Celebrating My Anniversary, NOT the Marriage Kind

Tick, tock…tick, tick, tick….

Native I’ll never be…but a Colorado transplant I’m happy to be. And a lucky one at that.

It was ONE YEAR AGO this month when I packed up my mini-cooper in Dallas, blazed a fierce trail to Denver, and started my life OVER. (well not really, but close enough) Yep, that’s what a cross country move does – it encompasses more than just a new chapter – it’s a different book entirely.

I had a love affair with Colorado from 1997 to 1999 when I attended CU-Boulder for graduate school. After living in the dreamworld of the Rockies, I found myself moving to a small Texas tv market to start my journalism career and “pay my dues” (aka starve to death and cover boring-ass city council meetings). In the back of my mind though, I always thought, “Colorado….I’ll be back!”

Over the next 10 years, my personal zip code and television career landed me in Little Rock, Kansas City, and Dallas. Sure the people were nice (news flash: people are nice everywhere), and I made some amazing friends, but the weather SUCKED! And the scenery – no comparison to Colorado.  One day…my heart told me it was about time I did something for myself. So I opened the vault, found my dream, landed a job with a solid tv production company in Denver – and MOVED.

When you’re a newbie in town, time DOES fly. And to mark my big anniversary, I’m posting the top 10 things I have learned about “starting over.”

1. Learn to be alone – in public.

Bottom line – you must “go at it” alone at first – to have a handful of good girlfriends for the future. The only way to meet people – is to force yourself to be social through groups, outings, meet-up events, work happy hours, etc. Throw yourself to the masses and focus on other “newbies.” It’s a numbers game. Some people will stick, others won’t. It’s kind of like dating – minus the free dinners.

2. Don’t worry about buying a lot of new clothes.

New co-workers and friends will think your clothes from two years ago are brand-new since they’ve never seen them before! It’s quite liberating.  That “old shirt” suddenly looks “new” again. Chances are – one of your new girlfriends will want to borrow it!

3. Pets are like family…usually better than family.

Furry friends help you survive the lonely weekend nights before you know ANYONE to rock the town with on a regular basis. Also, they don’t argue over which DVD to rent.  Even my cat, Waylon, helps me feel safe at night despite having no claws.

4. In your 30s, it’s a small dating world after all.

Even though it’s a new city and you’re starting “fresh”….it only takes about five months until you see guys you’ve already dated before at a local bar. (Asshole Andy and Belgium Boy just to name a few)  Every now and then, suck it up and go on a date with a dude in the burbs.

5. Facebook will get you through the hard times.

Of course you can keep track of girlfriends, secretly stalk old flames, and check in on your siblings. Better yet, you can post pictures of yourself in your fabulous new town, experiencing all its fabulous new adventures….hence making everyone else jealous.

6. If you’re forced to downsize, you won’t miss the extra space.

Trust me, even though it’s more expensive than “your old town,” you’ll be just as happy with less square footage in your “new town.” I’m more giddy on a daily basis because I have one less bathroom to clean.  Less IS more.  And I never miss my old, scary Freddy Kruger basement.

7. It’s fun playing tourist in your new hometown.

Chances are…you’re seeing more in the city than most people born in that particular town. I’m always amazed when I meet people raised in Colorado who have NEVER tried snow skiing.  That’s like living in New York and NEVER shopping.

8. Much of your future success and happiness comes from people you do not know yet!

Weird to think about this, but very true. People walk in your life when you least expect it – they can impact your personal and professional life in more ways imaginable. So be nice to everyone (well, at first anyways).  That bee-atch who at first seemed cold, could actually help you get a job promotion someday.

9. Good friends will come and visit – and it’s easy to pick up right where you left off.

Usually the “picking up” involves wine, sangria, outdoor patios, giggles, shrieks, laughs, then hangovers…in no particular order. Once the word spreads you live in a “cool” place, expect more visitors.  Stock up on tour guide materials.  Before you know it, friends and family expect you to plan their vacations.

10. And finally….one of my favorite quotes (author unknown)…to sum up starting over:

“If you resist change, or hold on to the past, you postpone all future blessings awaiting you on the next level.”

