Through the course of the last year, I have elaborated on my trials and tribulations with NYB (that was New Year's Boy), mr.redbull, cowboy, and now "my new guy".
One might wonder why the hell I can't come up with a better nickname than "my new guy." Well, given that my blog is public domain and I make a concerted effort to protect my friends' privacy yet be honest, any name I can come up with would give away who I'm talking about to those not in the know.
Real name? Initials? Clothes? Location? Mr.redbull started calling him "insert employer name here" boy but that doesn't work for this purpose or talking about him to anyone at work. YIKES!!! Maybe I'm a little on the paranoid side, but you never who might stumble across this...
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Black & White or Shades of Grey?
Post house party when I got back to work on Monday, I e-mailed my new guy to see if he wanted to go out to "coffee or lunch or something." After some back and forth, we ultimately settled on lunch for Friday when we would both be off work.
At this point, cowboy and I had talked about "us" that Monday night. I came away from the conversation with the understanding that we had stalled; we reached a point where we were not going to progress any further. Cowboy was not ready to meet M, he was not ready to involve kids in the relationship, and he was scared to get too close to anyone.
Friday I met my new guy at Bridgeport Brewing for what ended up being one of my best first dates as far as feeling relaxed, not worrying, not stressing, and not being nervous about things. We actually lost track of time - thank god we weren't working that day because we were there for nearly 3 hours.
Mr.redbull had chastised me the night before my lunch date for not calling it quits with cowboy, and warned me that I would not be able to enjoy my date on Friday because I would feel guilty. Ummm, not so much. The fact I felt so comfortable tells me that I need to step back and really think about what I want.
My hairdresser Carm told me I need to date someone completely different than M's dad or anyone I've dated before and that cowboy is too similar to my ex.
And now for the shades of grey, layers of complexity, and drama reminiscent of high school - technically, I had not completely broken up with cowboy, new guy's divorce isn't quite final, and even when it is final... his ex works with us too.
At this point, cowboy and I had talked about "us" that Monday night. I came away from the conversation with the understanding that we had stalled; we reached a point where we were not going to progress any further. Cowboy was not ready to meet M, he was not ready to involve kids in the relationship, and he was scared to get too close to anyone.
Friday I met my new guy at Bridgeport Brewing for what ended up being one of my best first dates as far as feeling relaxed, not worrying, not stressing, and not being nervous about things. We actually lost track of time - thank god we weren't working that day because we were there for nearly 3 hours.
Mr.redbull had chastised me the night before my lunch date for not calling it quits with cowboy, and warned me that I would not be able to enjoy my date on Friday because I would feel guilty. Ummm, not so much. The fact I felt so comfortable tells me that I need to step back and really think about what I want.
My hairdresser Carm told me I need to date someone completely different than M's dad or anyone I've dated before and that cowboy is too similar to my ex.
And now for the shades of grey, layers of complexity, and drama reminiscent of high school - technically, I had not completely broken up with cowboy, new guy's divorce isn't quite final, and even when it is final... his ex works with us too.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Where Do I Go From Here?
There is no legal requirement that I title all of my posts with questions, yet it seems my life is full of questions of late.
In two days, I will be exactly halfway through my M.B.A. I have been going out with cowboy for as long as I've been in school this time around - just over six months. Not sure if it is simply my over-analytical nature or if life is trying to tell me something, but I am starting to question whether cowboy and I are right for each other. At one point I was very sure because it just felt right between us.
Just before Thanksgiving, I picked up on tension between us. Not a lot, but just enough to make things a tiny bit, almost awkward. We still got along fine. I even took cowboy to my department's Christmas dinner. But it's duck season. We haven't been out to Bushwhacker's together since September. Two weekends in December I asked him if we could maybe hit the bar for a little bit, and his response was less than enthusiastic because "the bar is more of a February thing." In other words, going out dancing is an in between duck seasons thing.
Last Friday I went to a house party. It's been a long time since I've been on the work party circuit given the circumstances of the last decade. While I was at the party, I met somebody. To clarify, I have known this person in passing but that night was the first time we talked outside of work. He liked my black satin heels with the ankle straps (in a "good" way), he likes classic SNL skits, he owns books and actually reads them, he does not drive a 4x4, and his hobbies do not include killing things.
The thought has crossed my mind that one of the reasons I am so comfortable with cowboy is because in some ways, he is very similar to M's dad - the hunting, the living out beyond the suburbs, the camping, the general disdain for reading... I hate to say this, but I see some old behaviors in myself coming out that tell me I'm still not in tune with the real me. After cowboy's negative reaction to my first night out at Cowgirls, I filtered my retelling of the next couple times I went swinging around poles and dancing on bars. I considered not going to the house party. I need to be comfortable enough with who I am that I can go into a relationship and say "this is me, deal with it - I wear high heels, I've been known to swing around a pole and will probably take lessons when I'm done with my MBA, I like to go out dancing, and I have to be home every 8 hours because I have indoor dogs." Another hot topic is kids - I have M, he has two of his own. He has not met M, I have not met his two. I see the reason in not introducing too soon but it's been half a year!
After the house party, I obsessed all weekend long about what the events Friday night meant, did I want to pursue city boy, did city boy have a real interest in me, did I want to gamble on dating someone from work, did I want to continue seeing cowboy too? Do I have a clue what I want?
In two days, I will be exactly halfway through my M.B.A. I have been going out with cowboy for as long as I've been in school this time around - just over six months. Not sure if it is simply my over-analytical nature or if life is trying to tell me something, but I am starting to question whether cowboy and I are right for each other. At one point I was very sure because it just felt right between us.
Just before Thanksgiving, I picked up on tension between us. Not a lot, but just enough to make things a tiny bit, almost awkward. We still got along fine. I even took cowboy to my department's Christmas dinner. But it's duck season. We haven't been out to Bushwhacker's together since September. Two weekends in December I asked him if we could maybe hit the bar for a little bit, and his response was less than enthusiastic because "the bar is more of a February thing." In other words, going out dancing is an in between duck seasons thing.
Last Friday I went to a house party. It's been a long time since I've been on the work party circuit given the circumstances of the last decade. While I was at the party, I met somebody. To clarify, I have known this person in passing but that night was the first time we talked outside of work. He liked my black satin heels with the ankle straps (in a "good" way), he likes classic SNL skits, he owns books and actually reads them, he does not drive a 4x4, and his hobbies do not include killing things.
The thought has crossed my mind that one of the reasons I am so comfortable with cowboy is because in some ways, he is very similar to M's dad - the hunting, the living out beyond the suburbs, the camping, the general disdain for reading... I hate to say this, but I see some old behaviors in myself coming out that tell me I'm still not in tune with the real me. After cowboy's negative reaction to my first night out at Cowgirls, I filtered my retelling of the next couple times I went swinging around poles and dancing on bars. I considered not going to the house party. I need to be comfortable enough with who I am that I can go into a relationship and say "this is me, deal with it - I wear high heels, I've been known to swing around a pole and will probably take lessons when I'm done with my MBA, I like to go out dancing, and I have to be home every 8 hours because I have indoor dogs." Another hot topic is kids - I have M, he has two of his own. He has not met M, I have not met his two. I see the reason in not introducing too soon but it's been half a year!
After the house party, I obsessed all weekend long about what the events Friday night meant, did I want to pursue city boy, did city boy have a real interest in me, did I want to gamble on dating someone from work, did I want to continue seeing cowboy too? Do I have a clue what I want?
Monday, October 22, 2007
Why Are XHusbands Such Dicks?
About a month ago, M's dad called me at work and started yelling at me. Yelling at me about every financial decision I had ever made during our life together. Everything from the cars I bought, the student loans I took out, to the computer I bought and how much he pays me in child support for M. All I could do is sit at my desk and cry as quietly as possible. I couldn't yell back because I was work. I couldn't tell him that he needed to open his eyes and look at the amount of money he'd spent on pot over the last decade. The conversation ended with him threatening to take me to court because he didn't feel the current child support payment was fair. Really, I think he's just short the money he needs to go hunting. What would he do with extra money every month anyway? More pot, more alcohol, more vicodin, and more hunting.
Today I gave M's dad five weeks notice that I would be traveling for work for a week (as compared to the usual 3 days notice he gives me when he changes week nights on me). The response I got was somewhat less than stellar, "That really fucks things up for me. I had plans that week." Maybe I should quit my job. I wonder how much he'd like that child support payment.
