What’s with the Foreign Accent? Because, I Really Want to Hear More.
I’m a sucker for foreign accents. Especially if the accent is coming from the lips of an attractive male, relatively close to my age, and clearly single. Ooo-la-la. Throw in proof of dual citizenship, a Denver address, plus a full head of hair…and this american kitten is smitten!
I admit I have dated a handful of foreign men. “Nic” was my first foreign love – an adorable German fighter pilot who I met early in my journalism career. Distance ended the relationship, but I felt lucky living up my own version of “Top Gun.”
No…I don’t go for the “dark and handsome” latin-lover look. (I’m tooo pasty white for those sun-worshipping types!) Instead, I prefer the slender European man, outfitted with refined stature, and topped off with “oh-so-sexy” high cheekbones. Yes, we would make beautiful children. The kind who end up in the J.Crew catalogue. Happy sigh. Or plastered on a Target billboard. Double sigh.
So imagine my delight when I bumped into a “certain someone” last week at sultry Second Home (lounge bar), in Denver. I had JUST put my coat on…about to exit the dark premises…when I caught a fixed sexy glance from a tall, classy looking guy. Instead of looking away like a schoolgirl, I stared right back, waited a few seconds, then sauntered over with purpose. I would either float – or sink- and I was willing to take my chances. After all, when you’re searching for Mr. Right, who cares if you get blown off by multiple Mr. Wrongs? (Having two strong cocktails certainly didn’t hurt either.)
He saw me coming and smiled. I then busted into his mini circle of men, and bravely said, “Heeeelllo…” Noticing my coat, he teased, “You’re not leaving already, are you?” I stopped in my tracks as his words floated out of his mouth, MESMERIZED by his “I’m clearly not from the U.S.A.” accent. Aahhh…my international man of leisure…right here in good ole Denver.
It only took me about .3 of a second to whip OFF my jacket and come face to face with Mr. International Man. Conversation ensued and he divulged in his syrupy accent, “I’m originally from Belgium, but I’ve lived in the states for 19 years. I live and work in Denver.”
Yes ladies, I love Belgian beer, and crave Belgian chocolates. But hands down, I could easily adore and get addicted to a Belgian boyfriend!
As we continued chatting, I became oblivious to his work colleagues – he became oblivious to my girlfriends. I was giggling – he was laughing…when out of the blue he asked, “So when do you want to go snow skiing?”
Those words, my friends – MUSIC TO MY EARS. Not just the accent part, but the “skiing” part.
He grabbed his phone, plugged in my digits, and it was a painless “done deal.” Looking over my shoulder, I noticed my galfriends…aka…loyal wingwomen…sprawled on a couch, bundled in their jackets, clearly ready to leave the bar since it was almost midnight on a school night. Miranda jumped up, walked over to Belgian Boy, then put him on the spot, “So, did you get her phone number?” He looked somewhat started by her directness, then answered, “Yes.” She looked at me and stated, “Good to know. Now Leaza, it’s time to go.”
As I followed Celeste and Miranda to our car, I smiled…replaying THAT sexy accent over and over in my blond brain. Maybe he thought my somewhat southern accent was hot in return? Hmmmm….Doubtful…but hopeful.
Later that night, I wondered….What if Belgian Boy was NOT from Belgium? What if he was from Chicago? Or hailed from someplace like Des Moines? Would I like him as MUCH “sans” the accent? Would I still be intrigued? Did his accent provide an advantage over american men??
Truth be told….I probably wouldn’t be AS smitten.
I look at it this way – a foreign accent is kind of like bubbles in a bubble bath. (Dudes, quit reading now.) Sure, you love a hot soak when you’re feeling tired or depressed….but add some bubbles, and suddenly things turn tastefully more fun.
Body Shop, anyone?? And don’t forget the Chimay.
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In case you’re wondering….Belgian Boy did call. And he’s a darn good skier….
I'll take a Belgian Man over a Belgian Beer!
Blessed with BFFs…not the Boy Kind
Last night, my date of the night exclaimed, “Wow, you have a lot of single friends.”
Yep, I do…and I covet every single one of them…the ones who live close, the ladies who I’ve left behind, and the ones I haven’t met – YET.
Before you criticize me for using a childish acronym to describe my divas in crime…consider this…My BFFs give me the courage to survive my PMS, my mom’s incurable MS, my stepmom’s OCD, my dad’s BADH (beating a dead horse), my younger brothers’ BS, and any and all dudes MIA or AWOL.
