Monday, March 31, 2008

You can take the girl to the bar, but can you take the bar out of the girl?

After the tenth trip in and out of the bar at the ice rink, people were starting to wonder about me. I do have a wee bladder, but I wasn't using the little girl's room. I was playing an arcade game — Dance Dance Revolution.

As I spied little tots stepping on its squares earlier that day, the game's neon lights dared me to embarrass myself. I wanted to play so bad. But I knew moving the machine into a room with a locked door and no windows wasn't an option.

So I waited for the little tots' moms to round them up. I wanted for the hockey game's time clocks to tick down. I waited until the only sound was that of the cleaning lady vacuuming around my fixation.

Then I approached, mounted and boogied. It boooed at me in the worse way. So I danced harder. I wasn't giving up. I could do it.

A fortune later, (and several trips into the bar for change) I had mastered it. And I had to be pulled off it when it was time to go home.

But just those mere moments had revolutionized me.
Because I wasn't the same old Sarah in the bar, bored with a beer.
I was the kid on the arcade, drunk with fun.

The Not-So-Tender Bar

After an evening of dinner and drinks during the "early bird special" on Friday night, my friend and I sauntered over to our "used-to-be-favorite" watering hole for a drink... but what we found weren't the kind of worms these birds are now looking for.


1. The smell.
I can remember late nights where the men's room toilet flooded into the bar area. I can remember people puking on the floor and spilling drinks everywhere. What I cannot remember, is seeing anyone clean up any of this... ever. The putrid smell, exists as evidence of this very fact.

2. The patrons.
"Hey! There's that ugly guy who called me Mami and rubbed his leg against mine even though I told him that I was trying to have 'A (expletive) conversation.' And look! There's that tool we called the PERP!" (Turns out... although we'd found other things to do, that some individuals still hadn't).

3. The bartenders.
Like the patrons, those same ol' 30-somethings were still pretending that they were rock-stars rather than drink-makers. But what does it say about a man that can only get the ladies after he fills them with shots of tequila and garnishes his "game" with deception?

4. The children
I dunno what happened... but either they lowered the drinking age to 16, or I'm getting O-L-D.

5. The prices
Drinks are cheaper when you're single... my freebie was replaced with a $6 tab, and all I could think was how that was the same price as my favorite cheapy-red wine (of which I get an entire bottle, rather than 4 ounces in a chipped glass).

In all, I realized that I can get all the perks of what I once found at the bar... friends, music, booze, conversation and camaraderie, in the comforts of my own home.

Where it doesn't smell foul...
Where the perp doesn't exist...
And where I can drink 3 glasses of wine with real friends rather than 10 pints of alcohol with
people that will leave me to find my own cab at 3 a.m.

This early bird, now gets her worm at home.

Friday, March 28, 2008

Chrissie Stew

Ingredients: 1 Chrissie Lynn, 1 man, a disagreement of varying proportion, a large white flag and just a pinch of reality.

Directions: -Mix Chrissie Lynn, the man and the disagreement in large bowl until well blended.

-Let the mixture stand for a few minutes until at its peak of flavor and then let Chrissie Lynn stew over the mess until she finds a resolution.

-Add apologies as needed.
-Garnish with a white flag and hope that she soon forgets.

(Although she probably won't... it is a stew after all).

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

How it all goes to hell

I don't like him, I told R. when I met her new boyfriend, a Blondie with a nice build, who liked to spin on his head at nightclubs. He went by the name of QUEST.

Yet, of all the unconcealed reasons not to warm up to the guy dating your best friend (the main one being that he was nearing 30 and still pursuing his b-boy dream), I carefully selected this one:

He tossed a Red Bull out of his car, which zipped through the air like a Sarah-seeking rocket, and hit the windshield of her car, right in front of my face. The loud WHAM made my head bump the ceiling and my heart thump faster than a thoroughbred at Saratoga.

Of course, she listened to me, and dated him for something like five years : 1

Here are some real reasons why best friends hate it when Sally meets Harry.

1.) As quickly as he whisks her off her feet, she vanishes from your daily life. Sure, there's the occasional girls date, that has to be scheduled two months in advance, when he's out of town. But you know the weekends when she was all yours are long gone.