After this conversation, I get an email from him that says "Child support - you have a chance to treat me fair". Child support is calculated by the state. I did not pull a number out of thin air or decide to arbitrarily screw him for everything I could take. Let's talk about fair. Where exactly was it fair that he could spend money on drugs while we were married and take money away from our family's goals? Where was it fair that he could spend most of his time stoned and checked out of life? Where was it fair he could withdraw from any and all activities that didn't involve his friends? He says he would try to get me back if he thought he had a chance. He's already lost his wife and he still doesn't see the impact of his behavior. I don't think he'll ever grow up.
Today I gave M's dad five weeks notice that I would be traveling for work for a week (as compared to the usual 3 days notice he gives me when he changes week nights on me). The response I got was somewhat less than stellar, "That really fucks things up for me. I had plans that week." Maybe I should quit my job. I wonder how much he'd like that child support payment.
After this conversation, I get an email from him that says "Child support - you have a chance to treat me fair". Child support is calculated by the state. I did not pull a number out of thin air or decide to arbitrarily screw him for everything I could take. Let's talk about fair. Where exactly was it fair that he could spend money on drugs while we were married and take money away from our family's goals? Where was it fair that he could spend most of his time stoned and checked out of life? Where was it fair he could withdraw from any and all activities that didn't involve his friends? He says he would try to get me back if he thought he had a chance. He's already lost his wife and he still doesn't see the impact of his behavior. I don't think he'll ever grow up.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Pole Posse In Da House
What might you ask is the "pole posse"? American Cowgirls encourages the ladies to dance on the bar (think Coyote Ugly but anyone can get up there) and they provide stripper poles (three of them). Two of my girlfriends and I began calling ourselves the 'pole posse' last night. And one of my girlfriends has been taking lessons for the past six weeks. Yep, pole dancing lessons. She's really good too.
Last night was my first night at AC, and let me tell you - pole dancing is hard freakin' work. I wasn't even on the pole for more than four or five songs all night. My arms are sore, my legs are sore, and I have a giant, purple bruise on the inside of my thigh from swinging my leg around the pole to gain momentum. Shaking your ass on the bar is hard work too. However, our theory after last night, every girl has an inner stripper that's just dying to get out and do a little bump and grind.
Notice I did not mention cowboy went with, because he was out in the woods killing things this weekend. What is it with men and needing to go kill things? Anyway, cowboy teased me a little bit beforehand about my going pole dancing. Then tonight I passed along how my weekend went and why my arms/legs/back are killing me. He actually said "I thought you'd have a little more class than that." I'm really not sure what I think about that statement and yet I don't want to turn one little comment into a huge deal.
Although, I have to admit that in a sense he is right and has a valid point. The thought crossed my mind Saturday night while I'm on the bar in the middle of Van Halen's 'Panama' that I'm at a point in my career where it really wouldn't be OK for someone from work to walk in and see me dancing on a bar or swinging around a brass pole ...
Last night was my first night at AC, and let me tell you - pole dancing is hard freakin' work. I wasn't even on the pole for more than four or five songs all night. My arms are sore, my legs are sore, and I have a giant, purple bruise on the inside of my thigh from swinging my leg around the pole to gain momentum. Shaking your ass on the bar is hard work too. However, our theory after last night, every girl has an inner stripper that's just dying to get out and do a little bump and grind.
Notice I did not mention cowboy went with, because he was out in the woods killing things this weekend. What is it with men and needing to go kill things? Anyway, cowboy teased me a little bit beforehand about my going pole dancing. Then tonight I passed along how my weekend went and why my arms/legs/back are killing me. He actually said "I thought you'd have a little more class than that." I'm really not sure what I think about that statement and yet I don't want to turn one little comment into a huge deal.
Although, I have to admit that in a sense he is right and has a valid point. The thought crossed my mind Saturday night while I'm on the bar in the middle of Van Halen's 'Panama' that I'm at a point in my career where it really wouldn't be OK for someone from work to walk in and see me dancing on a bar or swinging around a brass pole ...
Monday, September 3, 2007
If You Are Cold...It's Because Hell Froze Over
And why did hell freeze over this weekend you ask? Because I went camping. Yep, you read that correctly. Camping - in a tent, for more than one night, where I had to use an outhouse, and the rocknroll princess slept on an air mattress.
For anyone still reading that hasn't collapsed into absolute shock, this will put you there - I actually had fun.
I pulled together a babysitter and two dog sitters to take care of my entourage from Saturday through Monday. I got lots of advice as to how to make it through the weekend... "if you really aren't having fun, just remember it's time without kids and dogs" and "just relax and go with things" but I think the best was "just drink the whole time and the dirt and bugs won't bother you."
Cowboy and I left on Saturday afternoon and drove up to where his friends had spots at a campground. I took that last piece of advice to heart and started drinking as soon as the tent was set up. I will say that the rest of the gang has campers and motor homes, which makes it a lot nicer even in a tent because you can go into their campers and motor homes.
Sunday morning was HELL! Thank god for coffee, bacon, and Aleve. The other piece of camping equipment the rest of the gang has is they all own jet boats. We all put in to the river early afternoon (I think there was about 10 people), went for a few runs, floated around, and just had a fun time.
Now M's dad is a big outdoors guy, and put a lot of pressure on me to go camping with him when we were together. I tried early on a couple times and simply put, it amounted to several miserable experiences. I never got enough enjoyment out of it to warrant the effort I had to put into it so I just stopped going. I realize now there are two reasons I hated camping with M's dad. First, the reason I was already aware of is that there was no compromise on his part to do something I wanted to do. Second, the reason I realized only this weekend, was that it was because we didn't have any toys. I don't know how to swim so I need a life jacket any time I go in the water thus swimming is eliminated as an activity. We never owned a boat, or quads, or sea doo's, so I really had nothing to do when M's dad took us. Looking for deer just doesn't fulfill my weekend recreational needs.
After a Sunday on the water, I sunburned my thighs and have a bruise from my knee to my ankle from slipping trying to get into the boat. I'm pretty proud of the fact I didn't sunburn my pasty glow-in-the-dark skin but I still don't understand how in the hell I sunburned the tops of my thighs and not my shoulders or my chest.
If this camping thing is going to occur on a regular basis, I have to convince cowboy that he needs a camper (and a jet boat).
For anyone still reading that hasn't collapsed into absolute shock, this will put you there - I actually had fun.
I pulled together a babysitter and two dog sitters to take care of my entourage from Saturday through Monday. I got lots of advice as to how to make it through the weekend... "if you really aren't having fun, just remember it's time without kids and dogs" and "just relax and go with things" but I think the best was "just drink the whole time and the dirt and bugs won't bother you."
Cowboy and I left on Saturday afternoon and drove up to where his friends had spots at a campground. I took that last piece of advice to heart and started drinking as soon as the tent was set up. I will say that the rest of the gang has campers and motor homes, which makes it a lot nicer even in a tent because you can go into their campers and motor homes.
Sunday morning was HELL! Thank god for coffee, bacon, and Aleve. The other piece of camping equipment the rest of the gang has is they all own jet boats. We all put in to the river early afternoon (I think there was about 10 people), went for a few runs, floated around, and just had a fun time.
Now M's dad is a big outdoors guy, and put a lot of pressure on me to go camping with him when we were together. I tried early on a couple times and simply put, it amounted to several miserable experiences. I never got enough enjoyment out of it to warrant the effort I had to put into it so I just stopped going. I realize now there are two reasons I hated camping with M's dad. First, the reason I was already aware of is that there was no compromise on his part to do something I wanted to do. Second, the reason I realized only this weekend, was that it was because we didn't have any toys. I don't know how to swim so I need a life jacket any time I go in the water thus swimming is eliminated as an activity. We never owned a boat, or quads, or sea doo's, so I really had nothing to do when M's dad took us. Looking for deer just doesn't fulfill my weekend recreational needs.
After a Sunday on the water, I sunburned my thighs and have a bruise from my knee to my ankle from slipping trying to get into the boat. I'm pretty proud of the fact I didn't sunburn my pasty glow-in-the-dark skin but I still don't understand how in the hell I sunburned the tops of my thighs and not my shoulders or my chest.
If this camping thing is going to occur on a regular basis, I have to convince cowboy that he needs a camper (and a jet boat).
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Finally, I got the camera phone...
...and now must figure out how to "discreetly" capture the fashion atrocities I come across...hee hee hee!