Where would I be without my girlfriends, AKA, surrogate sisters? Hmm…probably with a double muffin top, borderline insane, and watching infomercials on Saturday night. Lovely.
Finding all these lovely gals WASN”T easy. Making new SINGLE girlfriends in your 30s is similar to dating. You catapult yourself into a million activities, pimp yourself out in stylish clothes, make fun conversation – and pray you stick to someone else – or that she finds you completely hysterical and begs for your number.
In your 30s, it’s tough. Women are exhausted with their careers, family commitments, appearances at one-year old birthday parties (SNORE), work-out schedules (UGH), and oh yeah – DATING. And just like dating, sometimes you click – and sometimes you don’t. And there doesn’t seem to be a formula for either.
Last summer, when I moved to Denver, I found myself on the prowl for single galfriends. Like many Denver newbies, I joined meetup.com and bravely sauntered into several hiking, social, and outdoor groups. BINGO! When I showed up to my first event, I met about a dozen women just like me — lasses who dreamed of living and working in Colorado – and who followed their dream out west. Within a month, I met my “long term lady matches” – Miranda and Celeste. We often laugh that a last minute Friday night happy hour at Lola’s – turned into “our first official date.”
For some random reason, the three of us just mesh. We’re NOT the same, we’re actually somewhat different. As the “Triple Trifecta Act.” we work the bars with ease and prowess. I’m the tall, all-american blonde…Miranda is the demure, outdoorsy, and cute brunette…and Celeste is the petite, flirtatious Filipino. Truth be told, I’m not usually attracted to stylish, designer-obsessed men from California, but for some reason Celeste melts my heart with her diva demands and hysterical sentiments. And though I’m determined to find a “man” who snow skis like moi, I’m perfectly content Miranda prefers snowshoeing and is currently counting down the days til summer activities.
It boils down to this…Celeste, Miranda, and I share a similar social spirit. Just like the moon, we can wax and wane, and tremendously whine to each other in between. Kinda like comfort food…minus the calories.
The Trifecta!
As MUCH as we single ladies complain (hem and haw) about NOT having a man…I prefer to look at it this way….what a wonderful window in our lives! I don’t want it to shut…god forbid…anytime soon. While many married people consider their spouses “their best friends,” I have the privilege of calling several women in my life – my best friends. Some I talk to every day, some only every few months, some not enough at all. But, ladies, you know who you are – and I’m guarding your tall tales til the final hurrah.
Someday when I’m a granny, my mind will flash back to my (as we call it in TV) “sizzle reel.” I’ll remember searching for the elusive “black taco” for two hours straight, the pub crawls where we crawled nowhere but home, living it up on sorority homeowners’ row, partying on a country band’s tour bus, dancing on stages, the occasional cat fight and ubiquitous bitch sessions, wearing each other’s clothes, and laughing and crying within the same five minute span.
I’ll sit in my rocker….LMAO and think OMG…what a ride. Pour me another cranberry and vodka. And don’t H2O it down.
An Oldie...but Goodie...
If you like this post, share it with someone special… (And to my married friends…your post is coming soon.)
Man…..I need a Manfriend!
Not to date, NOT to potentially diss, but to befriend…
Consider my recent smackdown with my girlfriends this past week. I lectured, “You know what, we need guy friends! Enough of this dating crap, let’s just try and be friends first.”
They looked at me as if I said, “For lent, I‘m giving up moisturizer and lip gloss!”
Here’s the skinny…I’m sick of “yaying” or “naying” someone after a one-hour date. Sure, sometimes I immediately sense disaster – or – delight. But 50% of the time I simply classify the date as a cross between “dull” and “not-so-dull….” Then like clockwork, the cartoon cloud over my head pops up with that oh-so-familiar conversation. “Do I like him? Well, he was nice ENOUGH. Should I text him back? He looked weird in that shirt. Maybe he didn’t know he had food in his teeth? I think he’s too old. Maybe it was the lighting?”
I’ve decided DIFFICULT is the nice “alternative” 4 letter word for dating in your 30s. We don’t live in the la-la land of single people anymore. We’re the minority – at the office -at the gym – and definitely at church. Gone are the days of living in a town called Singledom (filled with rampant 20 something yr-olds) where 100% of the population is…..SINGLE and available. It used to be EASY to get to know guys through college courses, friends, groups, the bars – because you saw those peeps on a regular basis and grasped their personalities. You also witnessed them at their worst – and best – and in the end, some grew on you – and some didn’t. Nowadays – we’re just forced to sit and stare at someone for one hour – then judge. And I hate that.
