Sunday, August 14, 2005
A Date With An Audi
I had a date with an Audi A4 Friday night. (Schnickers introduced us.) I’ve decided I’m going to have a long-term relationship with this Audi. For some reason I’m not having any commitment issues with him. (He must be the one!) He and I are in it for the long haul. I’ve already asked him to move in with me. I had to pay him to stay, but he was worth every penny and then some. He’s the strong, fast, quiet type with 4 wheel drive, 2.8 Quattro, sport suspension, manual transmission, green exterior and charcoal/black interior. Last night when we were alone… I whispered to him that I love him. He didn’t say anything back, but he didn’t have to. I could tell by the way he handled on the road… that he loved me to!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Burning Down The House
So, I almost burnt my apartment down this weekend… almost!
First I would like to present you with my explanation for this almost-accident. There really is a good reason for it! (Really…)
My world is currently in a state of chaos. I’m up to my ears in chaos. Yes, (I’ll agree with many of you who know me) the majority of my chaos is self-inflicted.
I’m currently attempting to search for and purchase a new vehicle (the insurance company totaled mine after my car accident in June). I’m trying to plan a class reunion (It’s already been 10 years!) I’m working two jobs and running a ton of errands before I leave on vacation next week. (I can't wait to leave town.) Lastly, I’m functioning on very little sleep. As you can all see, my life is unmistakably chaotic.
Anyway, here’s what happened… I woke up Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m. I was determined to go to church, even though I had to work at 11 a.m. I could barely open my eyes. I had gotten eight hours of sleep the night before, but I just couldn’t kick it in to gear.
I stumbled into the bathroom (and did my business). Then I stumbled into the kitchen, plopped a couple of eggs into a small pot with water and turned on the stove. (Mmmm, boiled eggs sounded good that morning.)
I went back into my bedroom and lay down. I listened intently for the water to start to boil; it would just be a few minutes. (Yeah, just a few minutes…)
I woke up around 10 a.m. to a sound that I thought was my alarm. It wasn’t! My fire alarm was going off and then I remembered… “Oh crap! The eggs!”
I ran into the smoke filled kitchen to see the eggs popping at the bottom of a waterless burnt pot. The eggs had split open and the insides were black and orange. At first I thought the orange was the yoke… it wasn’t! Good god, the inside of the eggs were actually starting to ember and glow. I dumped the eggs into the sink and poured water on them. (Phew!)
I had to stand under my fire alarm for the next few minutes fanning the smoke away, so it would stop chirping. My apartment wreaked the rest of the day. But, at least I didn’t die.
I’d live to see another day... another day of chaos.
First I would like to present you with my explanation for this almost-accident. There really is a good reason for it! (Really…)
My world is currently in a state of chaos. I’m up to my ears in chaos. Yes, (I’ll agree with many of you who know me) the majority of my chaos is self-inflicted.
I’m currently attempting to search for and purchase a new vehicle (the insurance company totaled mine after my car accident in June). I’m trying to plan a class reunion (It’s already been 10 years!) I’m working two jobs and running a ton of errands before I leave on vacation next week. (I can't wait to leave town.) Lastly, I’m functioning on very little sleep. As you can all see, my life is unmistakably chaotic.
Anyway, here’s what happened… I woke up Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m. I was determined to go to church, even though I had to work at 11 a.m. I could barely open my eyes. I had gotten eight hours of sleep the night before, but I just couldn’t kick it in to gear.
I stumbled into the bathroom (and did my business). Then I stumbled into the kitchen, plopped a couple of eggs into a small pot with water and turned on the stove. (Mmmm, boiled eggs sounded good that morning.)
I went back into my bedroom and lay down. I listened intently for the water to start to boil; it would just be a few minutes. (Yeah, just a few minutes…)
I woke up around 10 a.m. to a sound that I thought was my alarm. It wasn’t! My fire alarm was going off and then I remembered… “Oh crap! The eggs!”
I ran into the smoke filled kitchen to see the eggs popping at the bottom of a waterless burnt pot. The eggs had split open and the insides were black and orange. At first I thought the orange was the yoke… it wasn’t! Good god, the inside of the eggs were actually starting to ember and glow. I dumped the eggs into the sink and poured water on them. (Phew!)
I had to stand under my fire alarm for the next few minutes fanning the smoke away, so it would stop chirping. My apartment wreaked the rest of the day. But, at least I didn’t die.
I’d live to see another day... another day of chaos.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Asexual
I was recently accused of being ‘asexual’.
“Keith” is the one who said it. It was harsh!
Webster’s defines 'asexual' as being one of three things: “1. Having no evident sex or sex organs; sexless. (Dear god I hope that isn’t me…) 2. Relating to, produced by, or involving reproduction that occurs without the union of male and female gametes, as in binary fission or budding. (I’m not sure what that means.) 3. Lacking interest in or desire for sex. (I think this is what ‘Keith’ meant, when he called me asexual.)
The conversation started when 'Keith' and I were sitting on the couch, watching television and talking. We talked about last summer and the summer before that when we had gone out on a few dates here and there, but nothing ever happened between us.
I said to him, “I thought you were really cool and always wondered why you never pursued things with me.”
He hemmed and hawed and said something like, “Jane, I didn’t think you were attracted to me.”
I could tell he was holding something back. I pushed it a little more with him, “Well Keith, you always seemed to have a swarm of gorgeous women throwing themselves at you, whenever we went out in a group. I figured that if you were interested in me, you’d make the first move… and you never did.” (He did have a large number hot friends that were girls.)
He laughed a little bit, but it was a nervous laugh. He was definitely holding something back. “What is it? ‘Keith’, you can’t laugh like that and not tell me what you’re thinking!”
After a few more minutes of provocation, he finally admitted to me, “Well, Jane, I liked you and thought you were a ton of fun, but you just seemed well… kind of… kind of… asexual to me.”
It was dead silence between us for about 20 seconds. My eyes were huge and staring right at him. His eyes looked like they were waiting for a volcano to erupt. (Images of Marilyn Manson singing ‘The Dope Show' in his androgynous body suit ran through my head… Gross!) I didn’t know what to say. There was some more silence between us and then I said,
“Asexual?”
He still had a fearful look on his face, like he knew that he (totally) said the wrong thing. Some more time passed, then I said,
“And, that’s why you never made a move on me?” He nodded in response… and I mumbled under my breath, “absolutely ridiculous.”
Even more time passed… Thank goodness the T.V. was on, otherwise the silence would have been unbearable.
“Okay, now you’re telling me that for the past two years that we’ve known each other, you never made a move, because you thought I was asexual?” He nodded again.
I think I may have repeated it a few more times before I finally leaned in and started kissing him. (I’d show him.)
About twenty minutes later I gave him a breather.
He said he changed his mind.
“Keith” is the one who said it. It was harsh!
Webster’s defines 'asexual' as being one of three things: “1. Having no evident sex or sex organs; sexless. (Dear god I hope that isn’t me…) 2. Relating to, produced by, or involving reproduction that occurs without the union of male and female gametes, as in binary fission or budding. (I’m not sure what that means.) 3. Lacking interest in or desire for sex. (I think this is what ‘Keith’ meant, when he called me asexual.)
The conversation started when 'Keith' and I were sitting on the couch, watching television and talking. We talked about last summer and the summer before that when we had gone out on a few dates here and there, but nothing ever happened between us.
I said to him, “I thought you were really cool and always wondered why you never pursued things with me.”
He hemmed and hawed and said something like, “Jane, I didn’t think you were attracted to me.”
I could tell he was holding something back. I pushed it a little more with him, “Well Keith, you always seemed to have a swarm of gorgeous women throwing themselves at you, whenever we went out in a group. I figured that if you were interested in me, you’d make the first move… and you never did.” (He did have a large number hot friends that were girls.)
He laughed a little bit, but it was a nervous laugh. He was definitely holding something back. “What is it? ‘Keith’, you can’t laugh like that and not tell me what you’re thinking!”
After a few more minutes of provocation, he finally admitted to me, “Well, Jane, I liked you and thought you were a ton of fun, but you just seemed well… kind of… kind of… asexual to me.”
It was dead silence between us for about 20 seconds. My eyes were huge and staring right at him. His eyes looked like they were waiting for a volcano to erupt. (Images of Marilyn Manson singing ‘The Dope Show' in his androgynous body suit ran through my head… Gross!) I didn’t know what to say. There was some more silence between us and then I said,
“Asexual?”
He still had a fearful look on his face, like he knew that he (totally) said the wrong thing. Some more time passed, then I said,
“And, that’s why you never made a move on me?” He nodded in response… and I mumbled under my breath, “absolutely ridiculous.”
Even more time passed… Thank goodness the T.V. was on, otherwise the silence would have been unbearable.
“Okay, now you’re telling me that for the past two years that we’ve known each other, you never made a move, because you thought I was asexual?” He nodded again.
I think I may have repeated it a few more times before I finally leaned in and started kissing him. (I’d show him.)
About twenty minutes later I gave him a breather.
He said he changed his mind.
Monday, August 01, 2005
A T.V. Date?
I was invited over for another "T.V. Date" with Keith tonight. I'm not sure what to call this. Is this a date or isn't it? I'll keep you posted...
