Friday, August 21, 2009

It's a Case of Perspective-Lapse

I started this blog as a place to write about men and dating.

Someone emailed me the other day to tell me that my blog was "that of a crazy person." I thought, "Thank you for taking the time out of your day to be concerned with my mental health." He wasn't telling me anything I haven't already thought about myself. Come on guys, all of us girls are crazy, we just only let it out on anonymous blogs and to our girlfriends and mothers. Those of us that aren't anonymous about it are on The Real Houseives of Atlanta beating each other up down in Atlantic Station.

But then over the past several weeks news keeps showing up that makes me feel like everyone else is crazy (maybe because I'm not dating right now - I've taken a turn for the sanity?). Whatever it is, here's my advice to those of you out there with a little crazy of your own going on:

Today, the one thing that is standing out to me as a lesson is that I am easily outraged. Is it that or is it that everyone else is being so outrageous? Is my meter off kilter? Is it my problem or everyone else’s because I’m starting to think a lot of you are in a serious state of perspective-lapse.

Allow me to assist you in re-gaining some perspective.

Discliamer: I do not believe you have ALL lost perspective, but obviously a few people in very powerful positions, some of the general population, lawmakers in California, and most everyone at CNN is in some sort of perspective-viewing funhouse mirror.

Yea to my fellow Americans that voted on the CNN poll about whether or not they agreed with the release of the Lockerbie bomber. However, to the 9% of you that said that you agreed with the release (at the time that I checked it last) I ask, is it dark up there where your heads are? No terrorist should have a hero’s welcome. No murderer should step off a plane to flag-waving adoration. What a way for the world to spit in the faces of the families of the survivors. Shame on you! And Libya, shame on you too for not taking great measure to ensure a quiet (undeserved) homecoming. Congratulations, you have reignited a unified hatred for your country by not handling this with more discretion (at least with 91% of Americans that read CNN’s website). And…NO, he doesn’t deserve to die at home with his family. He took that right away from the 270 people he killed. So, 270 horrible deaths alone in a jail cell before he deserves any sympathy.

Disagree with me? Then should criminals with cancer be permitted to get away with murder? You know, as long as they’re sorry and stuff.

Now that I’m being all nice and abrasive, it’s time to insult California. You can’t be abrasive without insulting California. By the way, California is beautiful but based on some of news I read, I’m concerned that living so near a fault line may be screwing with your heads. Not everyone’s head seems to be affected, but perhaps some liberals have softer heads than others. I don’t know. And, don’t get all indignant, I said “some,” not “all.” Wait until you’re sure I’m talking about you before you get all snippy.

California is considering a bill that would release 27,000 inmates early. I thought that there HAS to be some rational explanation for such an absurd idea. Well, there was an explanation…rational is subjective. It seems a panel of three federal judges (ok, so there’s no proof these three are from California) issued an order that California must reduce its prison population by 40,000 inmates by September. Their reasoning is (and this is copied verbatim from the CNN website ) “the crowded prison system violates prisoners’ constitutional rights.”

Excuse me, Your Horror…er…I mean, Your Honor, “What the #*$& about MY constitutional rights?!?!?!” What about the rights of all the soft-headed California liberals that haven’t committed crimes? I may not agree with them but I damned well support their right not to live in a more dangerous community because you’re an idiot. I’m not saying we shouldn’t work on a solution to fix overcrowding but turning them out into the streets isn’t a solution, it’s just lazy. Besides, when these prisoners committed crimes they were convicted for, we didn’t sentence them to the Marriott. We sent them to Prison. As far as I’m concerned, set up tents and cots in the prison yard. Take the money you spend on providing them cable and put it into the “build a bunk” fund. Do we really care if our prisoners miss an episode of The Hills? Do we really want our sexual predators watching America’s Next Top Model? Has ANYONE really thought this through?

Ok, I know the article also says that California is not releasing violent criminals but the recidivism rate in California is 70%. That’s not just for violent criminals. If you make this easier, shorter, more froo-froo comfortable, then how is that discouraging recidivism? And I don’t really care if Mr. Joe Prisoner wasn’t violent when he stole Ms. Beverly Hills’ TV, some criminals aren’t violent because they haven’t had the opportunity to get violent. Break into a house, no one is home, no violence. Break into a house, get surprised by a homeowner coming home, and that’s the turning point. So, there may not be as big of a difference between non-violent and violent criminals as you think. You don’t know who’s violent until they’re cornered.

So, I’m sorry California, I have the constitutional right to be able to go to California and be safe. Releasing 27,000 criminals that haven’t served their time isn’t doing your due diligence. Disagree? How about a little perspective? I bet Libya thinks this is a GREAT idea.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Shock me Amadeus!

