Friday, November 28, 2008

How can you tell if you're dating a cheat?


A reader sent Chrissie and I a link to a Cosmo story about how to tell if you're dating a cheat.
The title alone "Dating 101: Will Your Guy Cheat on You?" is enough to make me throw up in my mouth.
The list is unfair. It will only breed paranoia in women... a gender typically fraught with insecurity as it is. Not to mention, according to this list, I'D be a cheat ... and I have never strayed once in the 13 years I've been on the market.

Here it goes (If the answer is yes, they're probably gonna cheat) ...

Dating Factor: His Background
Cheat Predictor #1
  • Was he spoiled as a kid?
  • Do his parents tend to baby him and help him out of financial jams?
  • Has he ever bragged about cheating on an exam or paying someone to write a paper for him in college?

  • (#1 I have led a spoiled life where most things come easily. Whatever doesn't come easily, I use violence or money to get it.
    #2 My parents don't exactly baby me, but they do help out with the bookies.
    #3 I even paid a Russian chick to go to my classes ... forget just writing the papers.)

    Dating Factor: His Career
    Cheat Predictor #2
  • Does he work mostly with women?
  • Is he always logging in late hours, whether it be at the office, at dinner with clients or on business trips?
  • Does he make a lot of money?

  • (#1 I'm a woman that mostly works with men.
    #2 I work AT LEAST til 9 pm every night.
    #3 I make so much money I need a shoe horn to close my wallet. )


    Dating Factor: His Schmooze MO
    Cheat Predictor #3
  • Can he talk his way out of anything (parking tickets, rolling into work late)?
  • Does he make an effort to charm everyone -- your coworkers, your older sister, a saleswoman?
  • When you go to parties, does he insist on making the rounds?


    (#1 Yup. I could talk a nun out of her habit, baby.
    #2 Well ... I don't need to "make an effort" ... just comes natural. Ask the naked nun on my lap.
    #3 At a party I definitely scope out the scene before settling on a spot. You say hi to everyone ... find the booze, locate the bathroom and then camp out with the cool kids. That's what you do at a party. )


    Dating Factor: His Friends
    Cheat Predictor #4
  • Does he usually hang out with a crew of mostly single guys?
  • Do his friends encourage him to join them in just-for-men activities?
  • Do his pals have problems staying in relationships?


  • (#1 Most of my friends are single guys.
    #2 They make me do just-for-men activities (what does that even mean?)
    #3 All of my single friends OBVIOUSLY have trouble staying in a relationship. That's why they're single)



    So, am I wrong? Do you think these are good indicators? What would be?




  • Tuesday, November 25, 2008

    Nice never wins


    So I was on the subway in New York heading to catch a train back to Po'town. I get off the N and walk over to catch the 4.
    The gate's over the entrance.
    I look for another.
    Locked up. I just stand there for a second ... truly truly confused. How can they lock up the whole green line? How the hell was I supposed to get uptown? You know, up here in the sticks if they block off a street you at least get a detour sign.

    The best part is that others walk up, see that it's closed, and just keep walking like it's no biggie.
    What?? How is that OK?

    Fine. There are other connections, right? But really ... I'll be goddamned if I have to ask for help. I am a self-respecting stubborn bastard who was desperately trying NOT to look like a tourist.

    I knew the Red line goes up to Times Square and there's a shuttle to Grand Central ... or I could get back on the N and switch to the 4 at Union Square. So I do a twirly dance between the two. I figure the N is better, but I was JUST ON the N.
    I felt so silly going back. Like "Hi, just kidding! Can I get back on?"
    I swallow my silly thoughts and jog to the platform. I'd killed enough time standing like a retarded person.

    So I make it to the 4 ... just in time ... and shoot up to 42nd Street with 2 minutes to spare. I jump off the subway car, bound up the stairs ... racing through the terminal knocking over man, woman, child and animal alike. Especially the animals.

