Flip My Star Trek Switch and Hear Me Roar!

They say a picture is worth…a thousand giggles.  Right?  Or in this case, a thousand “AMENS!”   (Kudos to eye guy’s bro-in-law for passing on this image.) Counselors should clearly print out copies at marriage retreats, then send everybody home to save time, money, and sanity.

A Universal Letter Addressed to the manly masses….from EVERY WOMAN I KNOW:

************************************************************

Dear Guy “I’m Dating” (or the guy any woman is dating, married to, sleeping with, hoping to sleep with, engaged to, or about to dump)….

Please memorize the above dials on this ever-so-retro Star Trek control panel.

As you can CLEARLY see, women are simple creatures.  Find our optimal frequency, and we’ll love you throughout football season…into the playoffs.  Dial down the wrong buttons, and we’re apt to come unglued at the most inappropriate times…most likely in front of your extended family at Disneyworld.

Guys…with so many switches, what’s NOT to love?  Think of our diverse emotions, our quick ability to switch moods in the mere time it takes you to floss. Can you imagine your life without laughs one moment…and cries the next (all during Extreme Home Makeover)?

Yes, we are neurotic, opinionated, bossy, exhausted, bee-atchy, high strung, and blunt.  But if you look closer at those multi-colored knobs…you’ll also discover we’re lovable, funny, “can’t-live-without,” soft-spoken, intellectual, sexual, and given-just-the-right-amount-of-alcohol…extremely flirty.

So, dudes – find the mood you like…and give our knobs a twirl.  Just try and avoid punching the sensitivity button ALL TIMES of day.  (Although we can’t tell you where that one is located permanently…because it changes on a daily basis.)

For our best “operating results”…read our instruction manual.

Who cares if it’s in Chinese?   The language barrier certainly doesn’t hinder you at Mr. Wong’s Asian Buffet.

If you’re a real man, you’ll read the directions. And if you’ve lost the directions (along with the refrigerator manual)….it’s best to pull over and ask for help.

Signed,

the love or lust of your life (mood-dependent)

Two Roads Diverged in a Wood…and I Took the Dating Road Less Traveled By

In high school, I remember reading Robert Frost’s infamous poem, “The Road Not Taken.”  Little did I know then, how that poem would become a reality for me as a dating adult.

Let me refresh your memory with its famous three lines of prose:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

In those pubescent, poodle perm days, my immature brain couldn’t relate to Frost’s vision of taking the road less traveled.  Heck, the only road I envisioned consisted of the driver’s ed course which ultimately led to my four-wheelin’ freedom.

But over the years, through my personal ups and down, I have found myself standing at a multitude of crossroads…recollecting on Frost’s sentiment that trekking the unfamiliar path – ultimately leads to a big positive difference.

Don’t worry…I’m not going to bore you with a bunch of stories centered around drama-filled life decisions like career moves, marriage, divorce, and which lipstick I buy at Sephora….blah blah blah.

Let’s simplify it or as I call it …“juice-ify” it.

In dating…we “chicks” often stumble upon “Two Roads Diverged in Wood.”  Women in their 30s find themselves staring down two different paths – when it comes to ONE guy.    Let me paint the picture.  When you meet a potential person of interest out on the town (a.k.a. some dude you think is somewhat hot who actually has a decent job)…you IMMEDIATELY make a choice.  A.  You put him in the friend zone….or B….You chase after the romantic relationship with the BIG chance of losing the friendship all together.  (NOTE:  B is most always the road less traveled.)

As a woman in this age bracket, this dilemma has smacked me in the face numerous times.  After sleeping on it (and drinking heavily while discussing this topic with gfs) I think I have an answer about why we struggle about which path to choose.  Mostly, it’s about the RISK. Do we go after something which ultimately MAY turn out wonderful, yet end quickly?  Or do we save face, take the safe route, and put the guy in the “you’ll never hurt me” zone.  After all, he’ll be around forever then.  Ugh.

The problem is…women in their 30s have built a wall around themselves that’s impermeable.  We’ve becomes “aces” at protecting ourselves.  Just like we’re pros at balancing our own checkbooks, buying our own houses, and organizing our own vacations.  Why open up a potential can of worms filled with tears and rejection when you can avoid all that crap all together?  Hmmmm….  In the long run, it’s simply the no-brainer to play it safe.