People surprise me every day – and not usually in a good way. There’s the guy that showed up on my doorstep 2 years after we broke up with roses begging me back. I know you’re thinking that this was sweet but we broke up after only a month and I’d moved since then so he had to go stalker-style to find me. And, since he had a history of showing up on my doorstep drunk and crying and screaming that he loved me (seriously a month people, just a month) back 2 years ago, I was forced to be extremely clear about what will happen next time he steps foot on my property. He makes me glad I own a gun and have an alarm system. However, if he tries the 2am screaming on the lawn thing again, he won’t have to worry about me shooting him. Since he sounds something like a wounded moose he should worry about my neighbor the hunter. Lucky for us all, he hasn’t been back (that I know of).

Then there’s the guy that walked up to me randomly one day at a gas station and gave me a single rose telling me he thought I was beautiful. I was both flattered and surprised and absolutely SURE he was going to rob me or shove me into the trunk of my car. I know, why can’t someone just do something nice for someone without everyone assuming they have bad intentions. I’m sorry, blame the people like my first example. Incidentally this man did not rob me or shove me in my trunk so it was just a very sweet gesture but he was at least 20 years my senior so we just didn’t have a chance. I’m sorry sir.

And it’s not just men that I find shocking. My friend’s daughter asked me when she was only 3 if I ever rubbed my vagina. I was speechless. I didn’t want to give the kid a complex about it but I didn’t want to encourage this kind of topic (or encourage her to spend too much time rubbing hers). And, I certainly wasn’t going to explain that it my age we have something way better called “the rabbit”. I told her that all vagina talk was for mommy. I have no idea how her mommy handled it but I’m pretty sure “the rabbit” wasn’t part of the conversation. However, she’s 6 now and she’s not asked me about my vagina again so I think I’m in the clear.

Today I was surprised by an acquaintance I made 3 years ago. Today I checked into myspace for the first time in months to see that I have a 2 month old email from him sitting there unread. Whoops. Turns out that 2 months ago he got divorced and can now admit that he’s had feelings for me since the day he met me 3 years ago. And yes, you read that correctly, I called him an acquaintance. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him in person. He’s invited me to a few house parties but I’ve never been able to go to any of them because of schedule problems. I’ve never talked to him on the phone. Our entire “friendship” was via myspace emails and comments and even those weren’t with any sort of regularity (as illustrated by the fact that one sat unnoticed for 2 months in my inbox).

I’d first like to point out that this is a lot of shocking information for an email. I had no idea your marriage was on the rocks. This is the kind of information that really should be broken slowly and in chunks, don’t you think? I guess there’s no protocol for the 3 year crush but simply telling me he got divorced was shocking enough for one email. Then maybe feel me out a little and ask about my life, if I’m dating anyone. Then if the coast is clear pull out the “I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time.” I guess given the frequency with which I’ve check my myspace email he figured that could take years and it was better just to jump in feet first.

The problem is that I have no idea how I feel about the notion because I am so shocked. Unfortunately there’s no protocol for responding to such events either. I don’t know what to say first, “I’m sorry I didn’t check my email sooner,” or “A lot can change in two months, is this still accurate and true?”

I’ll tread slowly but I am going to say this. This guy claims he’s had feelings for me for three years based on a few in person conversations and some email banter. So, there’s a chance that all the guys I’ve given my number to in bars are just waiting for their divorces to be finalized before they act on their feelings and call me up. That finally explains all the times I’ve given out my number only to never be called. So, guys, when you do call, break the news slowly – after all, I’d have never given you my number if I knew you were married.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Bringing 'em to Jesus with Sarcasm

I used my typical sense of humor in describing myself and what I’m looking for when I filled out my online dating profile. Apparently, no one else had a sense of humor about it because I have gotten a lot of emails commenting on how funny it was. Unfortunately, a lot of these emails are from people that aren’t good matches for me and even these guys know it. I’ve gotten all of the following:

“I wish I was a few years older”
“I wish I was a lot younger”
“I wish we lived in the same state”

But….this one is my favorite:

“I wish I wasn’t atheist.” (you see, I said it was important that my match shared my faith)

You hear that Jesus? I’ve nearly inspired faith in a non-believer through sarcasm. That’s pretty miraculous.