So hence my recent belated New Year’s resolution to make more “guy friends” in 2010. Maybe we can be friends first, and something else later? But not until much later. (Like maybe when I know you’re not a psycho) This brings up the old When Harry Met Sally question….”Can men and women be friends without the sex part getting in the way???” Hmmm… Personally, I think men and women CAN be friends — with both parties thinking about shacking up — but it never really happening. For instance, late one night, I was sharing a cab ride home with one of my guyfriends after drinking a few tooooo many brewskies. Out of nowhere my friend Sam deviously whispered, “Come on…come home with me. No one ever has to know.” (Yeah, no one except me!! I thought) I quickly threw some money at the cab driver…and giggled myself to sleep that night…flattered, but happy I hopped out of the cab pronto.
On the flip side, often “manfriends” transform into great boyfriends. The sparks fly because you’re already comfortable with that person. You’ve already accepted their baggage, and they’ve hopefully forgotten yours. But once you blur the line of intimacy…it’s hard to erase history. The switcharoo usually ends fairly simple – in marriage – or heartbreak. And things are just never the same.
Overall, guy friends remind me good guys STILL exist. We need them – just like they need us. I need a man to tell me I look smashing every now and then. And they need us – to tell them what to buy at Banana Republic – and oh-my-goodness…get rid of that friggin’ unibrow!!
So yes, if I tell you, “Let’s just be friends…” I really mean it…especially in the next few months. And I don’t mean the booty call kind.
Signed,
wingwoman searching for attractive wingman
Finding “7 Minutes of Heaven” in “8 Minutes of Speed Dating”
In an effort to sniff out Mr. Right…I decided to travel where I’d probably meet a lot of Mr. Wrongs…at least initially. So this past week, armed with a sense of humor and a vodka-induced fearless attitude, I walked into an 8 Minute Speed Dating Event. (By the way, they are NOT paying me to write this. If so, they’d demand a big-honkin’ refund.)
As I signed in as a first-timer at “Sushi Hai” (posh joint in the Highlands neighborhood) I felt as if I stepped back in time – TO JUNIOR HIGH. The ladies were clustered in a corner, talking up a storm as “chatty-cathys,” while the dudes lined up against the back wall, only saying max-three-word sentences while scoping out possible ladies-of-the-night. (Think 16 Candles.) Both groups clutched their alcoholic beverage with purpose and charm.
To share the love, I bullied my attractive 42-year-old neighbor, Paul, into escorting me. While he had his eyes peeled for 25 yr olds who looked hot, my eyes were open for 37 yr olds who appeared stable.
To those of you – A. living under a rock – or – B. the lucky few who have been married for DECADES – speed dating works like this: I show up and have a random lady slap a name tag on my shirt. I am then graced with a card containing 8 table numbers. I find my first table and wait for one “lucky” guy to strut toward me. Feeling like a muppet, I then make giddy-yet-highly-intelligent conversation for 8 minutes until I hear a bell. (In most cases – should have been a gong.) Then – this adult musical chair extravaganza recycles with another lad. In between dates, I secretly take notes on each candidate, so I can enter my matches online later that night.
Soooo….how was it? Let me introduce the contenders:
First guy was most likely a lumberjack in his previous life – based on his wardrobe that somehow traveled though time.
Second lad wore a long, black, thick Matrix-like jacket. He told me he JUST moved to Denver from Phoenix so he was “entitled” to be cold. I felt I was “entitled” to get my 8 minutes back. He never asked me ONE personal question – instead he kept insisting I go “clubbing” with him.
Third dude I spotted wearing cowboy boots. I assumed he was from Texas. He wasn’t. Instead – he lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming – and traveled two hours to Denver for 8 Minute Speed Dating! When I pulled my jaw up off the floor, I noticed his name was Axle. Sweet Child of Mine, you drove all this way?
The rest of the guys were honestly – ho-hum. However, during intermission I spotted two men (in the other group) who appeared yum-yum. I could have stood back and waited, but realizing I only had moments to make my move, I walked up and said “hi” in my sassy southern accent. Conversation ensued, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I finally felt some sparks.