2.) When he fixes you up with his friend and you spend the night squirming from disgust, don't look to her for sympathy. The only thing she's interested in is earning MVP in the tonsil hockey tourny.

3.) His male chauvinistic friend was one big loser, so you make excuses whenever he's going to be around, only to find out later that your best friend has played matchmaker once again. She set him up with the girl she used to call "smash face" and now the four are inseparable.

4.) The honeymoon period is over, and somehow you managed not to rip off your ears, when she sang "What a Man, What a Man, What a Mighty Good Man" in the shower over and over. But then you start getting different phone calls, when you have to say: "Whoa, catch your breath so I can understand you. Now, what did he do?" For the next hour, she recounts how he stood her up, cheated on her, lied to her, beat up her mom and is running from DOG the bounty hunter. A week later, she's back in Salt N Pepper "What a man..."

5.) Her taken status makes her immune to any good relationship advice you might have to offer. Your words are wasted, so you don't bother. Your indifference coping mechanism sends her into a tizzy fit, demonstrating all her best qualities. You both declare a war of silence.

6.) It's been a year since you last heard from her, and just when you think you've put the two behind you, she asks you to be in her wedding. And there's more good news. That creep you got fixed up with, he's going to be your escort.

The Perfect Accessory

In my time as a "single and looking" girl, I found that there was one accessory that I couldn't live without.

And no, it wasn't a fancy lip gloss, the perfect bag or up to date cell phone.

It was the wing-woman.
The girl who, like me, was also single and looking.
The girl who I could spend all my free time with while I waited, however impatiently for my knight in shining armor. With each other around we weren't lonely or desperate, we were single and fabulous... the world of men at our fingertips.

But I've recently got to thinking about my wing woman... and how she now finds herself not only without a man, but also without another single girl to pass her weekends with. She's in a place where all her closest friends are in relationships and she's the last single girl of the bunch, waiting, however impatiently for her knight in shining armor.

And where our conversations were once filled with stories of drunken absurdity, passionate crushes, and "those particular guys," I think they now revolve around me filling her in and her feeling left out... because the common ground we once found ourselves on has shifted.

But while things may seem awkward now, I hope this shift is just a tiny crack in our friendship...
One that we can smooth over with time and her eventual happiness, rather than a crevice large enough to disappear in should my wing-woman find herself unable to fly.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Meet ANOTHER nice guy!

In honor of my old tradition (ya know, that ONE time I wrote about a NICE GUY) I want to take this time to point out yet another nice guy.

Apparently world, there are in fact at least TWO of them out there!

After a lousy day of 50 mph winds and wanting a spring that just wouldn't come soon enough... Spring was brought to me instead.

In the form of a beautiful flower-delivery addressed to yours truly.

And while I got to take in the soft petals and sweet smells, I was calmly reminded of no one else but him.

Because, no one, has ever, sent me flowers before.

Sure, I received the occasional rose at V-day and there may have been that one time that I was greeted by a small bouquet, but I've never before had the chance to suffer the embarrassment and glee that goes along with the P-D-F. Public Display of Flowers.

So this nice guy, made my day...

And this early arrival of spring promised not only the renewal of my favorite season... but also the renewal of my faith..... in men.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Snug Sundays

I'm going to give you a sneaky peak into
what makes me want to
put my Sunday nights on pause.

This scene:

C. sprawled on the king-sized pillow
I sewed especially for our fireplace canoodling.
Capo nestled in his favorite nook.
The house filled with the smell of roasting wood.

After I took this photo, I found my spot, tucked under
C.'s smile and I listened to the flames until I drifted off to sleep.

Sadly, C & I shared our last fireplace snuggle of the season last night.
Our bodies seemed to sense the end.
There was extra hugging and kissing and exchanging sweet words.

Pretty soon, we'll be wearing sweat drenched tees, panting in front of fans,
afraid that touching one another would mean sticking together
like bubble gum to an unsuspecting shoe.

I woke up this morning feeling a sense of great loss.

And I started devising my strategic approach...

I figured I'll come in from the left. Throw the pooch on first and
slide in, maybe with an arm under his head and a leg on the ground.

If I'm lucky, we both won't end up with a mouth full of sand.


Friday, March 21, 2008

Hello Cohabitation, Goodbye Garbage

There are a few things men must get rid of before their new ladies will feel comfortable in their newly shared pad. Stuff like...