    I approach the train just in time ... I'm only steps away when a guy walks in front of me and drops a ticket in his wake. I stare down at his ticket ... look up at my train ... glance to my right as he walks quickly away.

    Crap.

    A bold, all too familiar voice on my shoulder sneers, "Screw 'em, man's a dope, get on your train. That'll teach him to drop things. Stupid dropper man."

    Then the meek ... somewhat dusty voice on my right whines, "Stenny .... Stennnnnnyyyy. Just pick up the ticket. You'll still make the train. Take a minute to do the right thing for once."

    Crap crap. Crap.

    I scoop up the ticket and make a mad dash for that dopey-dropping disappearing figure. And I mean mad dash. I looked like a crazy person. Which is probably a step down from the retarded Sten at the subway earlier.

    "EXCUSE ME! WAIT!" I yell at dopey man. He turns around, confused ... I shove the ticket at him. Dopey looks at it, smiles and in a cute British accent that was completely wasted on me says "Oh wow, thank you luv!"
    I give him my best annoyed New Yorker stare, turn around and run away. Stupid tourists.

    Back to the train platform I go ... train is still there ... sweet ... wait .... am I running slower or is it moving???

    Crap. The damn thing pulls away just as I get there. Stupid subway. Stupid tourists. Stupid dusty voice.

    I walk away to find a cup of coffee and a corner to throw up in.

    Moral of this story? If you plan on doing something nice, bring an ice pack and a book with you ... cause all you're gonna get in return is an hour wait and a swift kick in the ass.

    Monday, November 24, 2008

    Rules of Distraction


    There are certain moments in a relationship, where you feel so comfortable with your significant other that you think you're allowed to tell them EVERYTHING.

    And while I'll never advocate out and out lying to your loved one, there are some things you should keep to yourself and instead distract your partner with more virtuous topics: like puppies and kittens.

    So if HE/SHE asks _________________, then answer with this _________________.


    QUESTION: How many sexual partners have you had?
    ANSWER: "Only one that matters!" Followed by kissing, lots and lots of kissing.

    QUESTION: Do you think kissing is cheating?
    ANSWER: "Of course!" Never, ever, ever say "What kind of kissing are you talking about?"

    QUESTION: How do you know that guy?
    ANSWER: "We had class together a few years ago." Never, ever say, "I hooked up with him once."

    QUESTION: Have you ever had a one night stand?
    ANSWER: "Ewww! Gross! Why would you ask me that!?! Have YOU?" He'll be too wrapped up in creating an appropriate answer that he'll forget you DIDN'T have one of your own.





    Your turn.

    What questions have you avoided by using the rules of distraction?

    Friday, November 21, 2008

    Offensive compliments


    Why is it that some women get SOOOO offended when a man compliments her butt or boobs? Are those not attributes to be admired – just like eyes or hair or biceps?

    It seems to me that women often dress to accentuate these parts, so why get so pissy when someone notices?
    And, unless you're wearing a low-cut skull, a guy just isn't going to see your brain first.

    If a man walks up to a chick at a bar and says she has a nice smile, she's probably gonna be flattered. He must be so sensitive to notice such a sweet thing, right?

    Probably not sweetheart. He's eying your mouth and thinking about what he'd like to do with it.

    So take the honest appreciation of your assets as it's meant to be ... a compliment, not an insult.

    Wednesday, November 19, 2008

    Fan mail

    We'd like to share some recent fan mail (without, of course, disclosing the person's name/e-mail, cause that would be rude.):

    To: oddcoup@gmail.com
    "I think you do not have a brain between all of you. This guy is an a**hole with a big furry hat, There is no way any woman would go out with him not even go to bed with him. Just look at him! He makes me sick just to think about it. Why would I or anyone considering a life after this want him? He is a star seeking wannabe! All he wants is to be on TV. He has no proof of who he is or what he can bring to the table.If he can not even put his own name on it, he is most ashamed of himself!

