Posts Tagged ‘Blogs’

Hh…Hi…Mmm…Hello

     To attack those three hellos I needed to say to three new guys I decided to do the Santa Monica stairs on Sunday morning.  Talk about a backfire – two reasons:

1)  Ninety percent of the people were female.  The majority of males that were there were with females.

2)  Going up and down stairs and trying to make eye-contact – Bad Idea.  Nearly lost my footing ten times.  I’m sure a face plant would have left a great impression.  Although, I am supposed to be asking for help.  Hmm . . . so maybe if I ate-it, I could have looked up with a bloody toothless grin and grabbed whatever poor soul’s hand that offered help.  Ah, can’t dwell on the missed opportunity.

     The only hello I did get out was to a little old lady with rocks in her hands.

     My first week is down and I’m having a little trouble with one homework assignment that maybe you could help me with.  I need to sign up for two ongoing classes/activities that have a high percentage of men in them.  I thought of dusting off the old guitar case but the classes near me are all booked.  I also thought about taking golf lessons but that class is only five weeks.

     I open the floor to you, any ideas or suggestions?

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How’s Your Health?

I’m a few days into the project and I thought I would give a little update on how things are going.

     First off, do you know how hard it is to train your body to do something that has now become a reflex?  This eye contact thing is killing me but I’m fighting my involuntary look-aways and am no longer self-inducing whiplash.  If nothing else, at the end of 90 days I could be saving on chiropractic care. 

     Did you know being single could kill you?  Man, Dr. D puts the fear in you.  Studies apparently show that people in relationships do better emotionally, financially, and physically.  We don’t make finding love a “top-priority,” like going to the dentist if we have a toothache or searching for a job because we need income.  We need to “roll out the red carpet for love,” as she puts it, because our “long-term quality of life may depend on it.” –  I now have a physical scheduled for next week.

     One of the exercises she has you do is to write out how you spend your time.  Add up all 168 hours in a week and see where time is a-wastin’.  I tallied a week that includes my weekend job and found I work a whopping 77 hours a week, sleep only 44, and thanks to LA traffic spend 12 hours commuting.  That alone is 133 hours.  Mother trucker, no wonder I’m so freakin’ tired all the time!  I filled up the 168 hours quick and realized how much I multi-task.  I eat breakfast at work, squeeze in naps on the train, and occasionally eat dinner while checking email.  The purpose was to see where you’re wasting time.  I found I don’t have much to go around.  She recommends 10-13 hours a week in order to do the program in 90 days.  Aaaah . . . I’m in trouble.

     Before the week is up, I have to finish up some more journal entries, do my homework, and juggle my schedule to fit “finding love” on my to-do list so psyche and ticker stay in tip-top shape.

The Reveal

     The time has arrived.  For me to take on my newest project, that is.  What is it, you ask?  Just keep your pants on, I’m getting to it.

     Last year I tried the online dating thing since so many people around me were having success with it.  That was a bust.  Well, not a total bust.  This blog would not have come into existence without it, but I digress.

     At the beginning of this year I started brainstorming. . . and then – BAM!  Got it.  A self-help book.  Those things make millions a year, so they must be working for somebody.  Why can’t that next somebody be me, huh?  The trouble after that was narrowing it down to which one.  After a bit of research I found one that fit me.  Love in 90 Days by Dr. Diana Kirschner.  I think the fact that she uses the word “Dude” in the book sold me.

     When I started looking through it, it recommended that you read everything first before starting “the program.”  I can safely say that is complete and am going to start “the program” on Sunday.  I am a little less than thrilled that I have to go back to online dating, but she recommends different sites.  She gives me weekly journaling and homework, that I’m sure you’ll hear all about.

     I know this won’t work unless I throw myself in fully, so that’s what I’m doing and I’m already a little grumpy about it.  One of my first tasks is to make eye contact and say “hi” to three new guys each day.  I’ve already done a little sampling of that and am not pleased with the results. 

     I live in LA, so dating is a bitch.  Making eye contact on the street can be a coin toss.  One good shower at the Y and you don’t know who you’re talking to.  I’ve already been asked for money twice and the other guy didn’t want my money, just for me to buy him a coffee.  Damn recession.

What a Cutie

A little birdy told me, that someone thinks I’m cute. 

This little birdy is none other than my landlady/roommate.  I may have mentioned her briefly before but let me paint a clearer picture for you.  She is a larger than life, robust woman, pushing 70, whom I adore.  She loves all and wants everyone to be in love too.  She can’t make a decision to save her life.  She has a zest for life and sees only bubblegum and daffodils.  And has unsuccessfully been trying to marry me off since she has met me.

She has recently taken on the project of redoing the kitchen.  After seven plus years of picking out tile, cabinets, wood floors, back splash,… oh, no tile again, maybe granite, (you get the idea), she has finally taken the plunge into the remodel.  I saw this as a good opportunity for me – no need to go out looking for men; they will be coming to me in droves for the next few weeks.

Although I have been checking out the merchandise, the window displays have not drawn me in. 

When I got home from work yesterday, there was a room full of workers.  However, there were way too many for me to check out without be caught red-handed doing so.  I was going for subtlety, so I just grabbed some lunch from the fridge, checked out the one standing by the fridge and then went upstairs.  Like I said, nothing has really drawn me in.

After they had all left, my landlady was sitting back admiring her decision making ability, and yeah, the work the guys did.  Then she said to me, “someone thinks you’re cute.”  I was a bit baffled by the statement at first and couldn’t imagine whom she was referring to.  Then when she told me it was one of the guys here the lightbulb went on.  I knew I was scoping them out but I didn’t think twice that they might be scoping me out.