A more pressing problem is teaching M's dad what a calendar is and how to use one. At some point on Friday, he says "oh just bring M by when you get back from the lake tomorrow and I can keep her through Monday." I'm OK with that, but geez, would have been nice to be able to make plans more than 24 hours ahead of time. Supposedly we now have our visitation schedule worked out through the end of elk hunting season. We'll see about that.
Last night my sis stayed over at my house which allowed me to go out with cowboy and actually stay at his house. I didn't have to get up and bail in the middle of the night or even first thing in the morning. We actually went out for breakfast this morning. So, any wild guesses as to where we went Saturday night? Anyone? That's right, Bushwhackers.
I stand by my previous post, if you are fat prior to getting dressed, you will still be fat once you get your clothes on. Wearing "skinny girl" clothes does not by default make you skinny. Shiny, silky tank tops fall into that category. White tank tops look just plain trashy (especially when they are worn as a top and not as a layered piece) and few people can pull off the look successfully. The bonus for whoever drank enough to make this girl skinny is they knew well ahead of time what they were getting. And when one must sit down to rest, it is not necessary to rest your fat rolls on the bar. That's just flat out gross. In case there is any question, fake hair looks fake at the cart in the middle of the mall, and it still looks fake when you clip on your ponytail.
I played designated driver last night, which cowboy took full advantage of. Normally a few beers get knocked back but not last night. After a few silver bulletts, four Crown & Coke's that were mostly Crown followed. Thankfully, cowboy had the presence of mind to tell me to pull over before he puked his guts out on the way home.
Remember everyone, basics are key. Chew with your mouth shut. Say please and thank you. And for Christ's sake, cross your legs when you're wearing a denim miniskirt and sitting on a bar stool!
A more pressing problem is teaching M's dad what a calendar is and how to use one. At some point on Friday, he says "oh just bring M by when you get back from the lake tomorrow and I can keep her through Monday." I'm OK with that, but geez, would have been nice to be able to make plans more than 24 hours ahead of time. Supposedly we now have our visitation schedule worked out through the end of elk hunting season. We'll see about that.
Last night my sis stayed over at my house which allowed me to go out with cowboy and actually stay at his house. I didn't have to get up and bail in the middle of the night or even first thing in the morning. We actually went out for breakfast this morning. So, any wild guesses as to where we went Saturday night? Anyone? That's right, Bushwhackers.
I stand by my previous post, if you are fat prior to getting dressed, you will still be fat once you get your clothes on. Wearing "skinny girl" clothes does not by default make you skinny. Shiny, silky tank tops fall into that category. White tank tops look just plain trashy (especially when they are worn as a top and not as a layered piece) and few people can pull off the look successfully. The bonus for whoever drank enough to make this girl skinny is they knew well ahead of time what they were getting. And when one must sit down to rest, it is not necessary to rest your fat rolls on the bar. That's just flat out gross. In case there is any question, fake hair looks fake at the cart in the middle of the mall, and it still looks fake when you clip on your ponytail.
I played designated driver last night, which cowboy took full advantage of. Normally a few beers get knocked back but not last night. After a few silver bulletts, four Crown & Coke's that were mostly Crown followed. Thankfully, cowboy had the presence of mind to tell me to pull over before he puked his guts out on the way home.
Remember everyone, basics are key. Chew with your mouth shut. Say please and thank you. And for Christ's sake, cross your legs when you're wearing a denim miniskirt and sitting on a bar stool!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
You're The Only Guy Going. Hope That's OK.
One of the really tricky parts of starting a new relationship is knowing whether you are far enough into the relationship where it is acceptable to make future plans beyond the next date. Tricky part two of that is how far in the future you can make those plans without the other person freaking out. About two weeks after I started seeing cowboy, concert tickets went on sale for Toby Keith. I wanted to see Toby so I bought my eight tickets with four of them for me and two sets for two of my friends. I decided one of my tickets would be for cowboy and if it hadn't worked out for us I would just invite someone else. At the point I bought the tickets, the concert was six or seven weeks away - three times as long as we had been seeing each other. Then I had to contend with an inner struggle of whether I tell him I bought concert tickets for us and for when. I finally decided that I would play it casual, "I bought concert tickets to Toby Keith and I have one for you if you want to go." Whew, he didn't freak out. All is well.
The plan all along only included a possible two guys out of the group of eight. One friend had a change of plans which meant I needed to resell her two tickets. No problem except for M's sister K. (who is 17) offered one of them to her friend (who is also 17). Then K.'s mom took the other one. The potential issue for cowboy is that not only will he for sure be the only guy going, and meeting M., but now we are taking two 17 year olds and he will meet M's sister and her sister's mom. I imagine it is intimidating enough to meet someone's kids but add to that my ex-husband's other kid and my ex-husband's first ex-wife? That's probably a little much.
I gave him the option and cowboy opted out on Toby. He was really sweet about it. He wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be mad and then says he doesn't really like Toby that much and he was just going to be with me. This is another concept very foreign to me. The actual concert was last night and the big dog daddy Toby Keith is an absolute stud. GRRR!
The fabulous efforts of all the wannabe cowgirls in the area continue to amaze me. Turns out two 17 year-olds enjoy spotting fashion disasters a mile away as much as I do so last night I had help in watching for unique efforts. As soon as we walked in, we were confronted with the walking sausage and she was in front of us every way we turned in her olive green short overalls. Nobody over 250 should be allowed to wear overalls, let alone short overalls. The next atrocity occured in the general admission area (here is where I wish I had a camera phone) just a little ways down the hill from where we were. The dark brown wannabe cowgirl hat was bad enough, but it just doesn't flow well on top of a skin tight brown halter top. The skin tight was what really did in the shirt since it allowed her huge gut to hang down over the top of her skin tight knee length jean shorts. The giant silver jewelry around her neck did nothing to distract the eye from the tacky hat, the overhanging gut, or the fact her ass was so flat it was almost caved in. In fact, her ass was the smallest part of her body I think. And nothing adds height like a continuous line for the eye to follow. She obviously missed this page in last months Glamour because she had on brown knee high boots with her jean shorts. Unfortunately, the eyes couldn't be averted since she was also on her way to becoming THAT GIRL and doing the arms above the head dance.
After the concert, M went home with her sister so I met up with cowboy at Bushwhacker's. Last night was the moo brigade. Black is a slimming color; however, if you are fat before you get dressed then you will still be fat even if you're wearing black. The fat under your clothes is still there no matter what color you're wearing so a black shirt does not make it OK to expose your gut. There was a bachelorette party in attendance last night too. The bride to be had a lighted sash presumably to indicate she was the one getting married but it more closely resembled one of those flashing "wide load" signs you see on the big trucks. I think she was the token skinny girl too because her one friend looked she had two butts, one in the back and one in the front.
A few postings ago I mentioned the "hanger on girl" who literally draped herself over every unattached guy at the bar...she was back last night in some very unattractive baggy jean shorts. As I was standing with cowboy, his arm is around me, my arm is wrapped around his waist, she walks up behind us. I don't know if she didn't see me or what but she grabs his arms and says "Hi" so I turn around, look her in the eye and say "Hi" right back with a just a little bit of attitude. Her expression was of complete shock. After a bit of a stare down and I'm just about ready to get in her face, she says to cowboy "sorry, I thought you were someone else who's wearing the same shirt" and practically ran to the other side of the bar. I really don't like to fight but I have had to make this lady back off my man twice now - well, once was before he was technically my man but still - I think I may need to adjust my message a little bit if it happens again cuz she just doesn't seem to get it.
The plan all along only included a possible two guys out of the group of eight. One friend had a change of plans which meant I needed to resell her two tickets. No problem except for M's sister K. (who is 17) offered one of them to her friend (who is also 17). Then K.'s mom took the other one. The potential issue for cowboy is that not only will he for sure be the only guy going, and meeting M., but now we are taking two 17 year olds and he will meet M's sister and her sister's mom. I imagine it is intimidating enough to meet someone's kids but add to that my ex-husband's other kid and my ex-husband's first ex-wife? That's probably a little much.
I gave him the option and cowboy opted out on Toby. He was really sweet about it. He wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be mad and then says he doesn't really like Toby that much and he was just going to be with me. This is another concept very foreign to me. The actual concert was last night and the big dog daddy Toby Keith is an absolute stud. GRRR!
