. I don't care if you drive a $60,000 car and make more than the president. I don't care if your porn star skills in the bedroom breaks headboards. YOU ARE NOT that special. YOU ARE NOT irreplaceable. YOU DO NOT get a choice.

Independence Day!

2009-07-04T12:07:00.000-07:00

In 1776 our great nation declared independence from Great Britain. The 13 American colonies banded together during the American Revolution, ultimately telling Great Britain, "We think you're being a real controlling bitch, and we need a separation"...or something to that effect. Probably the most well known phrase in the Declaration of Independence:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

What does this mean for us as Americans? We are entitled to all the richness that life has to offer. The opportunities to do what we want with what we've got. The responsibility to utilize our God-given talents in order to improve not only our lives, but the lives of those around us. Our great nation thrives because our freedoms allow us to pursue our talents, our dreams. We must celebrate our diversity. We must celebrate the bounty this land has to offer. We must celebrate our freedom. We must celebrate our Independence.

Has anyone ever driven 16 hours before?

2009-07-03T10:57:00.000-07:00

I stumbled into my condo around 8:30 yesterday morning after having driven through 5 states in a staggering 16 hour period. I DO NOT recommend this. At one point I felt as if I would have been safer had I pounded a bottle of Bacardi 151 then gotten behind the wheel. When you're so tired that you're actually feeling sad about the suicide rate of bugs on your windshield and tempted to swerve into 'just one' construction barrel...it's time to pull over. Alas, I pushed forward, fueled by some liquid speed substance my dad concocted (that probably could have landed me in jail had I been stopped), and a hearty dose of pride. As if this may come up in a conversation one day - "Hey, has anyone ever driven 16 hours before with two dogs, one cd, and a dead iPod?" "Funny story, I did!" "Wow, you are one hell of an American!" ::applause and some high fives all around:: Probably not.

The trip was wonderful. Basically just sat around the pool drinking beer and margaritas for 3 days. My dad's brothers and two of my cousins were there as well. These guys are hilarious. One of my uncle's includes at least a few comments regarding his 'big arms' in most stories and encourages me to repeat that little fact when I'm talking about him later. My dad's other brother is a big kid at heart, turning every activity into some sort of competition. You can't just dive off the diving board, you have to give it a clever name then execute and await judgement. I was quite impressed with his 'double axle circumvent 3000.' Middle-aged men cannon ball contests are highly entertaining, especially when they are dead serious about your critique. One of the funniest nights was when my dad brought out his new cowboy hat (I swear he goes hunting in Texas once and the guy thinks he's Walker Texas Ranger) and Uncle 'Big Arms' and Uncle 'Double Axle' took turns trying it on, walking the bow-legged walk and throwing out more than a few 'howdies, yes ma'ams, and I reckons.' Oh you silly Yanks! We're easily amused by Southern antics.

Now that I'm home I've got a million things to do before I'm gone again (in a couple weeks I'll be visiting my cousin in Michigan, followed by a 2-week jaunt to Europe!). However, my sleeping schedule is so off at the moment that I can't seem to function properly and my plans for the weekend seem to be taking priority over my bills, cleaning, laundry, etc. That's what Mondays are for! My AC is still on the fritz but this 70 degree weather is giving me chills compared to the 100 degree Alabama temps I recently battled. Will probably hold off on this minor inconvenience for another week or so. I've never been one to rush things.

Summerfest tonight, very excited. I've been dodging drunken idiots since it started, now it's my turn to dart into the road and pause in traffic. I swear, there should be a law that specifically states, if you are hit by a car while leaving Summerfest, heading to Water St., it's your responsibility (should you live) to pay for any damages to the vehicle and/or emotional suffering of the driver. I'm a pretty alert driver, but when the Summerfest drunks stagger out in swarms with alarming bursts of traffic dashing from all angles, there's only so much one can do. Not to mention the drunk morons driving out of Summerfest. Last time I checked you weren't allowed to take up both lanes or weave an exciting pattern all the way down Van Buren. I also think it might be frowned upon to stop at green lights then cut across two lanes to make your turn. Ah Summerfest, you will be sorely missed when you are gone, but you can be a real bitch sometimes.

Alabama: The Boob Sweat State

2009-06-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm off to Alabama today to visit my dear ol' dad. Not exactly getting an early start as I've spent most of the afternoon searching for the perfect road trip songs. Have been haphazardly packing for a few days now and am pretty sure I have not included anything that remotely matches. However, this shouldn't be a problem as I foresee myself living in the pool trying not to combust in the sweltering heat. I'm thankful my AC has decided to take a vacation this summer, as I now feel fully prepared for the onslaught of UV rays and impending boob sweat. Will be back the 3rd as I plan to take Summerfest by storm and actually have plans for the Fourth of July that don't include mind numbing parades or foreigners.