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Non-Dating Update
I have done something this past week and a half that is quite strange for me… I haven’t dated. Instead, I’ve spent my spare time hanging out with friends and in one case an ex-boyfriend that I’m now friends with. My ‘date nights’ have turned into ‘friend nights’ (or ‘drama-free nights’).
Last weekend, my friend Amelia and I spent an entire evening discussing the finer points of religion, the new Harry Potter book, and what it would be like to be armless. It was great fun and became even more fun after we finished off our first bottle of Chardonay. Our second bottle had us sitting on the floor trying to drink our glasses of wine with just our feet and toes. The experiment was a failure, but we laughed so hard it made us snort.
The next evening I met up with my friend Margo. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her, because she travels so much for her job. Margo is my ‘romantic British flick friend’. Last Christmas her mother-in-law gave her the A&E Romance Collection DVD set. (Her husband refuses to watch them with her.) Throughout the year we’ve worked our way through mini-series after mini-series. We finished up ‘Emma’, ‘Tom Jones’ and ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Our next conquest is ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’.
On occasion we try to mix things up. Once we interrupted our ‘romantic British movie’ night with the Sci-Fi Channels production of ‘The Legend of Earth Sea’ (Margo and I share the same terrible taste in television). Another time (when I was depressed about the ’40 Year Old’ situation) we watched ‘The Sweetest Thing’. (Did you really think I could go an entire blog entry without mentioning him?) Anyway, we love that movie and Margo always jokes that she’s Christina Applegate (sexy and savy attorney) and I’m Cameron Diaz (non-committal blonde)…. (Awe, sookie sookie!)
Last weekend was one of those occasions when we decided to divert from the norm. (Don’t worry Colin Firth, we won’t neglect you for long.) We decided to see ‘Fantastic Four’. The movie was so-so, but the fun part about hanging out with Margo is going to the super market before the movie, buying all of our candy and goodies cheap and then smuggling the items into the theater undetected in her Gucci purse. I love living on the edge!
As I mentioned earlier, I even hung out with an ex-boyfriend this past week. It’s a surreal experience to hang out with an ex. Especially when he reads your blog. It was really nice. We sat on my couch for four hours, watched PBS, ate Dairy Queen and discussed each other’s current dating situations. Some of his insights into my dating predicaments were quite refreshing.
Now, I’m sure some of you were wondering what ever happened on my date with Keith. Let me tell you… nothing. Keith has a demanding job. He didn’t have a lot of energy left on the evening we were supposed to go on our date.
Instead, we just met at his townhouse, sat around, watched Comedy Central and joked for a few hours. (It’s really hard to pull yourself away from the T.V. when Reno 911 is on.) He was really tired and to be honest, so was I. It was great to catch up with him and I had a good time, but it wasn’t much of a date. We’ve been emailing and calling each other a few times a week since then. But, we’re starting to run into the same problem that we had the last few times we tried dating… we can’t get our schedules to match. Hhmmm… maybe we are destined to always ‘just be friends’. (Bridget has actually been saying that for a while…)
Last weekend, my friend Amelia and I spent an entire evening discussing the finer points of religion, the new Harry Potter book, and what it would be like to be armless. It was great fun and became even more fun after we finished off our first bottle of Chardonay. Our second bottle had us sitting on the floor trying to drink our glasses of wine with just our feet and toes. The experiment was a failure, but we laughed so hard it made us snort.
The next evening I met up with my friend Margo. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her, because she travels so much for her job. Margo is my ‘romantic British flick friend’. Last Christmas her mother-in-law gave her the A&E Romance Collection DVD set. (Her husband refuses to watch them with her.) Throughout the year we’ve worked our way through mini-series after mini-series. We finished up ‘Emma’, ‘Tom Jones’ and ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Our next conquest is ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’.
On occasion we try to mix things up. Once we interrupted our ‘romantic British movie’ night with the Sci-Fi Channels production of ‘The Legend of Earth Sea’ (Margo and I share the same terrible taste in television). Another time (when I was depressed about the ’40 Year Old’ situation) we watched ‘The Sweetest Thing’. (Did you really think I could go an entire blog entry without mentioning him?) Anyway, we love that movie and Margo always jokes that she’s Christina Applegate (sexy and savy attorney) and I’m Cameron Diaz (non-committal blonde)…. (Awe, sookie sookie!)
Last weekend was one of those occasions when we decided to divert from the norm. (Don’t worry Colin Firth, we won’t neglect you for long.) We decided to see ‘Fantastic Four’. The movie was so-so, but the fun part about hanging out with Margo is going to the super market before the movie, buying all of our candy and goodies cheap and then smuggling the items into the theater undetected in her Gucci purse. I love living on the edge!
As I mentioned earlier, I even hung out with an ex-boyfriend this past week. It’s a surreal experience to hang out with an ex. Especially when he reads your blog. It was really nice. We sat on my couch for four hours, watched PBS, ate Dairy Queen and discussed each other’s current dating situations. Some of his insights into my dating predicaments were quite refreshing.
Now, I’m sure some of you were wondering what ever happened on my date with Keith. Let me tell you… nothing. Keith has a demanding job. He didn’t have a lot of energy left on the evening we were supposed to go on our date.
Instead, we just met at his townhouse, sat around, watched Comedy Central and joked for a few hours. (It’s really hard to pull yourself away from the T.V. when Reno 911 is on.) He was really tired and to be honest, so was I. It was great to catch up with him and I had a good time, but it wasn’t much of a date. We’ve been emailing and calling each other a few times a week since then. But, we’re starting to run into the same problem that we had the last few times we tried dating… we can’t get our schedules to match. Hhmmm… maybe we are destined to always ‘just be friends’. (Bridget has actually been saying that for a while…)
Friday, July 22, 2005
The Conclusion To A Long Drawn Out Story...
"40 Year Old" was in town last weekend. I picked him up from the airport on Saturday and we had a fantastic evening out. The old feelings were still there along with that undeniable spark. It was one of the best dates I've ever had with him. (Yes, for all intents and purposes... it was a date.)
He was busy all day Sunday and Monday with meetings and wrapping up the final details with moving the rest of his belongings. Monday evening I called him. I was tired (and I admit, a bit cranky because of certain female factors).
He was exhausted and apparently not extremely tolerant. I told him I wanted to see him again before he left on Tuesday.
"Jane, that's impossible... it's just not going to work out with my schedule." He yawned into the phone.
I whined at him, "Yeah, yeah... it's always about you and your schedule."
"Jane, I told you on Saturday evening that I wasn't going to have anymore time to see you. Listen, I'll call you in a few weeks." His voice started to raise... just a little.
In my mind, I thought to myself, 'a few weeks, that's a load of *expletive*'. But instead I mumbled under my breath... "Whatever."
He didn't like that. He got mad. "Why are you being so passive aggressive with me?"
I don't like being called passive aggressive, but it's funny because he's about the 3rd person in the past six months to have called me that. (Interesting... I'll explore that thought in another blog post.) Anyway, the tone of my voice became defensive and I went back at him, "Simply because I'm disappointed that we aren't able to meet up before you leave doesn't make me passive aggressive! Do you expect me to be happy when you tell me you'll call me IN A FEW WEEKS!"
He yelled, "I'm never going to call or talk to you again if this is how you're going to act!"
I let loose, "That is the most manipulative and mean thing anyone has ever said to me, why are you so hostile?"
He yelled back, "I'm lying in bed. I'm exhausted. I just want to go to sleep. I shouldn't have even picked up the phone, but it was you so I made an (expletive) exception!" (For the record, I didn't know he was almost asleep when I called. Also, there were alot more expletives mixed into this conversation.)
I tried to gain my composure and lowered my voice. "Listen, it's obvious that we're both tired and we're going to say something we'll regret. Let's talk about this later, okay?"
"Okay." Then the phone clicked on his end.
I was really upset.
The next morning I woke up and knew exactly what I needed to do. I sent him an email apologizing and telling him that what he said hurt me. He emailed back shortly thereafter and apologized saying that he would call me when he got off the plane so we could talk.
When he called later, we 'calmly' discussed 'us'. I told him that I couldn't see him anymore. That at most, we could be friends but preferably, friends that rarely (if ever) see each other. He said that he was disappointed with my decision, but understood.
THE END.
He was busy all day Sunday and Monday with meetings and wrapping up the final details with moving the rest of his belongings. Monday evening I called him. I was tired (and I admit, a bit cranky because of certain female factors).
He was exhausted and apparently not extremely tolerant. I told him I wanted to see him again before he left on Tuesday.
"Jane, that's impossible... it's just not going to work out with my schedule." He yawned into the phone.
I whined at him, "Yeah, yeah... it's always about you and your schedule."
"Jane, I told you on Saturday evening that I wasn't going to have anymore time to see you. Listen, I'll call you in a few weeks." His voice started to raise... just a little.
In my mind, I thought to myself, 'a few weeks, that's a load of *expletive*'. But instead I mumbled under my breath... "Whatever."
He didn't like that. He got mad. "Why are you being so passive aggressive with me?"
I don't like being called passive aggressive, but it's funny because he's about the 3rd person in the past six months to have called me that. (Interesting... I'll explore that thought in another blog post.) Anyway, the tone of my voice became defensive and I went back at him, "Simply because I'm disappointed that we aren't able to meet up before you leave doesn't make me passive aggressive! Do you expect me to be happy when you tell me you'll call me IN A FEW WEEKS!"