    What Losers You Are."



    Well, Miss #1 Odd Couple Fan,

    We're assuming you were speaking of "Mystery" of PUA fame... and yes, he does wear a big furry hat. You should be aware that women who are most appalled by him tend to be the first to fall for his antics.

    As for Chrissie and I not having a brain between us ... I posted below a diagram to shed some light on that ...
    .... Well, it seems you are correct. Not a brain between us. But we do have plenty of love and scotch ... and that sounds like a good time to me.
    As for the last statement about us being losers — any harsh criticisms like that have to be addressed to "Reverend Sten," and be warned, there is a special place for people who attack members of the clergy.

    Single Serving


    In my single days I was often accompanied by my wing-woman. A gal whose lust for life, love, and the pursuit of vanilla vodka matched my own.

    But while we were similar in a lot of ways, we definitely had our differences and were therefore worthy of individual attention.

    And yet, I can't begin to tell you how many times I felt as if WE were being hit on by ONE man, who wasn't particularly interested in ONE of us, but who simply wanted A GIRL for his own.

    It didn't matter which of us declined or accepted his offer...
    This type of guy was out to find "women" in general, not me and not her exclusively.

    And when we were approached as some unified object whose only purpose was to provide that guy with affection, we declined.

    Because while some men seem to think EVERYTHING in this world is super sized...

    When dating it's still best to ask for a single serving if you hope to satisfy your craving.

    Tuesday, November 18, 2008

    It's all in the wing men


    If you're out on the prowl, choose your companions wisely. Even Chuckles, who's legendary mack is off its legendary hook, has to agree.

    Who you are out with can impact your behavior. Some one who is very outgoing may make you take a step back (if you're an insecure wuss), or it could make you step up and keep up (if you have a competitive streak). Friends who are obnoxious or sleezy might make you seem less attractive just by association. (I know. "Life is so unfair," and "why are we judged by our friends." Get a tissue and get over it.)

    MacGyver unfortunately has learned the hard way that certain friends can be mack blockers. He was recently galavanting around town with some one who's creepiness exceeded Mac's own magnetism, making it difficult to be a hit with the ladies. When out with a wing man, you kinda become a package deal. If one is intolerable, the chick might not stick around for the sake of the other. Too many cute butts in tight pants and too little time.

    Beyond the wing man, there are perils with being out with a group. According to MacGyver, the ideal scenario for a guy is to be out with two female friends. Can't just be one ... then you look like a couple. With two, he'll look like a hottie who's sensitive and approachable. awwww.

    This doesn't work so well for chicks. If a babe is out with a bunch of guy friends, one would think she's screwing at least one of them, and even if they don't, it's too intimidating to break her away from that army of testosterone. Not with 300 Spartans would they attempt it.
    Most of my closest friends are guys. When I am out with them I NEVER get hit on. Chuckles said it's because I'm butt ugly ... however, everyone knows how grateful Quasimodos are, so I don't see why that would be a deterrent.

    Anyway, here are some booty hunting companions to stay away from:

    - Pedophiles
    - Close talkers
    - Nose pickers
    - Poor hygiene practicers
    - People who start EVERY sentence with "I"
    - Booty pinchers/smackers
    - Some one who's dated EVERY guy/girl in a 30 mile radius of where you live
    - Girls that end every sentence as if it's a question (personal pet peeve)
    - 10 people of the opposite sex
    - Only 1 person of the opposite sex
    - Talking mimes (another personal pet peeve)

    Let me know if I've missed any...

    Monday, November 17, 2008

    The return of the eye patch!


    So MacGyver and I are up til the weeeee hours playing Rock Band. We're on the REALLY hard songs, if you blink for a second you miss about 50 notes. So I didn't blink.
    My right eye starts feeling kinda watery and agitated. MacGyver looks at me an says "your eye is really bloodshot." In a way that makes me feel like the damn thing must be falling out of my skull.