Should have some good stories when I return, assuming a renegade band of hillbillies do not capture me for breeding.

Yankee...out

My Bucket List

2009-06-26T09:57:00.000-07:00

Everyone needs goals, right? I typically live 5 years in the future, completely managing to ignore what's going on at the present time, but staying true to form I've created my Bucket List:

1. Survive an African safari without contracting a flesh eating disease and/or being enslaved by natives.

2. Discover a way to maintain my tan for longer than 2 days.

3. Own a European villa

4. Learn to play the guitar...not just Gwiitar Hero

5. Finish reading Tocqueville's "Democracy in America"

6. Speak fluent Spanish

7. See a Packer Superbowl

8. Travel to Europe by myself

9. Climb a novice level mountain - we're not talking Everest, let's not be ridiculous

10. Write and subsequently get a book published

Want to own a home nestled in a nuclear testing site?

2009-06-24T10:44:00.000-07:00

I was indeed productive today...for a consecutive 3 hours. That's about all the "work" I can do at a crack before I feel compelled to completely shun responsibility. I say "work" because when you're not getting paid, it perhaps falls under volunteer services or maybe really boring and tedious hobbies? Either way, my bank account stays the same, and my brokers get one more day of stickin' it to me...I'm a chump. When the first couple commission checks never came in I figured they simply forgot. When asked for them, I was given the run around for a few weeks and then a guilt trip. Tough times...recession...housing market slow...my Porsche needed to be detailed...However, I've now accumulated 5 commission checks (one dating back to February 2008 in the staggering amount of $600) and now can't manage to locate my burglars er, brokers. Not to mention, the subdivision where my spec home resides looks to be either a nature preserve or a nuclear testing site. Overgrown weeds, For Sale signs toppled over, someone thought a t.v. from 1982 would be a nice addition to one of the lots, and my poor solitary home set within the back drop of a neglected real estate development. Have they fled the country? Could I rent out the subdivision to a cattle farmer and recoup some of my losses? Maybe allow RVs and campers to use some of the space for a nominal fee? See, I've got ideas on how to salvage this project!

I'm a huge fan of making lists. I make lists for everything. Shopping lists, to-do lists, packing lists, etc. A cursory glance at the to-do list sitting beside me, provides a tangible reminder of how much more I should have gotten done already. I choose not to allow this piece of paper to bully me around on such a beautiful day. So what if I've only crossed off 8 of the 23 tasks that need to be done before I leave for Alabama Saturday. I'm certain when the temp drops another 10 degrees I'll be reinvigorated and show that list who's boss. Now, if 90+ degrees is here to stay, then I can only throw up my white flag and succumb to the inevitable conclusion that 8 tasks is my limit.

The Enigma Known As "Dating"

2009-06-23T08:29:00.000-07:00

Went out for drinks last night with a dear friend of mine. Our conversation mainly tackled the current pressing issues of our 'love lives,' or perhaps, the lack thereof. The concept of dating to me is as foreign as soap to the guy who demands money from vehicles attempting to get to the on-ramp near my condo. I am utterly baffled and disconcerted, the nuances completely elude me. I've been seeking advice from trusted friends and relatives, but being roughly a decade behind the curve I feel like a foreign exchange student. One good tip I've gotten was that if the guy isn't a complete tool, you should give him at least 2 to 3 dates. Why is this helpful? Because I have a tendency to write people off pretty quickly. Not everyone brings their A-game to the table right off the bat. Especially, I've noticed, guys seem to take a bit longer to open up or expose their personalities. I suppose many girls too, but that's never been a problem for me. In fact, my in-your-face assertiveness could probably be taken down a few notches if I ever hope to find someone brave enough to tolerate me long term. Seeing as I'm a fledgling to the dating world, I feel my observations may bring a new perspective to those of you fortunate enough to have been an active participant in it already.

For starters, why do men and women constantly pursue what they've already had when it clearly did NOT work out in the past? Although your new guy/girl may differ physically from your previous disasters, the underlying personality flaws are almost always the same. For example, a friend of mine whom I suspect is a serious glutton for punishment, continues to date domineering, emotionally unstable women. Why the shock when the relationship crashes and burns? Sure, a strong-willed woman seems confident and sexy at first, but if you do not possess the backbone to reign her in a bit, you will be a despondent doormat before I get sick of blogging. A girlfriend of mine seems to have a magnet for unavailable men. Let me quickly define an "unavailable" man: He is emotionally stunted in some way, shape or form; fears or lacks the necessary skills to commit to someone other than his dog; priorities are not conducive to a meaningful relationship; may be married or an illegal alien. Yet every single one of the unavailable men she attempts to ensnare always "breaks her heart." I will admit, I lack sympathy. When you are so clearly repeating your previous mistakes I cannot muster the conviction to tell you it's not your fault - it is! You knew better! I digress...