The fabulous efforts of all the wannabe cowgirls in the area continue to amaze me. Turns out two 17 year-olds enjoy spotting fashion disasters a mile away as much as I do so last night I had help in watching for unique efforts. As soon as we walked in, we were confronted with the walking sausage and she was in front of us every way we turned in her olive green short overalls. Nobody over 250 should be allowed to wear overalls, let alone short overalls. The next atrocity occured in the general admission area (here is where I wish I had a camera phone) just a little ways down the hill from where we were. The dark brown wannabe cowgirl hat was bad enough, but it just doesn't flow well on top of a skin tight brown halter top. The skin tight was what really did in the shirt since it allowed her huge gut to hang down over the top of her skin tight knee length jean shorts. The giant silver jewelry around her neck did nothing to distract the eye from the tacky hat, the overhanging gut, or the fact her ass was so flat it was almost caved in. In fact, her ass was the smallest part of her body I think. And nothing adds height like a continuous line for the eye to follow. She obviously missed this page in last months Glamour because she had on brown knee high boots with her jean shorts. Unfortunately, the eyes couldn't be averted since she was also on her way to becoming THAT GIRL and doing the arms above the head dance.
After the concert, M went home with her sister so I met up with cowboy at Bushwhacker's. Last night was the moo brigade. Black is a slimming color; however, if you are fat before you get dressed then you will still be fat even if you're wearing black. The fat under your clothes is still there no matter what color you're wearing so a black shirt does not make it OK to expose your gut. There was a bachelorette party in attendance last night too. The bride to be had a lighted sash presumably to indicate she was the one getting married but it more closely resembled one of those flashing "wide load" signs you see on the big trucks. I think she was the token skinny girl too because her one friend looked she had two butts, one in the back and one in the front.
A few postings ago I mentioned the "hanger on girl" who literally draped herself over every unattached guy at the bar...she was back last night in some very unattractive baggy jean shorts. As I was standing with cowboy, his arm is around me, my arm is wrapped around his waist, she walks up behind us. I don't know if she didn't see me or what but she grabs his arms and says "Hi" so I turn around, look her in the eye and say "Hi" right back with a just a little bit of attitude. Her expression was of complete shock. After a bit of a stare down and I'm just about ready to get in her face, she says to cowboy "sorry, I thought you were someone else who's wearing the same shirt" and practically ran to the other side of the bar. I really don't like to fight but I have had to make this lady back off my man twice now - well, once was before he was technically my man but still - I think I may need to adjust my message a little bit if it happens again cuz she just doesn't seem to get it.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Looks That Kill
Before I split with M's dad I thought about every aspect of life I could think of and how life would change. Like would I have enough money, would I have enough time, would I meet someone else, did I owe it to M's dad to stay because of what I've been through, and on and on and on. The one thing I missed that may seem like a trivial thing, however, was I have always had somebody around to kill spiders for me. My parents, my roommates, neighbors, and M's dad. I have to kill my own spiders now!
I've had to toughen up quite a bit with owning a house by myself. My house was built on a lot that up until last summer was somebody's garden so I have LOTS of spiders. Not just daddy long legs and little itty bitty spiders but big, fat, nasty, hairy spiders that are like the size of a small car. OK, the size of a half dollar but still...
The other night I saw one of those big, fat, nasty, hairy spiders in my bedroom up in that space where the wall meets the ceiling that is really too high for me to reach anyway. I went away and came back to see that the big, fat, nasty, hairy spider had moved to over the bed. As I sat downstairs contemplating what to do, cowboy called. I'm talking to cowboy and mention that I saw one of these big, fat, nasty, hairy spiders in my bedroom. He apparently knows me fairly well already because he said "You're thinking about sleeping downstairs aren't you?"
Um, yeah...seemed like a decent idea. He says just go kill it. You won't know unless you try. Just get it over with. But I have to wait for it to move because if I miss and it drops, it will drop onto the bed. So not cool.
But fair enough. I go back upstairs, gather the paper towels, get the step stool, and go back to my room. The big, fat, nasty, hairy spider has moved to another wall and is now on a flat surface where with the step stool I can reach and get him. So I stand there, and I stand there, and I move the laundry basket so in case the big, fat, nasty, hairy spider drops it won't drop into my clean clothes. I stand there, and I stand there and decide I should really brush my teeth and take my make up off. When I'm done the big, fat, nasty, hairy spider is still there. I stand there, and I stand there, and I stand there a little bit longer. If cowboy lived closer I would consider calling him to come kill it for me. That's not an option, so I stand there and I stand there and I stand there for just a little bit longer and then I go for it. I got it in the six layers of paper towels and just to make sure I really got it, I squished the paper towels flat against the bathroom counter with my entire body weight.
DEAD SPIDER!!!
I've had to toughen up quite a bit with owning a house by myself. My house was built on a lot that up until last summer was somebody's garden so I have LOTS of spiders. Not just daddy long legs and little itty bitty spiders but big, fat, nasty, hairy spiders that are like the size of a small car. OK, the size of a half dollar but still...
The other night I saw one of those big, fat, nasty, hairy spiders in my bedroom up in that space where the wall meets the ceiling that is really too high for me to reach anyway. I went away and came back to see that the big, fat, nasty, hairy spider had moved to over the bed. As I sat downstairs contemplating what to do, cowboy called. I'm talking to cowboy and mention that I saw one of these big, fat, nasty, hairy spiders in my bedroom. He apparently knows me fairly well already because he said "You're thinking about sleeping downstairs aren't you?"
Um, yeah...seemed like a decent idea. He says just go kill it. You won't know unless you try. Just get it over with. But I have to wait for it to move because if I miss and it drops, it will drop onto the bed. So not cool.
But fair enough. I go back upstairs, gather the paper towels, get the step stool, and go back to my room. The big, fat, nasty, hairy spider has moved to another wall and is now on a flat surface where with the step stool I can reach and get him. So I stand there, and I stand there, and I move the laundry basket so in case the big, fat, nasty, hairy spider drops it won't drop into my clean clothes. I stand there, and I stand there and decide I should really brush my teeth and take my make up off. When I'm done the big, fat, nasty, hairy spider is still there. I stand there, and I stand there, and I stand there a little bit longer. If cowboy lived closer I would consider calling him to come kill it for me. That's not an option, so I stand there and I stand there and I stand there for just a little bit longer and then I go for it. I got it in the six layers of paper towels and just to make sure I really got it, I squished the paper towels flat against the bathroom counter with my entire body weight.
DEAD SPIDER!!!
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Stupidity is not optional
Thanks to M's sister, I had a second Saturday night in a row free. Well not "free" because I made plans with cowboy, but kid free. We ventured out of the Bushwhacker's comfort zone and went to Duke's last night. I have not been back to Duke's since the fateful mechanical bull night when I met mr.redbull, but time heals all wounds and sore shoulders so off we went. Cowboy had told me how does not particularly care for Duke's, but I had only been there twice and that was where KG wanted to go Saturday night.
Even though Duke's and Bushwhacker's are both country bars, they are 180 degrees apart. No mechanical bull last night but the entertainment was beyond belief. I have discovered the reason for the world's peroxide shortage; I don't think there was a natural blonde in the entire bar and I saw at least three completely bleached Gwen Stefani style. If last night was any indication, the world is headed for a self tanner shortage also. A word of warning, small polka dots do not make you look thinner. Nor does the number of polka dot pieces help, thus skip the polka dot shoes. Mini skirts are in, mini dresses are just dangerous if you're going to do anything but just stand there. It was barely within my willpower to not walk up and yank this girls dress over her head.
Usually my fashion observations center on the girls at the bar. However, last night was a first. The biggest fashion faux pas of the night belongs to a guy. Yes, you read that correctly and not just any guy, "THAT" guy. THAT guy is the one at any party or bar who gets so inebriated he cannot function, loses all sight of the fine line between socially acceptable and ridiculous, and usually brings some stellar, out of this world moves to the dance floor. Last night THAT guy provided endless entertainment for all of us. First, THAT guy was obviously out to impress the ladies with his fashion sense in his Tire Factory t-shirt and skin tight faded jeans. Another move guaranteed to get the ladies to look is some air guitar to AC/DC while you shake your ass like a girl missing a stripper pole. As the night continued on, THAT guy's skin tight jeans just couldn't hold up to all the dippin', bumpin' and grindin' he was doing because his inseam split from his crotch to his knee (he was a boxer wearer thank god). But not even split pants could stop THAT guy last night. He just kept dancin' and air guitarin' with his shorts hanging out all over the place.
Maybe if I ran a matchmaking service I could hook THAT guy up with the bedazzled troll from Bushwhackers.