1. The Ex's toiletries
We all know that specialty shave gel and box of tampons isn't yours. If you expect your new woman to use them, however "new" they seem, you are completely mistaken.

2. The beer paraphernalia
Anything that was "bought" or rather "give to you" at the pub is not real decor. So take the mardi gras beads off the lamp shade already.

3. The roommate
She, will never be happy living in the "guys pad" so you're going to have to ditch your 30-something roommate, no matter how long you dudes have lived together.

4. The little black book
Whether its tiny, huge, or bound like webster's dictionary, those numbers must go right in the trash with "single you."

5. The GI Joes and Comic books
Yeah, yeah, they're worth money... but if you want to live with your woman, it's finally time to trade in your toys for an Ebay account.

6. The Band posters
Unless they're framed, they have to go. Nothing says "bachelor" like a ripped at the edges Def Leopard tribute.

7. The butcher shop
If your fridge is full of burgers, dogs, and steaks and nothing else, it may be time to trade your meat cooler in for a real fridge. You know, one with all the food groups and maybe a little soda to go with your fine array of beers.

8. The "sex drawer"
Unless they are things you to bought together, you may want to clear out that drawer for some of her things... or you may risk being asked the question of "Honey, who bought you that whip?"

Give me 9 and 10...
What did YOU have to get rid of or make your man throw out before you took the plunge and shared a home?

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Biting my tongue

I used to say whatever I wanted, to whomever, always. I didn't care if my comments were offensive, or if I seemed brash or if I wasn't taken seriously. I just wanted to be heard.

But I suddenly find myself biting my tongue.
Afraid of saying too much, or seeming like too much of something that I might actually be.

I now find myself tight-lipped and silent.
Keeping things in because they may seem offensive.
Not saying that because it might ruin this.

And so I am quiet. A mouth full of abrasions rather than opinions. Lips framing pain instead of power.

A coppery taste left in my mouth... each and every time I see you.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Pushing my buttons

Happy hour. 15 minutes in. His friends. Not mine.

Ms. flirtation found her target, and it belonged to me.

It's one thing to smile with your eyes and flirt with your wit, and it's quite another to touch someone else's man.

While I stood closely by... I saw it happen.
She was intrigued by his style, namely the cute little buttons on his shirt. They were the kind that literally made a "snap" noise when closed... the kind that had a pearly outside and a metal enclosure that seemed to hold her attention much better than my evil stares from across the room.

Snap snap went the breast pocket buttons.
Snap snap went the first two collar buttons.
Snap snap went the next... and then the next.

I sauntered over, pointed to the lowest buttons on the shirt and simply said, "As long as you don't touch those two. Those are mine."

She giggled. I walked away. And then I spent the majority of the next hour or so flirting with my wit and smiling with my eyes.

Finally, he approached me and asked...

"Are you leaving with me... or with him?"
"Well it depends." I said.
"On what?" he asked.
"On whether or not you ever plan to wear that shirt again."

He laughed. Grabbed my hand tightly and we left.

In the end I guess I could only hope that his grasp was a better indication of our connection than those lousy little buttons.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Wait for me!

Flip flops. Dirt streaked and dented. Handy, but awkward in certain situations. Like climbing over hurdles.

Black skates. Blades, not wheels. Laced and ready to rocket.

One pair belongs to her. The other to him.

Even if they head in the same direction, they'll never roll the same way.

Prognosis: Doomed from the start.

Let's make a baby!

Preheat over to 250 degrees and insert rubber baby for 10-15 minutes, or until soft.

No, I'm not kidding.
Some women are baking babies rather than having them the traditional way.
And their Reborns look A LOT like the real thing, only without all the fuss.

Some of these women claim to be saddened by the loss of their real children or grandchildren, some want the cuteness of a baby without all the mess. Some even say that they simply want the attention that comes from a perfect little reborn tucked neatly (and quietly) away in a stroller.

But why would a grown woman carry around a doll?

Perhaps without these life-like creatures to create some happiness in their lonely lives, they feel like failures...

Failures because a woman who isn't a mommy, isn't always considered "whole." She's a woman without a family. A vessel for creating life that goes unused.