He yelled, "I'm never going to call or talk to you again if this is how you're going to act!"
I let loose, "That is the most manipulative and mean thing anyone has ever said to me, why are you so hostile?"
He yelled back, "I'm lying in bed. I'm exhausted. I just want to go to sleep. I shouldn't have even picked up the phone, but it was you so I made an (expletive) exception!" (For the record, I didn't know he was almost asleep when I called. Also, there were alot more expletives mixed into this conversation.)
I tried to gain my composure and lowered my voice. "Listen, it's obvious that we're both tired and we're going to say something we'll regret. Let's talk about this later, okay?"
"Okay." Then the phone clicked on his end.
I was really upset.
The next morning I woke up and knew exactly what I needed to do. I sent him an email apologizing and telling him that what he said hurt me. He emailed back shortly thereafter and apologized saying that he would call me when he got off the plane so we could talk.
When he called later, we 'calmly' discussed 'us'. I told him that I couldn't see him anymore. That at most, we could be friends but preferably, friends that rarely (if ever) see each other. He said that he was disappointed with my decision, but understood.
THE END.
To Blog Or Not To Blog (straight from the horse's mouth)
Dutch and I walked into the pub near my apartment (I can’t tell you how great it is to live 2 blocks from one of the best Irish pubs in the Twin Cities).
We sat down opposite each other with our backs to the wall and our feet hanging over the front edge into the aisle. (This was our regular people watching pose.) I looked back and forth at the variety of butts sitting on the stools in front of us at the bar.
“Hey Dutch, I think I can see that chick’s butt crack.”
He leaned over and looked, “Yeah, just a little bit… cool.”
Our discussion this night varied in many respects, but it primarily focused on whether or not I should post my next blog about “40 Year Old”. I ended things with him earlier this week. (Permanently in my mind.) I said goodbye and good luck. It’s a drama filled blog about our final encounter.
I had already talked to "Bridget" about it. She thinks I need to post it and bring some closure the matter. She thinks I’ve been protecting “40 Year Old” to some extent… that I haven’t showed my friends, family and fellow bloggers what a jerk he is. But, "Bridget" has never met him. Her opinion is based solely on what I’ve vented to her about. In fact, I’ve never introduced him to any of my friends.
"Austin HP", agrees and thinks it will help me move on and forget him. But, he said he would understand if the subject matter was too personal to share with everyone. (Hhhmmm, but there’s something to be said about the power of confession.)
Tonight, I’m talking to “Dutch” about it. These were his thoughts:
“Don’t post it! You’re going to see him again, because you always do. By posting a final conclusion to the “40 Year Old” saga, you are setting yourself up for major criticism from everyone. Because, you and I both know that the next time he’s in town you will go out with him. Don’t do it!”
“I think I’m going to do it!" ("Dutch" rolled his eyes) "But, don’t worry Dutch… I’m going to wait a few days until my hormones calm down and then I’ll be able to think and write more clearly.”
“Dutch” shrugged off my decision, “Honestly Jane, I don’t care… I don’t read your blog anyway. Why should I when I can hear it directly from the horse’s mouth? I only read it when you tell me that you mentioned me in it.”
(Neigh…Neigh... Clippidy Clop) “Dutch” is still bitter about how I described him in the blog entry “Off the Hook”. This was his comment:
“Jane, I wasn’t even sitting on a stool, you made me sound like a complete idiot by making me fall off of it when you said, “Off the Hook”… you aren’t that funny… you’re entertaining… but you aren’t that funny!"
"Dutch" and I sat at the bar until 1:00 a.m. (on a school night no less) I was perfectly content to keep sitting there, but Dutch made me leave when Oasis’ Wonderwall started playing on the overhead.
“Today is gonna be the day, when I’m… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…” I couldn’t remember the words exactly. But, I sang them anyway.
“Jane, get up, we’re leaving now!”
“Dutch, I want to finish singing the song. They haven’t gotten to the chorus yet. I love this song.” (I was singing it just loud enough for the people around us to enjoy it.)
“Jane, I’ll leave you here and you’ll have to walk home if you don’t leave with me now.” (the two blocks to home weren’t scaring me… his threats were idle.) “Listen, It’s not that you don’t have a nice voice. I just don’t want to listen to it.”
I looked at him and said, “Okay.” (He had a valid point.) I let him drive me home and I went to bed.
We sat down opposite each other with our backs to the wall and our feet hanging over the front edge into the aisle. (This was our regular people watching pose.) I looked back and forth at the variety of butts sitting on the stools in front of us at the bar.
“Hey Dutch, I think I can see that chick’s butt crack.”
He leaned over and looked, “Yeah, just a little bit… cool.”
Our discussion this night varied in many respects, but it primarily focused on whether or not I should post my next blog about “40 Year Old”. I ended things with him earlier this week. (Permanently in my mind.) I said goodbye and good luck. It’s a drama filled blog about our final encounter.
I had already talked to "Bridget" about it. She thinks I need to post it and bring some closure the matter. She thinks I’ve been protecting “40 Year Old” to some extent… that I haven’t showed my friends, family and fellow bloggers what a jerk he is. But, "Bridget" has never met him. Her opinion is based solely on what I’ve vented to her about. In fact, I’ve never introduced him to any of my friends.
"Austin HP", agrees and thinks it will help me move on and forget him. But, he said he would understand if the subject matter was too personal to share with everyone. (Hhhmmm, but there’s something to be said about the power of confession.)
Tonight, I’m talking to “Dutch” about it. These were his thoughts:
“Don’t post it! You’re going to see him again, because you always do. By posting a final conclusion to the “40 Year Old” saga, you are setting yourself up for major criticism from everyone. Because, you and I both know that the next time he’s in town you will go out with him. Don’t do it!”
“I think I’m going to do it!" ("Dutch" rolled his eyes) "But, don’t worry Dutch… I’m going to wait a few days until my hormones calm down and then I’ll be able to think and write more clearly.”
“Dutch” shrugged off my decision, “Honestly Jane, I don’t care… I don’t read your blog anyway. Why should I when I can hear it directly from the horse’s mouth? I only read it when you tell me that you mentioned me in it.”
(Neigh…Neigh... Clippidy Clop) “Dutch” is still bitter about how I described him in the blog entry “Off the Hook”. This was his comment:
“Jane, I wasn’t even sitting on a stool, you made me sound like a complete idiot by making me fall off of it when you said, “Off the Hook”… you aren’t that funny… you’re entertaining… but you aren’t that funny!"
"Dutch" and I sat at the bar until 1:00 a.m. (on a school night no less) I was perfectly content to keep sitting there, but Dutch made me leave when Oasis’ Wonderwall started playing on the overhead.
“Today is gonna be the day, when I’m… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…” I couldn’t remember the words exactly. But, I sang them anyway.
“Jane, get up, we’re leaving now!”
“Dutch, I want to finish singing the song. They haven’t gotten to the chorus yet. I love this song.” (I was singing it just loud enough for the people around us to enjoy it.)
“Jane, I’ll leave you here and you’ll have to walk home if you don’t leave with me now.” (the two blocks to home weren’t scaring me… his threats were idle.) “Listen, It’s not that you don’t have a nice voice. I just don’t want to listen to it.”
I looked at him and said, “Okay.” (He had a valid point.) I let him drive me home and I went to bed.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
The Trouble With Audis (Part II)
I have been receiving an overwhelming amount of feedback from my friends about the psychology of cars and in particular "Audis".
This is what "Bridget" had to say:
"There are a few blogs that say: Real men drive Audis. Which is of course to say, men who feel inadequate drive the bigger names, Mercedes, BMW, Lexus. Men who drive Audis could have two reasons for choosing them. One, they appreciate the German engineering and luxury of the Audi but don't feel the need to acquire the big name. Conversely, by not acquiring the big name, they do not acquire the big payment. 'Austin HP' who drives the country cousin is a smart man. He bought the German engineering and comfort without the big price tag. You see, even though Audi salesmen deny that VW and Audi are the same company or the same manufacturer, VW salesmen claim that the Passat is the exact same thing, made on the same platform with the same engine, as the A4. Both can't be true, but they look an awful lot alike.
So, real men drive Audis. Or so they tell themselves. -Bridget"
"Bridget" also recommended this website, and I have to say... it has a pretty interesting take on the subject... http://www.bankrate.com/brm/news/auto/20021204a.asp
This is what "Bridget" had to say:
"There are a few blogs that say: Real men drive Audis. Which is of course to say, men who feel inadequate drive the bigger names, Mercedes, BMW, Lexus. Men who drive Audis could have two reasons for choosing them. One, they appreciate the German engineering and luxury of the Audi but don't feel the need to acquire the big name. Conversely, by not acquiring the big name, they do not acquire the big payment. 'Austin HP' who drives the country cousin is a smart man. He bought the German engineering and comfort without the big price tag. You see, even though Audi salesmen deny that VW and Audi are the same company or the same manufacturer, VW salesmen claim that the Passat is the exact same thing, made on the same platform with the same engine, as the A4. Both can't be true, but they look an awful lot alike.