To those of you married, this conundrum may sound odd.  You probably think it’s easy when meeting a guy to immediately know “what to do”…what decision to make…and if the guy gets a “thumbs up or down.”   Welllllll………..its not.  It’s a vat of confusion mixed with self pride and peppered with teenage anxiety.

Recently…two roads DID divulge in my personal dating world.  It all started when I met a cute guy randomly at a wine tasting. He’s an optomestrist…so for the blog’s sake, I’ll call him “Eye Guy.”  Like me, Eye Guy is a “Denver transplant.”  I couldn’t quite determine whether he was interested in ME – or just interested in just networking with my friends – expanding his social circle.  But I decided to hang in the weeds, rather than choosing my path, biding myself some time.

A few weeks in…after many shared conversations with Eye Guy…I found myself at that fork in the road…

So…after following my gut…

I threw on my hiking boots and took the path less traveled by…

So far….it IS making ALL the difference…not just in my life…but I hope his.

To the rest of you…I say go for it.  You need the change of scenery.

So I Told My Mom About My Blog

Inevitably, secrets rise to the surface.  This past week, I took a leap of faith (or craziness) and informed my mother about my somewhat anonymous blog.  The time had come to share with her I had transformed from a geeky, straight A elementary school student into a 30-something year old serial Denver dater on the eternal prowl.  (OK…this is a stretch, but you get the point.)

I knew if I didn’t tell her…the news would leak.  Already, my “twin girl-power cousins” were “in-the-know.”  Plus, it was only a matter of time before some random family member got tipsy (aka drunkola) at one of my Irish Catholic family reunions and spilled the bloggy beans.  So…I sent my mother (who lives in Texas) a simple email, came clean about my life in the virtual world…and waited.

Dot – dot – dot….

A few days later, my mom called me and immediately launched into what I prayed would become a “positive lecture.”

She spouted off – right at the top – three main points…”I love the blog!  You’re talented and your writing is humorous.”  Then (after a pregnant pause)…“but every now and then I catch a whiff of bitterness.  And I don’t want people to think you’re bitter.  Because you’re not.”

You know what?  She’s right.  I’m not bitter.  And I don’t want to come across as bitter.  In fact, BITTER could become the new “4-letter word” in the world of 30-something year old dating.  I do, however, want to come across as funny.  I credit my writing style to my slightly sarcastic sense of humor coupled with uncanny ability to laugh at bad relationship snafus.  For some reason, I find humor in situations when other women may shed tears – or break out in rage – or give up!  Maybe I’ll just call it a chronic case of resiliency!

I do, however, see a lot of single women in their 30s who are bitter.  And men too.  But face it, men aren’t really reading my blog like women are – so why waste time talking about men? (My mom might say this is an example of my bitterness.  Lol.)

My philosophy is simple – there’s a BIG difference between “having your guard up” – and acting “bitter.”  And yes, while I’m constantly “on the prowl”…AND keeping my guard up while perusing for Mr. Right….I never want to be considered bitter.  Bitter is bad.  And if you’re bitter – men can sense it before they start talking to you at a bar….Or while they stand behind you at the Target check-out line.  So wash away the bitterness…before it becomes your next cologne.

Yep, I’ve been heart broken, dumped, cheated on, lied to, dissed, stood up, even left stranded in a park…but somehow I keep pluggin’ along – knowing SOMEONE SPECIAL is out there – earmarked for moi.  And if he senses I’m bitter – he’ll just jump ship to the next blond.  I’d rather pour my heart into a possible relationship, take a chance, and face rejection once more again — than GOD forbid – act bitter.

So Mom, thank you for becoming my newest reader.  Please remember – you may not like all my posts.  In fact you may cringe at some of them.  But I hope to offer you many laughs.  I’m sure we’ll disagree at times….but ONE thing we do agree on – I’m NOT bitter.

Also, since you finally have DSL….how long will it take you to figure out I mentioned you in my blog?  Bonus points for figuring out how to “comment” on this post.

Love, Me

XOXOXO

Like Mother, Like Daughter

To All the Guys I’ve Loved (Not Really) Before…..Surprise, You Have New Names

What’s in a Name?  Judging by my long list…a heck of a lot.  And I’m not talking about my own name…I’m referring to the laundry list of guys I’ve dated the last six months.  You know…the list that comprises of “at-first” seemingly normal men – then turns into a roll call of “what was I thinking” men.