    I clean my contact lens, put in a couple eye drops and go to bed.
    I wake up in the morning and it hurts. It's very red, tender, swollen and a bit crusty ... like it's been baking in an oven over night. What I'm saying is I looked hot.

    No biggie, I put in a couple more drops and with a lens in my left eye, holding a hand over my right, I'm tearing through my place desperately looking for my specs. And looking and looking and looking.

    Nothing. Fantastic.

    I break out the trusty old eye patch, put it over my poor right eye and with a quick "AAARRRRR" to my reflection in the mirror, I set out for the eye doctor place in the mall.

    Walking in, I get immediately accosted by one of those kiosk people trying to sell lotions and crap.

    Kiosk man: "Hello miss, do you have natural nails?"
    Me: "Hey buddy, what I have is an eyeball dripping ooze under this patch, you're cream isn't gonna cut it."

    He awkwardly backs away and mumbles something like "Feel better."
    Thanks. Note to self, eye patch works to ward off solicitors. Awesome.

    I get to the eye place, walk up to one of the optometrists and say "Hi, this isn't as bad as it looks, but I need to walk out of here with glasses." To my happy surprise, they say no problem, but I have to get an exam first.

    Now, I know I did something wrong, and am probably in for a lecture. I constantly sleep with my contacts in and don't change pairs nearly often enough ... so I decide to be funny in hopes that the doc might not give the full riot act.

    Doc: Your eye's pretty red there.
    Me: Yeah, only my right side inhales.
    Doc: (Silence)
    Me: You know ... my left side is the Bill Clinton half ... was kinda a joke... (voice trails off)

    Doc: Right. Do you have and burning, discomfort, blurriness....?
    Me (with a smile): Well, I'm only wearing one lens, so everything is a bit blurry right now.
    Doc (perfectly serious): Don't worry, I think that's normal.
    Me (under my breath): Yeah, no sh*t.

    Doc: Well Miss Miller, I see here that you were in for this same problem in 2004.
    Me: Hey! Four years since I've made the same mistake? That's pretty good for me. I still touch the burner on my stove to see how hot it is.
    Doc: (Unamused)

    ... this guy's humor was closed up tighter than my apartment when I'm locked out at night. Not even a twinge of the lips. But I was not deterred.

    Doc: Do you sleep with them in?
    Me: Yeah ... I like waking up and seeing clearly. Makes me think I'm cured.
    Doc: You're going to damage your eyes that way.
    Me: That sounds serious.

    Pause...

    Doc: How long do you keep the same pair of lenses in?
    Me: Uhh about two months...
    Doc: You should be changing them every two weeks.
    Me: Well, I've been trying to work on my problem with commitment.
    Doc: I don't think that works with contact lenses.

    Obviously this guy wasn't amused by me in the slightest. So I sit through the rest of the exam reading all the little letters like a good girl. Anytime I couldn't see the bottom line, I felt like I was letting him down. Eye exams are meant to make you feel bad about yourself. You go in there knowing you can't see perfectly, and we pay these doctors to tell us just how inadequate we are.

    I made a mental note to eat more carrots.

    When it's done he says my prescription hasn't changed much. (Which means I haven't destroyed my vision like he warned.)
    I walk over and try to pick out new frames. Which is a bit overwhelming as the walls are covered with roughly a billion options. Not to mention, I can't see anything ... as I had to take out the left lens for the eye exam. I settle on a pair and seek the advice of a disinterested sales associate. I ask if they're better than the eye patch. She gives a half-hearted smile. Apparently there is no laughing at the optometrist.

    They could probably all use a visit to the proctologist.

    I was thinking of suggesting this when I got the bill.

    Friday, November 14, 2008

    A oldie, but a goodie

    An EX and I used to share a place and bills. He was responsible for paying the phone bill while I was responsible for paying the electric, cable, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, keeping a smile on my face, and driving everywhere...