Overall – in hindsight, I made a mistake. When I signed up, I asked the organizer what group to choose – ages 25 though 35 – OR – ages 36 through 49? Being right on the “cusp,” she told me to go younger. But I realized throughout the night, the men “my age” - were in the older group. I would rather filter through a few dud 45 yr olds – in hopes of crossing paths with available 36 yr olds. Aahhh…lessons learned.
Would I do 8 Minute Speed Dating again? You bet! After all, I like roulette. The game produced two matches, so I feel like a winner.
And for those of you who question the concept…think about it this way — We often give a “bad date” 60 painful minutes – why not play the odds and give a POSSIBLE good one 8?
FYI: My neighbor Paul did not find the 25 yr old woman of his dreams…but he did leave with the bartender’s number. I think that counts. 
In Hibernation until February 15th
Using “National Singles Awareness” weekend to catch up on my beauty sleep….(while snowshoeing, snow skiing, and generally pimpin’ myself out!)
Back to the Relationship Drawing Board Again…Where’s My Eraser?
Once again (ironically a week before Valentine’s Day), I find myself – back at the drawing board.
I recently ended something…with a certain someone. He’s in transition – most likely moving – and we differ on religion. The Titantic-Tanking Trifecta. He never did anything wrong. There’s just…not enough that’s right. Tough call, but one I had to make.
You’ve been there…let me painfully yet humorously paint the picture.
After investing your lucrative time, wasting youth-filled energy, spending an enormous amount of money, dreaming about future children, cooking Martha Stewart homemade dinners, splurging on weekly manicures, introducing him to best friends, posing for multiple facebook photos, coming up with cheese-o-rama nicknames for each other….you decide to call your “new” relationship QUITS.
In the mere matter of a millisecond, you squander all those COVETED HOURS and literally flush them, shred them, garbage dispose them, then chunk them into oblivion.
Pause.
Then it’s time to RALLY with your “big-girl-but-still-sexy-panties-on” and start this “time sucking cycle” all over again – spending time with a NEW dude. But first, you must FIND that person. Greeaaat….two uphill battles! Add to that the “breakup battle” you already fought…now you’re up to THREE whopping uphill battles….all for the name of luv.
No wonder so many of us wave the white flag in defeat.
After riding a similar roller coaster that ended badly, my friend Miranda recently confessed to me in state of panic mixed with hope, “If I could just take Frank’s sweetness, Jon’s job, Brad’s body, and Todd’s sense of humor…I could create the perfect man. He would be a masterpiece.”
Wait a minute ladies. Uhhh…This ain’t paint-by numbers! Men today are made of PERMANENT INK…permanent markers in fact. Think SHARPIE! At age 35, men are pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get. Forget about “adding on” or “subtracting.” Toss aside that “big-ass eraser” from 3rd grade, because you can’t delete his flaws…much less get rid of the deal breakers. “White Out” won’t work either – because ultimately you can’t conceal the truth. At this point, grab a highlighter and focus on the good stuff. OR (do like I did)…move on and go back to the drawing board….knowing your Mr. Picasso is wandering around aimlessly waiting for his artiste to stumble upon him in a bar, on match.com, or in the grocery store (yeah right).
Which is exactly where we started this conversation….
Yes, I would love to “etch a sketch” my perfect man…shake it up….and add more tantalizing characteristics. But let’s face it, this isn’t elementary school art class…this is LIFE…or rather what I make of it.
So, back to my easel one again. Pictionary anyone?
courtesy of this talented cartoonist
Boring Women Have Clean Houses
A guy who I recently dated confessed to me once, “My mother always told me – Only BORING women have clean houses.”
Imagine my inner glee upon hearing these profound words. I secretly prayed, “Thank you Baby Jesus, someone finally understands me.”
I guess deep down – his point was…”Why clean your house when you can spend time having fun?”
Not that I’m a slob…far from it. But let’s just say…there’s mucho more important things in my life than working hard to shine the bathroom toilet with my old Oral B. Hhhmmm…things LIKE: working at my job, working on my inner self, working on my outer self (specifically butt and legs), working to find the cheapest happy hours in town, working to find the most available men in town, working to make new friends, working to keep the old ones, working on that promotion, working to eat healthy, working on my snow skiing form, working to stay mentally fit, working to stay emtionally sound, working on my blog, working to spend money, working on saving money, working to keep my parents happy, working to keep my pets content….
