Let's Define CRAZY Shall We?

Crazy comes in many levels. There's crazy, as in 'baby you so crazee'. There's insane, as in 'check out that insane ride'. There's bat-shit crazy which is the seemingly opposite of sanity and common sense. And then there is BAT-SHIT FUCKING CRAZY. BSFC brings a whole new level to the crazy ladder. The Girlfriend Code is a small piece of a much larger incident that I truly needed these past two days to process.

Saturday night, mellow house party to celebrate the In-Between Christmas & New Years, we are making plans to ring in New Year's Eve, and the hostess and I decide to go play on the stripper pole installed in one of the bedrooms. Cue some Flo' Rida, take a cell phone pick, and the hostess offers 'hey, do you want to change into shorts so you get better grip?" Well, of course I do. I try on her black patent knee high boots with red satin laces up the side. The hostess offers "I have the cutest red top that matches those laces." Cue some Motley Crue, and there's no stopping me.

After a little "Girls, Girls, Girls" I go to walk down the hall and see my soon to be accuser, a.k.a. BFSCgirl, with her coat on, tears rolling down her face, and this vacant hollow look in her eyes. I ask "Hey, you leaving? What happened?" And all fucking hell broke loose.

"I have lost all faith in humanity!" says BSFCgirl. I still have no idea what the hell losing faith in humanity has to do with this.

**** was crazy about me until you came along. He wanted to see me not you. I have the text messages to prove it. The night of his party he said he wanted me." OK psycho, that was in April and it's December now.
You showed me all the text messages you sent ****** except for the one that said you wanted him. Actually I did show you that text because it was all in fun. we were all joking. just like it's a joke you saved text messages from April. And I saw those messages, he was crazy about your huge tits not you.
You slept with him. How can you say it was all in fun? You slept with him. You broke the girlfriend code. The fact you stalked him through his website for the past four years and never made a move in real life does not give you first dibs.
You're wearing a bra. Do you always dress like a whore? I didn't know the dress code was slutty attire tonight. I own swimsuits that show more skin. It's not like the whole party knows I got my hoohaa waxed two weeks ago.
He's down here watching you dance. You're a slutty whore. How could you come down here and dance for him. Oh honey if I really wanted to dance just for him, I wouldn't need to wait for tonight - and oh, he's not the only guy at the party or the only guy in the room.

The hostess came down the hall (thank god!) and asked what the fuck was going on. I made my way back into the pole room, while BFSCgirl proceeded to scream, yell, and rant at the hostess. **** and I stood there, looking at each other, almost dumbfounded, going "What the hell?"

BSFCgirl was asked to leave, and after she left the hostess came in to the pole room, and all three of us stood there dumbfounded, going "What the hell?" And just as we were gonna continue the party, BSFCgirl comes back into the house and unleashes again on all three of us together. Not a lot of what she said at this point was making sense... something about the three of us were conspiring against her, the hostess never lets her finish talking, **** didn't want to talk about her feelings when she did (newsflash, FWB agreements are JUST SEX - they are not about friendship, or feelings, and were created for the sole purpose of serving physical needs when no one else is available), and I was still a slutty whore. I'm sinking into the wall of the room, **** is cowered into the corner on the floor hiding behind his beer, and the hostess is asking her to leave again.
A final middle finger and "FUCK YOU!" to all of us as she was escorted out.

I have now seen BAT SHIT FUCKING CRAZY first hand, and it's not pretty. It's actually pretty pathetic. The twist that makes this BSFC and not just bat-shit crazy is the fact she thinks we need to apologize to her.
Let's see, back me into a wall, scream at me, call me names, and I'm supposed to apologize? Not gonna happen.

The Girlfriend Code

This weekend was a first. I was accused of breaking 'The Girlfriend Code.' I have read Cosmo, Glamour, and a few other magazines for the last twenty years of my life so I know the girlfriend code inside out and backwards. I don't know that 'the girlfriend code' is written out in it's entirety anywhere, however, I do know enough about it to know I did not break it.

Included in the girlfriend code is that you do not sleep with anyone's current husband/fiance/boyfriend, the ex husband's/fiance's/boyfriend's of your friends, or potential boyfriends of your friends. The object of an unrequited and unacted upon crush held by a friend (and in this instance the friend really only talks to me every couple months or so) is not included in the girlfriend code.

Turns out, after I dated said object of crush, my accuser entered into an FWB agreement with said crush even though it seems she had feelings for said crush (hello - a little self respect? anybody?) and seems to be very bitter about him not wanting to date her. And considering my stint with dating said crush ended around 6 months ago, and she had known for the past 6 months that we dated, the statute of limitations is clearly over.

If anyone broke the girlfriend code, it wasn't me.

And The Answer Is So Obvious

As I asked several friends my redneck question today, "what is it about me that screams redneck?"
Apparently, the answer is incredibly obvious to all but me. Discussing this with Sara and James tonight at happy hour, Sara looks at me and in all seriousness says

"Do you watch Redneck Wedding?" [check]

"Do you own guns?" [check]

"Do you have your own NASCAR driver?" [check]

"Where did you meet the latest redneck?" [in a bar with Roadhouse in it's name - check]

"Do you drive a Camaro?" [check]

And there I have it...

Only Rednecks Need Apply

There's something about me, not sure if there's a sign on my forehead or some vibe that I give off, that says "Please come hit on me if you hunt, fish, watch NASCAR, drive a 4x4, live in BFE, and it's a bonus if you are currently wearing any article of camo clothing."

mr.redbull is decidedly against me dating any more rednecks. He says it's just a familiarity thing for me because it's similar to the X-hubby. I am not looking for another cowboy, redneck, or hunter/gatherer type. That said, my attempts at dating non-rednecks haven't gone that well. One seemed to be slightly manic-depressive and the other was a worthless alcoholic that couldn't handle responsibility.

