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

A Diggity Dog Weekend in Colorado for Pups

As everyone knows (I’ve heard your giggles), I’ve been carrying around a stuffed dog named Pups the Traveling Labrador the past week.  Pups “mom” found my blog, then sent Pups for a Colorado visit. For the last four years, he has traveled the globe…posing in front of random, beautiful, breathtaking, and humorous locations.  I’m proud to add Vail to Pups’ list of favorite destinations…

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Let me introduce you to the traveling labrador dawg named Pups…
Who said a lot more than “woof” and “ruff-ruff.”

Visiting his new friend, Leaza, Pups headed west…
And gave Denver (along with Leaza’s kids Waylon and Lilly) his doggie-do best….

First to the Colorado State Capitol to check out the sights…
Next to High Noon Entertainment to his doggie delight.

He wrote a script in Leaza’s TV producer cube…
Then worked in the editing bay with his quick creative moves…

Finally before leaving…Pups made a new friend…
Emma, a therapy dog, who had a helping paw to lend.

Early that evening, Pups cruised west on I-70…
Heading to Vail, he knew fun and craziness would be a-plenty…

The night began in Vail Village via a shuttle bus…
He and the crew met many people – including a granola guy named Gus.

A quick stop at Vendetta’s yielded some awesome pizza as a kicker…
Pups finally cut loose and ordered his own pitcher!

Next – dancing at “The Club” – making friends with the ladies…
Pups thought he had died and gone to heaven…and barked, “Oh baby.”

Pups found his way onstage – hanging with the band.
Posing as a backup singer – he felt this was his “life-doggie plan.”

The night ended (in the morning) with Pups snoring in bed….
With visions of snowboarding and Vail blue skies dancing in his head.

Day one of snowboarding started with a bang.
Pups rode up the lift from Lionshead with Leaza and her gang.

Pups picked up pointers from other boarders who offered assistance…
Soon he was riding on his own – this dawg growled persistence!

Before long, Pups was boarding where no dog “had gone before…”
Also –  meeting new friends – eternally partying from his inner core…

He bumped into his Scooby Do, his favorite compadre and hero…
Then conquered some more mogul turns…before his energy dropped to zero…

Day two of skiing and boarding…Pups arose tired and feeling a wee sick.
A cup of strong coffee, some advil, and H2O quickly did the trick!

The last day of Vail Closing Weekend began on a lift heading up…
Leaza and her “dressed-up” gang brought along Pups as he considered himself one “lucky duck…”

Adorned with shades, Pups caught some rays atop Blue Sky Basin…
Hanging with fellow dudes, picnicking, and enjoying periods of just lazin’…

Putting his snowboard aside, he ponied up to some beverages on ice….
Checking out crazy costumes…he howled with laughter and thought, “Dude, this is nice!”

Later that night, Pups recorded all his memories in his pawesome personal book…
He thought to himself…”After a long weekend in sunny Colorado, I’m hooked!”

“Dear Leaza” he wrote…”You are a loyal ‘dog’s best friend.’
In lieu of more laughter, mountain views, and partying….Please let me know when I can visit again.”

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!!!!!

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.)