Oh my goodness…I’m exhausted just typing all that crap. (And I’m only a SINGLE person!) How do you married peeps with kids keep your own show running and on the air?
Somedays I have NO idea how I juggle everything. Then I glance around and see the growing “volcano” of clothes on my bedroom chair, the “tumbleweed” of dog hair rolling through the hallway, and the stacks of recycling resembling a Jenga puzzle. And I haven’t even mentioned the laundry that’s been stashed in the dryer for nine days….(did I even turn ON the dryer??)
Good lord…how did I get so busy? It snuck up on my quicker than my 30s. I forgot I’m supposed to be superwoman….work full-time, scrub like Mr. Clean, then throw on a pair of heels, and appear mesmerizing to my “date of the night.”
In an effort to maximize time, women, including my girlfriends, have tried everything to accomplish the following mantra — “I need an orderly house to live an orderly life.” My friend Lacey planned her life for awhile using an excel spreadsheet – with color coding! I decided to toss that idea considering I would have to “work” on my excel skills before take-off, thus sucking away more valuable minutes.
Another galfriend, Suzanna, bought the Roomba robot vacuum. She left work hoping for a mini daytime miracle. Ended up, Roomba was taking breaks on the job, and could barely suck anything up. Roomba ended up in the next garage sale – looking for a new mommy.
And then there’s me. Six months ago, I decided to have groceries delivered to my front door on a regular basis. Every Friday morning, the milk man from Royal Crest Dairy (just like in Leave it to Beaver) leaves me fresh milk, butter, and eggs on my porch. And every other Wednesday, courtesy of Door to Door Organics, I arrive home to find a box of yummy organic fruits and veggies waiting to take shelter in my fridge. I’m not high maintenance…I’m simply trying to maintain my sanity as a professional 30-somethin’ single gal.
Gone are my days of spending hours at Safeway, cruising the aisles – only to lug milk jugs, egg cartons, and 40-ton bags of apples to the car in 10 degree temperatures. (You’ve been there.) Distant are my days of balancing five plastic bags at once while grasping house keys, struggling up two flights of stairs, and talking on my cell phone. (Sound familiar?)
So how much time does this save?? I estimate at LEAST three hours a week. And my grocery bill remains the same. It’s a win-win for moi-moi….a godsend at times – especially when I work late or “play late.”
So…what do I do with that “saved time?” Hmmm……good question.
Well, when push comes to shove….I sure as heck don’t use it to push a vacuum. What fun would that be?
Ski First, Date Later?
This weekend, I am faced with a potentially catastrophic dating decision:
A. Ski two days in the beautiful Rocky Mountains with separate groups of friends
- OR -
B. Go out with a hot guy on Saturday night
To you “non-snow skiers” out there….go ahead and QUIT reading this post. You won’t get it. You’ll probably think I’m TOO fickle, finicky, or fanatical. I’m over it, OK?
That's moi!
“Why can’t you do both?” you may ask… Well, the answer – it’s simple. This particular hot date DOESN’T ski or snowboard. (I desperately wish he did.) So, I am left leaving to choose….Powder-time – OR – Play-time? Hmmm….which one will make me happier?
Some backstory here before you start judging: During the week, I work in a “bomb shelter” – filled to the brim with video editing equipment, exciting gray cubes, flattering florescent lights, and glossy computer monitors. I love my job, but let’s BE REAL people! I’m aching for sunlight, gusty winds, the smell of sunblock on my face, and the taste of an “apres ski” beer on my lips. I need a revival. Especially after the last three weeks of never-getting-a-lunch-break-because-I’ve-been-so-damn-busy-trying-to-prove-myself. Phew…
My nail-biting dilemma may sound trite….but it begs the bigger question — As we get older, WHAT are we willing to give up? What are we willing to COMPROMISE? I’m realizing as we hit our mid-30s – NOT MUCH. Is this good or bad? I don’t know.
What I DO know…the thought of forking over my coveted powder-filled Saturday and Sunday for a man-date – leaves me deflated and dull. I’d rather choose the sure bet to happiness. I moved to Colorado to ski – it’s one of my passions. And I refuse to toss it aside for a make-out session and dinner (although that’s enticing.)
With snow skiing – I feel fulfilled, on top of the world – escapism at its best.