He has the

I recently admitted to myself that I wasn’t going to meet Mr. Right in any of the impossibly romantic scenarios I’d always imagined. Obviously we’ve long surpassed the chances of Mr. Right being my high school or college sweetheart. And that fantasy where my car breaks down and some hottie with a medical degree and a mechanical hobby pulls up behind me and fixes my car and subsequently proposes after he sweeps me off my feet is obviously never going to happen. First of all cars are far more reliable than they are portrayed to be in romance novels and when they do break down, the reality is that you call AAA and sit there for 2 hours in the sweltering heat and if someone does pull over to help you, he’s missing several teeth or he calls you “little missy.” And since I really hate jogging, I’m kind of putting my own wrench in that scenario where I twist my ankle on the trail and the same hottie with a medical degree stops to help me limp back to my car and by the time we get there he’s madly in love with me. So, my car’s not breaking down on the campus of a medical school of hotties in need of lovin’ and I’m not jogging in July heat in the southeast and it appears that men don’t just come knocking on my door to get a glimpse of me. I know, shocking!

As a result, I’ve decided to dip my toe into the online dating pool. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, however in previous experiences I’ve found that like the gene pool, someone should add more chlorine to the online dating pool. I still haven’t found the site where they pair up women that are college educated, career-oriented, financially stable, and successful with men deserving of such women. I have found plenty of sights where men living below the poverty line in mom and dad’s basement proudly display their GED on the wall and send me emails that say “your pretty” and “Theirs a lot more to me than you can read on my profile.” Yeah there is – there’s some proof that you shouldn’t have passed your GED if you can’t get the your/you’re their/there thing straight.

I’ve also found that online there seems to be a warped sense of reality. I didn’t specify the body type I’m looking for but I’ve noticed that people that indicate that they’re “a few extra pounds” have a different definition of “few” or “pounds” than I do. One guy looked like he may have eaten an entire civilization. Darling, that’s not a few extra pounds. And I understand a woman describing herself as curvy but what exactly is a “curvy” guy? Where are these curves exactly? What was wrong with “stocky” or “heavyset”?

All that aside, here’s my biggest problem. I’ve gotten several emails already. However, I realized that I’m responding to the guys with the cutest dogs in their pictures. Wait… Am I looking for a date or a dog? Maybe I’ve just assumed that if a dog likes him then he must be a good person. However, I’ve poked a hole in that theory too. The homeless guy that used to panhandle outside of the O’s games when I lived in Baltimore had a dog and I wouldn’t date him (but I would have taken his dog home). Am I just assuming that someone that has room for a dog in their life has a big heart? Well, let’s face it, dogs don’t come with a lot of baggage. They don’t complain about sleeping on the floor. They get excited over rawhide. I’m going to be a little more difficult to please at times. I mean, if you show up on my birthday with rawhide, we’re going to have issues. I obviously want these guys for their dogs. This is not how to get a dog.

A normal person would (have never ventured down the online dating road in the quest for canine companionship to begin with) go get herself a dog. She’d bond with it, love it, and then see how she felt about continuing the quest with online dating. The problem is that my schedule is so un-dog-friendly. A couple nights a week I don’t get home until after 10. I have a couple cats and they really love me. That should be enough. But a date would be nice and if I’m weighing my options, I may as well give a few brownie points to the guys with cute dogs.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Karma Can be a B*tch (Slap)

At the risk of sounding bitter, I’ve aptly named the aforementioned potential Mr. Right. He will heretofore be known as Mr. Ass-Hat. Mr. Ass-Hat aroused suspicion last week when his online flirtations with one Ms. Red-headed-run-on-sentence-whore caught my attention. This flirtation wasn’t new, it’s just that something started nagging at my head more and I didn’t think it was her lack of grammatical form. After all, anyone reading my blog knows that grammar is not my sticking point. Being the forward person that I am, I asked him point-blank if he was seeing someone else. This would have been the time to say, “No, I haven’t been seeing someone else, but I was considering asking someone else out on a date.” In fact, even if he’d said, “I have not been seeing someone else but as soon as I can corner her, I plan to boink the daylights out of this chick,” would have been preferable to the path he chose. He went with the path that assures me that there’s no one else, and if there was, we’d discuss it FIRST. Fine, I took away from that conversation that there was the possibility that someone else could come along but I’d have warning before I found her posting pictures from his bed on her twitter page. That, my friends is what earns you nicknames like Mr. Ass-Hat. And let me be clear, when you hear from me and the first thing out of my mouth is a question about the 9am posting on the red-headed slut’s page of the picture of your dog in your bed, you should not assume that I’ll still want to go to the concert next week with you “as friends.” After all, my friends don’t go around performing the emotional equivalent of spitting in my face. That’s the level of respect you just showed me and I’d honestly rather stick forks in my eye than pretend for an entire evening that I’m having a good time with you when all I can think about is, “I wonder if he changed the sheets since the last time I spent the night?” It’s not so much that we’re not going to get a couple Labradors, reproduce wildly and live happily ever after. That part is a long shot in any new relationship. The really hard to swallow part is that Mr. Ass-Hat actually holds me in such low regard that he didn’t stop to care what the ramifications would be when I found out about the red-headed grammar whore. Well, I’m sure you two will be happy together and just remember that what goes around comes around. If karma exists, you just told her you’re ready for one serious cosmic bitch-slap.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

If this were AA it would be a much bigger deal.

