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?