Going on a date – I could end up unfulfilled, at the bottom of the barrel, secretly wanting to escape. Argh…
In the meantime…I’m counting down the hours til I load my gear, head west, and anticipate that first jaunt off the lift.
Yes, I know Valentine’s Day is two weeks away… I know 40 is roughly five years away… But for now, I’m choosing the mini-vacation over THE GUY.
My hopes – someday I won’t have to compromise. Someday I can choose “C” and get “All of the above.”
It’s a Small Match.com World After All
Watch out where you meet your Match.com dates in Denver! Recently, I found myself in quite a pickle at the Wash Park Tavern. Thursday nights, this place is crawling with match.com-ers. Heck, next time this girl’s gonna demand an online daters’ drink special…
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Girl rushes into a crowded bar…running seven minutes late. Looks for 6’5” match.com “never-met-this-dude” date of the night.
Randomly spots attractive guy who looks vaguely familiar sitting at bar, alone, as if expecting someone. He makes eye contact, smiles, stands, and starts strutting toward her.
Girl suffers mini heart attack as she racks her blonde brain – questioning WHO she is supposed to meet this current evening. Guy A, Guy B…or Z?? Her high-heeled feet freeze.
In about a millisecond, she recognizes “random man approaching her” based on a computer screen photo. She struggles…
Starts hyperventilating as she realizes she has communicated with this guy virtually, but never in person, nor over the phone. Scans around..searching for her “real date of the night” because this guy is clearly SOMEONE ELSE’S first date of the night. Takes a deep breath.
Guy walks up and suavely says….”Hi Christy!” Girl smiles, in shock, then replies…”Noooooooo, I’m Leaza.” Dude’s face flip-flops, sensing his faux-pas. She then gives him a cat-like “knowing” look and murmurs, “But you DO know me.”
Guy quickly realizes this “damsel in distress” is one of his OTHER online blondies from his giant match.com virtual dating posse. But NOT his soiree for tonight. He flashes back to her profile pics, as they stare into each other’s eyes, knowing this could turn awkward QUICKLY for all four parties involved.
The duo does not speak, but somehow telepathically communicates the plan: Exit the scene graceful before anyone gets hurt – or humiliation takes over. More importantly – BEFORE THE “REAL DATES” CATCH ON.
Girl turns 90 degrees and spots her 6’5” “present date” approaching…looks back at “future date”…then laughs as if catching up with an old friend, “It was great seeing you. Let’s talk soon.”
Guy smiles and says, “Definitely. How about next week?” Girl spins on her heel, relishing in their Academy Award winning performances. She slyly greets 6’5’ Guy, but can’t keep her mind off Future Guy. She knows he will email her later that night.
Seven minutes later a gal named Christy rushes in…
TO BE CONTINUED….
On Match.com...it's a SMALL world!!! (especially at the bars)
Announcing my 1040 EZ Dating Questionnaire
In honor of tax season, I developed my own 1040 EZ Dating Questionnaire for all potential man-dates. I’ve decided this tax time – it’s time to cut to the chase with Denver men…Uncle Sams included. I want to know up front – how many deductions I may face in the future.
My plan: to utilize the EZ form to weed out potential players, married dudes, and average losers…in the hopes of someday filing JOINTLY before I turn 40. The 1040 Long Form is in the works, but for now I’m relying on this EZ method for some BIG returns.
So far my questions for prospects “out on the town” include:
1. Are you really single…or are you just playing THAT in your dream tonight?
2. Is that your real hair? Is that your real hair color?
3. Do you have kids? If so…..do they behave?…….If not….do they live in another state?
4. Is your mother by any chance………..a mute?
5. Do the words “swiffer”…“dyson”…or “oxiclean” ring a bell? (R.I.P. Billy Mays)
6. How long have you been OFF the Kevin Federline “Pizza, Pot, and Beer” diet?
7. Can you please empty your pockets? And while you’re at it, show me your driver’s license, divorce decree, current proof of medical insurance, and Banana Republic credit card.
8. Do you know how to boil an egg? What about water?
9. Are you currently using an anti-wrinkle daily moisturizer with SPF 30? (cuz lets face it, you’re closer to 40 than I am.)
10. You do know that unibrows will NEVER be in style, right? RIGHT?
And for the bonus round…
*When is the last time you cleaned your bathtub? (Please provide date and approximate scrubbing duration time.)
*This post was absolutely NOT brought to you by TurboTax, H and R Block, or Just for Men.