First and foremost…I must apologize for being AWOL on my own blog the last week and a half.  Sometimes I do not control my life…instead my allergies, job demands, mediocre dates, snow skiing obsession, and grocery store visits run full throttle and take over.  And secondly, I apologize for writing a blog post somewhat inspired by Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias

So….what’s in a name?  Evidently A LOT if I look at the string of recent Denver dudes who have recently “tolerated,” or been “graced by my presence.”   Some of my favorites….

Metrosexual Mark – Wore more designer clothes than George Michael and George Clooney combined.

Ivy League Cowboy – Harvard grad who worked on a dude ranch…I hope the horses appreciated his degree.

Gaydaddy.com – Had perfect hair…and a perfect son.  Secretly wondered if he should move to San Fran. Too too feminine.

Transitional Man – Moving from Morrison to downtown Denver…quickly turned into “Sent me an email asking for a 3^rd chance,” then “Stood me up” Man.  LOSER!

Mr. Gold Chain – Sporting ugly, thick gold chain all night…Possible Jersey Shore wannabe.

Mr. NYU – Became snotty when I honesty admitted I did not know the NYU mascot.  (Turns out it’s the Violet…HOW LAME!)

Scooter Guy – Showed up to my house on a scooter for our date.  Then told me he stopped at REI  on the way to buy a sweater because he was so cold.

Bipolar Boy – Found the meds in the medicine closet when I was snooping around for dental floss.

Bipolar Boy #2 – What are the chances?  Learned my lesson the first time…so BYE BYE!

Nutty Professor – Was actually writing a research paper on crazy baseball fans.  Glad our tax dollars are hard at work.

Asshole Andy – Basically he stood me up on my birthday.  Yes, this is his REAL name.

Overbite Boy – Need I say more?

Belgium Boy – Sexy accent, but ended up being OCD about money and investments.  He literally asked me if he should buy another oil well or finally furnish his empty condo????

No Job Bob – Felt bad for the guy (we’ve all been there)…but probably not the best time to be searching for Mrs. Right.

Boulder Brent – Obsessed with Boulder in every shape or form…thought of it more as a utopia than just a bunch of rich people living in a bubble.

Barenaked Brian – Decided he would shed most of his clothes off in 3.2 seconds with no warning to moi – for a moment I thought I was in a Sex and the City episode.

At least this list – is long and distinguished.  And it’s growing by the week.  I wonder what they say about me?  Hmmmmm…..

He’s Cute, But Not TOO Cute

Imagine my excitement when I strolled into my much anticipated ”latest” and sometimes “not-so-greatest” eHarmony date…saw my date “in the flesh” for the first time…and gleefully exclaimed to myself, “Yeah!…he’s cute, but not TOO cute.”

Let me set the scene:  Running a fashionable seven minutes late (standard for Leaza)…dressed in my fave jeans…I waltzed into a Cherry Creek bar having NO expectations.  (That’s a hard and fast rule in online dating..have NO expectations.  That way if the guy is a dud…you can avoid devastation in advance.)

Anywho…..As I sauntered into the english pub and spotted “the guy” sitting at the bar, I delightfully discovered that while he was indeed “attractive,” Matthew McConaughey – he wasn’t.  And THIS just made him more appealing.  He was “cute,” but not TOO cute.  In fact, while I thought he was cute, some of my friends would probably turn their cheeks.  And I was OK with that.

I’ve learned the hard way that, yes, even in your mid-30s, hot players still exist.  And embarrassingly enough, I’ve shed a few tears over certain assholes…in private and in public.  You would think men would eventually outgrow the “playa syndrome,” but poll my single girlfriends and they’ll proclaim in unison the epidemic still lives.  Typically the men carrying the strongest strain of this virus – are the ones EASY on the eyes…and HARD on the heart.  They LURE you in with their handsome looks, and somehow you think, “Maybe he’s different?”  But….he’s not.  The lesson doesn’t seem to stick.