Even though Duke's and Bushwhacker's are both country bars, they are 180 degrees apart. No mechanical bull last night but the entertainment was beyond belief. I have discovered the reason for the world's peroxide shortage; I don't think there was a natural blonde in the entire bar and I saw at least three completely bleached Gwen Stefani style. If last night was any indication, the world is headed for a self tanner shortage also. A word of warning, small polka dots do not make you look thinner. Nor does the number of polka dot pieces help, thus skip the polka dot shoes. Mini skirts are in, mini dresses are just dangerous if you're going to do anything but just stand there. It was barely within my willpower to not walk up and yank this girls dress over her head.
Usually my fashion observations center on the girls at the bar. However, last night was a first. The biggest fashion faux pas of the night belongs to a guy. Yes, you read that correctly and not just any guy, "THAT" guy. THAT guy is the one at any party or bar who gets so inebriated he cannot function, loses all sight of the fine line between socially acceptable and ridiculous, and usually brings some stellar, out of this world moves to the dance floor. Last night THAT guy provided endless entertainment for all of us. First, THAT guy was obviously out to impress the ladies with his fashion sense in his Tire Factory t-shirt and skin tight faded jeans. Another move guaranteed to get the ladies to look is some air guitar to AC/DC while you shake your ass like a girl missing a stripper pole. As the night continued on, THAT guy's skin tight jeans just couldn't hold up to all the dippin', bumpin' and grindin' he was doing because his inseam split from his crotch to his knee (he was a boxer wearer thank god). But not even split pants could stop THAT guy last night. He just kept dancin' and air guitarin' with his shorts hanging out all over the place.
Maybe if I ran a matchmaking service I could hook THAT guy up with the bedazzled troll from Bushwhackers.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
In Brief
Between my work, cowboy's work, my time with M., cowboy's time commitments with his kids, and my school, we are lucky if we get to see each other once a week. The benefits to this is it forces us to communicate well early on, and he understands where I'm coming from when things get messed up with visitation times, when I have to devote time and attention to M, and when I just have to deal with stupid shit from my ex. And the ex has done his share of stupid shit lately. Every time I think I am finally dealing with a grown up, WRONG!
Friday M's dad called and said he had to bring her home at noon on Sunday. Well, so much for spending all day in bed with cowboy but I said that was fine. Today at noon M's dad calls and says "where are you? how soon will you be here?" He had completely forgotten he told me he would drop her off. Thursday M's dad called and said he couldn't watch M on this coming Tuesday night. Hello, she's your kid - you don't watch her like you're her babysitter, she's half yours.
Last night the planets aligned and both cowboy and I had a kid free night so we planned on going out. I was also invited to a graduation BBQ for a friend I had gone through most of my undergrad degree with. I have spent the last 11 years with M's dad attending any and all events by myself. If the event did not include his circle of friends, he would tell me he couldn't possibly have anything in common with anyone there and he didn't like meeting new people or he had to go kill furry animals in the woods. Hell, sometimes it would be something with his friends and I would still end up going on my own. Imagine my utter amazement and complete shock when I mentioned this graduation BBQ to cowboy, said that I would like to make an appearance before we went out to the bar, and he willingly went with me! and had a good time!
The trolls weren't at Bushwhacker's last night, but still an entertaining evening all the same.
Fashion 101: the rolls of fat spilling over a strapless tube top are not attractive, nor does dousing the fat rolls in glimmer lotion make them any more appealing.
Fashion 102: multi-color highlights on the top layers of your hair are in, bleaching only your bangs and the sides is just f'ugly.
Fashion 103: cowboy hats go nicely with cowboys and cowgirls at a cowboy bar... they do not go so nicely with a wanna-be troll whose cowboy hat has strings to hold it on her head. And should any of you out there reading this decide to wear a cowboy hat, the front goes right above your eyebrows - not even with the top of your forehead.
Fashion 104: cowboy boots go under your jeans and if your fringed cowboy boots don't fit under your jeans, that's a big fat clue you shouldn't be wearing fringed cowboy boots. I would hope all boots made since 1995 are fringe free.
And after Bushwhackers, yes I brought my cowboy home. The official word... colored briefs.
Friday M's dad called and said he had to bring her home at noon on Sunday. Well, so much for spending all day in bed with cowboy but I said that was fine. Today at noon M's dad calls and says "where are you? how soon will you be here?" He had completely forgotten he told me he would drop her off. Thursday M's dad called and said he couldn't watch M on this coming Tuesday night. Hello, she's your kid - you don't watch her like you're her babysitter, she's half yours.
Last night the planets aligned and both cowboy and I had a kid free night so we planned on going out. I was also invited to a graduation BBQ for a friend I had gone through most of my undergrad degree with. I have spent the last 11 years with M's dad attending any and all events by myself. If the event did not include his circle of friends, he would tell me he couldn't possibly have anything in common with anyone there and he didn't like meeting new people or he had to go kill furry animals in the woods. Hell, sometimes it would be something with his friends and I would still end up going on my own. Imagine my utter amazement and complete shock when I mentioned this graduation BBQ to cowboy, said that I would like to make an appearance before we went out to the bar, and he willingly went with me! and had a good time!
The trolls weren't at Bushwhacker's last night, but still an entertaining evening all the same.
Fashion 101: the rolls of fat spilling over a strapless tube top are not attractive, nor does dousing the fat rolls in glimmer lotion make them any more appealing.
Fashion 102: multi-color highlights on the top layers of your hair are in, bleaching only your bangs and the sides is just f'ugly.
Fashion 103: cowboy hats go nicely with cowboys and cowgirls at a cowboy bar... they do not go so nicely with a wanna-be troll whose cowboy hat has strings to hold it on her head. And should any of you out there reading this decide to wear a cowboy hat, the front goes right above your eyebrows - not even with the top of your forehead.
Fashion 104: cowboy boots go under your jeans and if your fringed cowboy boots don't fit under your jeans, that's a big fat clue you shouldn't be wearing fringed cowboy boots. I would hope all boots made since 1995 are fringe free.
And after Bushwhackers, yes I brought my cowboy home. The official word... colored briefs.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Cowboy up!
Cowboy called. He waived the "3 day rule" and called that first Sunday night after Bushwhacker's. I talked to cowboy a couple times last week and we went out last Saturday night. He picked me up in a shiny, new, red truck, took me to dinner at Outback, and then we went out ... c'mon, you'll never guess where???? Bushwhacker's!! Going to a bar like that and actually being with someone who knows how to dance, likes to dance, it's such a novel concept for me I almost didn't know what to do.
Then I realize I have been to the same bar three Saturday nights in a row plus at least once a month since November. The bouncer knows me by name, other people that I've only ever seen at the bar say hello, and a few people actually came up to give me a hug. Oh no, I'm a regular.
The people watching was not quite as entertaining as weeks prior (i.e. no bedazzled trolls) but I do have a few pointers for people. If you get a boob job, you are still required to wear a bra or at least a shirt thick enough that if you're nipped out when its 80 degrees, I don't have to see it. Flip flops and country dancing don't mix - 'nuff said. I don't think anything will ever top the bedazzled troll and almost everything pales in comparison.
The night came to an end and cowboy brought me home but he didn't leave till the next morning. It was dark (and I still haven't bought a table lamp for the bedroom) so I don't have a clue whether it was briefs or boxer briefs. I know he doesn't wear boxers because his Wrangler's were too tight for that. And no, I didn't think to look in the morning. Maybe I'll find out next time girls.
Then I realize I have been to the same bar three Saturday nights in a row plus at least once a month since November. The bouncer knows me by name, other people that I've only ever seen at the bar say hello, and a few people actually came up to give me a hug. Oh no, I'm a regular.
The people watching was not quite as entertaining as weeks prior (i.e. no bedazzled trolls) but I do have a few pointers for people. If you get a boob job, you are still required to wear a bra or at least a shirt thick enough that if you're nipped out when its 80 degrees, I don't have to see it. Flip flops and country dancing don't mix - 'nuff said. I don't think anything will ever top the bedazzled troll and almost everything pales in comparison.
The night came to an end and cowboy brought me home but he didn't leave till the next morning. It was dark (and I still haven't bought a table lamp for the bedroom) so I don't have a clue whether it was briefs or boxer briefs. I know he doesn't wear boxers because his Wrangler's were too tight for that. And no, I didn't think to look in the morning. Maybe I'll find out next time girls.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Time is Not of the Essence
This past Tuesday mr.redbull and I came to an end, of sorts. Between only seeing each other when I did not have M, how M treated him when I did try to bring them together, the issues with M's dad not respecting agreed upon visitation times, and us being at decidedly different points in our life, we didn't make it. He said it was too much, too stressful. I don't blame him one bit though. I am not happy about the outcome, and I have shed more tears over this break up than I did over my divorce. Probably because the divorce had been such a long time coming that the emotional break happened years ago. I guess time was not on my side.