    After coming home late, he accosted me at the front door, ***Verizon*** Letterhead in hand and asked, "WHO were you calling in YONKERS?"

    ME: "What are you talking about?"

    HIM: "There's an hour long phone call from here to Yonkers, and it seems like it happened late at night..."

    And so I inspected the phone bill myself... carefully calculating the date and time, relating it to my life and plans and simply said.

    "Wasn't that the night you decided to call your OLD GIRLFRIEND to 'catch up' ???"

    Apparently, where he thought I was having a mobile love affair, he was caught red-handed having an over-long conversation with a girl who was long-over him.







    Have you ever accused your SO of something, only to find you're the one at fault?



    ***confirmed: service provider was VERIZON. see comments for details***

    Thursday, November 13, 2008

    Asking for it


    So I was out with Sunshine and MacGyver ... eating like kings at the Palace , and somehow the conversation turns to:

    If a girl is dressed like a slut, does that make it OK to grab/smack her butt, grope her ... etc.?

    If the person is not a close friend or lover, I would consider it inappropriate. Unless she's wearing ridiculous booty-shorts that say "bite me", or a tight tee that reads "squeeze me." Then her clothes might be "asking for it."

    Now, I am neither a prude, nor a feminist. (I rue the day women were expected to join the workforce). However, it just isn't polite to grab at people you don't know. It's assault. That's illegal. This blog officially does not condone anything illegal.

    We do encourage reading the newspaper though...

    Anyway. I'm a pig. When I'm out, I CONSTANTLY resist the urge to grab at a cute butt wearing tight pants. I don't pull on piercings that twinkle at me teasingly and hardly ever bite strangers' perfectly formed biceps. When I do fall to temptation I AT LEAST have the decency to pretend I know them ...

    If people are out and about scantily clad, I take that as they would like to be noticed ... they don't mind you looking, they're kinda encouraging that. But for the love of America's Puritanical roots, keep your hands to yourself.

    Wednesday, November 12, 2008

    Great Expectations


    My first relationship began when I was 16 years old and lasted for three years.

    There was nothing inherently wrong with “us,” or our interactions. He treated me well, I cared for him deeply, and we spent a lot of time together.

    But after a few years, when the “spark” was gone, I began to feel as if something very important was missing.

    I figured, if he was THE ONE than that spark was supposed to last forever.

    And again, my second relationship began with fireworks and passion. I was convinced that “this” was it because of what I felt… in the beginning.

    But as years passed, the passion dwindled and again we found ourselves playing house but lacking a real “home.” We were going through the motions of a relationship without the spark I’d always fantasized about. Happily ever after had turned into “somewhat happy, most of the time.”

    And so, round two ended with a test at “casual dating,” lots of almost-boyfriends who never amounted to much, but who eventually taught me more than the real relationships had.

    Because lust without love is a lot more discouraging than love without lust.

    The realization didn’t make me want my exes back, but it made me want to try harder the next time. To not only keep the spark as long as possible, but to appreciate what lies in its wake.

    Comfort, security, and real never-waning love.

    Tuesday, November 11, 2008

    Sten's Top 10 Wish List


    Chrissie's post got me to thinking about what a guy could do or say that would really peak my interest. While neggin' would certainly start a conversation, being a nasty little boy won't hold my attention for long.

    So, in honor of the holidays just around the corner, I give you "Sten's Top 10 Wish List of Things That Would Attract Her to a Man."

    1. Yankee Fan. This is just good taste and upbringing.

    2. Win an argument. If he can debate me to silence (because he's stumped me, not just pissed me off) then he must be incredibly brilliant ... or lucky ... in any case I would want several opportunities to reclaim my pride.

    3. Fear of Jupiter. As a child I would lay awake at night pondering the vastness of Jupiter. So many times the size of Earth with unimaginable storms raging for hundreds of years. There is no "ground" just toxic winds that would whip you around for eternity until you plummet into a molten mercury core. Terrifying. If a guy could understand and maybe humor this somewhat irrational fear ... I'd be smitten.