This past weekend I took a trip to the beach for a little very necessary R & R. Saturday night we went out to a local bar, and I met a cute guy who bought us girls drinks. Bonus - wearing a camo baseball cap. We traded numbers and I talked to him last night. Bonus number 2, he lives outside of Lincoln City on 10 acres. Bonus number 3, he's a Dale Jr fan. Bonus number 4, he hunts. Bonus number 5, he has dead animals mounted on his wall. I didn't ask about the truck, but I'd be willing to take bets that there's a 4x4 in his life somewhere.

So what do I do? Run the other way or go visit the beach again...

How Many Naked Men Can I See Yet Still Not Get Any?

We found a Darcelle's virgin. Never seen a drag queen show, and never seen a male revue either. This was actually mid October - I am just super behind in updating everybody.
We saw the classic 'Rhinestone Cowboy' performance and a few new numbers like Katy Perry's 'I Kissed A Girl". And then at midnight it was time for the Men of Paradise show. At Darcelle's and other 'male revue' performances the male strippers can only go down to there g-strings and they are not supposed to perform, um, 'at attention' but it is OK to take a camera in. One of the stippers borrowed my camera, took it up on stage, and provided a digital memento of that which isn't supposed to be shown during the show. There's other pictures too but none will be posted here...
A few weeks later, out with some other friends, one of them mentioned going to Darcelle's. Just then my BGF (that is best gay guy friend) texted me that they were going to Silverado, which happens to be a gay strip club. You are not allowed to take a camera inside there because they do take it all off - and ALL OF IT COMES OFF! Turns out, most of the strippers are 'gay for pay' where they are actually straight in real life. And some of them are really really really HOT.
No, I have not started dating a stripper. I did go back again... just once though.

Oops! Where Did The Time Go?

The month of October has sucked the lifeblood out of me. OK, not the actual month but every thing I am managing at work. I do not like working a full day and then working for another few hours at home.
I have managed to throw my child a birthday party at the Oregon Humane Society. The kids loved going in to the cat rooms and playing with the cats. Then they went through the dog section and gave treats to all the dogs. Only one animal came home with someone, a rat named Charles.
M's birthday present from me was to get her ears pierced. Following piercing ears, I got my belly button pierced. M promptly told me that her sister handled it much better than I did because her sister didn't scream.
M got to meet RFG several weeks ago and she likes him. This is of course a first EVER! Unfortunately, RFG needs to get his shit together. He broke up with his last serious girlfriend in June and broke up with his rebound from that just days before we met. I do not need to be a rebound from a rebound.
A few weeks ago, we were at his friend's house and he had been drinking WAYYY too much and he acted like a complete ass. He left, then I left. He went on to another bar and was so drunk he called me because he couldn't find his car. I am thinking if you are so drunk you can't find your car, you shouldn't be driving. So the next day I told him we were dating but I was going to continue on with my life and dating other people. I actually have not seen him since but we are still talking. Tonight he sent me a text saying he missed me. Whatever...
In the meantime, good night. Time to take care of all these piercings.

It's MAN season

OK, not really. It's actually somewhere in between deer and elk season. Cowboy had called me a couple weeks ago. I was slightly wrapped up in RockFest Guy (which of course turned out to be a totally worthless drunk) so I didn't call back right away. I sent him a text to just say hello and ask how hunting went because I really didn't want there to be awkwardness if I ran into him again. He sent me a text back that said

yes i got my deer
did you find a man
are we going to dinner sometime

Apparently I was supposed to be hunting 'men' while he was out hunting deer.

It's A Small World After All...

RFG (that's Rock Fest Guy) and I were talking tonight. We started discussing the upcoming basketball season, and he started to tell me about how his dad has had season tickets to the Blazer's since he was a kid. He mentioned a childhood friend, and what do you know? His best friend when he was little was 'secret crush guy' from my work.
Holy hell... 'secret crush guy' is apparently the center of my universe. Kinda blows any chance of dating them both since if they do reconnect they'll want to know how I know the other one.

Six Degrees Is Not Enough

Six degrees of Kevin Bacon is wonderfully silly drinking game based on the theory that any two actors can be connected through a movie Kevin Bacon starred in. There is also a scientific theory that any two people in the world are no more than six people apart. I am beginning to think six is an incredibly generous number.

There is a guy at work that I happen to have an incredibly huge crush on. I do not work with him in any way so our paths only cross in the coffee shop, at lunch, or occassionally at the gym. Another work friend has told me said crush is single, but she's protecting him so she isn't willing to help out my cause (as if guys need protected from me). Mr. redbull already thinks my work is the equivalent of high school for grown-ups and that I should not dive head first into the deep end of the work dating pool.

Monday afternoon, Sara and I head downstairs for coffee. Who should I see in the coffee shop ahead of me in line? Why my crush, of course. Said hi, and he says "I meant to say something earlier but your cousin's friend Anne says hi."

"Oh, Anne's great. How do you know Anne?"

"She's the hygienist at my dentist. She always has the greatest stories. We had this totally inappropriate conversation."

"Well that's Anne. Almost all conversations with Anne cover something inappropriate."

Little nudge on the arm from my crush, "She told me all about this great Passions Party she went to..."

All I could really do at that point was giggle like a little school girl, turn red, and hyperventilate. His coffee was ready so I said "Bye!" and he left. I completely lost any and all composure I had, Sara had to order my coffee for me because all I could do was point at the size cup I wanted. Then I had to explain to the girl behind the counter why I was having this complete meltdown of laughter and hyperventilation. She asked if I wanted a shot of vodka in my coffee.

Well, at least I already know he'll answer question number 7 correctly.

Rock People Go To RockFest

I have mr. redbull to thank for this past Friday at KUFO's Rockfest lucky number 13 at Columbia Meadows. Tickets plus VIP parking, plus VIP tent access, and the best freaking people watching ever. I realize now that I just need to carry my good camera and take the pictures to prove the things I write about are for real.

Like the fact I personally have no issue with people who wear cutoffs, the only thing I ask is that they actually cut the jeans off all the way around. Cutoff only in the back is wrong. And if you are female, and do not play rugby, they make products that remove facial hair. Some of them are fairly inexpensive even.