But is it worse to be the unconventional woman who goes without children...
Or to be the woman who puts all her ingredients in a convection oven, in hopes of baking a baby to reborn her happiness?

Monday, March 17, 2008

Still at it... a year later

While my blogging better half has experienced a change of heart since we first started this Odd Couple experiment last March, my status has stayed the same.

C. still makes me feel intoxicated, now more than ever. I'm in love, if not stricken senseless. I barrel through today in anticipation of tomorrow.

But most of all, what I feel is disbelief (those red blotches on my body are the result of excessive pinching).

At times I may seem like dr. pollyanna schlessinger. Sorry for that. I can also be a sneering loud mouth spinster. Below, both of my best sides shine, in my BLOG Year in Review.

here goes:

What I said BACK THEN: You can start wearing your real underwear.
What I say NOW: Until the Victoria's Secret catalogs make you realize that your age isn't the only thing getting old.

Then: You are now the designated co-pilot during long driving trips – and that means you can take a nap, read a book or watch a movie while your loved one does all the hard work.
Now: He's driven so much in the past 3 years, his idea of a vacation is reading books and napping in his own bed.

Then: No one tries to hook you up with their really “nice” friend, co-worker, cousin, etc., who calls you babe and slaps you on the butt.
Now: Your relative wants you to know she has PLAN B (a divorced baldy with kids!) just in case your current relationship doesn't work out. An added blow: "Your mom approves."

Then: You can stop talking to your cats. They will only ever be able to MEOW, no matter how much you wish otherwise.
Now: You've thinking about adopting another "family member" to make up for him having to work Saturdays now until you start dating Daddy-O.

Then: If you were to get drunk, climb up on the bar and start removing clothes, your man would stop you, whereas your friends would video tape you and post it on YouTube.
Now: You video tape yourself doing cartwheels over Dave Matthews Band because your life is just that dull.

Then: Diamonds.
Now: The only sparkle you ever got was when you scrubbed the grime off his neglected shower.

Then: You don’t have to keep your promise to marry your best friend if you both are single at 35. Phew!
Now: Nope. You don't. You just have to be her maid of honor.


Perhaps some of you can remember, all those months ago when Sarah and I created this blog under the pretense of "SINGLE VS TAKEN." We each created lists of all the reasons it was better to be either one or the other, and we both thought we were right.

Well, SINGLE VS TAKEN, has suffered a huge blow.
Let's just say I've changed my mind, and the new tagline has to be, "TAKEN vs. Newly-TAKEN."

Here's what I said back then, and how I've changed my mind.

Reasons its better to be single:
1. You get that nice big bed all to yourself (pink pillows and all).
I don't like pink pillows, there is nothing "pink" in my apartment at all, and a big bed means nothing if you prefer to sleep on your couch when you're alone, because its shape reminds you of snuggling.

2. Eating dinner means making what YOU want, pizza or brownies, your opinion is the only one that matters.
Eating dinner with a man who LIKES YOU, means you can still have the pizza or brownies if you prefer, the only difference is that now you occasionally get vegetables in your system when he takes you out for dinner.

3. You're in better shape than all your "doughy-in-a-relationship friends," and they know it.
There are "things," you can do with your new man to keep you in shape... like hiking.

4. When you meet someone you click with, you never have to say, "I can't go out with you Mr. Soul Mate, Mr. Good-Enough-For-Now is waiting for me at home."
You don't have to go out looking for someone to "click" with, you have him already. (Staying single for 2 years makes settling out of the question;)

5. Checking in means going to the bathroom and making sure your lip gloss isn't smudged. It DOESN'T mean bringing your cell phone into the bathroom stall with you so you can say those magic, instigating words to your boyfriend, "I'm running late..."
Checking in actually means telling the guy who appreciates your individuality and independence that you're running late, and hearing him say, "Thanks for calling, I hope you're having a good time, I miss you!" <-- this makes you want to leave.

6. Your parents don't ask you embarrassing relationship questions that are laced with their disapproval, like "How's Mr. X, I hear he still works at the Mobil."

You're parents are happy you've finally found someone worth mentioning, and you've finally found someone you're not making excuses for.

7. Free Drinks!!! And by FREE I mean GUILT FREE! No one cares who's buying them for you, and you don't care if he can afford to or not!
Drinks are for mind-numbing distractions: Who needs THAT when you want to FEEL something?!