I think my biggest issue at the moment is I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for anymore. I feel as if I've had a lobotomy and can no longer remember what type of man suits me. Which brings me to my next observation - pursuing other's 'dream' men/women. I look at those relationships around me that I envy and think "I need to find a man like that!" What I fail to envisage is that I am NOTHING like that particular guy's woman. I do believe opposites attract, but you have to be cognizant of your limitations and what you're willing to put up with. As previously noted, I'm assertive, stubborn, at times bossy, slightly neurotic and completely idealistic (really sounding like a catch now, right?). I've found that men with these similar traits DO NOT a perfect match make. However, submissive, quiet, pensive men do not always hold my attention. Where's my happy medium?

The Blame Game: Your mom is ALWAYS a winner!

2009-06-22T11:59:00.000-07:00

"People universally tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will maybe descend upon you like fine weather if you're fortunate enough. But that's not how happiness works. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it...You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it...If you don't, you will leak away your innate contentment. It's easy enough to pray when you're in distress but continuing to pray even when your crisis has passed is like a sealing process, helping your soul hold tight to its good attainments." [Excerpt from "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert - fantastic book if you've just come out of a relationship or need a little perspective on life.]

I am happy. Not shout it from the rooftops happy, but really truly happy...for the time being (I have never been accused of optimism). Maybe content is a better word, but my contentment has inexplicably forced me to be happy. A few years ago contentment was equivalent to mind-numbing boredom and something I desperately needed to escape from. However, this new found sense of contentment is born through a general feeling of peace. It's like waking up in a panic only to find out you've got at least another hour to sleep before the alarm assaults your dreams. I'm not happy because of any particular person or occurrence in my life recently, rather simply because I've chosen to be happy. I think that's the first monumental step, as trivial as it may seem. For the past 2 years I have chosen to be anxious, disappointed, hurt, bitter, filled with regret. I recall many nights spent feeling sorry for myself and thoroughly enjoying my own personal pity party. Everyone else hurt or misunderstood me, but I could always rely upon myself for sympathy and a relentless barrage of "poor me's." To anyone who has gone through a similar state of malaise, you can understand how absolutely draining and utterly unproductive your life becomes.

Case in point, my journal entry from June 2008: Have yet to post my resume (this was at a time when I was still pretending to look for a "real" job). Looking for jobs apparently interferes with my 5 hour naps. I'm a ridiculous person. Could this be re-worded to sound like an accomplishment? "Able to completely shun duty and responsibility to take coma type naps in the middle of the week for no reason and without hesitation." That proves commitment and courage I think. I wish being a waste of space was profitable.

July 2008: Another monumentally unproductive day. My life is seriously slipping away. Each day that passes is another missed opportunity, neglected relationship and major setback. I can't seem to find the motivation or courage to change things. I'm lonely, bored, and wholly unsatisfied with my plot in life, yet I make no progress towards change as each hour passes by. I'll lose myself in a book just trying to expire the day. I know what needs to be done or accomplished by something's holding me back. Fear? Laziness? I can't tell but the outcome is always the same. Laying my head down at night knowing I've survived yet another day, fearful of the next, disappointed in everything.

Ever since the 5th grade I have filled hundreds of pages in numerous journals, but not until the past couple years did I really notice this trend of self-loathing and pity. For those of you who don't journal, I encourage you to start. It's an amazing way to gain clarity of oneself and see how far you've come (or perhaps, in my case, where things started to fall apart). After what would have been my one year wedding anniversary I decided to engage in a little self-torture (huge fan of this activity; think watching the Notebook or Braveheart when you're emotionally unstable) and read through some of my old journals. What I discovered was shocking...in a good way. It made me realize that the majority of my unhappiness was due largely to no one's fault but my own. I think for awhile I actually enjoyed being miserable. However, this pursuit of perpetual anxiety and distress eventually cripples every facet of your life. A quote from Mark Twain that I love, "I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened," sums up my habitual melancholy beautifully. All of the perceived injustices from those around me promoted and reaffirmed my piteous thoughts and actions. My epiphany finally came when I realized no one else gave a shit. I was too busy tormenting myself, feeling as if I were some sort of target, that I failed to realize no one else was giving me a second thought. My narcissism was in full tilt. You mean to tell me, no one is conspiring to ruin my day? No one soul is concerned with my current state of being? Gasp! I'm embarrassed to admit it now, but I believe it helps paint a more vivid picture of why this new found happiness is such a relief.

I'm a huge fan of the Blame Game. I have an uncanny ability of finding reasons why my inadequacies are not my fault. Usually the winner of the Blame Game is my mother. In sort of a sadistic, albeit juvenile thought process, I can turn any situation into a "mom screwed me up" conclusion. For example, why did I go 3 years without health insurance? Mom never taught me how to get it. Why do I despise working out? Mom didn't set a good example with her own fitness routine, nor renewed my gym membership. You see how easy this game is.