Sure, sure sure….appearance counts in the dating world.  I mean who doesn’t want a hot guy to drool over?  (Especially one who still takes center stage wearing a ratty shirt with a 5 o’clock shadow…)  But my strategy is changing.  Today, I’m focusing on overall health and physique.  I call it the “gut check.”  Is this guy going to have a large gut when he’s 40, 50, or 60?  If the answer is yes, yes, and yes…usually my response to “wanna go out again?”…is No, NO, and NEVER.  Not that I’m really opposed to certain guts….instead I’m more opposed to the “end result” of big guts:  heart attacks, couch potatoes, an endless supply of Cheetos, and acquiring a large gut myself (since I’ll clearly be living an unhealthy lifestyle if I end up with this “type.”)

Also, in Denver…dudes have NO reason NOT to be in shape.  You can ski, hike, or cycle almost any day of the year.  If I’m out busting my ass to look good, why can’t these single guys bust theirs?  Of course I’m not expecting my “Mr. Right” to mimic Lance Armstrong or David Beckham…but please don’t turn into Archie Bunker.

So in simple terms…I’m an “anti-gut” kind of girl.  I don’t “do guts.”  That’s my dating deal breaker for 2010.

By the way, I’m “cute”…but definitely not too cute………..this guy however, NOT SO CUTE!!

NO GUTS ALLOWED!!!!!

Exhausted from Pimpin’ Myself Out

You’ve heard the expression, “searching for a job…is like a full-time job.”  Well, lately I‘ve been thinking, “searching for a man is like an overtime job with no benefits.” (free dinners don’t count)

I represent the NEW type of woman in this decade….the frazzled 30-year old single woman, able to single-handedly work full-time, drive home like a crazy woman dodging police officers, catch up on obligatory family phone calls, scarf down some food, walk the dog….then transform myself from working gal to “may get lucky” girl.

Oh, the agony.  And the exhaustion.  Truth be told, I’m tired of pimpin’ myself out in the name of dating!  It’s time for someone else to wear high heels for a change.

First — the prep work. I “ain’t” no cover girl…but come on…this “beautification process” requires time and energy!….At least 30 dedicated minutes — of me juggling a flat iron, bronzer, hairspray, my latest and greatest makeup from Sephora…and I haven’t even opened my closet door YET.  And let’s not forget about the times when I forget to re-apply deodorant…and find myself driving back home…wasting another precious seven minutes, then realizing I misplaced my earrings.  I swear, if I could take all the hours I have “prepped” for dates, I could have conquered the Boston marathon by now.

Second — the date.  For those of you NOT dating, imagine a never-ending sales call…with rotating characters.  My friend Miranda decided to take a break from dating on the grounds of…“I can’t tell my life story AGAIN to anyone else!”   I get it.  It’s exhausting rehashing my past…again and again.  I start repeating myself…as my eyes glaze over…losing track of WHAT I’ve said…and to WHO.  There’s a popular expression, “everyone has a story.”  Well, I’m pretty sick of sharing mine.  Unlike a children’s book, I can’t keep reading my story over and over.  If I have to “tell my story” one more time, I may just start making crap up and and call it a novella.

I’ve thought about making a flow chart – or a power point presentation – complete with the U.S. map and important decades.  Perhaps a whopping big timeline to pass out to my dates?  I can note “life stages” in green, “ex-boyfriends” in red, and “career highlights” in orange.  Instead of looking at the menu, my date can just read my timeline.  If he’s interested, he can stick around – if not – I won’t have to waste 1.5 hours making giddy yet intelligent small-talk.

And third — the goodbye. This is the MOST mentally exhausting part of the evening. I’m standing at a fork in the road.  I either – A. Obsess about HOW to blow the guy off quickly and painlessly while running to my car – OR – B. Anxiously wonder if he will ask me out again – because he fulfills 9 out of my 10 requirements and I secretly dig him.  Such pressure either way!

Then the cycle starts ALL OVER — as soon as the next evening.  Ouch.  It gets worse when you realize you only have 6 hours of shut-eye to prepare.

Yes, I know dating is a “numbers game.”  But eventually,  I’ll start billing my dates for overtime.  All this “pimpin myself out” is costly and timely.  And unfortunately, refunds don’t exist.

Well, gotta run and go plug in my curlers… only 45 minutes til my suitor arrives…and I still have to vacuum and floss.

After a night of "pimpin myself out"

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

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.”