Archive for New Year's Chat

Bringing it in Right

     2010 was long, and filled with many men and dates.  But of all my meetings last year there was only one relationship that worked out.  It only seemed fitting to spend my New Year’s Eve with that relationship. 

     The first member of that relationship was found on Craigslist.  The others came from my golf lessons.  And by December I had a good collection.  So why not ring in the New Year with them?  Of course getting the whole clan on the same page was a little hard, but I did have half of my fabulous group of wingwomen with me.

     We started the night with pre-drinks at Buddha Babe’s (she has an insanely large collection of Buddha figurines) place and then headed to a bar.  Walked in already tipsy.  Walked passed a table of four pouting biddies, probably a good five to ten years older than us.  Good reason to pout, my girls are pretty hot.

     Were seated, scoped the place out…mostly women.  Kind of sucked.  Didn’t really care though.  We already had the plan that we were going to be the party.  A plan that worked out magnificently. 

First, ordered a round of beers.  Next, piled our three drunk asses into the photo booth they had set up.  Buddha Babe got in first, followed by Badger Gal (she’s a good’ol Wisconsin girl) in the middle.  By the time I got in, legs were everywhere and finding your “good” side wasn’t an option.  All of the sudden there was a countdown, a flash, and then suddenly “photo 4.”  Huh?  What happened to 1, 2, and 3?  We thought there might have been an error so we tried again.  Same thing.  Now that our slow-to-catch-on asses figured out that they just took them right in a row, we decided to try one more time.  Stumbled out of booth, had an audience.  Waited for pictures.  I bent down and picked them up.  Three strips of pictures that all came out with half of my head, half of Buddha Babe, and a big cheesy smile from Badger Gal front and center and looking anywhere but the camera.

     Holding the pictures, I made a comment about how bad they were.  Manager Dude with glasses saw that as an opportunity to checked me out, tell me I’m beautiful, and that the pictures weren’t that bad.  Due to the low testosterone in the crowd and him actually being kind of cute, I took the compliment with a smile said something vague and then stammered my way back to the table before looking like a complete incompetent lush.  Because let’s face it, I was heading in that direction.

     Night rolled on and our table was starting to collect people.  And why wouldn’t we?  When you are laughing and having a great time people just want to join you.  So they did.  This royally ticked off the table of pouty biddies.

     Next on my agenda of drunkeness was to help the needy.  A man in a gingham jacket and his friend were lingering around our table.  Buddha Babe was talking to the friend and Gingham just kept looking in my direction with eyes that said, “I’m trying to make eyes at you, but I have no game and don’t no how, and let’s face it, you’re out of my league.”  I could see that he was, very unsuccessfully, attempting to move to the beat of the music.  I don’t remember exactly what I said during my impromptu dance lesson, but I do recall shouting, “It’s all in the hips.  It’s all in the hips.”  The best I could get out of him was swaying side to side and he kept insisting on adding a little bounce to it.  Poor white boy Gingham.  But my lesson must have worked a little magic.  By the end of the night he was disturbingly rubbing up and grinding on one of the pouty biddies.  Guess she wasn’t so pouty anymore.

     The night was winding down, but of course it wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t give my number out to someone.  Throughout the night I was chatting it up with the DJ’s roomie, a thin black guy whose only been in LA about six months.  By this time names eluded me, but damn if he didn’t smell good.  My true kryptonite.  I shouted out the wrong number to him.  Then I read it.  Realized it was wrong and shouted out the correct one.  Fortunately, with mostly women in the bar, no one else copied down the number I was so freely shouting.

     Left the bar.  No cabs in sight.  Started walking in the direction of Badger Gal’s apartment thinking we would see a cab.  None.  Good thing we were toasted and couldn’t feel the pain of walking about a half a mile in three to four-inch heels.  That would be tomorrow’s problem.

     New Year’s Day was a day of vegging and recuperating.  And let me tell you, we were doing much better than our Ihop comrades, over hearing a guy with fresh stitches say, “Nothing a trip to the ER couldn’t fix.”  After Ihop, we made our way back to Buddha Babe’s to continue with vegging.  When I finally got off of Buddha Babe’s couch and drove home, I received a text from the DJ’s roomie asking how I was.  I told him I was fine.  And then he texted back:

“Do you remember me?”

Zia: I’m going to venture to say you’re the one person I gave my number to.  I remember you smelled really good…but I may need an assist on name…

“Lol.  That’s me.”

Zia’s Thoughts: Dude, name?  What’s your NAME?  I even fessed up to not knowing it.  Quick, be clever.

Zia: Soooo, you just want me to call you “Mr. Smells Good?”