Today is February 17th. It’s a relatively unassuming day. I was supposed to have the car emissions tested today since it’s registered to a family member still and technically the tags expire tomorrow (on their birthday). It’s not a holiday, President’s Day was yesterday. I didn’t get to observe President’s Day by sleeping in and being lazy like most of my friends did, my company doesn’t celebrate presidents. We didn’t celebrate Martin Luther King either. You can bet your bottom dollar that Arbor Day will go unnoticed as well. While I enjoy airing my grievances about not having all government holidays off work and my disappointment at the lack of respect for shrubbery-friendly holidays, this is not my point. My point is that this morning, February 17 didn’t seem important. I was wrong, it’s a milestone day and I’m just relieved I noticed before it passed by uncelebrated like the presidents and Dr. King in my corporate prison.

You see, I received a call about my most recent lab work from the doctor’s office. It seems that my thyroid hormones are still not high enough. Good grief, you people are determined to give me the metabolism of a jack rabbit on cocaine. I already spend half my day fantasizing about steak and burritos. Not to mention the plethora of excuses I’ve been coming up with in meetings to explain the obnoxiously loud stomach growling coming from my end of the table despite the fact that we just finished lunch 19 minutes ago. ("Sorry, I'm fasting for Arbor day - my tummy might rumble a little.") Anyway, I had to count back to figure out how long I’ve been on the increased dosage of thyroid hormone and in the process I realized that exactly one month ago today, on January 17th, I was clad in leather drinking whiskey meeting the aforementioned potential Mr. Right. *Gasp* It’s like an anniversary! Our first date was only two days later.

I had to share this with the aforementioned potential Mr. Right (wow, all of you just simultaneously gasped “No!” to your computers in an attempt to stop something that’s already been done). Now, I knew this was risky. But, he can take it. On Valentine’s day he pointed out that I was “being corny” (which I was) and it was now time to use it to my advantage. I typed into the yahoo chat window, “Permission to be corny, sir?” He granted me permission and I told him that I’d realized the event at which we’d met was a month ago today. At this point he reminded me that we technically had met years before so it was really a re-meeting. Way to take the wind out of my sails there batman. Somehow “Happy one month anniversary of meeting me the second time and being smart enough to ask me out this time” just doesn’t flow. I was sitting there thinking, “Geez, if this was AA, it would be a bigger deal.”

I think I’ll just celebrate any other anniversaries I come up with alone in my head. Maybe I’ll have a little glass of wine and toast to my own corny little milestone. If I come up with enough meaningless milestones to have wine for, I might just get to see what a big deal AA is after all. With that in mind, I’ll skip tomorrow’s anniversary – first phone call. After all, I need to get the car emissions checked. But before I go to bed, I am going to say, “Happy Anniversary” because second meeting or not, it was the start of something. I’m curious to see where it goes from here.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Practically Perfect in Every Way

I’ve been contemplating nicknames for the aforementioned potential Mr. Right. I’m still thinking that he needs a nickname that doesn’t imply that I’ve already picked out Labradors and named our children (and for the record no, I have not named our children or picked out pets).

I caught myself rambling about him to my best friend because that’s what I do, ramble and tell my best friend EVERYTHING. She shot her cocktail out her nose when I told her that he’s practically perfect. Once she stopped laughing and stopped making those faces you make when you get a carbonated beverage up your nose, she pointed out that I’ve obviously found a brand new pair of rose-colored shades because, “If it comes with a penis, it comes with problems.”

She’s right, it’s just a matter of time before I find myself waving the empty cardboard toilet paper tube in his face crying (I’m assuming I’ll have PMS when this happens) because I just used a page out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog to wipe. But we’ll jump off that bridge when we get there.

It’s the “practically perfect” comment that gave me an idea for his nickname. Mr. Poppins? I had to think about it for a second. He doesn’t remind me of Mary Poppins in any way at all. He doesn’t have an accent, I’ve never seen him with an umbrella, and I’m quite sure he doesn’t float about. However, as far as I can see through these rose-colored shades, he’s my idea of perfection right now.