I have one more reason to thank mr. redbull and that is I met a guy in the VIP tent. He's got two things in his favor already as far as this blog goes. If I nickname him after his drink, he would be Jack & Coke, or if I nickname him after how we met, he is Rock Fest Guy.

One thing about going places with mr. redbull, I have to approach guys because they all think I am with him even I'm not and we don't act like we are 'together'. But the good thing about going places with mr. redbull, if I don't want approached I am safe.

More to come later, but right now I am so exhausted I can barely think straight let alone type.

Run Forrest Run!

I seem to have lost my mind, or at least a portion of it because I willingly got up at 6:30 this Sunday morning to celebrate my birthday by running the Pints to Pasta 10K. Not to mention I also did the Portland to Coast relay two weekends ago (this is the walking version of the Hood to Coast relay).

This morning's run (well, jog for me really) ended at Old Spaghetti Factory downtown. The race was sponsored in part by Jamba Juice who set up a booth at the finish where they handed out little itty bitty jamba juice cups. Those were the best Jamba's I have ever had! Well, they seemed like the best Jamba's ever after running 6.5 miles. I could have gotten a plate of spaghetti, garlic bread, and a Widmer (remember, the race is called Pints to Pasta) but that sounded so unappetizing I couldn't do it. I am pretty proud of myself over this though. I am waiting for official time to get posted, but my net time should be around 1 hour 22 minutes and I ran about 3.5 miles of the course.

The best part of this morning though, the race route went through downtown and directly in front of the X's condo. He brought M out to the sidewalk to wait for me to run by so she could give me a hug and cheer me on. There is nothing like getting a hug from your kid halfway through a race. I really could not have asked for anything more.

This Is A Flurry!

I swear, this is a flurry of postings. Really though, I've had a little setback.

A couple weeks ago at work, there was a 'Fitness Challenge.' OK, it was just an excuse for people to be outside and play silly games. We formed teams of four and stepped up to the challenges presented. Challenge 1 - tug of war which we rocked. Challenge 2 - obstacle course which we also rocked except for the minor injury that resulted. Challenge 3 - relay race, nothing like four grown-ups inside a hula hoop running from one end of our gym to the other. Challenge 4 - human bowling, yep, yours truly stepped inside a steel cage ball and strapped herself to a chair so my teammates could roll me down the inflatable bowling lane.

Back to Challenge 2. After running the tires, jumping blocks, weaving in and out of cones, jumping over hurdles, the last section of the obstacle course was a stylish dive onto a slip'n'slide. Except for the point when my hand stopped at the end yet my body kept going. I appeared to have a jammed finger but after two days it didn't look or feel any better so off to urgent care I went on Sunday.

M happened to have some nasty looking bug bites after a picnic at a lake on Saturday, so I thought it would be a good idea for us to both go. I left with instructions to buy Benadryl for M's allergic reaction to whatever bit her and an x-ray, a splint, and a referral to a hand surgeon for my broken finger. I now have a cast on one finger for the next 8 weeks so the joint I broke can fuse back together. The finger I broke happens to be on my right hand which makes writing, typing, and just about anything else involving that side of my hand painful.

So typing, not on top of my list right now.

Get Yo' Ass In The Kitchen and Make Me a Pie Bitch

Mr. Mojito had pulled a disappearing act of sorts a few weeks ago. Schools of thought differ on why he backed away. Was it the text about wanting him to join me in a beach front condo with a hot tub on the deck? According to my friend Sparks, up to 10 people drown daily in hot tubs and bath tubs and I probably scared him away. Was it the fact I can be intimidating? According to my friend Ryan, I probably just flat out scare him because computer guys are timid. Was it the fact I threw up on pretty much every date we've had? I wouldn't blame him for that one.
After we met for drinks one night, I learned that his last break-up was more recent than I had realized. He said he had been feeling anti-social, kind of down and 'not really into the whole dating thing'. So this indicates to me that we are 'dating' but in no way 'boyfriend/girlfriend' or 'exclusively dating.'

I still have my eHarmony profile up. Right about this same time, a guy on eHarmony suggested we meet in person. I have never met 'in person' anyone I have found online before. I threw out an afternoon coffee meeting at a Starbucks - public place, high traffic, defined end point, and an easy escape if needed.
I arrived first so I looked at the coffee mugs and french presses until he arrived. I saw who I presumed to be him pull up in a Volvo sedan, walk in and instead of looking around for me he walked straight to the counter to order his coffee. He then proceeds to call my cell phone.

Red flag one, the Volvo. Red flag two, bought his own coffee but not mine.

I bought my own coffee with my own money and we found a table. After the 'nice to meet you's were finished, he says "I made you a present."
I am completely taken off guard because what the hell do you 'make' someone for a first coffee date? Dude whips out a homemade, full size, lattice crust BERRY PIE!
First off, I don't this dude from a hole in the wall. I don't let my kid take homemade caramel apples on Halloween... same principal applies here. Second, I've seen American Pie. Third, that's just way over the top and screams I TRY TOO HARD AND I'M DESPERATE!!!
Later that night I got a rather lengthy 'nice to have met you' email from Berry Pie Guy. I didn't respond. Monday I got a second lengthy email from Berry Pie Guy. He blabbers on about some 80's movie that's playing at some artsy theatre (turns out it is Flight of the Navigator). And the best part... he actually writes "...not sure if you're busy on Thursday, but we should go see this."
Last time I checked, there is no WE as a result of two people drinking coffee at the same table. WE are not going to a movie or anything else because there is no WE. WE are still at the "would you like to..." stage which isn't gonna happen either.
And no, I did not eat the pie.

A New Beginning

I'm thinking there will be a flurry of postings here soon as I sort through my thoughts and experiences of the last few weeks. I finished my M.B.A. just over a week ago with a graduation ceremony, a fabulous family dinner at Bridgeport Brewing, and a complete aversion to writing or typing anything - thus the quietness on the blog front.

