Call me Crazy, but I’m Toting around a Lovable, Stuffed Dog! 

Listen up peeps…Leaza has a visitor this weekend.  Yes, I know I’m usually dishing about dating…but for the next week…I’ll be dishing about my new sidekick – Pups the Traveling Labrador.

Before you call me “crazy,” let me explain.  Pups is somewhat like the Travelocity gnome you see posing in pictures all over the world.  His purpose simply is to spread doggy cheer.  He’s a “Good Will Ambassador” of sorts…for pets and humans alike.  Pups has traveled the globe for over four years and has visited DOZENS of countries.  He loves posing for pics in front of the world’s most recognizable sites.

His “mom,” Paula, recently discovered www.myflirty30s.com…and asked if Pups could visit Colorado.  Sooooo…..Friday, April 16th….Pups heads with me and my “posse of friends” to Vail Closing Weekend!  He’s ready for a weekend of skiing, eating, watching concerts, howling at the moon, and enjoying select libations.   Maybe he can help Leaza pick up some hot ski dudes!!??

I figure Pups will be a great icebreaker!  Stay tuned for more pictures…

PUPS CHECKS OUT THE COLORADO STATE CAPITOL IN DENVER

WALKING UP THE CAPITOL STEPS....

THIS CANNON ROCKS!

GOODBYE DENVER....HELLO VAIL!

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…..

Profile Pic Pitfalls…What NEVER to Post Online!

Often times, we only have one shot to make a good impression. Whether it’s in person – OR in the virtual world of online dating.  It’s human nature to quickly judge based on appearance.  We can’t fight it…nor can we hide it.

And truth be told, I am BEFUDDLED after perusing the pictures some Denver men choose for their online dating profiles.  It’s as if their buddies secretly logged in to their eharmony and match.com accounts and played a cruel joke…posting a plethora of the WORST, most dorky, unflattering mug shots…borderline…blackmail material.

Some of my favorite RECENT “jaw-on-floor” findings include:

10.  guy riding a donkey wearing a white “wife beater” circa 1992 (I felt sorry for the donkey and almost called PETA.)

9.  smiling dude sitting in monster truck with gun rack mounted right behind his head (I bet you voted for Obama, right?)

8.  anything that looks like it came from “Glamour Shots” in the mall! (Does that place even exist anymore?)

7.  guy surrounded by his nieces and nephews to illustrate he “likes kids” (No, really you just look creepy.)

6.  man dancing at a wedding with his poor date’s eyes “blacked out” (As if that conceals your ex-girlfriend’s or ex-wife’s identity)

5.  guy wearing an earring of any sort!  (Soooo Kirk Cameron and “Charles in Charge!”)

4.  shirtless man covered in face and body paint standing outside Invesco Field displaying Bronco pride (You need to head to the gym after the game.  And that wig isn’t helping either.)

3.  dude dressed up as woman for “Halloween” (Which team are you batting on here?)

2.  guy wearing spandex (ONLY acceptable if you’re on a bike!)

And the BEST/WORST of all:

1.  man dressed in camouflage proudly holding up the deer he just shot and killed with his buddies (This isn’t the NRA website mister.)

It’s scary to think these photos represent the “best” these men have to offer.  If these are the “good pictures,” what about the “bad ones?”

Yep, the old saying goes, “a picture is worth a thousand words.”  In this case, though, I’m downright speechless.  Mum’s the word.

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.)

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)

What’s WITH Single 30 year-old women and their dogs? …Says the a##hole

A few weeks ago, I was quenching my alcohol induced thirst at Forest Room 5, one of Denver’s low-key hot spots, located in the trendy trenches west of downtown.  If you haven’t been there…imagine a lounge situated in a hip, artificial forest.  Think Ikea meets Gnomeworld (the Travelocity dude)…but in a kosher kind of fashion.

Anywho, I was chatting away with my two Denver BFFs (Celeste and Miranda), when a playa’ in his early 40s approached us and negatively said, “What’s WITH single 30 year-old women and their dogs?  It’s weird.  Single women are obsessed with their dogs.  They always have to leave dates early to go let their dogs out.  Who wants THAT responsibility?” (In other words, he’s pissed b/c female dog owners won’t shack up with him.)