At this point my landlady’s mischievous Cheshire Cat grin appeared and I saw that glazed look in her eyes.  She was preparing to play matchmaker.  Now mind you I adore her, but her past matchmaking ability extended to, “You’re single, she’s single.  Now get married and have babies.”  I didn’t think much thought or consideration went into any of it.  But, she proved me wrong today and put her two cents in. 

Her prior knowledge of him before this conversation, was that he was the contractor’s younger brother and he’s originally from Lebanon.  I was not there for the actual conversation between the two, but I imagine it went something like this:

Younger Brother: I think she’s cute.

Landlady: Go talk to her.  She’s nice.

Younger Brother: I can’t.  I get very nervous.  I’m too shy.

Landlady: (Eyeing him up and down and noticing his braces).  She’s friendly.

Younger Brother: (Seeing that she saw the braces.) I get them off in two months.

Landlady: Two months, huh?  How old are you?

Younger Brother: Blah blah.  (I do not have this coveted information.  She said he was younger than me so she wasn’t going to tell me.  Meanwhile, I already know he has braces and now that he’s younger, I’m thinking jailbait.)

Landlady: (Doing some calculating) Hmm. . . tell you what . . . shave . . . put on a nice shirt . . . and come back in two months.

My her demands are getting high.  Now, not only do they have to be single, but men need to have a clean shirt and face and straight teeth.  She better be careful, if that list gets too long some people might start calling her “picky.”

So what do you think, wait out two months for the mystery braceless-face?  Or schedule to be home on his next visit and get hold of the braces now? 

Good Woman, Down.

Everyone has their thing: loser-magnets, asshole-magnets, mama’s boy-magnets, . . .crazy-magnets. . .  

     My cousin, Jo-Jo (name has been changed to protect the magnet from those unwanteds who may be reading), and I do tend to attract the crazies.  Even though Jo-Jo is deserting me in the land of loons to get married this weekend, I have been given some comfort through this blog, knowing I’m not alone in this; as I’m sure my girl, Man Shopper, a kindred soul, will attest to.  In honor of my cousin’s last few moments of singlehood,  I thought we’d bid farewell to a couple crazies we both once knew.

     A few years ago, before she met her man, Jo-Jo and I went to Disney World to run in one the races they host, just for fun.  (Yeah, we’re cool like that.)  While there, we met up with another cousin at a bar he liked.  (Hey, I’m Italian, I have cousins everywhere, gimmie a break.)  As we’re sitting at the bar, I see in the corner of my eye, some guy run his fingers through his hair, pose, and then all 5’4″ of him took off doing a catwalk, obviously heading for his prey.  I turned to Jo-Jo and said, “Oh my God, you’ll never believe what I just saw.  A guy -.”  Mouth froze because of the sudden appearance of the man on my right.  Oh man, that Rico Suave preparation was for me.  Don’t remember the guy’s name, but with some ski-like arm swing motion, announced he was from Sweden.  His friend was from who knows where and was taken aback by the presence of my male cousin and kept commenting on his muscle size. 

     Not having much of a clue what the two were saying and dodging spit bullets, we managed to finish our drinks and make a clean get-away.  If they wanted the full “American treatment,” they were going to have to look else where.

     A few weeks later I had flown back home for Thanksgiving and a funeral.  (We like to multitask in my family.)  I borrowed Jo-Jo’s car to head to said funeral (not her side of the family) and decided to stop at the gas station to fill it up before returning it.  I stopped at the gas station down the street from her house.  It’s one of those full-service only places, so you’re not allowed to pump your own gas.  In comes Buck – a short scraggly guy with a patchy beard and a trucker cap.  I knew at first glance he was a talker.  I hesitantly rolled down my window and told him to fill it up, cheap stuff was fine.  The problem was, I was paying with a debit card which Buck had to process meaning the window had to stay down.  And that was all he needed, one inch of my window and then diarrhea of the mouth.  “I just moved here from Texas.”  “This is first job here.”  “I didn’t graduate from high school.”  “I like it here so far.”  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”  “I think I’m going to go to night school.”

     I thought the gas tank was never going to fill.  I was trying my damnedest to avoid eye contact and any other interaction.  I dodged questions about myself and his hopeless attempts at asking me out.  But he was a crazy, none of that mattered.  The gas tank finally filled and my card finally processed and I got the heck out of dodge.  I drove the mile to Jo-Jo’s house, walked into the house where she and other family members in the kitchen were standing and said, “I veto the gas station guy.”

“Huh?” she said.

“I veto him.  He’s a crazy.  I learned about where he went to high school, why he moved here…”

“Oh, Buck,” she said.  “He’s from Texas and has a kid and…”

“Yeah.”

“I already know him.  He’s already asked me out.  Twice actually.  I went there one day and got his whole life story and then went back a couple of weeks later and got the same story again.  He didn’t remember me from the first time and told me everything again.”

     Needless to say, the family was very amused by this.  Not only do we both attract crazies, but we attract the same crazies.  

     She called me a few weeks later to tell me that Buck started dating one of the mom’s at the school she worked at.  Apparently that gas attendant charm worked on someone.

     So, dear cuz’, I wish you well in your new life.  And on behalf of all other single crazy-magnets out there, I want to thank you for taking yourself off the market leaving more goons for the rest of us.  We really appreciate it.

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