8. You can flirt endlessly with the most attractive guy in the room while your friend who's hitched can only look on with envy.
You ARE flirting endlessly, always, with the most attractive guy to you in the room, that's why you picked him.

9. All your clothes are cute since you're always on the prowl.

All your clothes are STILL CUTE because you're "new" to this relationship thing and you still don't want to repeat outfits.

10. Last but not least... You know deep down that the best is still yet to come.

You've learned that the only thing better than desiring "the best," is actually getting it.

Friday, March 14, 2008

No pilots need apply

Graduated college. Twice. Spent five years with one company without a single pink slip. Met a great guy who I know I can love for a lifetime. YaddaYaddaYadda...

Of all these accomplishments, there's one that's not on the list. One that ranks 1,000 notches higher... One thing each person MUST achieve.

I found my independence.

It was lost for a brief time. Before my induction into the Idiot Hall of Fame, I relied on M. to drive me places. E. to show me around campus. J. to keep me entertained and pay half the rent.

Oh what Nitwit Mistakes!

Three major relationship failures later, I was finally seeing the dilemma. No one else was going to make me happy except me.

When I set out solo, I discovered my own manual. After I'd read it, tested it, and perfected it, I just happen to pick up a passenger.

My graduate degree is just paper. My job is just a job. And C. is great, but I don't need him to smile or to laugh.

These things didn't change my life.
Learning how to fly my own plane did!

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

The soggy socks chronicles

it started out harmless enough, a nice sunny day,
a snow covered path, some fresh air

my best hiking buddy was looking ferocious as usual, grrrrrr

the initial views made up for the hour drive to
Sam's Point Preserve in Cragsmoor.

(is anyone else thinking about butternut squash?)

Then my adventure took a turn for the worse

(notice the green trail markings.
There's the obvious one there on the left.
And the oh so tiny marking across that there RIVER on the right)
I should have brought a damn canoe!

Six miles and two wet socks later, I was tuckered

so was he

was it worth every second?




I have ONE regret


That I had brought a Tootsie Roll pop

Speaking of licking...

I need your help!

This photo needs a name

A recipe for disaster

He's got:
The house.
His own business.
A savings account.

I've got:
The world's most annoying dog.
A low-paying job.
A bounced check.

I can't help but wonder what our future will be like.

Will I be the person who brings a lot to the table? Or just a person who puts food on it?

I win

They say that happiness is the best revenge.

And if that's the case, I win.

I win because I've never been happier.
I win because this makes that seem like a joke.
I win because I thought I'd never love again, and I simply may have never loved before.
I win because your hour is over, and mine has just begun.

But all I feel is sorry.
For you, for us, for what could have been and for what never had a chance.

A bruise on my perfection...
The one thing I still feel for you.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

He's paying for it, twice

I cannot fathom, why a man with pretty much everything...
A hot wife. 3 teenage daughters. A successful career.
Would choose to throw IT ALL away for sex.

And no, not the sort of sex where he was feeling lonely, desperate, and in need of a woman's touch. Not a drunken one-time thing with a co-worker while his marriage was failing.
No. Not this guy.
He, like many other men chose to PAY FOR HIS AFFAIR.

First: With actual MONEY.

Second: With the entirety of his livelihood. His marriage, his family, and his career will never be the same.

And while I watched his vague apology, it wasn't his words I was interested in.
But the look on his wife's face, as she stood dutifully by his side in the shadow of a scandal so huge that their lives will never be the same.

Where her smiles once were the foil to his sternness, she looked defeated.
A ghost of a woman filling her role as a politician's wife, looking ahead only to a life haunted by his mistakes.

He may have paid twice.

But she paid the most dearly.

caught in my web

I ScREAMeD and bolted into the bedroom, making C. jump up ready to pummel the household intruder.

"Spppp, Sppppp, Spppidddderrr!!!" I spit out, fluttering my hands to help me propel the words from my throat. C.'s expression changed from concern to irritation.

"Well, you don't have to make such a fuss over it," my knight replied, throwing off the duvet cover and climbing onto his horse for battle. With his napkin shield, he jabbed the 8-legged-evildoer and appeased his POJO princess by showing her the brown gooey smear — evidence of death. He went back to bed. I finished brushing my Rapunzel-like hair.