I am over that now, and I'm back to keeping everyone updated on the fabulous life of this single working mom. OK, maybe not so fabulous...

Yesterday I got a new tattoo, which has made sitting, sleeping, and almost everything else slightly challenging last night and today. For those of you with access to my myspace page, I posted the entire ordeal in a new photo album. I love the end result, but 3 hours on my stomach - ouch! The sun represents a new day (... divorce, new house, college finished - it fits), and the symbol is the star sign for Virgo.

I'm off to lotion the new tattoo!

Sad Day Today For M.

This past Christmas, Santa brought M a hamster. I think everyone who reads this knows that Santa is actually me, which means I hid this silly hamster in a travel cage under my bed for two days so I could put the adorable little furball under the tree on Christmas Eve.
When we got Fluffy, he was just barely two months old. Fluffy was the love of M's life. She held him, she kissed his head, she said good morning to him every night (because hamsters are nocturnal so our night is their morning).
Tonight when M got home, she said hello to Fluffy and brought him downstairs. As she was carrying Fluffy back up the stairs, Fluffy fell and unfortunately Jimmy (one of our dogs) was there to break the fall with his mouth. I did not see this happen, but the blood curdling scream from M's mouth somewhat gave it away. By the time I made into the kitchen, M had gotten Jimmy to drop Fluffy and had Fluffy in her hands. I sent the dogs for a little outside time and grabbed a very lifeless Fluffy. With no formal training what so ever, I massaged his little chest and gently blew air into his little nose and mouth and I got a pulse. I washed the dog slobber off and just held him for a while. Then his breathing started to get slower, and he was beginning to be unresponsive so M came in and held him for his last few minutes.
Obviously, I have an incredibly upset 7 year old on my hands that is also incredibly pissed off at the dog.
M is not ready to let Fluffy go. When our cat died a few years ago, I had the cat cremated and the ashes are in a wood box in my computer room along with a ceramic tile with Kitty's paw print. My suggestion to find a shoe box and we bury Fluffy in the back yard was met with, "No, I want to have Fluffy turned to ashes so he can be in a box and I can always have him."
So I will be spending my Monday finding a place that will cremate a hamster and put his little teeny paw prints into a ceramic tile.

Is an Accident Caused by Stupidity Still an Accident?

Thursday morning I stepped out of the shower to four missed calls from M's dad. Unfortunately, he tried to call again right away. When I picked up, he says he is headed to the ER with M. Oh fuck. I throw on clothes, curl my bangs (because ER doctors can be cute) and head for Emmanuel.
I get the full story on what happened while we are waiting for the lidocaine to take effect on M. Apparently, the X had changed the blade on his chainsaw and left it sitting in front of his utility closet at the edge of the kitchen. Dumbass neglected to put the guard back on after he did this leaving the chain exposed. M got up Thursday morning to get something out of the fridge, and when she went running back to the bedroom split her foot open on the chainsaw blade.
A few stitches later we are on our way. Thursday also happened to be M's last day of school which she insisted on attending because she did not want to miss the last day of school party. A chocolate-chip frappacino to make everything better and off to school she went.
Poor little girl... her foot's been all swollen, it hurts, and she can't get her feet dirty and it's flip flop weather.

We Have Some Catching Up To Do

No excuses about not blogging. Some of you have probably seen some of my status messages on messenger so you already know my job is out of control. There have been more days than usual lately where I wonder how could bring home the same amount of money but make coffee for a living.
Some of you have probably seen other messages counting down to the big day - graduation is less than one month away. Serious concentration issues with my homework since I only have four weeks to go. The flip side to that is four years ago I never, never, never thought I would have already finished a Bachelor's degree and be within a month of finishing a Master's.
I am seven weeks into softball season. Our teams sucks because we don't practice, but it's a lot of fun. Except for last week when the ball blended into the big, giant, orange ball of sunshine and I got whacked in the head. Sat out the rest of that game.

Still going strong with mr.mojito. We've been out a couple more times since Kenny. I'm working on not puking after every date. What can I say... I get nervous when I really like someone and then my stomach gets all topsy turvy. Maybe it is a test???
He passes 9 out of 10 Check Yes or No questions. I'll let ya'll guess which question we haven't answered yet. Hint: it's not the one you probably think it is.

This past weekend was a 'kid free' weekend. Saw Indiana Jones with mr.mojito Friday night. He had a wedding to go to on Saturday. But mr.redbull called and said 'hey, you want to grab a bite to eat.' Why not? We hit Joe's Crab Shack where they have the awesomest (if that's even a word I can legitimately use in 2008) drink menu which includes a Pop Rocks Margarita.
From there, we went to a complete dive karaoke bar on Columbia. This was the worst karaoke bar I have ever been in. Most karaoke bars have at least a couple of decent singers or a planted good singer to get the crowd enthused. Not so much. Everybody sucked big time.
And the most fabulous fashion flub of the evening, the fake crocs paired with sweats to detract from the one-piece swimsuit that also apparently doubles as a top.

I Heart Kenny!!!

Tuesday night I went to see Kenny Chesney - from the 5th row!!!

I made life long friends with the two excessively drunk ladies in front of me who kindly shared their flask of Vanilla Stoli with us. I had snuck in some special beverages of my own as well - a little Bacardi to add to my Coke. I don't dare give away my secret on how I accomplished this.

Sidebar: the guy I was trying to find a nickname for a couple of posts back... I decided I should follow the same naming convention as when naming mr.redbull. When other creative forces fail me, your nickname is assigned based on what you drink.

I had won two tickets, and my other ticket went to mr.mojito. He took me to dinner before the concert, he drove us up there, I snuck in the Bacardi. We were so close to the stage, I could actually tell how short Kenny really is. Kenny puts on a great show and I'm fairly certain it would have been fabulous no matter where we were at.