So, real men drive Audis. Or so they tell themselves. -Bridget"
"Bridget" also recommended this website, and I have to say... it has a pretty interesting take on the subject... http://www.bankrate.com/brm/news/auto/20021204a.asp
The Trouble With Audis (Part I)
I noticed a trend with many of the men I’ve dated recently. None of them have any particular qualities or looks in common, except one thing. They drive Audis!
I’ve never completely understood the psychology of cars and men. (Or as Tom Cruise calls it, the pseudo science of cars and men.) Supposedly, the type of car that a man drives can give you insight into his personality. Hopefully, one of my readers can explain this to me.
“40 Year Old” drove a white Audi A4. It was a nice car, but nothing extravagant. He even let me drive it on occasion. (The fool!)
“Creepy John” drove a black Audi A6. (FYI, “Creepy John” has been renamed by many of my friends and readers as “Boob Grabber”.) Anyway, his was a beautiful car. The wheels were… well, they were just…lovely. (You all thought I was going to say “off the hook” didn’t you!)
“Mr. Personality” drove a white Audi A6. This car was even prettier than “Boob Grabber’s” A6. When I rode in it. It felt like I was on a yacht. There was wood paneling everywhere. But, he lied about everything… so who’s to say that it was even his car?
I have a date tomorrow with “Keith”. I’ve been on dates with “Keith” before, a few times two years ago and again one year ago. I enjoy going out with him and he enjoys going out with me, but we have never (and I mean never) been able to get our schedules to work out. (Everything from vacations, funerals and final exams have interfered with our plans.) He travels a lot for his job and I have two jobs. We started emailing each other lately. He is notorious for not stepping up and making the first move (because typically with him, the girls make the first move). To expedite matters, I sent him the following email:
“Dear Keith, I’m sending you this emailing to subtly suggest that you ask me out for drinks or dinner or both. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to ask you myself. –Jane”
He emailed right back, “Dear Jane, I have a great idea! How about we meet for drinks or dinner or both? When are you available? – Keith”
We’re going out tomorrow (unless the gods intervene and cause some unforeseen event to prevent us from going out…. honestly it wouldn’t surprise me).
Okay, now that you have the background on “Keith”… here’s the snafu. “Keith” drives a black Audi A4!
What does this mean? (Beats me…) I feel like I’ve come full circle with Audis (and perhaps men).
I talked to “Austin HP” about this trend. He flipped out, “Jane, oh my god… does this mean I have to sell my blue Passat? (He loves his Passat.) The Passat is the country cousin to the Audi A6. I don’t want my car to be distantly related to ‘Boob Grabber's’ or ‘Mr. Personality's’ cars!”
I told him he was fine, because his Passat was blue and I’ve never met a blue car I didn’t like.
Maybe my friend “Schnickers” will have some insight into this subject. He drove an Audi A4 for years, but it was a burnt orange or metallic sunset color. I’ll have to ask him.
I’ve never completely understood the psychology of cars and men. (Or as Tom Cruise calls it, the pseudo science of cars and men.) Supposedly, the type of car that a man drives can give you insight into his personality. Hopefully, one of my readers can explain this to me.
“40 Year Old” drove a white Audi A4. It was a nice car, but nothing extravagant. He even let me drive it on occasion. (The fool!)
“Creepy John” drove a black Audi A6. (FYI, “Creepy John” has been renamed by many of my friends and readers as “Boob Grabber”.) Anyway, his was a beautiful car. The wheels were… well, they were just…lovely. (You all thought I was going to say “off the hook” didn’t you!)
“Mr. Personality” drove a white Audi A6. This car was even prettier than “Boob Grabber’s” A6. When I rode in it. It felt like I was on a yacht. There was wood paneling everywhere. But, he lied about everything… so who’s to say that it was even his car?
I have a date tomorrow with “Keith”. I’ve been on dates with “Keith” before, a few times two years ago and again one year ago. I enjoy going out with him and he enjoys going out with me, but we have never (and I mean never) been able to get our schedules to work out. (Everything from vacations, funerals and final exams have interfered with our plans.) He travels a lot for his job and I have two jobs. We started emailing each other lately. He is notorious for not stepping up and making the first move (because typically with him, the girls make the first move). To expedite matters, I sent him the following email:
“Dear Keith, I’m sending you this emailing to subtly suggest that you ask me out for drinks or dinner or both. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to ask you myself. –Jane”
He emailed right back, “Dear Jane, I have a great idea! How about we meet for drinks or dinner or both? When are you available? – Keith”
We’re going out tomorrow (unless the gods intervene and cause some unforeseen event to prevent us from going out…. honestly it wouldn’t surprise me).
Okay, now that you have the background on “Keith”… here’s the snafu. “Keith” drives a black Audi A4!
What does this mean? (Beats me…) I feel like I’ve come full circle with Audis (and perhaps men).
I talked to “Austin HP” about this trend. He flipped out, “Jane, oh my god… does this mean I have to sell my blue Passat? (He loves his Passat.) The Passat is the country cousin to the Audi A6. I don’t want my car to be distantly related to ‘Boob Grabber's’ or ‘Mr. Personality's’ cars!”
I told him he was fine, because his Passat was blue and I’ve never met a blue car I didn’t like.
Maybe my friend “Schnickers” will have some insight into this subject. He drove an Audi A4 for years, but it was a burnt orange or metallic sunset color. I’ll have to ask him.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Peep Show
The heat wave here in the Twin Cities has been relentless. The enthusiasm that we Minnesotans normally exert with the onset of warmer weather has waned. We are being forced back inside.
Yesterday we experienced a brief hiatus from the oppressive temperatures… a slight breeze began to blow. It was heavenly and the patios in downtown Minneapolis once again began to fill up and smiles returned the faces of its fine citizens.
Downtown was where I was heading... to meet a friend for drinks after work.
I was driving along I-94 when a big blue van started pacing along side my car. I didn’t notice it at first, but eventually I looked over at the driver and passenger. They were middle-aged men who were both looking down into my car… at me. I looked ahead and thought to myself, “why are they staring at me?”
It was extremely uncomfortable and I could see out of the corner of my eye that they were still staring down at me. This went on for over a minute (which is an eternity when you’re driving). I was starting to get mad, when I inadvertently glanced down at the front of my shirt.
(Oops!) Because of the way I had sat down in my car, my loose fitting sleeveless V-neck silk shirt gaped wide open. The two gentlemen in the van next to me had a clear and unobstructed view of the front of my bra and boobies.
I started steering my car with my knees and adjusted my blouse. The men knew they were caught and promptly sped away. The peep show was over! Although I can’t imagine that the size of my assets provided much entertainment. (I know I’d be disappointed.)
However, as they sped away, I noticed a logo on the side of their van. It said, “First Baptist Church”.
Classic!
Yesterday we experienced a brief hiatus from the oppressive temperatures… a slight breeze began to blow. It was heavenly and the patios in downtown Minneapolis once again began to fill up and smiles returned the faces of its fine citizens.
Downtown was where I was heading... to meet a friend for drinks after work.
I was driving along I-94 when a big blue van started pacing along side my car. I didn’t notice it at first, but eventually I looked over at the driver and passenger. They were middle-aged men who were both looking down into my car… at me. I looked ahead and thought to myself, “why are they staring at me?”
It was extremely uncomfortable and I could see out of the corner of my eye that they were still staring down at me. This went on for over a minute (which is an eternity when you’re driving). I was starting to get mad, when I inadvertently glanced down at the front of my shirt.
(Oops!) Because of the way I had sat down in my car, my loose fitting sleeveless V-neck silk shirt gaped wide open. The two gentlemen in the van next to me had a clear and unobstructed view of the front of my bra and boobies.
I started steering my car with my knees and adjusted my blouse. The men knew they were caught and promptly sped away. The peep show was over! Although I can’t imagine that the size of my assets provided much entertainment. (I know I’d be disappointed.)
However, as they sped away, I noticed a logo on the side of their van. It said, “First Baptist Church”.
Classic!
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Dry Spell
Of late, my dating life has slowed down dramatically. The saying holds true, ‘when it rains… it pours’. This spring I was bombarded with dates. I think the warming weather triggers a reaction in men. I call it ‘The Twitterpated Factor’. (See the movie ‘Bambi’ for a more in depth discussion on Twitterpation.)
However, now my dating life has come to a halt (not a screeching halt, but a definite halt). The springtime dating frenzy is over and the summer lull has set in.
I realize that I’m supposed to be on a dating sabbatical and I am enjoying my down time (really I am... I know Cali-Goose has a hard time believing that one), but right now I don’t even have the option of dating, even if I wanted to.
It’s been a while since I’ve talked to “40 Year Old”. Yeah, I get an email here and there (once… maybe twice a week), but it’s just short chitchat between us. I mean, what else can it be? He lives half way across the country.
My prediction is that my dating life will remain sluggish if not dead in the water until the fall. The fall weather has an effect similar to the spring’s ‘Twitterpated Factor’. I call it “The Snuggle Factor” (for lack of a better catch phrase). I theorize that the chill in the air and the shorter nights entice people to seek out other people for the purpose of cuddling.
Hopefully, “The Snuggle Factor” and me kicking my social life up a notch or two (after my sabbatical is over) will do the trick and produce more dates (hopefully). Otherwise, I may have to change my name from Jane Dater to Jane Dateless.