When I got back in bed, I reminded C. of our first date three years ago.

He wasn't the type to reach across the Caesar salad or scoot into the booth and rest his hand on my knee. An hour into our date, I yearned for that first intimate contact, but instead he smiled shyly at me. That just made it worse.

The bill was paid. And C. and I strolled on a path along the Hudson River, still without knowing the feel of each others' skin, each others' smell. Nearly at the end of our walk, a spider the size of the Rip Van Winkle crawled on my open-toe shoe. Without a second thought, I let out a yelp and grabbed hold of C.'s arm pulling him into me. I squeezed the Italian out of him.

My now Anglo-looking man may have been pale due to loss of blood circulation, but he certainly had a big grin on his face while we walked with my head on his shoulder, hugging hands all the way back to his car.

Nearly 3 years later, I've had my share of "PLEASE KILL IT, PLEASE" moments, but I don't feel bad about one. C. had his chance to be free of spider-killing duties. Instead he wrapped his arm around my waist and didn't take it off for a very long time. His fate was sealed.

Monday, March 10, 2008

From the single-girl archives

After a particularly dull weekend, half of which was spent working and the other half spent relaxing, I've fallen upon hard-blogging times and will instead entertain with an excerpt from my more glamorous life as a single-and-loving-it girl.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

One Monday night

"uhh... we have a little problem..."

rousing from her sleep, she asked, "it's 330am on a monday... what could possibly be the problem?"

"the cops are here..."

"so just tell them that we're sorry and they will leave."

"looks like you're having a little party here..." the cop said after surveying the "scene." an empty 18 pack lay on the table, one girl lay asleep on the couch and the other answered the door... sopping wet.

"why didn't you answer the door the first time we knocked?" the cop asked.

"well... you see... some of us were sleeping... and uh... some of us were in the shower..."

Friday, March 7, 2008

love, love, love

days to call
3 dates before it
3 years before marriage (my own rule).

But how long should a person wait before uttering those 3 little words?

If it's a numbers game (like all the rest) could it ever be too late?

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Put down the hair brush, Give this guy a hammer!

"Honey, you might want to sit down, I have something to tell you," my boyfriend told me.
"Are you wearing my bra again?" I asked, trying not to show the agitation.
"Umm... no."
"You used my razor, didn't you? I saw your leg hairs in the tub this morning," I said.
"Maybe, but that's not it either," he replied.
"I know. You got your AXE deodorant on my favorite black dress again."
"I didn't know how to tell you," he moaned.

Ok. That convo never happened. C. is in construction. His hands are calloused. It's one of the first things I noticed, and loved, about him. He wears blue jeans sexier than a cowboy, and his toolbelt makes my lower region tingle.

But this moment did really happen. It's the reason why I need a man who looks good hammering away on a roof :

"How do these jeans make my butt look?" my brother asked me.
"How am I supposed to answer that?" I said, refusing to open my eyes as he waved his tuckus in my face. "It's fine, ok? It's great. Now get out of room!"
"Can I borrow some of your coverup? I have this zit..."
"GOOOOOO!" I demanded.

Yup. That one was real. And ever since that day, my brother has been in Metrosexual Therapy.
We had this intervention a few years back where we cut up all his button downs and confiscated his man purse. "Noooo! NOT MY HAIR GEL!" he screamed in his sleep for weeks.

Unfortunately the shock treatments couldn't reverse these genetics. The first thing he asked the doc post-electricity was "Will the current give me split ends?"

What do you think is sexier?
A guy who can swing a tool...
Or a guy with a healthy do.

From MAKE UP to Break Up?

Where men were once considered sexiest at their grittiest, it seems that now even the more "manly" of men are taking part in traditionally female activities.

Whether it's the Skintimate shave gel in the shower, the "products" that adorn bathroom shelves, or the phrase sometimes uttered "Agh, my hair is a mess!" Men nowadays seem to be much more in tune with their feminine side.

I personally can handle a bit of metro with my sexual. I tend to prefer it in the long run actually... men with products understand your highlight dilemma and men with the skintimate in the shower seem to appreciate your smooth legs for all their worth.

But I wonder if this new commonality comes with a cost to the longevity of relationships.