My alternate title for this post was "This Was Only A Test". When the concert was over, and we hiked the 10 miles out to the car, and begin the interminable wait to leave the Amphitheatre, the alcohol hit me upside the head. I finished my cigarette and sat back down in the passenger seat. I promptly reopened the door and threw up. Classy, huh?

Anyone else who has been to the Amphitheatre knows it takes for EVER to get out after an event. We finally made our way into a lane of traffic that was actually moving, only to find out we had to take I-5 North. Given we needed to get back to Portland this was not OK. And given that I'm suffering through dry mouth and forcing myself to not puke again, it really wasn't OK. We turned around at the next exit and I closed my eyes to keep from getting dizzy. Next thing I remember, we're on the I-5 bridge and mr.mojito tells me that I'm cute when I'm asleep. We walk in the house, I throw up in the kitchen sink. Impressive, huh? At least he offered to hold my hair back though.

To clarify, I did go brush my teeth after. Apparently that was sufficient for none of this to bother him that much since I can answer the all important question now - boxers.

Not Quite NASCAR

Thanks to some friends I had passes to the races at PIR today. Initially I wasn't sure if M would be into the racing scene, but she seemed interested so we went to the track today. We live close enough to the track we hear the cars and the motorcycles almost all summer long. The great thing about PIR is there really aren't huge restrictions on where you can walk through. We walked all through the infield pit area. We stopped by my friends' pit area. M got pictures taken sitting in the driver's seat of a real Porsche race car.
One of the most entertaining things about a real NASCAR race is the audience. PIR didn't quite rival my NASCAR experience, however, there was definitely a stand out. Part of the lack of questionable fashion choices probably had something to do with the overcast skies and chilly weather. One bleach blonde bimbo must not have checked the weather report. I'm all for supporting the drivers and getting into race mode, but the checkered flag pattern mini-skirt is one step too far. Could maybe have gone along with the skirt, but the neon pink shirt with neon pink wedge Wal-Mart plastic flip flops and the black & pink "Hustler" sweatshirt drew a caution flag from the Fashion Police.

M noticed Ms Hustler today. I'm quite proud of her for beginning to grasp the finer points of socially acceptable dress. Now I just need help her be a little more quiet about it. Although a well placed "Mom, look at her" might do the world some good.

Yesterday at the nail salon M noticed another fashion atrocity. This lady, and I use that word extremely loosely, bent down to look at some of the nail polish. When she does this, the zipper down the back of her pants unzips about halfway. Most people notice when their zipper is no longer all the way zipped. This lady's pants were so tight, that even with the zipper coming down they were bursting at the seams. M quietly whispers "Mom, look - her underwear are showing." Really, this was an instance where I would have loved for M to say that at full 7 year old volume. And as if I don't think this 40-something lady is a complete skank already, her cell phone rings with Shakira "Hips Don't Lie."
If you're over 40, you should have to get your kids permission to download any song by an artist that has a song "Feat. Timbaland" or "Feat. T-Pain."

If I Throw You to the Wolves, Will You Still Go Out With Me?

I'm still working on a nickname, hopefully one will come to me by the time I'm done writing this. Can't use 'the new guy' since that one's already been used.

This one is a friend of a friend that I've ran into at a couple different functions. We sent a few messages back and forth via IM, progressed to talking on the phone, and went out on a date this weekend.

He originally asked me to go out Friday night to a party. I had M that night so I countered with 'How about Saturday night?' He was OK with that, so I threw in 'Oh by the way, do you mind if we stop by my friend's graduation party?' No big deal, but here's where I should have elaborated prior to Saturday night. The graduation party was downtown in the Pearl, at a Vietnamese restaurant, for my 'best gay guy friend' friend. Needless to say, the crowd was a little on the fashionably queer side.

The other issue Saturday night, was I got sick. I ordered a drink that sounded heavenly on the menu, Vietnamese iced coffee with hazelnut vodka, kahlua, and cream. I did not think about the fact it's a really, really bad idea to drink heavy cream with a lot of alcohol on an empty stomach. I was home by 11:30. I spent the last 10 minutes of the date praying I wasn't gonna throw up in his brand new car.

Unlike cowboy, he did fine. Passed those tests. He actually passes a few of my Check Yes or No questions - does not drive a truck, does not kill furry creatures for fun, does not hang dead animals on his walls... this is progress.

Don't know about some of the other questions though (see questions 6 and 7). Which means I have no idea if he's boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs kinda guy. However, even with all the challenges of Saturday night, he says he wants to take me out again.

The Stars Have Aligned

I was raised on rock. I am such a child of the '80s. I went through my requisite can of Aqua Net at least once a week when I was in high school. I hurt my neck head banging to Metallica. I have every Motley Crue album ever released (except for that one with the other lead singer).
I found my summer vacation.

http://www.southtexasrockfest.com

If anyone wants to go to Texas the second weekend in July, let me know.

I Liked it Better Before

"Before what?" you may ask.
Before M learned to read. Every sign we drive by, every newspaper, every magazine, every IM conversation I have on the computer she reads out loud.
The other night we were driving home from grocery shopping. As we drive by The Dancin' Bare, she proceeds to read the sign out front.
"Amateur Night 9PM June 14. Mom, what's amateur night?"
Well... I explained that an amateur was somebody who was not a professional at whatever they were doing like on Dancing With The Stars where they have the famous people who are amateurs with professional dancers. I thought this explanation would suffice, and she seemed to really grasp that concept since we watch Dancing With The Stars on a regular basis.
"Mom, have you ever been to amateur night?"
The only thing I could say was "No."

Check 'YES' or 'NO'

Given the events that have transpired since Friday night, and in combination of all that has happened over the past year and a half, I have decided I need to hand out a questionnaire on Date 1. Just get all the freakin' deal breakers done up front.