However, now my dating life has come to a halt (not a screeching halt, but a definite halt). The springtime dating frenzy is over and the summer lull has set in.
I realize that I’m supposed to be on a dating sabbatical and I am enjoying my down time (really I am... I know Cali-Goose has a hard time believing that one), but right now I don’t even have the option of dating, even if I wanted to.
It’s been a while since I’ve talked to “40 Year Old”. Yeah, I get an email here and there (once… maybe twice a week), but it’s just short chitchat between us. I mean, what else can it be? He lives half way across the country.
My prediction is that my dating life will remain sluggish if not dead in the water until the fall. The fall weather has an effect similar to the spring’s ‘Twitterpated Factor’. I call it “The Snuggle Factor” (for lack of a better catch phrase). I theorize that the chill in the air and the shorter nights entice people to seek out other people for the purpose of cuddling.
Hopefully, “The Snuggle Factor” and me kicking my social life up a notch or two (after my sabbatical is over) will do the trick and produce more dates (hopefully). Otherwise, I may have to change my name from Jane Dater to Jane Dateless.
Off the Hook!
I was informed this weekend that I am the only person who still uses the phrase “off the hook”.
I was at Gabe’s with a group of friends that included “Bridget” (who was visiting from out of town) and “Dutch”. The topic of our discussion… Where was the best place to have breakfast in the Twin Cities? “Dutch” relentlessly defended ‘Keys Café’, (but only the White Bear Lake location). “Bridget” insisted upon the Grandview Grill. My restaurant of choice, “Rudolph’s”!
The Coors Light had gone down easily that night and I was determined to get my point across. To emphasize my belief that Rudolph’s had the best breakfast around, I got everyone’s attention at the bar and said in my most confident voice, ”Rudolph’s has the best Sunday brunch. It’s off the hook!”
I was confused for a good 30 seconds, because everyone at the bar (about 10 people) started laughing… at me. “Dutch” fell off his stool. Another friend, “Sandra” had to put her head down on the bar, because she was laughing so hard. Even the bartender had to put his shaker down. I didn’t get it until “Bridget” piped in, “Jane, I think you’re the only person left in the free world… or at least since 1990, that still uses the phrase, ‘Off the hook’.”
My face turned red (as usual... I hate having the complexion of Larry Bird). I shouted across the bar, “Bridget, I know for a fact that people were still saying ‘off the hook’ well into 1994!”
That probably wasn’t the best thing for me to say, because it just made everyone laugh even harder. “Bridget” gained her composure and looked at me sympathetically. “You’re right honey. I take it back. I think you’re the only person to use that phrase since the last decade.”
I appreciated that “Bridget” qualified her statement.
A FOLLOW UP NOTE:
“Dutch” and I went to the fireworks in downtown St. Paul yesterday evening. As we were walking to the patch of grass by the Science Museum with the best view, he started laughing to himself.
“What’s so funny Dutch?”
He shook his head, but had a huge smile on his face. “Jane, you know how I went to the Boys to Men concert at the Taste of Minnesota?”
I looked at him and said, “Yeah.”
“Well, you aren’t the only person that still says ‘off the hook’. One of the guys from ‘Boys to Men’ referred to something as ‘off the hook’ while he was on stage. It made me laugh out loud. I got a few strange looks from the people around me. No one could figure out what was so funny.”
I was vindicated! I WASN'T the only person left in the world that still says ‘off the hook’. Boys to Men still said it! Actually, I think “Junior” still says it to.
Anyway... to my friends, family and fellow bloggers: I hope your 4th of July weekend was ‘off the hook!’
I was at Gabe’s with a group of friends that included “Bridget” (who was visiting from out of town) and “Dutch”. The topic of our discussion… Where was the best place to have breakfast in the Twin Cities? “Dutch” relentlessly defended ‘Keys Café’, (but only the White Bear Lake location). “Bridget” insisted upon the Grandview Grill. My restaurant of choice, “Rudolph’s”!
The Coors Light had gone down easily that night and I was determined to get my point across. To emphasize my belief that Rudolph’s had the best breakfast around, I got everyone’s attention at the bar and said in my most confident voice, ”Rudolph’s has the best Sunday brunch. It’s off the hook!”
I was confused for a good 30 seconds, because everyone at the bar (about 10 people) started laughing… at me. “Dutch” fell off his stool. Another friend, “Sandra” had to put her head down on the bar, because she was laughing so hard. Even the bartender had to put his shaker down. I didn’t get it until “Bridget” piped in, “Jane, I think you’re the only person left in the free world… or at least since 1990, that still uses the phrase, ‘Off the hook’.”
My face turned red (as usual... I hate having the complexion of Larry Bird). I shouted across the bar, “Bridget, I know for a fact that people were still saying ‘off the hook’ well into 1994!”
That probably wasn’t the best thing for me to say, because it just made everyone laugh even harder. “Bridget” gained her composure and looked at me sympathetically. “You’re right honey. I take it back. I think you’re the only person to use that phrase since the last decade.”
I appreciated that “Bridget” qualified her statement.
A FOLLOW UP NOTE:
“Dutch” and I went to the fireworks in downtown St. Paul yesterday evening. As we were walking to the patch of grass by the Science Museum with the best view, he started laughing to himself.
“What’s so funny Dutch?”
He shook his head, but had a huge smile on his face. “Jane, you know how I went to the Boys to Men concert at the Taste of Minnesota?”
I looked at him and said, “Yeah.”
“Well, you aren’t the only person that still says ‘off the hook’. One of the guys from ‘Boys to Men’ referred to something as ‘off the hook’ while he was on stage. It made me laugh out loud. I got a few strange looks from the people around me. No one could figure out what was so funny.”
I was vindicated! I WASN'T the only person left in the world that still says ‘off the hook’. Boys to Men still said it! Actually, I think “Junior” still says it to.
Anyway... to my friends, family and fellow bloggers: I hope your 4th of July weekend was ‘off the hook!’
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
It's okay to "Just Say No"
You're all going to be so proud of me. I turned down a date. I was asked out by a Hennepin County Deputy Sheriff. He was really nice and had been extremely helpful, but I could see his angle. (Unfortunately, I had set myself up for it.)
After he finished helping me, I told him that I owed him big time. (I thought it was just an expression... but) He said, "You can always make it up to me by buying me a drink!"
We both laughed... it was witty of him (kind of), but I just wasn't feeling him.
I joked back, "Maybe I'll have to do that, but I don't venture out of Ramsey and Anoka counties too often..." (I needed to get out of there fast! I could see where this was leading...)
"Well, you could also make it up to me by letting 'me' buy 'you' a drink right now." (He was good! I have to admit... much more forthright than most Minnesota men.)
"It's a tempting offer, but I have to get back to my office. Maybe some other time..."
I didn't give him time to respond, because I was halfway down the hallway. I had escaped! I was home free! Phew! I did it! I just said 'no' (...kind of).
After he finished helping me, I told him that I owed him big time. (I thought it was just an expression... but) He said, "You can always make it up to me by buying me a drink!"
We both laughed... it was witty of him (kind of), but I just wasn't feeling him.
I joked back, "Maybe I'll have to do that, but I don't venture out of Ramsey and Anoka counties too often..." (I needed to get out of there fast! I could see where this was leading...)
"Well, you could also make it up to me by letting 'me' buy 'you' a drink right now." (He was good! I have to admit... much more forthright than most Minnesota men.)
"It's a tempting offer, but I have to get back to my office. Maybe some other time..."
I didn't give him time to respond, because I was halfway down the hallway. I had escaped! I was home free! Phew! I did it! I just said 'no' (...kind of).
Monday, June 27, 2005
Pork Chops and Cosmopolitans
I had the strangest experience the other weekend at my part time retail job. I was helping an older gentleman and his significantly younger wife (he looked about seventy and she looked about mid-forties). At least I think it was his wife… it could have been his daughter.
Maybe I need to restart the story. I was doing a terrible job helping an older gentleman and his significantly younger wife. I couldn’t seem to help them with anything. I kept joking and the old man seemed to appreciate it. He finally asked me, "It’s obvious that you don’t work here full time." (My lack of knowledge regarding the particular products probably clued him off.) "What do you do full time?"
I laughed, but was reluctant to say. "Um, I don't think you want to know."
Within two guesses, he had figured it out. I was in shock! Then he asked, "Did you graduate from (Undisclosed) University?"
My eyes got big and I stood there surprised and a little freaked out. I said, "Do I know you? How did you guess my occupation and my college?"
He grinned and said, "Jane, you’re an easy read. You’re probably wondering how I know your name… don’t worry… it’s because you’re wearing a name tag!" He was enjoying this.
I shot him a skeptical look. "Seriously, do I know you? What do you do for a living… run a psychic phone network?" He laughed and again said… "Jane, you’re an easy read!" (I’m still not sure what that means.)
We chatted a bit longer. It ended up that he was a restauranteur. He owns three popular places in downtown Minneapolis. I told him I’d always wanted to try one of his restaurants. He asked for my address and I gave it to him.
To my delight (four days later), I received $60 in gift certificates to all three of his restaurants. (I guess it’s true, I do have a way with older men!)