    4. Good winker. Not cheesy. A good, sexy, well-timed winker. It's just hot... like he knows something I don't. And I should take the time to find out what it is.

    5. Ability to turn of the light without leaving the bed.
    It's getting cold at night, so if we're already in bed, and the light's still on ... I'd be pretty impressed if he could take care of that without leaving me to shiver. Getting coffee without getting up in the morning would be super too.

    6. Distrust of Canada. I think we've all seen South Park and their honest portrayal of those beady-eyed flappy-jawed neighbors to our north. Those lures of draft-dodgers. I was once in a little town up there where the streets were lined with tulips and the pedestrians on the sidewalks all smiled and said "hello" as I walked by. Nice cover-up maple lovers. I'm on to you. Hopefully the object of my affection will be too.

    7. Intimate serenader.
    Some girls like sweet nothings whispered in their ear ... I'm a sucker for a soft crooning in mine. I don't even care what the song is. "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," can be sexy if sung sweetly against your temple.

    8. Playful to the point of silly. I want to laugh and smile and not feel self-conscious if I say or do something stupid. This requires that he says and does ridiculous things at times as well. I will definitely taunt him for it, but in reality, I'd find it so endearing.

    9. No bull crap.
    I like a man who's upfront and honest. No games, no playing it cool. If I like him, I want to know that he feels the same. If I need a decoder ring to figure him out I'll get bored pretty quick. Those were dumb CrackerJack prizes.

    10. Loves bears. Bears are my favorite animal. Not Teddy Bears. Real bears. They are adorable ... oooo look at the cute little bear! Bam! It's eating you alive. Fantastic. I love it. If a guy tells me he love dogs best, I'm walking away. If a man can show me a bear holding a shark ... well, that would be a dream come true.

    Monday, November 10, 2008

    Neggin'


    The art of "negging" has been brought to the attention of thousands of socially inept males around the world, through the oh-so-insulting show The Pick Up Artist.

    According to the Urban Dictionary,

    Negging: It's a way to pick up girls. How it works is you use remarks to tap into female insecurity; Shake their confidence.
    Example of Negging a girl would be:
    "You are nearly as tall as me. I like tall girls (LIFT). Are those heels 4 or 5 inches (DROP)?"

    Yet as I watched The Pick Up Artist's latest minions attempt to hit on bikini models last night, I realized that instructing a clueless, socially inept, nervous, anxiety ridden young male to "neg" a woman is like giving a crazy man a pistol and asking him to "just scare people with it."

    Chances are, the crazy guy is going to actually shoot someone just as the pick up artist protege is going to seriously insult an unknowing female.

    So while the men were told to flirtatiously neg the females in attendance, instead they entered the club armed with insults, awkward smiles, and what I refer to as "bar stalking" (starring, loosely following, and just being creepy overall).

    One guy actually said, "Wow! That's the ORANGE-EST TAN I'VE EVER SEEN!"

    Another opened with the flirtatious line, "So, are you the one who tripped in the fashion show?" Except, that line would be cute and fun if she WASN'T ACTUALLY THE ONE WHO TRIPPED.

    I wonder where these guys came from, their clueless nature is sometimes painful to watch, and their game is so obvious, only the drunkest of girls would fall for their advances.

    Is it really necessary to "tap into a woman's insecurities" to get her number?

    And better yet, should a man who goes by the name of "Mystery" really be allowed to instruct already creepy men to be even creepier?

    Because he's armed them with costumes, emotional games and a man-made "urban" dictionary full only of masculine myths.


    Friday, November 7, 2008

    Ms. Sensitivity


    It has been pointed out quite a bit of late that I am not very sensitive. When someone says "Sten, you really are disturbing ... or how about a little compassion..." You know what I think to myself?