Clockwatch aside, it only took me about .27 seconds to flick the switch – transforming from lovable, flirty Leaza to beeee-atch on a rampage.  I explained to him (in my best calm bitchy voice), “Hey, my dog is loyal and loving, and actually protects me from weirdos.” During my tirade, I whipped out my iPhone, waving pictures of Fluffmuffin (see below) in this divorced dufus’s face – delivering a sermon that would make canines around the world howl with pride.

My dog "Fluffmuffin"

I couldn’t help but defend almost every single woman’s “best friend.”  Growing up, I always told my dog “goodnight” before drowsily falling asleep.  And a few decades later -  Fluffmuffin receives the SAME treatment before I hop under my comfy duvet cover.  Yes…families and single men love their dogs, but MAYBE single women cherish them more.  And if so, I’m OK with that.  (Who else will guard my dirty socks all day?)

I then challenged the bachelor (wearing too much hair gel,) “So, if you don’t like dating women with dogs because there’s TOO much responsibility involved – you REALLY must not like dating women with kids.”

He then sheepily stated, “Well, I have 4 kids.”

Quickly realizing this guy had enough baggage to put Southwest airlines out of business, my BFFs and I turned our heels and left Mr. “Pot Calling the Kettle Black” in the dust, alone in the faux forest.

I went home that night, and let my dog sleep in the bed.  Funny thing, I’m sure THAT guy…was sleeping alone.

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All this “dog talk” makes me think about a popular Youtube clip by Wendy Francisco called “GoD and DoG.”  Check it out…your dog will appreciate it.

Top 10 WORST Emails from Guys on Match.com

Let’s face it – truth is always stranger than fiction.  So, I decided to compile a list of my favorite emails from Denver men on match.com.  These are ACTUAL quotes…served up straight.   And yes ladies, these men are walking the streets of the mile high city.  Try not to fight over them.

10.  Annie is my favorite play on Broadway.   (You already sound like a child molester.)

9.  (from an old 52 year old dude) Did you know that Frances Folsom Cleveland married President Grover Cleveland when she was 21 and he 49?  They had a beautiful White House wedding and it was the cheer of the nation back then.  (Good to know since I wasn’t paying attention in Mrs. Clark’s 8th grade U.S. History class.)

8.  So I’ll get right to it — want to grab a beer?  Nome of that “coors light” shit though, a real beer.  (What, like a PBR?  Or a Natural Light?)

7.  I have a picture of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt on my wall by my work-desk. (Are you flippin’ kidding me???!!!) When I look at their picture, I wonder. When I think of them, I see the idea of “humanitarianism.”  We often think of actors as just actors or actresses … but really they are an expression of our best and worse selves. In Harrison Ford, I see the patriot; In Mel Gibson, I see the neurotic; In Nicole Kidman, I see the crusader, and in Demi Moore, I see the iconoclast. What about you? What do you see about the world in certain actor or actresses?  (Dude, in your profile pic…I see “America’s Most Wanted” meets “Jersey Shore.”)

6.  (from an asian man) I can tell that you’re the type to primarily date cauc-ASIANS b/c you fear that you wont find an Asian that’s taller than you? I have to admit, most are midgets. (Wow, if you were a white man, you would be called a racist! BTW..I’m turning you into the “Little People of America Association.’”)

5.  Hey sexy, how was your Monday? I have seen dozens and dozens of women on here and you are far and away one of the hottest ones. (My Monday was great until you emailed me.  Don’t ruin my Tuesday please.)

4. Wud up? (Your vocabulary skills clearly scream master’s degree.)

3.  That’s what I am like: a heart of compassion – wanting to heal the world and make it a better place. I don’t just want to live; I want to make a difference. All while having fun, smelling the roses … wanting it all… (Do you work for Hallmark?  If not I hear Dairy Queen is hiring.)

2.  I work for a small up-and-coming terrorist organization in the marketing department. We’re doing great in Wyoming, but we have big hopes and dreams and want to start making a splash on the international circuit. As you can imagine, image is everything with terrorists. So I was thinking about doing a marketing campaign on cable TV, like CNN or maybe the home shopping network, can you help me out? (No, but maybe Suzanne Somers can – or Chuck Norris?  Perhaps Sarah Palin when she’s done with her book tour?)