How to heal? Lemon Drops and a bacon cheeseburger, and pick out the design for a new tattoo.
Beyond that, it was time for a Bushwhacker's run this weekend. I danced, and danced with some cowboys, gave one cowboy my phone number, but was kinda bummed my other cowboy I had met prior wasn't there this weekend. The Fashion Police were working overtime this night! Troll girl was the number one offender, obvious hair extensions, jeans that battled a bedazzler and lost, and black frankenstein boots OVER THE JEANS with buckles around the top. As if that were not enough, I think she was at least a couple decades older than me - I overhead her complaining about her arthrits. And when one is on the prowl, but isn't quite ready to join the ranks of the bedazzled trolls, one should still at least attempt to dress the part. A plaid flannel shirt with jeans does not scream "come and get me" and literally throwing yourself against guys at the bar just screams "i'm desperate". The pregnancy contigent was there too. Apparently a memo went out to all pregnant chics to meet at BW on Saturday night and be sure to wear your Birkenstocks with your muu muu.
Next up...will cowboy call me?
How to heal? Lemon Drops and a bacon cheeseburger, and pick out the design for a new tattoo.
Beyond that, it was time for a Bushwhacker's run this weekend. I danced, and danced with some cowboys, gave one cowboy my phone number, but was kinda bummed my other cowboy I had met prior wasn't there this weekend. The Fashion Police were working overtime this night! Troll girl was the number one offender, obvious hair extensions, jeans that battled a bedazzler and lost, and black frankenstein boots OVER THE JEANS with buckles around the top. As if that were not enough, I think she was at least a couple decades older than me - I overhead her complaining about her arthrits. And when one is on the prowl, but isn't quite ready to join the ranks of the bedazzled trolls, one should still at least attempt to dress the part. A plaid flannel shirt with jeans does not scream "come and get me" and literally throwing yourself against guys at the bar just screams "i'm desperate". The pregnancy contigent was there too. Apparently a memo went out to all pregnant chics to meet at BW on Saturday night and be sure to wear your Birkenstocks with your muu muu.
Next up...will cowboy call me?
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Mom Had a Life Once Upon a Time
So mr.redbull and I have been hanging out for right around three months. I really like him, and like him to the point that I introduced him to M. That hasn't gone so well. It is not fair to him because by default he is the sacrificial lamb so to speak, i.e. the first boyfriend type person that M has met since her dad and I split last October. The general consensus amongst all I have talked to about this is that it doesn't matter who he is, it's because he's the first, and all I can do is give it time.
In the midst of unpacking I came across a box destined for storage that needed repacked into a sturdier box. M wanted to help so as we sorted through photo albums, journals, and other keepsakes from my teenage years and moved them into the new box, we came across all of my prom pictures. As I showed them to M it dawned on me that in her eyes, I had never been with anyone besides her dad. I opened the first one and could tell the wheels were turning in her mind. I saw her eyes widen in surprise as she said "That's not dad. Who's that?"
"That's Steve."
"Was he your boyfriend?"
"Yes." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"That's Cory." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"That's Emery." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"I'd really rather forget about that one sweetie." Next picture...
"Who's that? Is he a real cowboy?"
"Yes, honey, Cliff is a real cowboy."
M says in complete and utter amazement, "Wow, a real cowboy. You went out with a cowboy!! I can't believe it!!" (Something about cowboys makes kids absolutely adore them. In my little sis's eyes, none of my boyfriends or even my ex.hubby have EVER compared to Cliff and it's been 15 years since I went with him. But it's because Cliff and I took her to a real rodeo.)
So a day later, I'm thinking she is over the trauma of realizing Mom had a life before I met her dad, and I'm hoping this will help her be more accepting of the life I have now. This particular sunny Saturday afternoon I have M in the car with me, and as we exit the freeway I see a familiar face in the truck behind me, waving. I make the turn onto the street and as the truck pulls up beside me there is no longer any doubt about who it is, it's NYB. He waves, I wave back and M's little voice in her most incredulous tone pipes up from my backseat with "WHO IS THAT?!?" I struggled a little to find a version of the truth for a 6-year old so opted to simply say "oh he's a friend of mine."
At least now I know there's no hard feelings from NYB seeings how I had opted for the total avoidance route when I met mr.redbull. And as for re-introducing M to mr.redbull, I guess I'll just give it some more time...
In the midst of unpacking I came across a box destined for storage that needed repacked into a sturdier box. M wanted to help so as we sorted through photo albums, journals, and other keepsakes from my teenage years and moved them into the new box, we came across all of my prom pictures. As I showed them to M it dawned on me that in her eyes, I had never been with anyone besides her dad. I opened the first one and could tell the wheels were turning in her mind. I saw her eyes widen in surprise as she said "That's not dad. Who's that?"
"That's Steve."
"Was he your boyfriend?"
"Yes." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"That's Cory." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"That's Emery." Next picture...
"Who's that?"
"I'd really rather forget about that one sweetie." Next picture...
"Who's that? Is he a real cowboy?"
"Yes, honey, Cliff is a real cowboy."
M says in complete and utter amazement, "Wow, a real cowboy. You went out with a cowboy!! I can't believe it!!" (Something about cowboys makes kids absolutely adore them. In my little sis's eyes, none of my boyfriends or even my ex.hubby have EVER compared to Cliff and it's been 15 years since I went with him. But it's because Cliff and I took her to a real rodeo.)
So a day later, I'm thinking she is over the trauma of realizing Mom had a life before I met her dad, and I'm hoping this will help her be more accepting of the life I have now. This particular sunny Saturday afternoon I have M in the car with me, and as we exit the freeway I see a familiar face in the truck behind me, waving. I make the turn onto the street and as the truck pulls up beside me there is no longer any doubt about who it is, it's NYB. He waves, I wave back and M's little voice in her most incredulous tone pipes up from my backseat with "WHO IS THAT?!?" I struggled a little to find a version of the truth for a 6-year old so opted to simply say "oh he's a friend of mine."
At least now I know there's no hard feelings from NYB seeings how I had opted for the total avoidance route when I met mr.redbull. And as for re-introducing M to mr.redbull, I guess I'll just give it some more time...
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Yes, I did drop off the face of the Earth
New house, new furniture, new start... I spent damn near the entire the month of March going through all the crap that had piled up at the old house over the last eight years, all the crap M's dad didn't take when he moved out, all the crap my mother saved from my childhood (which I kid you not was every freakin' toy or paper I ever touched), and just some more misceallaneous crapola. As a mom, it is so difficult to throw stuff away. The picture M drew, the stuffed bunny we called "BunnyBears", the crafty stuff she brings home from school, the doll that just might be a collectable someday...but after going through 14 boxes of sentimental crap from my own childhood, I am forcing myself to be ruthless with M's stuff. I do not want her to ever have to sort through that much stuff from her childhood. I will admit that some of it was cool but 14 boxes is ridiculous.
With all of this packing, sorting, sending truckloads of stuff to Goodwill and to Dad & K's for their garage sale, and least of all moving and unpacking, I haven't had a lot of time to go out. That changed this past weekend...back to Bushwhackers. I am still hanging out with mr. redbull, almost to the point of considering him my boyfriend. I know he isn't seeing anyone else, and I'm not seeing anyone else but we have not had the "official we are dating exclusively" conversation. I happen to be OK with that because I really don't feel the need for any sort of commitment to anything right now. However, mr. redbull is so not a country music fan and drew the line at going with me.
Of note, there is no mechanical bull at Bushwhackers. The first absolut & cran went down so smooth, that a second one followed shortly, then a third, then a fourth, and I think possibly a fifth. Not 100% sure on that one.
As always, Bushwhackers provided a fabulous source of fashion faux pas. Cream colored camis are pretty, and have their place under your 9 to 5 suit jacket but not with your black skirt, black nylons, and Shoe Mill shoes at the country bar. Also, when you find your high school yearbooks and decide to reminisce, it is not appropriate to recreate the mall hair for any other night than Halloween. I know there were more, but my memories are a little fuzzy.
OK, the memories are a lot fuzzy.
Rock on my friends.