    "Pussy."

    I'm sorry, it only makes me think that the person drawing this conclusion is OVERSENSITIVE, LAME, and TIGHT-A$$ED.

    I try to make this as clear to them as possible... but unfortunately, they always think I'm joking.

    A lot of my recent critics were set off by this year's Halloween costume. I was Jackie Kennedy the moment JFK was shot ... complete with blood splatter across my face. Do I think this is "appropriate?" No. That's why I did it.

    Halloween should be about breaking out and being ridiculous. Maybe I'm just another middle child searching for attention, but I think this holiday is about playing dress up and getting reactions from the people around you. My only regret is that I didn't have a headless JFK prop to drag around behind me.

    And I do have boundries. I didn't dress up as the Twin Towers with two little planes sticking out of my body, did I?? Maybe in another 20 years ...

    Clearly our society acknowledges that there is a shelf life for tragedy. They cast Ben Afleck in a Pearl Harbor movie. You don't think the Arizona's sailors were rolling in their watery grave? Come on now.

    I laugh in the face of horror and I get off on making people uncomfortable. So until the FCC puts a warning sticker on my silver tongue, either stay shivering on top of your self-righteous ivory pedestal or hop on down here and have a laugh.

    At your expense of course.

    Thursday, November 6, 2008

    The lastest "dumbest thing I've ever done."


    To anyone I've ever told that I am an intelligent woman ... I apologize for lying.
    To those hopeful ladies who read my book on "Making the Most of Your Pea Brain"... your reimbursement check is in the mail.
    Because I am an idiot.

    I awoke early this morning in the back seat of my car. And no, there was no cabana boy keeping me warm.
    Around 4 a.m. I decided to take out the garbage Who knows why. Then, for some reason no psychoanalyst will ever be able to uncover, I locked the door behind me.

    "OK, no prob," I think as I reach for my pocket where surely a key would be ... Oh right ... I wasn't wearing PANTS. I was standing out in the middle of the night in a tank top and my underwear and a bathrobe. Classic walking out in the middle of the night attire. Nice.

    Then it started to drizzle.

    I GLARED inside at my two taunting cats who sat, doing nothing with their smug little kitty smiles. What did they care? I fed the hairy bastards before I walked out.

    Refusing to panic I made attempt #1 to get back in: Brute Force.
    Twisting the resistant knob, I repeatedly throw my shoulder into the door. This led to a bruised shoulder and an even more bruised ego.

    Letting out a string of mumbled curses I set out for attempt #2 Burglar Mode.
    Robe sashaying around my numbing legs, I stalked around to each window ... removing screens and pulling in vain at each locked unbudging piece of glass. I even tried to pull the damn things off their tracks. All for naught. Either I would make the worst possible robber, or I've been living in Fort Knox. Don't bother theivey people ... there's no way in those panes of security.

    "OK apartment, I'm not done yet," I say to myself in a still confident whisper ... on to attempt #3 What Would MacGyver Do?
    I pick up a plastic cup and tear it to create a makeshift credit card to try to shimmy through the lock. All I really succeeded in doing was shimmying through my skin. I toss it to the ground in disgust.
    On to the trunk of my car ... I eye the golf clubs SERIOUSLY considering breaking a window. Then I see a paint scraper and bring it over to the door, again trying to force the lock.

    "My place is a friggn' fortress." I mumble over and over as I again contemplate the golf clubs. I'm wet and miserable, and want nothing more than to go to bed. A real prize pathetic moment.

    With a menacing look to those mocking furballs who had been watching my failed attempts to get inside, I crawl defeated into the backseat of my car. Looking up at the roof, I feel acceptance washing over me, and just before I close my eyes and try to sleep ... a drop of water falls past my face. Because even before I moronically locked myself out, I had left my sunroof partially open ... on a night I knew it was going to rain.

    Fantastic.