1.  My American Dream includes a real life size action and full-of-life Barbie… and you fit the description. (Sorry Ken, get lost.  I hear Skipper is single though.)

Feel free to share some of your best and worst…

Writing my Match.com Dissertation

Following “Big Decision for the New Gal in Town….”    I attacked my match.com profile with the exuberation of a teenage girl shopping for her first prom dress combined with the writing expertise of an Oxford english PhD student composing a dissertation.  This profile HAD to transcend “good”….In southern terms, my mission was to “git ‘er done.” My pale tulle pink manicured fingers started moving at warp speed as I chugged a vodka/cranberry (with extra lime) and set out on my match.com man-finding mission.  The words transcended out of my blonde brain into seamless comedic prose on a computer screen.  Glancing at my pictures, I made sure to include a wide assortment…close-ups, body shots, me chillin’ on beach chair (bloody mary in hand), moi hiking a 14-er (a must for Denver, Colorado men).  After all – I was well-rounded woman, and wanted to secure it was obvious I could tackle outdoor activities in a single bound.  I even threw in a photo of my lovely pooch…to prove I could live in peaceful harmony with dog hair…

I typed with a vengeance….the desk light glowing in my corner living room office.  If only the neighbors in ritzy Cherry Creek knew little ole’ Leaza was on the brink of something big…something that could change her life — and hopefully someone else’s…completely.  If anything, this would at least provide hours of free entertainment giggling with girlfriends.  My mouth salivated at the thought of laughing hysterically, comparing horror online dating stories and trying overzealously to outdo each other.  Pathetic, yes.

An hour into my pulitzer prize winning challenge, I stared at the giant icon labeled “Profile Complete.”  This was THE moment.  The moment where my words…and my pictures….transmitted themselves to possibly hundreds of available men in the Denver/Boulder area.  I imagined myself…Leaza…as a mass blonde mailing…except instead of ending up in an outdoor mailbox, I would land in someone’s virtual one.  I felt as if I was taking a leap of faith….  I giddily scanned my profile for any last minute changes…exhaled, “What the hell?” — then cautiously moved my mouse over “Profile Complete.”  Folks…it was time to start this mission.  I prepared for the adventure…and clicked…sending my profile to the gods at match.com.  I prayed for Zeus to intercede, quickly wondering if I would land in heaven, hell, or god-forbid, gulp, limbo.

Big Decision for the New Gal in Town…

Being the brand spankin’ new kid in D-town (Denver), I’d thought I’d give online dating a shot.  So, on a whim, armed with my credit card digits – a plethora of recent party-girl pics – and multiple images of me conquering the great outdoors, I logged on to several of (what I call) the “me-bay” sites.  I felt perfectly fine to take ownership of my singledom and market myself to the millions of morons, mullets, macho-men, and Mr. Rights living in the Denver demographics in hopes of finding one decent dude or hot “dudley do-right.”   After all, I’m a hot commodity, so why not market to the masses and put U.S. capitalism to work, right?  I remembered the good ole’ lesson of supply and demand from 8th grade economics.  Limited supply of awesome, available women (i.e. ME) equates to high demand from rich, hot, down-to-earth bachelors (i.e. THEM).  Throw in a ski condo, some fine wine, a labrador mutt who adores hiking…and the deal becomes even better, sweeter, and BEYOND palatable…

Which online dating site would I choose?  Hmmmm..did I prefer the open “card catalog” approach of match.com…or the “secret ballot” style of e-harmony?  For one brief moment I was sold on eHolyHell.com (a.k.a. eharmony), but ultimately decided those commercials were too darn cheesy for moi to appear during future primetime TV lineups (if AND when I did meet Mr. Hot-Dudley-do-right).   Besides, I always wondered….where were the commercials portraying the “not-so-cute” people?  Those couples seemed to be missing from the airwaves, as if some rich white old/fat/bald guy in an eharmony sterile board room ironically instilled a “no fat/boring/ugly person rule.”   Being a dewey decimal girl at heart (and secretly thinking the card catalog approach would work in my favor), I flippantly decided on the match.com 90-day subscription, figuring that would equal more than enough minutes for all the fab singular D-town dudes to fawn at me virtually, in hopes of rubbing knees with me physically.  I was salivating at the anticipation of my first wink, that first email…before I even clicked on the “new user” icon.  This my friends….was gonna be fun.