Will women be drawn to Mr. Metro's sensitive side (and skin!) forever?
Or will they eventually move on to a more traditional suitor?

You know...
One who's idea of a "cosmetic" is simply the deodorant he wears sometimes.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

30 and still cool

"Aging is bridging the gap between our aspirations and our actualities."

I read that somewhere.

There comes a time when hip hugger jeans don’t show off your figure, they give you a muffin top; when wearing a tube top and a mini skirt to work will get you fired; when music doesn’t pump, it blares; when afternoon naps are as rare and precious as rubies; when you have to give up eight hours of sunlight for eight hours of florescent light; when you show up for Happy Hour and leave when the college “drunk bus” arrives; when you stop holding onto the years when you owned a funnel; when the people who ask ‘how old you are you?’ are always younger than you; when 40 hours a week becomes a jail sentence, not a job description; when a snow storm isn’t a snow day, it’s a dangerous commute to work; when you start to admit that mom was right; when your friends start mailing you “Save the Date” magnets; when you admit you probably will never move to a beach town in Florida; when everyone stops making a big deal about your birthday; when you start comparing yourself to people you know who are 30 and are still cool.

And these are just more reasons why the world could not end soon enough.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Girl, you'll be a woman... now

I knew things were "different" at girls night, when one of us had a baby in tow.

2 singles, 2 takens and one married with children spread themselves around the table, drinking wine, and catching up.

And where once small talk was rampant, this time everything seemed "new" for all of us.
Each at our own separate perfections.

Single and excited.
Taken and content.
Married and accomplished.

But the most alarming thing about our dinner conversation, wasn't that we'd seemingly all changed our tune since the last encounter, but that we'd seem to reach a cadence.

Our melody had finally slowed...
And we'd surprisingly found ourselves women.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Preparing him for a brown baby

When C. and I were a newlyduo, I woke up first in order to address any pre-erupted pimples, wage war against my onion-induced halitosis and banish the squirrels that had holed up in my hair hell. Then I’d slither back under the comforter, nuzzle my head into his armpit and plant a double-minty smooch on his slightly parted lips.

If you think I kept that up for the past three years, you must not have both oars in the water.

Or, you must think I’m one sandwich short of a picnic.

The real not-so-slim and not-so-shaven "POJO Princess" has stood up.

C. knows I am the in-bed flosser. The baggy T-shirt PJ wearer. The morning fire breather. The squeaky “wheeeek” and boisterous “brrrmp” midnight sound machine.

He let me into his own masculine world of: Strange couch vibrations against my legs. Sweat-soaked sheets. Nose hairs needing a good ole weed whack. Half-hour-long disappearances followed by the familiar “Fllllusssssh”.

Maybe being asked “Did you just toot?” by the man of your dreams isn’t your ideal relationship. Maybe you prefer waking up to perfection with a side of infatuation.

I prefer the kind of love that endures even after life has stripped me of dignity. Like when I was in the emergency room, with fluids exiting my body in the most violent way, all while C. paced within “hearing distance” of the bathroom door. Just in case. "Honey, I can't reach the toilet paper without pulling out my IV needle..."

It’s moments like these that prepare us not-so-newlywedded for the real fear factor:

Oh yeah, I just went there.


1. You shave. Everyday. Legs and all.
2. You run out of shampoo twice as fast, because now you shower before work, and before seeing him.
3. You panic come Friday night, simply because the only clean top you have to wear, he's (gasp!) seen on you more than once.
4. The words "downhill" to you have something to do with skiing, or sleigh riding. They have nothing to do with your looks or how you plan to maintain them.
5. He's seen you in your sexy jeans, but not your 'fat pants.'
6. Even your pajamas are cute... regardless of how infrequently you actually wear them.
7. Not only do you brush your teeth 4 times a day... but now having mint-flavored gum at your disposal has become important enough to buy stock in Trident.
8. The weather is no longer a factor in what you choose to wear. If the paper thin black jacket goes best with those shoes, you'll wear it in spite of sub zero temperatures.
9. Toothpaste check. Toilet paper check. Baby wipes check. (I refuse to elaborate on this one).
10. You always wake up a few minutes before him to brush your teeth, fix your hair and wash your face before sneaking back into bed and pretending you always look so "perfect."