    Morning comes and I get a hold of my dad. Not the first person I would want to come find me in the back seat of my car ... in my underwear. I pull the robe close and try not to make eye contact.

    "So, you really just locked yourself out? Really? What were you doing?"

    "I was cracked out and decided to sell my body in the woods. Can you just let me in and never mention this again? Thanks. Super."

    I kicked both of my cats in their guts before heading ... finally ... to my bed. As sleep set in, I vowed to make a dozen spare keys.

    Wednesday, November 5, 2008

    Cutting the cake


    There are some who have dated for just a few months and gotten engaged and then those that wait years and still haven't received a proposal.

    And while every relationship is different, and the gestation period for the BIG QUESTION differs depending on the couple, I wonder if there is such a thing as "too soon" or perhaps "too long to wait."

    In a world where men can date, cohabitate and not marry, some argue that they are not encouraged to marry. After all, they're getting all the perks without the "punishment." They have their cake and get to eat it too.

    And so, their ladies wait and wait, making excuses, pretending they're not that eager to marry, when they've already chosen their wedding colors, gown, and venue.

    1, 2, 3... 6, 8, 10 years later their relationships are still ring-less and I can't help but wonder why.

    Are their men still looking for the one? Afraid to settle down with the wrong choice of woman? Should the women express their concern and set an appropriate time line?

    Or is it only a matter of time before their both having their wedding cake, and eating it too?

    Tuesday, November 4, 2008

    What's in a name?

    "Hi I'm Chrissie, I work for the paper."

    "Well, I'll need to see proof!"

    "Proof that I'm Chrissie, or that I work for the paper?"

    "That you work for the paper, anyone could come in here and say they were shooting video for the PoJo, why should I believe you?"


    Cast aside the fact I often look like a high school kid attempting to operate a tripod.
    Forget about my short stature and my approachable face.
    Pretend for a second, that I'm your 30/40/50-something peer, rather than a fresh-faced college graduate who doesn't have the audacity to challenge you.

    And simply believe me because...

    You could write "Chamomile Tea" on your name tag if you REALLY want to. You could "say" you're Pamela, Angie, or Trent, even though your name is Henry.

    Our names are one-single-aspect of who we are, they don't define us, they simply associate a word with our face, our mannerisms, our personality.

    A name may give us an immediate identity, but it alone doesn't prove a thing.

    So when you question the authenticity of the name I've given you, when you decide you want to see "proof" of who I am and what I do...

    Look down at your own name tag and ask yourself if that black scribble with the sharpie marker is all that important to your identity.

    You know. Your true. Untrustworthy self.

    After all, I believed YOU when you told me who you were, even before I read it.

    Monday, November 3, 2008

    About You


    It amazes me how many people still use Myspace/Facebook as a means of "meeting someone."

    They sit at their computers on a Saturday night, beer in one hand, lotion in the other and "browse" through their local singles.

    When they find someone worth "pursuing" they send them the usual "Hi, how's it going? I think you're cute," message and eagerly await a response.

    But unless the person they've messaged is 14 going on 21, they don't usually receive a reply... at all.

    Because nothing is creepier than a stranger spending their free time reading about your favorite movies, music, and looking at your "vacation with grandma pictures!"

    Thus, Myspace is a place for friends, not a place for "first dates."

    Sure, the internet is able to connect people from ALL OVER THE WORLD through such communities...

    But it simultaneously isolates some people from the real world around them.

    The real coffee shop up the street where they could meet a flesh and blood person to chat with.
    The real bar across town where local singles congregate and celebrate all things "weekend related," where they could hear a person's laugh, smell their perfume, and offer them a drink.

    These meeting places allow for a natural progression in conversation. They allow for physical awareness and flirtation. They allow people to make first impressions based on looks, chemistry, and compatibility.

    So turn off the computer. Get dressed and put yourself in a real situation where you could meet someone great.

    Because there are certain things you'll never find in a person's "about me," section.