Then I saw his bedroom. Don’t get me wrong. I AM NOT JUDGING (and I’m certainly not volunteering to clean it up). I’m just saying that my fondest childhood memory of Mary Poppins was her ability to pick up everything off the floor with a snap of the fingers. He may be perfection to me right now but there’s been no finger snapping in his bedroom for quite some time. For the record, I’m a complete disaster myself. I really don’t care if his room is a mess, as long as I get to be in it with him (yes, you may turn away and puke – that was sappy, I’ll wait). I’m just saying, thus was the death of Mr. Poppins as a potential nickname.

I’ll keep pondering…

Sunday, February 8, 2009

When whiskey and leather pay off

There are certain times in life you find yourself looking for Mr. Right. You want that stable, dependable, smart and sweet guy that you can take home to momma as a potential future baby daddy. Then one day you realize there’s something fundamentally wrong with your relationship (like he’s so hairy you’re vacuuming the bed when he’s not in it or he’s boinking the neighbor and you wonder if she vacuums the bed so her husband doesn’t find out) and you break free and then you’re just looking for Mr. Right-Now. This is the guy you’d never vacuum a bed over (“Oh, let’s go to your place, mine’s being fumigated”) and certainly never cry if the neighbor was vacuuming her bed for him too because you’d just toss him away without a second thought.

And the last thing you’d expect is to put on a leather corset, go out with the girls, get wasted on whiskey and end up finding a Mr. Right. Yeah, I said Mr. Right. I was totally looking for a Mr. Right-Now. But…there he was and despite the fact that I was drunk, very agreeable, wearing leather, and (by the end of the night) making out with him, he asked me out on a date instead of just trying to take me home. Honestly in the state of mind I was currently in, taking me home would have been fine.

So, we went out on a date, where he kissed me goodnight. And another, where he kissed me goodnight. Five dates before he even tried to get to second base. Not what I would have expected out of a drunken leather-clad bar make-out scene. I kind of feel like I hit a jackpot.

It’s really too early to tell…but we’ll put “Mr. Right” down as a possibility for his nickname.

Excuse me

I’ve been way too quiet. Not that any of you have been pounding on my door looking for updates, I mean, I’m not sure I actually have any readers. However just in case one should exist, I should not keep you waiting for so long! I do have an excuse though and not like the fat kid claiming to have a thyroid disorder kind of excuse either, this one is 100% valid. You see, I have a thyroid disorder. I’m serious. Actually, I don’t have a thyroid anymore because it was more “cancer” than “disorder”. I know you’re sitting there wondering how my thyroid excuse is different than the fat kid excuse but it is totally different. First of all, I’m not making excuses for being fat – I’m actually not fat. I’m making excuses for being far too exhausted to blog. Once I got all energetic enough to start doing stuff again, I went for stuff that paid the bills like my job and then I added in things like actually paying the bills so blogging ended up near the bottom of the list. So, as you can see: totally excusable.

Plus, during this whole cancer fiasco, I had no Mr. insert-catchy-nickname-here to blog about. Mr. Damn was still all stuck up on his high horse and too busy being mad at me still to bother with worrying that I might have a terminal disease (ok, so thyroid cancer is pretty curable but still…it is cancer and he did know). So, the rose-colored glasses with which I gazed upon Mr. Damn are effectively shattered. In fact, they were all nice and broken and then when I stumbled upon a facebook picture of someone he assured me wasn’t his girlfriend kissing him that pretty much knocked that rose glass right out of the frame. Color him not-rose; color me stupid. I had suspected, but let’s all face it without our rose-colored glasses: I didn’t really want to know so I chose to believe what I wanted. Unfortunately picking your own truth only makes you stupider, not your truth truer.

However, I’m okay. My thyroid is gone and with the doses of synthroid they’re giving me, I have an excuse to eat like I’m carrying octuplets and still can fit into my skinny jeans. That alone is worth trading in rose-colored glasses. Just to clarify, I’m not carrying octuplets or anyone’s spawn for that matter, I’m just eating enough to support a small solar system.

But most importantly…ok, second-most-importantly since that cancer thing was kind of a big deal, I have someone new to blog about. I’m still working on the nickname though. You see, I really like him and I hope it sticks so I have to be very careful about finding the correct “name” for him…after all, there’s always the chance he could find this. He does work in IT and he does know I have an anonymous blog somewhere. He must never ever be left alone with my computer.

More to follow, stay tuned.
My Zimbio
KudoSurf Me!