Dutch and I went to the Monte Carlo last Saturday. We had a riot! I drank cosmopolitans and ate pork chops and Dutch drank gin & tonic and ate shrimp. (I would have asked Junior, but he still hasn’t apologized for blaspheming the Pistons.)
After the Monte Carlo we headed over to the Newsroom and grabbed a table on their patio. We drank and drank and watched people walk by on Nicollet Avenue. (Well… I drank and drank. Apparently Dutch only had a Summit.) But anyway, it was a beautiful night. There was a warm breeze blowing through the city and the drinks were cold. Dutch ended up driving me home. The cosmopolitans hit me harder than expected. (Oops!)
I know I said I was going to avoid Minneapolis for a while, (at least until I got my mind off 40 Year Old) but free food will entice me anywhere… heck… it could even entice me back to Las Vegas. (But, that’s another story!)
On a side note: I made sure to send a 'thank you' note addressed to both the older gentleman and his significantly younger wife/daughter.
Maybe I need to restart the story. I was doing a terrible job helping an older gentleman and his significantly younger wife. I couldn’t seem to help them with anything. I kept joking and the old man seemed to appreciate it. He finally asked me, "It’s obvious that you don’t work here full time." (My lack of knowledge regarding the particular products probably clued him off.) "What do you do full time?"
I laughed, but was reluctant to say. "Um, I don't think you want to know."
Within two guesses, he had figured it out. I was in shock! Then he asked, "Did you graduate from (Undisclosed) University?"
My eyes got big and I stood there surprised and a little freaked out. I said, "Do I know you? How did you guess my occupation and my college?"
He grinned and said, "Jane, you’re an easy read. You’re probably wondering how I know your name… don’t worry… it’s because you’re wearing a name tag!" He was enjoying this.
I shot him a skeptical look. "Seriously, do I know you? What do you do for a living… run a psychic phone network?" He laughed and again said… "Jane, you’re an easy read!" (I’m still not sure what that means.)
We chatted a bit longer. It ended up that he was a restauranteur. He owns three popular places in downtown Minneapolis. I told him I’d always wanted to try one of his restaurants. He asked for my address and I gave it to him.
To my delight (four days later), I received $60 in gift certificates to all three of his restaurants. (I guess it’s true, I do have a way with older men!)
Dutch and I went to the Monte Carlo last Saturday. We had a riot! I drank cosmopolitans and ate pork chops and Dutch drank gin & tonic and ate shrimp. (I would have asked Junior, but he still hasn’t apologized for blaspheming the Pistons.)
After the Monte Carlo we headed over to the Newsroom and grabbed a table on their patio. We drank and drank and watched people walk by on Nicollet Avenue. (Well… I drank and drank. Apparently Dutch only had a Summit.) But anyway, it was a beautiful night. There was a warm breeze blowing through the city and the drinks were cold. Dutch ended up driving me home. The cosmopolitans hit me harder than expected. (Oops!)
I know I said I was going to avoid Minneapolis for a while, (at least until I got my mind off 40 Year Old) but free food will entice me anywhere… heck… it could even entice me back to Las Vegas. (But, that’s another story!)
On a side note: I made sure to send a 'thank you' note addressed to both the older gentleman and his significantly younger wife/daughter.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Game 6 and Benedict "Junior"
I couldn't watch the game. I sat there listening to the commentators, but didn't dare turn around. I was convinced that I'd jinx my boys… my “Bad Boys.”
I walked over to my couch, “Junior” was relaxing, sipping on some ice water and watching the game. He was rooting for the Spurs. (I hate him!)
I’d bitten off most of my finger nails and I just decided to walk away.
“Jane, come sit down on the couch and watch the game with me.” Junior didn’t even turn his head from the TV to tell me this.
“Junior, I can’t! Every time I walk over and check the score the Spurs pull ahead. I can’t do that to Detroit.” I’m not a superstitious person, but for some reason I'm convinced that I'm a bad luck charm. By me watching the game, it will effect whether Chauncy’s three point shot will go in or not. I’m a cursed fan. Every time I watch my team play, they lose!
I don’t think “Junior” minded me leaving the room and typing away on my computer. He was getting annoyed with my high pitched squeals every time Detroit missed a shot.
I yelled into the living room, “Junior, what’s the score?”
“91 to 86, it’s a time out.” He yelled back.
I waited a few seconds, then asked… “Who’s ahead?”
When he shouted back, “Detroit”. I knew my superstitions were not unfounded. I was helping my team by not watching them. I was making a difference… a real difference!
Junior yelled at me again, “Jane, it’s the final minute… you can watch now.” (Secretly I think he wanted me to watch, so that San Antonio would win… he was trying to sabotage the Pistons! He’s a traitor… Junior was born in Detroit!) I couldn't stand it anymore… I had to watch.
The Pistons won that night, but I watched all of game 7 and as a result they lost the series. I'm still not ready to talk about it. I don't know if I ever will be. I haven't talked to Junior since game 6 either.
Junior is my back up boyfriend (of sorts). Whenever either of us don't have a date (or have broken up with a significant other), but feel like going on a date... we give each other a buzz. I can always count on him to come out and listen to live music at a swanky lounge or club. But... my "Bad Boys" come first this time. I will not be speaking to Junior until he apologizes for his act of (Spur) treason.
I walked over to my couch, “Junior” was relaxing, sipping on some ice water and watching the game. He was rooting for the Spurs. (I hate him!)
I’d bitten off most of my finger nails and I just decided to walk away.
“Jane, come sit down on the couch and watch the game with me.” Junior didn’t even turn his head from the TV to tell me this.
“Junior, I can’t! Every time I walk over and check the score the Spurs pull ahead. I can’t do that to Detroit.” I’m not a superstitious person, but for some reason I'm convinced that I'm a bad luck charm. By me watching the game, it will effect whether Chauncy’s three point shot will go in or not. I’m a cursed fan. Every time I watch my team play, they lose!
I don’t think “Junior” minded me leaving the room and typing away on my computer. He was getting annoyed with my high pitched squeals every time Detroit missed a shot.
I yelled into the living room, “Junior, what’s the score?”
“91 to 86, it’s a time out.” He yelled back.
I waited a few seconds, then asked… “Who’s ahead?”
When he shouted back, “Detroit”. I knew my superstitions were not unfounded. I was helping my team by not watching them. I was making a difference… a real difference!
Junior yelled at me again, “Jane, it’s the final minute… you can watch now.” (Secretly I think he wanted me to watch, so that San Antonio would win… he was trying to sabotage the Pistons! He’s a traitor… Junior was born in Detroit!) I couldn't stand it anymore… I had to watch.
The Pistons won that night, but I watched all of game 7 and as a result they lost the series. I'm still not ready to talk about it. I don't know if I ever will be. I haven't talked to Junior since game 6 either.
Junior is my back up boyfriend (of sorts). Whenever either of us don't have a date (or have broken up with a significant other), but feel like going on a date... we give each other a buzz. I can always count on him to come out and listen to live music at a swanky lounge or club. But... my "Bad Boys" come first this time. I will not be speaking to Junior until he apologizes for his act of (Spur) treason.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Leave of Absence
I am taking a short-term leave of absence from blogging due to the NBA Finals. Updates on my dating adventures will resume after the Pistons defeat the Spurs in game seven. Thank you for your patience and continued support.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Wedding Invite
A few months ago I was invited to the wedding of an “Old Friend” of mine (who I happened to have a little bit of a history with). The history is sordid and too long to get into, but he called me to ask if I would come. I told him that I would think about it… and I have. I’ve gone back and forth for months as to whether I should make the trek across the country to see my “Old Friend / pseudo-ex-something” get married.
I haven’t seen him for 5 years (partly because of our sordid history). I would love to see him again, but I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t know how I’ll react seeing someone that I cared so much for get married to someone else.
I also can’t help but think about his fiancé. If I were in her shoes, would I want my future husband’s “pseudo-ex-something” coming to my wedding? (Probably not!) I talked to my “Old Friend” and told him what I was feeling. He told me I was being ridiculous and that he would be hurt if I didn’t come.
“Jane, you’re one of my oldest friends. I want you at my wedding. Everything will be fine, just come.” Then he said: “Would you even bother coming to my funeral?”
I told him, “Yes”.
Then he said, “Well, that is messed up. I would rather have you at my wedding than at my funeral.” (Hmmmm, he had a point.)
I don’t know what to do. I know that whatever we had is long done. We both moved on years ago, but I just don’t know…
I tried to convince “Cali-Goose” to be my date (he’s the best man), but “Cali-G” turned me down… something about how he’s bringing his girlfriend (Grrrr). I asked “Cali-G’s” little brother “Adonis”, but he can’t go, because his modeling career is taking off and he doesn’t have time. “Dutch” can’t come because he’s going to be in Montana. I guess I’ll be going by myself (if I go at all), which is fine… I’ve gotten really good at going stag to weddings (I haven’t had dates for the last 3 weddings I went to).
I haven’t seen him for 5 years (partly because of our sordid history). I would love to see him again, but I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t know how I’ll react seeing someone that I cared so much for get married to someone else.
I also can’t help but think about his fiancé. If I were in her shoes, would I want my future husband’s “pseudo-ex-something” coming to my wedding? (Probably not!) I talked to my “Old Friend” and told him what I was feeling. He told me I was being ridiculous and that he would be hurt if I didn’t come.