     He finally texted back with his name and then fessed up to not catching mine either.

“I have you in my phone as beautiful.”

Zia:  Yeah, I go by that a lot.  Or when I’m not a superhero, my street name is Zia.

     Ah, year’s off to a great flirty sarcastic start already.  Gonna be a good year.

Pity Party

     The year has finally come to a close.  I took a little time to think back as to how my dating ventures went this past year and, well, let’s just say, I deserved the few days of bonbon-eating in my sweatpants with no make-up on that I indulged in this week.  Why, you ask?  Well, if you’ve been following my blog, then you probably have lost track, as I did, of how many different men I have physically and online dated.  My rough estimate is somewhere around fifty different men.

     While I was in the midst of my Love in 90 Days project, I read through a section of the book that talked about the ending of relationships, including those that we engage in online.  Those are like mini-relationships.  But even mini-relationships need some grieving when they come to an end, Dr. D pointed out.  I did not do this, however.  I just hopped from one to the other.  Occasionally I had a drought but was always preoccupied with other things.  I noticed that for the past couple of weeks that I have been completely drained.  To add icing on the cake, both sisters got engaged the week of Christmas.  Yes, that’s right, BOTH.  Talk about a sucker punch to the gut.  This isn’t their first engagements either.  With no engagements under my belt, I really stick out like a soar thumb.  My greatest horror is attending these weddings where I am bound to get the questions all singles love to get, like, “Why aren’t you married yet?”  “When are you going to settle down?”  “Haven’t you found someone yet?” or my personal favorite, “What’s wrong with you?”  Cause, yeah, I’m broken.  To remedy that, I’ve already decided to answer all of their questions with questions.  So when someone has the gall to ask, “When are you going to take the plunge?”  I’ll respond with: “When are you going to lose that weight the doctor recommended?”  “What day are those AA meetings held?  You should check them out.”  “Have planned your funeral yet?  I need to ask off for work.  I would want to miss that.”  But I digress…

Back to my mini-break-ups.  Let’s do the math:

If you begin talking to someone online, you email a few times, and depending on how often either of you check your email, that may come out to about a week or two of getting to know each other. 

Then you may talk on the phone once or twice and set up and go on a first meet.  That’s roughly a week.

If all goes well, you schedule another date.  And with work and scheduling that date usually happens the following week.

Second, third dates, and so on, add on additional weeks.

Okay, so on average most guys made it three weeks, some four, and about two this year made it to six weeks.  Mind you, many of these guys were overlapping in time frame.

So that’s 2 x 6 weeks + about 10 x 4 weeks + about 35 x 3 weeks = around 157 weeks.  That’s like ending a three-year relationship!  Holy crap, no wonder I feel like something my cat puked up.  

     I reserve the right to continue with my pity party for the remainder of the day.  I have decided I will no longer be glum starting around…ah…let’s say dinner time.  I am going to ring in the New Year with a clean slate and with the one relationship that did work out this year…

     Happy New Year and see you all in 2011.

Gearing Up for the Checklist

          At the beginning of the year I wrote a post that ran down the checklist of what most single people go through on New Year’s Eve.  Since the day is quickly approaching, I just thought I’d refresh you on how last New Year’s Eve went.  

          Did you ever notice how there’s a bit of a New Year’s Eve event checklist?  There is usually the same list of things that happen every year.  However, they don’t always happen the way you plan or expect.

How my day went:

After I returned home from my last-minute errands, I stopped by to check the mail.  In the pool area, there was a 4-year-old boy in some tighty-whities soaking wet looking out at me.  When I got out of my car he was holding on to the bars of the fence, bouncing, smiling and excitedly asked, “Are ya comin’ in?  Are ya comin’ in?”

Advances made towards me: Check.

As I got ready for my night out, I heard my landlady’s young grandchildren running and playing together.  She took on babysitting duty for the evening.  When it was time for me to head out I said good-bye to all and was inadvertently felt up by a 5-year-old.

Inappropriate fondling: Check.

Waiting for my ride to arrive, there were a lot of phone calls back and forth as to how to find me.  Having trouble with road blocks and me not knowing all of the side street names, there was a lot of, “where are you now?”

Lose people: Check.

When we arrived at the party, the hostess was having a little trouble with the chocolate fondue.  The few of us who had already arrived, pitched in and did some stirring, reheating, some tasting, etc.  Still a little lumpy and not cooking properly, she mentioned having a little Kaluha left over.  “Pour it in,” I said.

Use alcohol to make things better: Check.