1. Do you drive a pickup truck? NO, skip to question 3.
2. Do you regularly use your truck to haul the dead animals you've killed? 2a. Do you hang the dead animals you've killed on your wall at home? YES, turn around now or I will hunt you.
3. Do you have any pets?
4. Do you approve of dogs sleeping in the house? NO, well too bad because mine do and they always will.
5. Do you have any issues with a girl swinging around a stripper pole for fun and/or taking pole dancing lessons? YES, well get over them or I'll swing around the pole and knock you upside the head with a 4-inch platform heel.
6. Do you enjoy flavored lotions and potions and such in the bedroom? (Hint: the right answer here is YES!)
7. Do battery operated things in the bedroom intimidate you? NO, good. YES, could be worked through if the answer to question 6 is YES.
8. Do you have a strong preference for any one hair color or have an aversion to hair color that changes on a regular basis or contains multiple colors? NO, good. YES, consider this fair warning that I pay more for my hair every three months than some people pay in groceries for a month and there is ALWAYS color involved.
9. Do you have the ability to ride in the passenger seat and allow more than 5 minutes to pass without grabbing the 'oh shit' handle and asking if I'm trying to kill you? NO, you will always drive. YES, damn good thing... the speed limit is merely a suggestion.
10. Do you pay your bills on time? If you own a home, do you have any equity in it? If the answer to either of these is NO, you will need to submit a credit report for further consideration

Anyone who makes it through those questions, we've got a pretty good chance at a future.

Some New Tricks

As M gets older, I must keep reminding myself that she knows how to read now - but she still reads everything out loud. Things like Cosmopolitan and Glamour that I used to leave just lying around should probably be put away.
The other night she grabbed one of my magazines from under the coffee table and flopped down on the couch.
"N e w S e x T r i c k s"
"Mom, what are sex tricks?"

...Must Love Dogs

It's no secret my time is spread pretty thin with working full time, being a single mom, taking classes for an M.B.A., and I volunteer with an animal rescue group.
As Cowboy kindly pointed out tonight, he's not sure how much we actually have in common. My dogs live inside the house with me. Cowboy was raised with dogs that lived outside, and his two dogs live outside. My idea of a vacation is to lay out on the beach with a mai tai, and his is to go kill something. He lives out in the styx, I live in the ghetto-hood, and neither of us wants to move. I think swinging around stripper poles and dancing on the bar is sexy and fun, he doesn't think much of it or in anyway find it attractive.
I guess in some way at some level I saw this coming. We weren't going anywhere. In fact, we were right back to where we were before Christmas.
To an extent, I had the 'new and improved' version of my ex hubby - nice truck, likes to dance, and no drugs but otherwise very, very similar.
Logically, I get it but it f'in sucks.

Lofty Expectations

I had never been to a Cirque du Soleil performance before. M had never been to circus before. I decided the money spent would be worth the experience. It's been a couple weekends ago now, but I took M to 8 p.m. Saturday night show of Corteo. Fabulous!
I sometimes wonder if I'm a little hard on my child, and with work and school I feel like I don't get to put as much fun into our lives as I should. Sometimes it's money, but most of the time, it's lack of time and no energy. This night was just for me and M.
We went to dinner at Red Robin (come on, my date was a 7 year old, what did you expect?). We watched Corteo. M sat in awe the entire show. When I asked how she liked it, I actually got a "Wow Mom, this is so cool. This was worth waiting in traffic." Towards the end she was so tired she could barely keep her head up and her eyelids were so heavy, I asked her if she wanted to go home. She told me no, we are staying for whole thing.

We had a wonderful night. And in hindsight, I realized that I made my daughter's first circus experience Cirque du Soleil. I have set future expectations so freakin' high that a normal circus just isn't gonna cut it... EVER!

Liquid Courage vs Voice Of Reason

I am a much more experienced drunk these days than I was when I started this stage of my life. I am still not a big fan of doing shots, or riding mechanical bulls (I value shoulder movement way too much to do that again) but can manage to listen to the inner voice of reason after several drinks.
I know I have mentioned prior that several of us go to Cowgirl's on a regular basis and swing around the stripper poles for fun. One friend has been taking pole dancing lessons for probably six months or so. What's the next step? The Dancin' Bare.
Last night was amateur night. We two girls went to see what amateur night was all about. Really, I went with my friend so she could see what amateur night was all about. I have no desire to take off my clothes in front of a bunch of strangers. Swinging around the poles fully clothed, no problem. In fact, I love it. Swinging around the poles naked, I don't think so.
While we were there, I met a very nice biker who wants to take me for a ride on his Harley. It's amazing what leather chaps and a chromed out Harley do for a guy on the 1 to 10 scale.
Another amazing thing... we weren't the only girls in there. I think this threw me the most, that a decent portion of the audience were normal women. So bottom line, my friend thinks she could win next amateur night. Stay tuned!
The problem with going to a strip bar is they play stipper music. Stripper music makes you want to dance, shake your ass, and swing around poles. But only strippers are allowed to dance in a strip bar. So voice of reason speaks up louder than the three Bacardi and Coke's I've had and off to Cowgirl's we go.
Fully clothed pole dancing... much better.
Making it home in one piece...fabulous.
Room spining when you lay down... not so good.

Survival of the Fastest

Today I woke up at 6 a.m. Not unusual except for today is Sunday. I do not roll out of bed on Sunday before I absolutely have to. Now, not only did I drag my ass out of bed at 6 but I laced up my running shoes and headed downtown to the Shamrock Run.
I am not a runner. I'm not really even a walker. I maybe averaged walking twice per week for the last five weeks. I signed up for this run with the best of intentions, planning to workout at least three times a week. Um, not so much.
Right about 8:05 they called for the 5K runners to line up. I walked with the thousands of others up to the start/finish line, and as soon as I crossed the blue timing mats I tried to pace myself slowly so I could run longer than usual before having to slow down and walk. It's difficult to maintain your own pace because there's people passing you so you want to go faster but you have to tell yourself not to. Finishing is what's important.
I actually ran the first mile and a half. The crowd cheering you on really makes a difference. As you run around the course and weave your way up Burnside and back over to Broadway, the hardcore drunks open the doors at the bar and yell for you. Running over Park Avenue all the homeless people stand up and cheer for you too. Not sure if it's the cheering or the smell but it does help you pick up the pace.
I only walked about a half mile up Broadway (it was uphill, it was difficult). I started running again once the course turned and we started working our way downhill towards Front Ave. I kept at it, and I so wanted to walk again but then once I got to Front I could see the huge flags that signified the Finish. I kept running, thinking there's the finish line. As I'm running up Front Ave., I notice more and more people are lining the street. I realize I don't want anyone to see how slow I'm actually running so I pick up the pace again.
I am waiting for my official time to get posted, but I think I finished in 40 minutes.
In true Portland fashion, everyone who finished got a free beer (Widmer) and a bowl of clam chowder (McCormick & Schmick's). And true to my roots, when I was done I went for a pedicure.