“Jane, you’re one of my oldest friends. I want you at my wedding. Everything will be fine, just come.” Then he said: “Would you even bother coming to my funeral?”
I told him, “Yes”.
Then he said, “Well, that is messed up. I would rather have you at my wedding than at my funeral.” (Hmmmm, he had a point.)
I don’t know what to do. I know that whatever we had is long done. We both moved on years ago, but I just don’t know…
I tried to convince “Cali-Goose” to be my date (he’s the best man), but “Cali-G” turned me down… something about how he’s bringing his girlfriend (Grrrr). I asked “Cali-G’s” little brother “Adonis”, but he can’t go, because his modeling career is taking off and he doesn’t have time. “Dutch” can’t come because he’s going to be in Montana. I guess I’ll be going by myself (if I go at all), which is fine… I’ve gotten really good at going stag to weddings (I haven’t had dates for the last 3 weddings I went to).
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Puppet Tricks Did The Trick
I was still moping around because "40 Year Old" had left so unceremoniously. I was going through the motions at work. I needed to get my mind off of things.
A suggestion by Sue my coworker did the trick. We hopped in her car after work and headed to downtown Minneapolis and the Theater District. We parked the car in the ramp, and hustled over to the box office (still in our skirts and heels). We didn’t have tickets and all the shows were either sold out or selling out quickly.
As we crossed Hennepin and started towards the entrance, we passed a man standing outside the restaurant next to the theatre. He was cute with shoulder length brown curly hair. Hmmmm… I thought, (as we eyed each other) that’s strange how he’s just hanging out on the street watching people walk by… like he has no place to go anytime soon.
Sue and I pranced into the box office and nabbed 2 of the last will call tickets for… (giggles, snickers and blushing) the world-renowned performance of… (more giggles, snickers and blushing) "Puppetry of the Penis…the art of genital origami".
Sue and I pranced back across the street to Zeno’s and ordered ourselves Mango Martini’s (Mmmmm…). We sat at the window bar and watched people walk by. (I love people watching.) Then we switched our attention to the cute guy across the street, still standing next to the restaurant, still looking like he had no place to go, still watching people walk by. (Hmmmm…)
It was time for the show to start and we headed back to the theater. The curly-haired cutie had disappeared. (But would reappear shortly… well not too short!) The crowd was lively to say the least. There were approximately 10 men in the crowd compared to 100-120 women. (I wondered, ‘why so few men?")
I really didn’t know what to expect. (The title should have clued me off, but the obvious always has to hit me in the head.) I was naïve enough to think the show would be a little more ‘artful’ than it actually was, but nevertheless… I was fully full frontally entertained! My cheeks and jaw hurt by the end of the show, because I couldn’t stop laughing and because my jaw couldn't stop dropping.
Oh yeah, and the man on the street… well he just happened to be one of the stars of the show! (Mmmmm Hmmmm...)
That theater experience really did do the trick! (Good god!) I didn’t think about "40 Year Old" being gone the entire performance. All I could think about was… how (in the heck) did those two guys twist their junk into a hamburger patty and buns?
But, my bliss was short-lived. As we left the theater, I started thinking to myself. (When was the last time I was here?) Then I remembered… This was the theatre that I came to with "40 Year Old" on our second date. We had gone there for a comedy show last winter. That was the night of our first kiss. (Yes Marvan, I did wait until the second date to kiss him.)
Sue and I stepped to the curb and I looked up and down Hennepin Avenue. (Crap!) Then I thought about Nicollet Avenue. (Crap! Crap!) Then I thought about Uptown. (Crap! Crap! Crap!) I’ve been to nearly half the restaurants, pubs and cocktail bars in the downtown with "40 Year Old". Not to mention every place and any place fun near Calhoun Square. I was reminded of him everywhere in Minneapolis. (Crap!)
I had to shake this. I had to stop being so emotional. (Stop it Jane!) I couldn’t avoid these places, just because I had so many recent memories at them with him. (Suck it up Jane! Quit being a sentimental whiner!)
Then I remembered the nice part about living in the Twin Cities. When Minneapolis isn’t working for you (or you just need to get away from it for a while). You simply cross the Mississippi and hang out in St. Paul (just until the memories aren’t so fresh). Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. (I need to get that old fart off my mind.) That's what I'm going to do... I'm staying in St. Paul!
On a side note: I’m not sure if I would recommend the show. "Marvan", I know you wanted to know how it was. (Ha ha… you’re a Curious George!) Well, to be honest, I’m still a little traumatized by those ‘tastefully artful’ peckers twisting, spinning and flying around the stage (shaped like different critters). I’ll let you know if it was worth it… in a few days… when the shock wears off.
A suggestion by Sue my coworker did the trick. We hopped in her car after work and headed to downtown Minneapolis and the Theater District. We parked the car in the ramp, and hustled over to the box office (still in our skirts and heels). We didn’t have tickets and all the shows were either sold out or selling out quickly.
As we crossed Hennepin and started towards the entrance, we passed a man standing outside the restaurant next to the theatre. He was cute with shoulder length brown curly hair. Hmmmm… I thought, (as we eyed each other) that’s strange how he’s just hanging out on the street watching people walk by… like he has no place to go anytime soon.
Sue and I pranced into the box office and nabbed 2 of the last will call tickets for… (giggles, snickers and blushing) the world-renowned performance of… (more giggles, snickers and blushing) "Puppetry of the Penis…the art of genital origami".
Sue and I pranced back across the street to Zeno’s and ordered ourselves Mango Martini’s (Mmmmm…). We sat at the window bar and watched people walk by. (I love people watching.) Then we switched our attention to the cute guy across the street, still standing next to the restaurant, still looking like he had no place to go, still watching people walk by. (Hmmmm…)
It was time for the show to start and we headed back to the theater. The curly-haired cutie had disappeared. (But would reappear shortly… well not too short!) The crowd was lively to say the least. There were approximately 10 men in the crowd compared to 100-120 women. (I wondered, ‘why so few men?")
I really didn’t know what to expect. (The title should have clued me off, but the obvious always has to hit me in the head.) I was naïve enough to think the show would be a little more ‘artful’ than it actually was, but nevertheless… I was fully full frontally entertained! My cheeks and jaw hurt by the end of the show, because I couldn’t stop laughing and because my jaw couldn't stop dropping.
Oh yeah, and the man on the street… well he just happened to be one of the stars of the show! (Mmmmm Hmmmm...)
That theater experience really did do the trick! (Good god!) I didn’t think about "40 Year Old" being gone the entire performance. All I could think about was… how (in the heck) did those two guys twist their junk into a hamburger patty and buns?
But, my bliss was short-lived. As we left the theater, I started thinking to myself. (When was the last time I was here?) Then I remembered… This was the theatre that I came to with "40 Year Old" on our second date. We had gone there for a comedy show last winter. That was the night of our first kiss. (Yes Marvan, I did wait until the second date to kiss him.)
Sue and I stepped to the curb and I looked up and down Hennepin Avenue. (Crap!) Then I thought about Nicollet Avenue. (Crap! Crap!) Then I thought about Uptown. (Crap! Crap! Crap!) I’ve been to nearly half the restaurants, pubs and cocktail bars in the downtown with "40 Year Old". Not to mention every place and any place fun near Calhoun Square. I was reminded of him everywhere in Minneapolis. (Crap!)
I had to shake this. I had to stop being so emotional. (Stop it Jane!) I couldn’t avoid these places, just because I had so many recent memories at them with him. (Suck it up Jane! Quit being a sentimental whiner!)
Then I remembered the nice part about living in the Twin Cities. When Minneapolis isn’t working for you (or you just need to get away from it for a while). You simply cross the Mississippi and hang out in St. Paul (just until the memories aren’t so fresh). Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. (I need to get that old fart off my mind.) That's what I'm going to do... I'm staying in St. Paul!
On a side note: I’m not sure if I would recommend the show. "Marvan", I know you wanted to know how it was. (Ha ha… you’re a Curious George!) Well, to be honest, I’m still a little traumatized by those ‘tastefully artful’ peckers twisting, spinning and flying around the stage (shaped like different critters). I’ll let you know if it was worth it… in a few days… when the shock wears off.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Half Broken Heart
I think I may be suffering from a half broken heart. I didn’t break the entire thing (I wouldn’t let that happen… that’s too messy and obnoxious), but I definitely broke at least a small piece of it… and maybe up to half. Enough to make it hurt and enough to make it hard to breathe for a few hours.
“40 Year Old” moved away.
I had sent an email to “40 Year Old” earlier in the morning. It was his first day on the new job. It was a quick note wishing him luck and asking him when his last official day in Minnesota was. I was burning CDs at Dutch’s apartment in the evening, when "40 Year Old" emailed me back.
“Hey Sweetheart, Thanks for the note. I absolutely love the new job. Everyone has been awesome. I can see myself at this place for a long time. (His enthusiasm was apparent.) My plans have changed a bit. I guess I’ve already had my last official day in Minnesota. (Did he say already?) I arranged for the moving company to pack and move all my things today. I rented my place out to my old coworker and he moved in this afternoon. I’ll be back this some weekend later this month, but I’m not sure when. I still have a few things to wrap up with my house. Take care and I’ll talk to you later. – 40 Year Old”
I choked when I read this. I wasn’t ready to hear that. (I held back any tears… I didn’t want Dutch to see, but I think he knew something was wrong.)