I'm happy right now because I choose to take responsibility for my happiness. I choose to stop blaming everyone else for things that may upset me because I'm the only one who can control my reactions. When you realize that happiness is something attainable for all, yet fleeting as warm weather in Wisconsin, you learn to embrace it and fight to keep it. You need to remind yourself daily to stop feeling badly about the things you can't control and take ownership for the things you can. It is your choice on how to regard the circumstances of your life. Execrable existence or opportunity for growth?

Cos-NO, NO, NO-politan

2009-06-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

As I sit here waiting for the rain to stop, mindlessly flipping through this month's Cosmo magazine, I'm noticing a common theme: really stupid, "get noticed," look like a nutcase advice. Don't get me wrong, every human being with a vagina has felt at some point or another that Cosmo, the 'Bible,' has had a few poignant moments of clarity, but seriously? Do girls need more reasons to feel insecure about their appearance? More tips on how to please their guy? More trivial things to obsess about? Newly single myself, I confess I'm more intrigued by Cosmo's articles than when I was in a serious relationship. After years with the same man, one no longer feels compelled to dress like a school girl, work on her oral technique or try out the new flying lotus sex position. (Perhaps why I'm now single?) So with an open mind, I devoured the articles with a new sense of vigor, just waiting to find that perfect, fool-proof, "a-ha" piece of dating advice to help me navigate through this new stage of life. Sadly, my "a-ha" moment came in the form of "WTF kind of advice is this to give to an already confused single gal?" Let me highlight some of the articles I found particularly unhelpful. In fact, one might say they are monumentally detrimental to finding a guy, let alone keeping one interested. Particularly in the "Man Manual." For example: the titillating "What kind of smile is he flashing?" article. As if girls don't obsess enough over a guy's 'signals,' why torment yourself one step further by worrying about whether or not his smile is "polite, contemptuous, or sensitive?" If you're with a guy and staring intensely at his mouth aren't YOU sending the signal that your either a lusty lunatic or perhaps hearing impaired? Then there's the "Hold your guy's gaze" Turn-On Tip. Instructions: Mid-kiss, pull back and penetratingly stare into his eyes to convey passion, intimacy and more importantly, stalker-ish obsession. If a guy did this to me, I would find it creepy and obtrusive. Just finish kissing me, then we'll gaze menacingly into eachother's eyes. My favorite tip in "Feel So Freakin' Sexy," while watching a movie (by yourself or with a guy) involving a sexy actress, strip down to your underwear. This is somehow suppose to boost your ego and put you in a sexy mood? WTF? Who sits in their underwear watching movies trying to feel sexy unless they're watching a porno or just really weird? Finally, 4 pages of "What He's Really Thinking" to give a girl lucky enough to have found someone to put up with her brand of crazy, a surefire way to screw it all up. You can take 1 of 3 life altering quizzes, or really get ahead of yourself and do all of them, ensuring that you will take your relationship from "yeah, we're happily dating" to "why did he take a restraining order out on me?" Given the fact there's 2 possible answers per question, one should deduce that the results may be slightly biased. Here's what I've deduced - Cosmo gives you the perfect advice on how to ruin your self-esteem, thus ensuring you'll buy more magazines for the beauty and fashion tips; perfect advice on how to over analyze and potentially ruin your relationship (or chances of ever being in a relationship) because you're obsessive and insecure, thus ensuring you'll buy more magazines for the Man Manuals and Love & Lust sections. No wonder so many of the women I know are neurotic messes...including this gal. Marketing at its best!

Best of the 100 Naughty Sex Questions #100 - What does being inside me feel like for him? Stick your finger in your mouth and suck and you'll get an idea....you know you're going to do this regardless how stupid and inaccurate this may be. Food for thought - what does this mean if you're a thumbsucker as a child?

The Essence of Boredom

2009-06-19T09:22:00.000-07:00

I think by the time you're 25 and can't find a better use for your time other than blogging, it can only mean one of two things - a) your bursting with creativity that will not rest until it's shared with the world, or b) you really need a meaningful hobby, job or fish to take care of. I'm going to have to resign to option b. Woke up bright and early this morning, not quite sure what the plans were for the day, but filled with optimism at the possibilities of what this Friday might bring. 3 hours later...I started a blog. In my defense, I would be doing something else if the weather had fulfilled its end of the bargain - sunny, mid-80s - however, it's humid and raining. How can I be expected to take the world by storm when the storm is keeping me away from the world? Yes, I do own a raincoat; No, I will not be wearing it in public, walking around like a purposeless lunatic. So here I sit, waiting for the storm to pass, waiting for inspiration to strike. Suppose I'll settle for mild introspection at this point.