 As the night progressed, I found myself sitting in a room full of scientists and their spouses.  Having to carry on conversations with people who have far higher IQs than mine, I feel I held my own.  And if I wasn’t able to, I would casually shove more food in my mouth to avoid over-my-head conversation.

Blend in: Check.

Since the hostess and I were the only two single people there, she informed me how she knows a woman who knows lots of single science guys.  Single + science…shocking.  Anyway,  this woman is a scientist herself and would apparently enjoy scientifically matching me to one of the young gents, depending on how “science-y” I would go.

Semi-humiliating moment: Check.

My subtle friend that brought me along to the party loudly announced my blogging adventure to the room.  Informing everyone that Mr. Fig Newton was her favorite post.  This led to many questions, laughter, and a reading request.  I gave a reading and openly answered questions about my bizarre dating life.

Reveal personal information to total strangers: Check.

         I am expecting different results this year.  Hopefully advances and fondling from more age-appropriate suitors.   But can rely on the checklist being the same, of course.

Searching for Pizzazz

     Looking for a date and finding one isn’t an issue.  Going on dates and getting asked out for a second isn’t an issue.  Getting asked out to go on second dates that I actually want to go on – BIG ISSUE!

     Lately, I have been meeting the most boring of men. Sadly, since my post about Snoozefest last month, things haven’t gotten much better.  When I met the most recent guy a couple of weeks ago, I was thrilled when the conversation wasn’t completely dull.  He wasn’t really much to go ga-ga over but he was the best I had seen in a while.  So when he asked me out to dinner, I accepted.

     The dinner had its few laughs here and there, and he was a nice guy.  On paper, he sounded fine.  He’s intelligent, friendly, employed, but that’s it really.  Overall the night was hackneyed, insipid, ordinary, …uninspiring.  And it’s not just him, all have been just lacking and ho-hum.  I’m looking for pizzazz.  Is that too much to ask?  I don’t need the guy to be a one-man-show but something about you has to hold my attention.  I feel the performers rule: “Keep the audience wanting more,” most definitely applies to dating as well.  Am I right?

     I feel myself being dragged down by all this humdrum that it is exhausting me.  I want to dive back into my hermit-ness  Behavior which will never get me to my New Year’s date goal.  I’m not just looking for some shmuck to kiss when the ball drops.  Kissing shmucks is easy, I’ve been doing it for years.  I’m looking for someone of substance. I’m using New Year’s for all that is symbolizes – change, new beginnings in directions unknown but desired.  And in all of that, I don’t want it to be with someone blah, mundane, and unimaginative.  Would you?  Pizzazz, I need pizzazz. and throw in the dating towel for a while.

     For those of you asking what pizzazz is – you can’t be serious.  It’s that spark, for some it could be chemistry.  It’s the thing that makes you want to see the person again and again.  It’s the quality in them that holds your interest.  It’s nothing you can put into exact words because it will vary from person to person, but if I had to try I’d say: Pizzazz is another person’s uniqueness that jives with your own unparalleled qualities. 

     I know I will never see this guy again, so he doesn’t even warrant a name.  However, my search continues Winkuntil I find some man worthy of earning the coveted name, Mr. Pizzazz.  


     It seems that all things in life come in spurts.  When you’re in your early twenties, just out of college, there is a burst of weddings.  A few years later there is a bit of a baby boom, and not necessarily from the friends who got married.  Then there is a lull.  By the time you get to your late twenties to early thirties there is another burst of weddings.  This burst lasts a bit longer so it’s more of a slow burn on a stick of dynamite.  I now fall into this “Ka-Boom.”  Within the next eight months I have three weddings, and a would-be fourth but it was postponed due to bride’s unexpected pregnancy.

     Fortunately, I have strategically placed myself on the other side of the continent and can get out of attending most.  I’m aiming to dodge the family weddings.  That is all I need, old-world wisdom and the third degree as to why I’m over 30 and still single.  This would be followed by snide, “you’re next” comments and “You’re on the market, put yourself out there.” 

Oh, I’m on the market alright.  I just seem to be at a store no one can find.

     In hopes of some guy finding “my store,” I decided I need a personal locator, a go-between, a…wingwoman.  I figure if a guy can have a wingman, why can’t I have a wingwoman?  And so the search is on.  Step one in finding a 2010 New Year’s Eve date. 

How will I find said wingwoman?  Simple.  I posted an ad on Craigslist – Wingwoman/women Wanted.

     I had to be very clear with my intentions and stated that I was looking for someone to grab a beer with and that I’m not running a pimpmobile.

     This is all new territory for me.  I’m searching for someone on the same team and gearing up for some…ah…lady dates.  No need to worry about shaving, waxing, or plucking though.  It’s a nice change.

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