Queen of the Ryche

Cowboy has a rockin' side, similar to mine with a strong preference for music created in the Aqua Net and spandex era. One of his favorite bands is Queensryche so for his birthday I had bought him tickets to last weeks concert. Opening act... Don Dokken. Might I say that they have all aged really well. Don Dokken is still yummy although I think he might have traded his Aqua Net in for a flat iron.

Almost as entertaining as the concert was the audience! Rat tails, mulletts, and mall hair, oh my! The concert was at the Newmark Theatre and our seats were on the second level balcony with a spectacular view of the audience from above. Just so you know, yes, the people sitting in the balconies look at the top of your head when you're on the floor. I saw a lady that I swear she must have had the same hair style since Empire came out (that was 1990 for those who aren't members of the Ryche).

On another concert note, I heart Kenny! (Chesney that is). I won 5th row concert tickets to Kenny on the radio this morning. How will I catch Kenny's eye? Maybe I should've got that boob job instead of a sports car.

A Burp With Your Mouth Closed Occassion

I took M to a formal occassion on Saturday night. Mainly because it was my weekend and I had already shipped her off to a babysitter on Friday night, and cowboy and I are somewhat back to our impasse from right before the holidays - do we or don't we meet each other's kids?
In preparation, we went shopping on Thursday and she picked out a brown and blue dress with a brown cardigan (duh, she's my kid - she will have a sense of style). We talked about behavior expectations, and I asked her if she knew how she was expected to behave. She so matter of factly told me, "I know, burp with my mouth shut." OK, I'll take what I can get.
Saturday afternoon she got dressed, put her tights on with her new shoes and looked amazingly grown up. I struggle with this a little bit since if she looks 'older' than she really is at 7, how much older will she look at 13?
Anyway, Saturday night was probably the most grown-up, polite, well behaved I have seen her ever. She got up on the stage to help call the raffle numbers using a microphone. She survived a sit-down 'fancy' three course dinner. And she held it together until after 10pm with no attitude.
Unfortunately, she only has so much capacity to be good for me. Once that good is used up, it's gone. I think for every hour of good, she needs at least two hours of bad to recoup. After four hours of good Saturday night, and a few hours of good this morning, I figure she's in brat mode for me until at least Friday.

Age Is Just A Number But It Still Matters

Bushwhacker's has one. Duke's has one. Cowgirl's has one. I'm pretty sure every bar has at least one. No, not fat girl in a tube top - Skeletor Man! Think back to He-Man Masters of Universe...but Bar Skeletor is that one scrawny, wrinkly, frail looking old man that hasn't come to terms with the fact he's old yet. Bar Skeletor gets down on the dance floor with his bad self all decked out out in his awesomest Member's Only jacket that's survived the last two decades, hideously ugly cowboy boots, and his whitest dentures (I guess, I don't know that last one for sure). Bar Skeletor at Cowgirl's last weekend followed me outside to smoke and bum a cigarette. OK, I certainly won't be selfish when it comes to things I voluntarily buy that will eventually kill me. Since Skeletor is bumming a cig, I figure he needs a light too. But no, Bar Skeletor has the coolest old man gadget ever - a lighter on a retractable cord attached to his belt. Yikes!

Last Saturday was the weekend celebration of Fat Tuesday. My turn to save a table so I get there a little before 9 and there's no tables left, so I had to share. I had my pick of "mr. 80's" with the almost mullett (oh baby!) or "mr. suave" with the button up shirt that really needed to be buttoned one more up. I went with "mr.suave" since they had a tall table.

But not everyone there Saturday night was old or uncool. I met a cute, slightly buff, blond haired, blue eyed guy named Greg. Greg bought me a Bacardi & Coke and came back to our table to sit with us for a little bit. As we shouted over the music, Greg asked how old we were. Kell replied 39. I replied 33. Turn about's fair play so I asked Greg how old he was. Oh, turns out he's 24. Another 'Yikes!' but for a totally different reason.

Decision 2008

Supposedly conflict is a natural part of life. I'm just not sure it's supposed to be as big a part of my life.
2008 is my year of anti-resolutions. I still drink, smoke, eat fast food, and don't exercise. Yet I have always wanted to do Hood To Coast. The disconnect of course is I don't run but Hood to Coast is a running relay. My department snagged one of the work sponsored walking teams for Portland to Coast, so of course there is just a little tiny bit of peer pressure to join Portland to Coast. Plus I have always thought the experience would be a once in a lifetime type thing. Hmmm, what do I do now? Well, now I'm doing the Shamrock Run 5K and probably the Starlight Run for training so I can do Portland to Coast. Guess I have to at least get off my ass long enough I don't freakin' die next month during the Shamrock.
Next conflict - to buy or not to buy? I have always had an inexplixable love of sports cars. I do not know where it came from. Certainly not my parents because my dad barely knows how to check the oil. My mom owns a hybrid and formerly drove a minivan. Not a clue where the fascination came from. I have an opportunity to buy a Camaro, very similar to the one I used to have, for a very good price. I have absolutely no place to put a second car in my one car driveway. I have no need for a second car on my 2.3 mile commute. M's dad is gonna have a shit fit and accuse me of taking him financially for everything he had. Neither of my car's will get over 15 mpg.
But on a purely emotional level, it's a fun car so I'm gonna go for it!