Had I known that when I dropped “40 Year Old” off at the airport last week, that it would be the last time I saw him… I would have held on a little tighter and longer when we hugged… I would have kissed him a little softer and longer… I would have… I don’t know… I just wish I had known.
It hadn’t set in until that moment that he was really leaving. He’s already gone. Yes, he said he was stopping back in the next few weeks, but I don’t think I want to see him. I’m not going to call. I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it already does. I don’t want him to see that this hurts me. (This is ridiculous! I've only known this man 4 1/2 months! I hate feeling this way!)
Dutch walked back in the room. (He knew something was wrong, but didn’t ask… he didn’t have to.) He walked up behind me. (I quickly closed my email and pretended to be busy picking out more songs to burn.)
“Here Janie, listen to some Beyonce… it’ll make you feel better.” (He put the headset over my ears and turned up the volume.)
I looked at him and shook my head, “You’re a weirdo Dutch… Thanks.” We both started laughing. I finished burning my songs and we went out for dinner.
“40 Year Old” moved away.
I had sent an email to “40 Year Old” earlier in the morning. It was his first day on the new job. It was a quick note wishing him luck and asking him when his last official day in Minnesota was. I was burning CDs at Dutch’s apartment in the evening, when "40 Year Old" emailed me back.
“Hey Sweetheart, Thanks for the note. I absolutely love the new job. Everyone has been awesome. I can see myself at this place for a long time. (His enthusiasm was apparent.) My plans have changed a bit. I guess I’ve already had my last official day in Minnesota. (Did he say already?) I arranged for the moving company to pack and move all my things today. I rented my place out to my old coworker and he moved in this afternoon. I’ll be back this some weekend later this month, but I’m not sure when. I still have a few things to wrap up with my house. Take care and I’ll talk to you later. – 40 Year Old”
I choked when I read this. I wasn’t ready to hear that. (I held back any tears… I didn’t want Dutch to see, but I think he knew something was wrong.)
Had I known that when I dropped “40 Year Old” off at the airport last week, that it would be the last time I saw him… I would have held on a little tighter and longer when we hugged… I would have kissed him a little softer and longer… I would have… I don’t know… I just wish I had known.
It hadn’t set in until that moment that he was really leaving. He’s already gone. Yes, he said he was stopping back in the next few weeks, but I don’t think I want to see him. I’m not going to call. I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it already does. I don’t want him to see that this hurts me. (This is ridiculous! I've only known this man 4 1/2 months! I hate feeling this way!)
Dutch walked back in the room. (He knew something was wrong, but didn’t ask… he didn’t have to.) He walked up behind me. (I quickly closed my email and pretended to be busy picking out more songs to burn.)
“Here Janie, listen to some Beyonce… it’ll make you feel better.” (He put the headset over my ears and turned up the volume.)
I looked at him and shook my head, “You’re a weirdo Dutch… Thanks.” We both started laughing. I finished burning my songs and we went out for dinner.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Recycling Freud
I'm starting to think that some people are made of recyclable material. These people keep recycling themselves through my life. I try and get rid of them (in an environmentally conscious manner), but they keep coming back. First it was "Creepy John". Now it is "Eugenio". I just received an email from him. (The email he promised me two weeks ago during our volatile conversation over instant messenger.) I hope you all enjoy it:
"Hey Jane, What's up, yo? Just wanted to send you the email that I promised. Sorry if I annoyed you the last time we spoke. That wasn't my intent. This email may annoy you too, but I don't care. Take it for what it's worth.
I should have played it cool with you, but you're so anti-mind games. I figured it was kosher for me to be honest with you. I normally get bored with girls and lose interest in them quickly. It was nice to actually have a crush on someone for once. I got ahead of myself. I am a romantic type of guy and I don't like to suppress feelings when it comes to girls. That being said, I don't really think anyone would categorize me as being an emotional or high-maintenance person. Maybe I over analyze or over think things, but then again you claim to do the same. So I thought maybe you would understand.
Anyway, I sure have learned my lesson in regards to dealing with intimacy or commitment phobes! For the record, I don't think you are a rude b*tch. When I said that I read between the lines, I meant that if you really were a mean person; I would have noticed it much earlier. I figure your reaction was just your defense mechanism for dealing with emotion. You try to drive people away and youre pretty effective at it. Even though I don't buy your fake animosity towards me, I still don't want to deal with it.
It's all cool though, I'm not mad or upset with you. I certainly don't harbor any hard feelings. It was fun while it lasted and reminded me that there are definitely girls out here who can still pique my interest. I still think you'e pretty rad and even though I'm not interested in dating, if you ever want to hang out, you know how to reach me.
We do have a good time when we're face-to-face, after all. The ball is in your court.
-Eugenio"
Wow Sigmund, you've really got me figured out (sarcastic tone). After those 4 dates and 2 kisses my defense mechanisms kicked in. I sensed that Eugenio was getting too close emotionally. He was starting to tap into the deep recesses of my soul and know the "real Jane". So naturally, my subconscious reacted and made me behave in a way that pushed him away. (He really hit the nail on the head!)
When I received the email, I quickly scanned through it (chuckled) and didn't pay much attention to it. I forwarded it to "Bridget" and "Austin HP" to let them have a crack at decoding the purpose of this correspondence. Their responses were almost identical. They both thought it was contrived, like he was censoring himself (which he should have done that last time we talked). They thought he was trying to push my bottons by calling me a committment phobic (although it's already a consensus among my friends that I am) in an attempt to get me to respond to him.
Austin HP was concerned (as he usually is) and emailed me, "Jane, this guy is warped. He honestly thinks that if he can just get you to spend a little more time with him, that he can win you over. Don't respond to this!" Bridget concurred and said, "I think he's playing hard to get. He thinks that you're the type of girl that likes a challenge and by telling you that he isn't interested. He's hoping reverse psychology will do it's magic and make you want him as much as he wants you." (Ick! Yes, I like a challenge just as much as the next gal, but the challenge with this situation, is how to get him to forget me.)
Well, I've spent enough time thinking, writing and talking about this already. "Dutch" is waiting for me to finish typing so we can walk to DQ. (MMmmmm... nothing get's my mind off of things better than ice cream. Dairy Queen here I come!)
"Hey Jane, What's up, yo? Just wanted to send you the email that I promised. Sorry if I annoyed you the last time we spoke. That wasn't my intent. This email may annoy you too, but I don't care. Take it for what it's worth.
I should have played it cool with you, but you're so anti-mind games. I figured it was kosher for me to be honest with you. I normally get bored with girls and lose interest in them quickly. It was nice to actually have a crush on someone for once. I got ahead of myself. I am a romantic type of guy and I don't like to suppress feelings when it comes to girls. That being said, I don't really think anyone would categorize me as being an emotional or high-maintenance person. Maybe I over analyze or over think things, but then again you claim to do the same. So I thought maybe you would understand.
Anyway, I sure have learned my lesson in regards to dealing with intimacy or commitment phobes! For the record, I don't think you are a rude b*tch. When I said that I read between the lines, I meant that if you really were a mean person; I would have noticed it much earlier. I figure your reaction was just your defense mechanism for dealing with emotion. You try to drive people away and youre pretty effective at it. Even though I don't buy your fake animosity towards me, I still don't want to deal with it.
It's all cool though, I'm not mad or upset with you. I certainly don't harbor any hard feelings. It was fun while it lasted and reminded me that there are definitely girls out here who can still pique my interest. I still think you'e pretty rad and even though I'm not interested in dating, if you ever want to hang out, you know how to reach me.
We do have a good time when we're face-to-face, after all. The ball is in your court.
-Eugenio"
Wow Sigmund, you've really got me figured out (sarcastic tone). After those 4 dates and 2 kisses my defense mechanisms kicked in. I sensed that Eugenio was getting too close emotionally. He was starting to tap into the deep recesses of my soul and know the "real Jane". So naturally, my subconscious reacted and made me behave in a way that pushed him away. (He really hit the nail on the head!)
When I received the email, I quickly scanned through it (chuckled) and didn't pay much attention to it. I forwarded it to "Bridget" and "Austin HP" to let them have a crack at decoding the purpose of this correspondence. Their responses were almost identical. They both thought it was contrived, like he was censoring himself (which he should have done that last time we talked). They thought he was trying to push my bottons by calling me a committment phobic (although it's already a consensus among my friends that I am) in an attempt to get me to respond to him.
Austin HP was concerned (as he usually is) and emailed me, "Jane, this guy is warped. He honestly thinks that if he can just get you to spend a little more time with him, that he can win you over. Don't respond to this!" Bridget concurred and said, "I think he's playing hard to get. He thinks that you're the type of girl that likes a challenge and by telling you that he isn't interested. He's hoping reverse psychology will do it's magic and make you want him as much as he wants you." (Ick! Yes, I like a challenge just as much as the next gal, but the challenge with this situation, is how to get him to forget me.)
Well, I've spent enough time thinking, writing and talking about this already. "Dutch" is waiting for me to finish typing so we can walk to DQ. (MMmmmm... nothing get's my mind off of things better than ice cream. Dairy Queen here I come!)
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