In lieu of anniversary gifts, I am asking that you comment on my blog. Or pass it on to someone who wants to make a change, but cannot find the courage.

The day I moved...

and the state I moved to...

Some Things THANKFULLY Never Change

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know the drill…the ole familiar mantra.  Life is about change, right?  Change is inevitable.  Change forces you to grow.  Blah blah blah.  (Damn those motivational speakers!)

Don’t get me wrong.  I do relish some change…in certain situations.  I enjoy changing my hairstyle, my toenail polish, my sheets (oo-lah-lah), underwear, and of course my address (when I moved to Denver).   On the flip side, I HATE changing my own flat tire.

But some things…I just want to stay “the same.”  For comfort reasons.

On top of my “no-changes-allowed” list…tried and true friendships.   You know….the ones you can count on one perfectly manicured hand.

Thankfully, the bond I have with certain girlfriends has never changed (sounds cliche but true).  I don’t have “blood” sisters, so my girlfriends are my “true” sisters.   Yes, our lives have transformed over the years…but our emotional connections haven’t.  True BFFs survive a typhoon of marriages, divorces, hangovers, cross country moves, breakups, breakdowns, newborns, new jobs, bad jobs, no jobs, 50 cases of PMS, and about 1.2 million bad and good dates.  And I haven’t even mentioned the mini-makeovers, pounds lost, pounds gained, and all those damn exercise hours in between.

This comforting reality hit me last week when one of my BFFs (aka Brendy) visited moi from Kansas City.  (I used to live there a few years back.)  As any good hostess, I showed her all the beautiful “mile-high” city highlights.   We sauntered down Larimer Square, rubbed elbows with the cougars at Elway’s, burned some laps at Wash Park, and even conquered Rocky Mountain National Park.

More importantly, though, we just cut to the chase and fell into our old BFF routine….the one that never changed. Same friendship…just a different location.  Our fears…plus our dreams….all rolled into one conversation.   Minutes in, Brendy and I were “in the zone”…best described as a combination of hot gossip, emotional details, genuine reactions….coupled with spurts of laughter, “oh-my-gods,” bedroom details, and various bitch sessions.

Bottom line…who cares about salutations and fluff…when you can get to the heart of the matter efficiently?  Throw in some red sangria and watch the conversation run rampant.

A few days in to Brendy’s visit…..I realized something.  Spending time with her…made me miss her EVEN more!  Of course I had missed her the last few years….but as her departure loomed ahead…and the clock seemed to speed up….we realized the scope. It was huge…and special.  Something I hope every woman experiences.

Brendy and I boo-hood like teenagers leaving summer horseback riding camp the night before her flight back to Kansas City.  We hugged on the couch and felt pretty darn “Hallmark-card” pathetic.   Heck, I’m surprised we didn’t buy cheesy friendship pins…or carve our initials into some poor tree.

After she left, I was seriously depressed all day…secretly sniffling to myself while editing video at work…trying to write an episode.  Brendy texted me from the plane equally as bummed.  Sigh……our big adventure was officially over.   When I got home…I scarfed down potato chips, crawled under a blanket, and watched a chick “Sundance film festival” movie…attempting to think about something OTHER than my best friend’s absence.

Later that night, “Eye Guy” came over to attempt to cheer me up.   Like any man, he wanted to “fix” the problem…then “make out.  :)  And like most women mourning the departure of someone special, I told him I needed my space (aka “get lost”) and to call me the next day.  My pity party was my own and no one else’s…and would certainly not be ruined by some dude.

When the alarm rang the next morning, I made a conscious effort to find my “big girl panties.”  I pulled my mood out of the gutter.  And suddenly….all was “right” again in the world.   Driving to work,….my acoustic satellite music channel acting as a sappy soundtrack…I pondered my blessings

As women…we need each other. It doesn’t matter what stage of life we’re currently “in”…or moving “into”…or “leaving.”

The lesson here….good friends really don’t change…instead…they help you roll, conquer, and survive all of your own life changes. And distance…well, it’s just a small detour.

If you like this post, send it to one of your BFFs.

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…..

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"

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.

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.

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