Commit or Quit?

No, not smoking - cowboy. I never explicitly said "we are getting back together" but I'm not actually dating anyone else. I guess to an extent I gave myself a "get out of jail free" card after "the new guy" fizzled should anything happen with "other work guy" before he left the country. Nothing happened and the going away happy hour was already this past Friday.

We all started at a little brew pub, and five Bacardi & Coke's later moved on to Ringler's, where one Lemon Drop later we moved to 80's night at the Fez Ballroom. Somebody, somewhere hung on to some awesome white Levi's and a neon jacket - way cool! Well, way cool if you remember to roll and peg the Levi's. I was not prepared for 80's night, or the sights of 80's night but witnessed a totally rad dance off between a guy in short shorts, tube socks, and a headband against a guy with an affinity for neon. I would like to go back and actually plan for it ahead of time because it was fun. But the place was way too crowded, too long of a line for drinks, and too long of a line for the bathrooms.

I saw cowboy on Saturday night. He was tired after a hard day of duck huntin' so we didn't do much - just hung out. Only one more weekend of duck season... I gotta figure out what I want.

Second Chances

Several years ago, before my divorce from M's dad, I spent a lot of time with a guy I worked with (not the new guy - different work guy). You could call it an emotional affair I suppose. For a while, we went to lunch almost every day, even running errands on our lunch hour together. Things have never worked out for us to be a couple timing wise. At first we were both married to other people, he divorced but I was still married, I divorced but by then we worked in the same department , I moved to another department but he was on extended assingment in Europe. Now I'm free to date other people, we don't work in the same department, he's not involved with anyone, but he's moving to Germany in two weeks. If it's meant to be, maybe I'll be getting a job offer soon or timing will be better when he comes back in two years.

In the meantime, I missed cowboy a lot. I had no idea how much I missed him and it was really nice to see him last night. Plus I got some killer sex for the first time in four weeks. We even tried out my new cinnamon and vanilla flavored potions and lotions I bought at the sex party I went to. (Sorry, should have given a TMI alert before that last sentence.)

Cowboy stayed over last night. He skipped a day of duck hunting so he could sleep in with me. Not sure where exactly that ranks on the romance scale, although I suppuse "skipping hunting" falls somewhere between candles with scattered rose petals and not farting in bed.

It's Good To Be Wanted...I Think

Cowboy misses me. He wants to be with me, and only me. Cowboy called me twice last night. He wants to know when he can take me out. I had told cowboy we could date but I didn't want to be as serious as we were. Last night he asked if that meant we would be dating other people too. I said yes.

Our views on that differ a bit. Actually, they differ a lot. He's not sure he can accept me dating other people besides him because it means I'm looking for something or someone better. I need to know if I like cowboy for who he is or because there's a certain familiarity or comfort level when I'm with him. I hadn't planned on jumping into a serious relationship, let alone a serious relationship with someone who lives in BFE, likes to kill furry and feathery things, and drives a truck bigger than my driveway. I need to separate how I feel about cowboy from how I feel when he says he wants me back. I have to admit, it feels good to be wanted.

My new guy has damn near disappeared. Good thing I haven't wasted a creative nickname on him. I got an email this week and that's it. I can understand his hesitation about getting involved with someone at work...again...but why did he kiss me at the party then?

In order for me to follow Carm's advise (and pretty much everyone else's) and date outside of my norm, date someone who is the complete opposite of what I've known, date somebody that's picked up a book in the last decade, somebody who doesn't like to kill things in their spare time, somebody that lives closer to downtown than Mt. Hood, I need to figure out how and where to meet these guys.
Maybe they can add "marital status" to the online phone directory at work...

In 2008, I Resolve to...

I don't know. I recall making New Year's resolutions every year for, well, as long as I can remember. I don't have one this year. I'm not about to quit drinking, or quit smoking, or quit eating Jack In The Box Sampler Trio's when I get a craving for grease and ranch dressing. I'd like to work some exercise into my life, but where to fit it in between work, school, kid, dog, and dating - I'm not sure.

I spent this past weekend swinging around a stripper pole. For those privileged few, you can find a picture in the comments section of my myspace. If you have seen that picture, it might seem a little strange that there appear to be couches behind the pole. It appears that way because those are couches, and the pole is in the middle of my friend's living room. She had a party Friday night (which I obviously went to since there's photographic evidence) where I drank way too much Bacardi & Coke for my own good and way too much to be very helpful the next day to move another friend into a new apartment. Saturday morning my left foot hurt, I had a giant blue and green bruise across the top of it and could hardly get my shoe on. Hell, I could barely walk. I have no clue what I did; nothing hurt on Friday night! Although I noticed I was out of breath after one full song on the pole so maybe I should rethink that exercise thing.

Trainer at my work gym: Why do you want to get in shape?
Me: So I don't run out of breath when I'm pole dancing drunk at parties.

By Monday, New Years Eve, I could fit my swollen, bruised foot into a four inch heel again and off to American Cowgirls we went. The main pole on the stage was down because they had a DJ up there, but the two smaller poles on the dance floor were still up. I am all for dressing to impress and showing off your best assetts. However, there really needs to be minimum acceptable skirt length. We actually saw ass cheek and thong color last night - so not cool. I also suggest Cowgirls put a weight limit on the smaller poles because two whales on one pole is not pretty either. Eligible male prospects were a little slim this night. My cute bouncer wasn't working, and every other eligible male was younger than my little bro which I'm not really OK with. Two guys at the table next to us were obviously looking, and the one just cracked me up. He was probably in his late 40's, grey hair, silky shirt unbuttoned one too many, and drunk enough to get on the dance floor and dance like a true white boy - again, not pretty and definitely not cool.

So what do I want for 2008? To remember to always be true to myself, learn to listen to and follow my instincts, and figure out how to work a pole without feeling like I got ran over by a truck the next day...