With all of this packing, sorting, sending truckloads of stuff to Goodwill and to Dad & K's for their garage sale, and least of all moving and unpacking, I haven't had a lot of time to go out. That changed this past weekend...back to Bushwhackers. I am still hanging out with mr. redbull, almost to the point of considering him my boyfriend. I know he isn't seeing anyone else, and I'm not seeing anyone else but we have not had the "official we are dating exclusively" conversation. I happen to be OK with that because I really don't feel the need for any sort of commitment to anything right now. However, mr. redbull is so not a country music fan and drew the line at going with me.
Of note, there is no mechanical bull at Bushwhackers. The first absolut & cran went down so smooth, that a second one followed shortly, then a third, then a fourth, and I think possibly a fifth. Not 100% sure on that one.
As always, Bushwhackers provided a fabulous source of fashion faux pas. Cream colored camis are pretty, and have their place under your 9 to 5 suit jacket but not with your black skirt, black nylons, and Shoe Mill shoes at the country bar. Also, when you find your high school yearbooks and decide to reminisce, it is not appropriate to recreate the mall hair for any other night than Halloween. I know there were more, but my memories are a little fuzzy.
OK, the memories are a lot fuzzy.
Rock on my friends.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
MUST ... GET ... CAMERA ... PHONE!
I have a dilemma...well, it isn't actually a dilemma, it's more like a "how do I not be a complete bitch about this" without lying? I clearly favor mr. redbull over NYB. In fact, I haven't even been out with NYB since I met mr. redbull. I've txt'd NYB, and talked to him on the phone but all my nights going out have been with mr. redbull. My issue with all of this is NYB hasn't done anything wrong and if I hadn't met mr. redbull I would probably be hanging out with NYB still,. Do I just say "sorry, met someone else. it's not you, it's me". Do I just quit calling? That seems like the chicken shit way out, but then again, do I even owe him an explanation since we never talked about or agreed to date exclusively? Hmmm, something to ponder tonight.
Now, what have I been doing when going out with mr. redbull? Friday night we went to the Rascal Flatts concert. (I am convinced they are gay and the fact two of them are married to playmates is a front but that's another blog/conspiracy theory altogether which will not be addressed here). After the concert, we went for drinks at a certain Chinese restaurant that shall remain nameless. OMG, the things I saw! I have never needed a camera phone that badly ever. I made a comment to that effect, and was promptly told no I didn't need one because I'd probably end up in a fight but oh, to prove the existence of these outfits would be worth it (OK, not really but the following descriptions just don't do justice to the fashion atrocities of the night).
FASHION COMMENTARY:
First and foremost, if you have a gut it is not socially acceptable to wear a cropped tank top. It is doubly unacceptable to wear skin tight jeans and allow aforementioned gut to hang over the top of your jeans while wearing the cropped top. Shoes from SAS or the Shoe Mill do not belong on the dance floor, nor do they belong combined with the crop top, skin tight jeans, and muffin-top look witnessed on this particular Friday night. (I shit you not, all of the above was seen on one person.)
Leggings - skinny girls under 13 can get away with the leggings under a mini-skirt look. If you're old enough to get into a bar, leggings have no place on your legs. And if your fat, the black leggings against the denim miniskirt make your ass look even bigger than it already is.
And my last little fashion tidbit for the night - more makeup does not equal better. Caking on face spackle in the bathroom at the bar is not a pretty sight either during or after.
Now, what have I been doing when going out with mr. redbull? Friday night we went to the Rascal Flatts concert. (I am convinced they are gay and the fact two of them are married to playmates is a front but that's another blog/conspiracy theory altogether which will not be addressed here). After the concert, we went for drinks at a certain Chinese restaurant that shall remain nameless. OMG, the things I saw! I have never needed a camera phone that badly ever. I made a comment to that effect, and was promptly told no I didn't need one because I'd probably end up in a fight but oh, to prove the existence of these outfits would be worth it (OK, not really but the following descriptions just don't do justice to the fashion atrocities of the night).
FASHION COMMENTARY:
First and foremost, if you have a gut it is not socially acceptable to wear a cropped tank top. It is doubly unacceptable to wear skin tight jeans and allow aforementioned gut to hang over the top of your jeans while wearing the cropped top. Shoes from SAS or the Shoe Mill do not belong on the dance floor, nor do they belong combined with the crop top, skin tight jeans, and muffin-top look witnessed on this particular Friday night. (I shit you not, all of the above was seen on one person.)
Leggings - skinny girls under 13 can get away with the leggings under a mini-skirt look. If you're old enough to get into a bar, leggings have no place on your legs. And if your fat, the black leggings against the denim miniskirt make your ass look even bigger than it already is.
And my last little fashion tidbit for the night - more makeup does not equal better. Caking on face spackle in the bathroom at the bar is not a pretty sight either during or after.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
????
I have gone out with mr. redbull twice since last weekend. Tuesday night we went to Thai food and then drinks. He brought me a single pink rose when he picked me up for dinner. Sorry girls, nothing scandalous happened after and I have no idea if he's a boxers, briefs, or boxer-briefs sort of guy.
We also went out Saturday night, just for late night drinks. This time, we went to Tacho's where they happen to have karaoke in the bar at night. I did NOT sing! Unlike riding a mechanical bull, I absolutely must be plastered beyond belief to sing in public into a microphone. Two margaritas is not nearly enough to make me sound decent to myself let alone anyone else. And no, I still don't know the boxers/briefs/boxer-briefs answer.
Tacho's fashion commentary:
If you weigh over 300 lbs., you need to be a linebacker for the Duck's, not a fat girl in a Duck's tee's with stretchy denim legging pants. If that wasn't enough, there were three of them. And for the lady in the black tank, "mom jeans" with tapered legs have no rightful place on this earth - next time, just say NO! Lastly, I have not fully endorsed the pants tucked into your boots trend, yet I can see that certain people can pull this look off. Unfortunately, none of them were there this night.
We also went out Saturday night, just for late night drinks. This time, we went to Tacho's where they happen to have karaoke in the bar at night. I did NOT sing! Unlike riding a mechanical bull, I absolutely must be plastered beyond belief to sing in public into a microphone. Two margaritas is not nearly enough to make me sound decent to myself let alone anyone else. And no, I still don't know the boxers/briefs/boxer-briefs answer.
Tacho's fashion commentary:
If you weigh over 300 lbs., you need to be a linebacker for the Duck's, not a fat girl in a Duck's tee's with stretchy denim legging pants. If that wasn't enough, there were three of them. And for the lady in the black tank, "mom jeans" with tapered legs have no rightful place on this earth - next time, just say NO! Lastly, I have not fully endorsed the pants tucked into your boots trend, yet I can see that certain people can pull this look off. Unfortunately, none of them were there this night.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Vodka + Tequila = Mechanical Bull Rides
This past Saturday night we all celebrated a friend's birthday at Duke's. Silly me, I invited NYB (that's New Year's Boy) to show up. In hindsight, that was STUPID!!! I told NYB earlier in the week that I was headed to Duke's on Saturday night with my friends, and that him and his friends were welcome to join up with us. This is first time I had invited him anywhere that our "peeps" might inter-mingle. One of the reasons I invited him is the last time I was at Duke's, it was such a meat market I figured there was no way I would possibly meet anyone this time. Ooh boy, was I wrong.
After a warm-up vodka and absolut at the house, we headed over to the bar to save tables. First arrivals to our little celebration included a very gorgeous guy (tall, dark hair, dressed sharp, NOT a cowboy) so of course I ask for a status report and what do you know, he's available. He buys me another absolut & cran., he gets another red bull & vodka (hence I will refer to him as mr. red bull) and we agree that for a tequila shot I will go ride the mechanical bull. Keep in mind, I haven't done a shot of ANYTHING AT ALL, let alone tequila, in damn near 7 years. Voice of experience and the 20/20 vision of hindsight speaking, your first shot after not drinking very much for years should not be tequila. However, at this point in the night, NYB is running late and not arrived at the bar yet. And so mr. redbull and I walk over so I can take that mechanical bull ride.
I sign my life away so I can't sue them for injuring my drunk ass when I fall off the bull, and mr. redbull heads back to tell everyone else to watch. As I climb on, I'm told to hold on to the front of the bull with my legs and grip the rope in my right hand. (Guess I should've brought the cowboy hat... oh well). They start the bull and as it rotates around, I see NYB and his buddies. Oh well, cowgirl up!
Apparently, I did OK on the bull since complete strangers were high-fiving me while I walked back across the bar thinking "holy shit, how do I keep these guys separate since we're all here for the same party?" After a quick girls room trip, I barricaded myself against a wall behind my girlfriends and drank down another absolut & cran. I'm not entirely sure where NYB and I stand since he's such a sweetheart and acts like my BF even though we've never had the 'lets be exclusive' talk, and I'm so all about mr. redbull. Now what do I do?
Fortunately, NYB is chillin' with his friends and I'm "busy" talking to my girlfriends although I keep glancing over to check out mr. redbull. Damn, he's cute but how am I gonna finish out the evening with both of them in the same bar?
My answer arrived when mr. redbull and his friends left for another bar - but not before we traded numbers. My night could have easily ended on that positive note, except for the fact I was talked into another bull ride by someone else. Yeehaw! Note for next time - One ride is OK, two pretty much kicks your ass.
Fashion commentary:
Mere observations from the night - when wearing tight black leather pants, make sure your gut isn't hanging out over the top of them below your crop top. Shoes appropriate for a country bar do NOT include open toed white sandals, and most certainly not with nylons. Leather pants are OK, black shiny vinyl not so much. And if your ass is wider than the mechanical bull and they have to readjust the stablizers when you're done riding, you don't belong up there and no one on the dance floor really wants to see that anyway (I know I could've gone my whole life without seeing it).
Rock on!
After a warm-up vodka and absolut at the house, we headed over to the bar to save tables. First arrivals to our little celebration included a very gorgeous guy (tall, dark hair, dressed sharp, NOT a cowboy) so of course I ask for a status report and what do you know, he's available. He buys me another absolut & cran., he gets another red bull & vodka (hence I will refer to him as mr. red bull) and we agree that for a tequila shot I will go ride the mechanical bull. Keep in mind, I haven't done a shot of ANYTHING AT ALL, let alone tequila, in damn near 7 years. Voice of experience and the 20/20 vision of hindsight speaking, your first shot after not drinking very much for years should not be tequila. However, at this point in the night, NYB is running late and not arrived at the bar yet. And so mr. redbull and I walk over so I can take that mechanical bull ride.
I sign my life away so I can't sue them for injuring my drunk ass when I fall off the bull, and mr. redbull heads back to tell everyone else to watch. As I climb on, I'm told to hold on to the front of the bull with my legs and grip the rope in my right hand. (Guess I should've brought the cowboy hat... oh well). They start the bull and as it rotates around, I see NYB and his buddies. Oh well, cowgirl up!
Apparently, I did OK on the bull since complete strangers were high-fiving me while I walked back across the bar thinking "holy shit, how do I keep these guys separate since we're all here for the same party?" After a quick girls room trip, I barricaded myself against a wall behind my girlfriends and drank down another absolut & cran. I'm not entirely sure where NYB and I stand since he's such a sweetheart and acts like my BF even though we've never had the 'lets be exclusive' talk, and I'm so all about mr. redbull. Now what do I do?
Fortunately, NYB is chillin' with his friends and I'm "busy" talking to my girlfriends although I keep glancing over to check out mr. redbull. Damn, he's cute but how am I gonna finish out the evening with both of them in the same bar?
My answer arrived when mr. redbull and his friends left for another bar - but not before we traded numbers. My night could have easily ended on that positive note, except for the fact I was talked into another bull ride by someone else. Yeehaw! Note for next time - One ride is OK, two pretty much kicks your ass.
Fashion commentary:
Mere observations from the night - when wearing tight black leather pants, make sure your gut isn't hanging out over the top of them below your crop top. Shoes appropriate for a country bar do NOT include open toed white sandals, and most certainly not with nylons. Leather pants are OK, black shiny vinyl not so much. And if your ass is wider than the mechanical bull and they have to readjust the stablizers when you're done riding, you don't belong up there and no one on the dance floor really wants to see that anyway (I know I could've gone my whole life without seeing it).
Rock on!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
You Need a Massage
"You're under so much stress. Your shoulders feel really tense. You need to schedule a massage." Well no shit! Yes, I do need a massage and thank you Mom & R. for suggesting it. Now will you be paying for it too? Last time I checked I just paid a car repair bill, an attorney retainer, and I'm the only one contributing to improvements on the house to sell it. Exactly where am I supposed to find the money for a massage? My lousy tax refund might make a dent in the credit card.
If anyone needs me, I'll be collecting the change from the car ashtray.
If anyone needs me, I'll be collecting the change from the car ashtray.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Lifestyles of the poor and trashy
This past Wednesday, in typical "when it rains it pours" fashion, my furnace decided I did not need heat in my house any longer and it absolutely was not going to come on. Of course, I only discovered this at 10 o'clock that night. Hmmm, what to do? I called the service number on the paperwork. What do you know, the service box is full and they will get back to me the next business day. Fine, I didn't want to pay extra for an after-hours house call anyhow.
At this point, since M. was at her dad's house, I did what any sensible single woman would do... I gathered the dogs and had them sleep on my bed. Morning arrives and it's a blazing 55 inside. I think it was colder than that but the thermostat only shows down to 55. When the furnace company finally calls me back, they have good news in that I will be next in line but that their repairman is in Ridgefield and won't get to me until late afternoon. But they'll call when they are on the way. OK, so at this point it is so freakin' cold I can't even type which eliminates all possibilities of working from home (or even goofing off at home) and if I need to be close enough to home that I can get here when they do call, I need to be closer than work. Dad's house, here I come.
Spending the afternoon with the parents is pretty OK. It reminds you why you moved out in the first place. As I wait ever so patiently for the furnace repairman to call, I endure Passions, and Days of Our Lives, and some HGTV all while trying to hijack a wireless network so I can check emails. Big event in Dad & K.'s life is they are going out to dinner at "the buffet" that night. I'm not familiar with "the buffet" so I ask for details. Oh, they are going to HomeTown Buffet and I'm welcome to join them.
The furnace finally gets fixed and I pick up M. from school. I explain that we're going out to dinner with G'ma & G'pa and her cousin at a restaurant called HomeTown Buffet. Now kids and old people love buffet style restaurants (and it's cheap too since it's only $.90 per year old the kids are) so she's loving this, and the fact you can walk right in and eat without all the waiting that takes place at a normal restaurant. The only problem with this for me, is the concept of "all you can eat" brings out the people who take that as a challenge. Like the couple who had to move their chairs further apart (and I mean a couple of feet further apart) in order for them both to sit on the same side of the table.
After a lovely dinner at "the buffet", (which I will admit was decent food but there's no possible way for me to eat enough that it's worthwhile for me), we couldn't possibly let the night end there. As if it were destiny (but more likely a stroke of marketing genious), we walked next door to the dollar store.
At this point, since M. was at her dad's house, I did what any sensible single woman would do... I gathered the dogs and had them sleep on my bed. Morning arrives and it's a blazing 55 inside. I think it was colder than that but the thermostat only shows down to 55. When the furnace company finally calls me back, they have good news in that I will be next in line but that their repairman is in Ridgefield and won't get to me until late afternoon. But they'll call when they are on the way. OK, so at this point it is so freakin' cold I can't even type which eliminates all possibilities of working from home (or even goofing off at home) and if I need to be close enough to home that I can get here when they do call, I need to be closer than work. Dad's house, here I come.
Spending the afternoon with the parents is pretty OK. It reminds you why you moved out in the first place. As I wait ever so patiently for the furnace repairman to call, I endure Passions, and Days of Our Lives, and some HGTV all while trying to hijack a wireless network so I can check emails. Big event in Dad & K.'s life is they are going out to dinner at "the buffet" that night. I'm not familiar with "the buffet" so I ask for details. Oh, they are going to HomeTown Buffet and I'm welcome to join them.
The furnace finally gets fixed and I pick up M. from school. I explain that we're going out to dinner with G'ma & G'pa and her cousin at a restaurant called HomeTown Buffet. Now kids and old people love buffet style restaurants (and it's cheap too since it's only $.90 per year old the kids are) so she's loving this, and the fact you can walk right in and eat without all the waiting that takes place at a normal restaurant. The only problem with this for me, is the concept of "all you can eat" brings out the people who take that as a challenge. Like the couple who had to move their chairs further apart (and I mean a couple of feet further apart) in order for them both to sit on the same side of the table.
After a lovely dinner at "the buffet", (which I will admit was decent food but there's no possible way for me to eat enough that it's worthwhile for me), we couldn't possibly let the night end there. As if it were destiny (but more likely a stroke of marketing genious), we walked next door to the dollar store.
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